Reggie awoke in the dead of night, unfamiliar sensations all around him. His heart pounded, and instinctively he reached for his knife, which he had slipped under his pillow when Marcus disappeared into the bathroom earlier.

His fingers curled around the handle, immediately calming him. There wasn't much, human or otherwise, that could get one over on Reggie Beaumont holding a knife. Slowly, the panicked pounding in his chest eased. Slowly, he realized the source of the panic wasn't the unfamiliar sheet and blanket around his naked body, or the unfamiliar room.

It was the warmth of the body nestled against him. The muscular arm curled around him, palm pressing softly into his chest. The soft breath against the back of his neck.

Reggie's own breath caught in his throat, tendrils of panic spreading throughout him. With a smooth motion, he slipped free of Marcus and walked softly to the bathroom, closing the door behind him without a sound before turning on the light.

He splashed cold water on his face several times, and then leaned against the sink with his head down, hair hanging in his face. He ran his wrists under warm water for several minutes until he felt in control of his breathing again. He relieved himself, washed his hands and turned the light off before opening the door.

He stood at the foot of the bed, watching Marcus sleep. His right leg had come completely free of the blankets, moonlight streaming through the window highlighting the strong muscles, brown skin contrasting with the white sheet.

His gaze moved to his clothes, strewn on the floor. His boots. And back to Marcus, breathing quietly, unmoving.

Reggie set his knife on the bedside table and slipped back into bed, running his hand slowly up the length of Marcus's leg from his ankle all the way up to his flank to the small of his back.

Marcus said quietly, "I thought you were going to sneak out on me." His voice wasn't sleepy at all.

Reggie traced his fingers along the curve of Marcus's back. "I'm not that kind of guy."

"Yes, you are." Marcus kept his voice light, but the truth of it still stung.

Reggie closed his eyes, then took a deep breath and exhaled. "Not…" He stopped, too many words warring for expression. "Not with you."

Marcus made a soft sound, tipped his head up, mouth brushing against the hollow of Reggie's throat.

That small gesture, the intimacy of it, brought a surge of feelings within Reggie roaring into his full consciousness.

"You're shaking."

"Yeah." Reggie grazed his fingers over Marcus's arm.

"Come here, you." Marcus pulled Reggie to him, took his mouth in his, pulling the sheets away from his naked body, baring himself. They kissed, and kissed some more, taking their time. Then Marcus took matters into his own hands, his mouth and fingers making wordless promises, promises that Reggie understood. I won't hurt you. I'd never hurt you. Just be with me.

Reggie's head tipped back, words tripping over each other, canceling each other out. Only two words were able to slip free.

Marcus.

Yes.


Marcus fell heavily to the mattress next to Reggie, breathing rapidly.

"So…that was frotting." Reggie's voice was grit and smoke.

"Yep."

Reggie grinned. "I like it."

"I could tell." Marcus leaned over and kissed Reggie, mouth curling into a smile, then got a hand towel from his bedside table drawer and cleaned them both off.

They fell into a deep sleep and woke at a little after 9 am.

"You know what I'm going to do?"

Reggie raised an eyebrow at Marcus.

"I'm going to take you to the best breakfast in town."

They showered together, tall bodies barely fitting into the small shower stall, playfully washing each other, and got dressed. Marcus drove Reggie to a little country kitchen restaurant, where they ordered eggs and bacon, biscuits and cinnamon rolls, and strong black coffee.

Marcus couldn't keep his eyes off Reggie. Or his hands. He brushed Reggie's hair out of his face, right as the waitress came to refill his coffee. It was a simple gesture, but Reggie flinched ever so slightly, as if afraid of her reaction. Marcus pulled his hand back smoothly, smiled at the waitress, and acted like nothing had happened.

Reggie took Marcus's hand, under the table and squeezed it. The tension on Marcus's face eased, the light returning to his eyes.

They finished their breakfast, and Marcus insisted on paying, over Reggie's protestations. They left the restaurant and walked to the car. Three men in steel-toed boots, jeans and heavy coats headed towards them, clearly on their way to grab a quick breakfast before work. Marcus tucked his arm into Reggie's and pulled him closer, making room for the men to pass and, unable to resist, snuggled into him at the same time.

