They get caught with their pants down. Literally. And all because of a stupid, rookie mistake.
In their defense, the spot Benny and Dean pick is a good one, a safe one even, in Purgatory’s (admittedly shitty) standards. The inside of this stream meander can only be accessed from one side, the rest protected by the water, impossible to be crossed without being detected. Especially since Benny’s vampiric super-scent and super-hearing registers no enemies nearby.
The stream is clear, and Dean has been bitching about being dirty – and worse, his beloved jacket being dirty – for days on end, so it stands to reason that a pit stop is in order.
Now, it should be mentioned that even on his worst behavior, when Dean is basically just a growly, monosyllabic concentrate of bull-headed intent wrapped up in leather and armed to the teeth, marching through Purgatory’s endless forest in his quest to find the damn angel, he’s temptation personified in Benny's eyes. So it also stands to perfect reason that once Dean undresses to wash his clothes and then himself, there’s really no way Benny could possibly resist.
Which is why they end up fucking right there on the sandy shore, Dean on all fours and Benny bent over him, too drunk on the muffled groans Dean keeps swallowing and the heady smell of Dean’s arousal to notice something’s wrong before it’s too late.
The specters appear practically out of nowhere, materializing out of thin air less than ten yards away.
Dean and Benny both freeze for a split second before turning to look for their weapons. Which are just out of reach.
"Nuh-uh," one of the specters raises his crude axe in warning. "Don't even think of it."
There’s not much Benny can do like this. Aside from the obvious disadvantage of being unarmed and outnumbered, there's also the fact that his movements are restricted by the pants around his thighs, so any attempt at a sudden attack is out of the question. Which means it’s up to Dean. Dean, who is buck naked, kneeling on the ground, and oh yeah, stuffed full of Benny’s still-hard dick.
“Wait,” Benny whispers into Dean’s ear, soft enough for only Dean to hear. Dean nods minutely, body tense, a coiled spring. He's clearly itching to make a jump for his blade, but that would get him nowhere with the specters as alert as they are, so he holds the violence in check. For now.
The specters draw a bit closer, approaching with caution. There’s four of them, a pack, clearly, which is pretty uncommon around here. You can’t trust nobody in Purgatory; sooner or later, everybody’s gonna turn on you.
“Trust me,” Benny tells Dean, feels another small nod. “Follow my lead.”
“Wow,” the specter with the axe says, a fascinated look on his face. “I heard one of the fangs was hanging out with the human. Couldn’t understand why you didn’t just suck him dry instead of dragging him around. But man,” he chuckles, cupping the front of his pants, “I get it now.”
“You got yourself a pretty fucktoy,” another specter adds, and they all laugh. They’re still holding their weapons ready, but they're loosening up gradually - confident in their superiority, they're not in any hurry to attack. In fact, they seem to be much more interested in other things, so that’s exactly how Benny’s going to play it.
“I know, right?” Benny leers at them over Dean’s shoulder, moving the hand he had around Dean’s middle slowly up. Unlike just moments ago, when Dean’s heartbeat was quick, now it’s steady and calm, just like always when a fight is brewing. He’s also still fully hard, just like always when a fight is brewing.
“Fuck, look at that mouth...” There's honest wonder in the third specter's voice. He's staring at Dean like he's the hottest thing he's seen in his entire life. Which Dean probably is.
“Knows how to use it, too,” Benny winks and taps two fingertips against Dean’s lips until they part and Dean sucks the digits inside, to the soundtrack of four simultaneous sharp inhales from the specters. “I got real lucky with this one.” He’ll get his ass kicked for this later, but as long as there’s a later, he’s fine with it.
The specters follow the path of Benny’s spit-slick fingers as he teases Dean’s right nipple, then the left one. Dean must be getting what Benny’s trying to do here because he does something he’s never done before – he lets out a long, loud moan. Then another, when Benny can’t help himself and thrusts forward, into Dean’s tight heat.
Rocking back, Dean gives another moan and lets his head fall back against Benny's shoulder, baring the long stretch of his throat to the monsters standing in front of him. The perfect image of accessible vulnerability, free for the taking, all you have to do is reach out.
Transfixed, the specters look on, until finally one of them breaks out of the spell Dean cast on them, clearing his throat. “Sorry, mate, but your luck’s just run out,” he informs Benny, although his eyes still keep flicking to Dean. “We’re taking this one.”
“Alright, chief, whatever you say,” Benny answers peacefully, raising both hands up in surrender. Dean drops to all fours as if he doesn’t have the strength to hold himself upright, playing up the innocent sex kitten act. Benny has a hard time trying not to laugh at that, so he redirects his attention to the specters. “He’s yours, alright? You let me walk out of here alive and I’ll let you fine gentlemen have him. But can I finish first? Kind of a last memory, you know…”
The specters exchange glances before the one who seems to be their leader shrugs. “Fine, whatever. Just make it quick.”
“Will do,” Benny promises and wraps both arms around Dean again to haul his upper body upward, putting all that beauty on display for their audience. “It’ll be over quickly, you got my word.” He hides his smirk into Dean’s neck as he speeds up his pace.
"Yes," Dean breathes out; whether in confirmation of Benny's dark promise or in reaction to the change of pace, Benny isn't sure. What he is sure of, though, is that Dean's getting off on this, hard. Maybe it's the filthy compliments coming from the specters, maybe it's being wanted, or maybe it's the thrill of danger. Though Benny would put his money on a combination of all of the above, plus a dozen other things, probably. Dean is a very complex man, but he has an admirable ability to find simple pleasure in all kinds of places.
"That's right, give it to him good," a specter's voice cuts through Benny's musings, backed by similar comments from his companions. "Fuck him harder."
But Benny doesn't need any encouragements from them, he's got something far better right in front of him.
Dean is moaning and groaning and fucking mewling, hands clutching at Benny’s thighs, ass pushing back to meet Benny’s every thrust, cock a hot, hard length in Benny’s hand when he starts jerking him off again. “Please,” he begs, sounding wrung-out, desperate, and Benny feels a pang of regret that he doesn’t get to have Dean like this every time they fuck. Once they get topside, he’s going to find someplace safe and take his sweet time with Dean, worship the man the way he deserves, make him cry tears of