The three men looked at Reggie and Marcus, faces contorting with disgust. The tallest one muttered, "Fucking faggots."

Reggie reacted without thinking, operating on pure instinct. He slipped free of Marcus's arm and put himself between him and the men. He pulled out his knife, deadly sharp and gleaming.

The men recoiled. "Holy shit," one whispered. They stepped backward into the street, palms out, and moved past them rapidly, breaking into a run. Reggie swallowed hard, fighting to regain composure.

Marcus shoved his hands into his pockets, mouth pressed into a hard line, and they walked quickly to the car, a foot of space separating them.

Reggie shut the car door as Marcus slid into the driver's seat. "Um, I—"

"It's fine."

Reggie grimaced. Marcus said nothing on the drive back to his apartment. Once inside, Marcus dropped his coat over the back of the couch and turned to face Reggie, arms crossed over his chest. "I think you should go."

"If I scared you, I—"

Marcus took a deep breath, not quite able to look Reggie in the eye. "Look. Some guys get off on the macho 'I'll protect you' thing." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But you really overreacted back there. And, yeah, it scared the hell out of me."

"I—" Reggie began to speak.

"You don't have to explain—"

"Yes." Reggie took Marcus's hands in his. "I do."

Marcus pulled away, color rising in his cheeks. "I get being careful about public displays of affection. But those guys weren't going to do anything. Just mouth off. Nothing we haven't heard before a million times. There were people everywhere. They weren't going to just murder me or something—"

Reggie's blue eyes widened. "Like they did to Nathan?"

Marcus blinked."Who's Nathan?"

Reggie clenched his hands into fists, knuckles going hard and white. "He was my—" He hesitated. "Everything."

Reggie turned, unable to bear the look on Marcus's face, went into the kitchen and ran his hands under the tap until they stopped shaking. He leaned on the countertop with his back to Marcus. And he told the story of Reggie and Nathan, two young men in love, and the men with sticks and pipes who could not stand the sight.

Marcus listened to it all, a look of shock giving way to tears spilling down his face. Then he came to Reggie, put his arms around him from behind without a trace of tentativeness, held him tight, one palm pressed against his heart, one against his stomach. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Reggie's body shook, as he fought to keep control of his emotions. Then Marcus whispered, "Strong men cry."

Reggie, held in Marcus's powerful arms, his strong body supporting him, hung his head and cried, freely and without reservation, like he had never cried in his whole life in the presence of another person.

After a long time, he steadied himself and wiped the tears off his face. Marcus turned Reggie to face him and held him close. Then he asked, quite simply, "Stay?"

Reggie breathed in the new yet already deeply familiar scent of Marcus, that confluence of shampoo and soap and aftershave and the subtle human scent unique to him. His arms tightened around Marcus, an involuntary reaction to the thought of leaving him. "I'm not going anywhere."


Dean had made good headway on Bobby's car, with Sam's help and Bobby's direction. Structurally, the vehicle was still sound. The frame, welded from good, solid American steel, was not bent. Dean pounded the left panel out enough so it didn't rub on the tire. Legs protruding from beneath the car, Dean diagnosed an oil leak from a dislodged hose, which he easily fixed. Together, Sam and Dean cleaned the oil from the engine, and replaced the blown left front tire. The rim, luckily, was not bent.

"So, headlight and turn signal needs replacing." Dean surveyed the Chevelle. "Won't take much to get the hood straight."

Bobby nodded. "You think we can salvage the fender?" Dean frowned, looking at the damage. "Just enough so we can get it back home, pull one off one of the parts cars."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, eyes widening. Home.

"Well, we can't stay here forever." Bobby looked from one to the other. "Right?"

Sam ran his hand through his hair.

Bobby rose to his feet, propping himself up on his crutches. "What do you two got in mind? You mean to stay here?"

Dean wiped his hands on a shop rag. "Honestly? We haven't talked about it. I mean…" He gestured with both hands, indicating the enormity of what had taken place in the past few weeks.

Bobby cocked his head, thinking. "You must like having a place to yourself."

Sam rubbed his palms on his hips, and shrugged.

"Tell you what. I'll build you two an add-on. Your own space." He clapped his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Think about it?"

Sam and Dean nodded in unison.

"Alright. I'm gonna hobble my sorry ass back to my room and spend some quality time with my pain pills and a frozen pizza."

They returned to the common room where they spent a few minutes touching base with Juliane and Danny. Danny filled them in on the progress made with Nathanial, recording his memories of Azazel's actions, plans, conversations, and general details of his deviltry. Bobby promised to confer with them at greater length after he'd rested. Dean helped Bobby toward the door, and Sam hung back, pretending to need to tie his shoe, then whispered something to Danny. Then he ran after them. They accompanied Bobby back to his apartment and retreated to their own.


Dean was quiet.

"You want lunch?"

"Sure." Dean's voice was unconvincing.

Sam watched Dean take off his flannel and adjust the heat in the apartment, evaluating his mood. When Dean turned back around, Sam was on his knees in front of him. "Don't think."

"About what?"

"Anything." Sam pulled Dean's cock out, completely soft but twitching at the touch of Sam's hand, the look on his face. "Anything but this."

Dean chewed his lower lip.

Sam looked up Dean with his big hazel eyes. "What do you want for your birthday, Dean?"

"I—uh—" Dean stammered.

Sam brought his mouth to Dean's cock, easily taking it to the base, sucking hard as he pulled back, stretching the soft flesh out and humming with satisfaction as it began to swell in his mouth. He swallowed it to the root again and stroked it with his lips and tongue again, pulling back, making soft sounds as Dean got hard for him.

"S'ok," Sam purred. "I know what you want."

"Yeah?" Dean ran his hands through Sam's hair.

Sam reached one hand up and pulled his jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs, cradled Dean's balls, heavy and full. "Oh yeah."

"Tell me."

"Wait and see." Sam's grin was positively wolfish. He guided Dean's hands to his head, then placed his palms on Dean's hips and pulled them forward.

"Fucking hell. Sam," Dean breathed, driving his cock into Sam's mouth. Sam urged him forward again, relaxing his jaw and sticking out his tongue, making it absolutely clear what he wanted Dean to do. Dean pulled back and thrust his hips forward, holding Sam's head in place. Sam groaned, hands unbuckling his belt and freeing his own cock, fully erect.

Dean tried to go slow and shallow, but Sam was having none of it. He made a wordless, petulant sound. Dean gripped his head more firmly, and thrust deep into Sam's mouth. Sam's answering moan sent a shiver up Dean's spine. "This what you want, Sammy?"

Sam moaned a wordless assent, both hands working between his legs. The harder and deeper Dean fucked his mouth, the more desperate and needy the sounds Sam made. Spit ran down his chin, wet and messy, and his eyes teared up as the head of Dean's cock hit the back of his throat, but he leaned into it, every inch of his body eager for more.

"So fucking beautiful," Dean whispered, pulling out slowly to rub his cock over Sam's reddened mouth.

Sam smacked his bare ass. "More."

Dean's eyes fluttered shut at the impact. Sam inhaled softly, his mouth curling up at the left corner, his eyes lighting up as another idea to make Dean's 21st birthday special burst into life inside his mind.

He tilted his head, lapped at Dean's balls, sucked one into his mouth, then the other, alternating until Dean's thighs began to shake, then took both at once, sucking and tugging with his lips, teasing Dean until he swore and pushed his cock back into Sam's mouth, fucking it nice and hard.

Sam purred his approval, rolling his balls between the fingers of his left hand and stroking his cock with the right, in perfect time with Dean's thrusts.

"Yeah. Fuck. So good for me. Jesus. Yeah. Come on, Sammy. Come for me. Now. Now." Dean's head fell forward, his back curling, as he came in Sam's mouth. The first spurt, thick and bitter/salty, hit the back of Sam's throat, and he thrust up into his fist, doing what Dean told him, giving Dean what he wanted, coming at the same time, sucking hard, drawing out as much as Dean could give him, crying out on Dean's cock, again and again. The vibration of Sam's sounds of pleasure as he came raced along Dean's sensitive flesh, kicking his orgasm up a level, pleasure so keen it bordered on pain, so intense he laughed once, sharp and surprised, then swore and shivered and flooded Sam's mouth.

Sam swallowed it all, refusing to let so much as a drop hit the carpet. He was still twitching from his own orgasm when Dean pulled him to his feet, kissed him slow and sweet, licking the taste of himself from Sam's mouth. Sam groaned at that, giving himself over to Dean completely.

"I love you. So much." Dean stroked Sam's hair. "So much."

"I love you too." Sam curled into Dean's arms, breathing him in, gasping as their bare flesh touched, softening and cooling.

After a moment, Dean muttered into Sam's neck, "I'm starving."

Sam snorted. "I knew it." He tucked himself back into his jeans and went into the kitchen, washing his hands in the sink before poking around inside the refrigerator. He pulled out a couple of sticks of string cheese and a coke. He handed a string cheese and coke to Dean. "Danny said he'd take me out to get burritos for lunch. You can hang out and watch Bruce Lee or something."

Dean's eyes rolled back. "You really do love me." Dean loved Bruce Lee, but Sam found him highly annoying.

"The usual?"

"Yeah."

Sam went into the bedroom to raid their stash of money, and emerged with his string cheese sticking out of his mouth, half-eaten. "Fresh jalapenos if they have them?"

Dean was already on the couch, feet up, Fist of Fury tape playing on the TV. "Absofuckinglutely."

Sam kissed him on the forehead, then ran down the hallway into the common room. "I'm ready," he blurted.

"What'd you tell him?" Danny grinned, grabbing his coat.

"Burrito run."

"Cool." Danny took the car keys from the table. "You know what you want to get him, or are you gonna wing it?"

Sam's smile was pure, sweet mischief. "Oh, I know exactly what I'm going to get him."


Sam insisted on being left alone in the department store to shop. "Half an hour." Danny waited outside in the car.

Sam loped down the aisles, knowing exactly what he needed. In the electronics section, he picked out a camcorder and a three-pack of blank VHS tapes. Then he made his way to the second floor.

The Girls' section.

He perused the aisles quickly, with a look of absolute focus on his face. Finally, he found it. A little black dress with a stretchy bodice and a kicky little skirt, that looked to be the right size, or close enough. "My sister's birthday," he explained to the cashier, who accepted the story completely.

Then he made his way to the women's lingerie section, where he stared rather helplessly at the panties, having no idea what size was correct. A saleswoman was nearby, rearranging bras on a wall display. She glanced at him, curious, and he immediately blushed a violent shade of red. She shook her head with a knowing smile, and gave him an appraising look, and said quietly, so only he could hear, "Try a size 6."

Sam fumbled through the display of satin panties and found a size 6 in pink, and grabbed up a pair of stretchy black lace panties as well.

The saleswoman rang him up with utmost professionalism, for which he was immensely grateful.

Next, he bought a few tools he knew Dean needed for Bobby's car—which he could give to him in front of people—and had his gifts wrapped so Danny wouldn't see what they were.

Then they went to the burrito place and picked up the promised lunch. Dean's usual was a carne asada burrito with cheese, no sour cream, light on the guacamole, extra onions, and the hottest salsa available. Whole beans only. Fresh jalapenos, check.

Sam got a grilled chicken burrito with no cheese, light on the rice, and extra beans. Danny picked up tamales and enchiladas for himself and Juliane, and a couple of tamales for Bobby, in case his frozen pizza was not an adequate lunch, and so he wasn't left out.

Sam came back into the apartment with a large bag with their burritos, chips and salsa, and another bag with presents inside, peeking out of the top. Dean shook his head, a sweet smile on his face. "I knew it."

Sam set the bag of food down on the counter, and headed to the back to put the presents in the bedroom.

"Can I open one early?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No." Sam came back in the room.

"Taking control again. Getting me all tingly."

Sam shot him a look. "Good. Then you'll really like it when I give you your birthday spanking."

Dean's eyes went wide, and his mouth fell open.

Sam handed him his burrito. "You think I'm kidding."

Dean just blinked.

Sam got a soda from the refrigerator, and set the chips and salsa on the table. "So not kidding."

Dean stared at Sam.

Sam cracked open the can of soda and leaned back in his chair with a smug expression. He pointed to Dean. "Birthday Boy." He moved his finger to point at himself. "Boy King."

"You did not."

"Oh, I think I did."

Sam popped a chip in his mouth, trying to repress the massive grin threatening to spread over his face. "Eat up, Birthday Boy. You're gonna need it."

(More to come soon!)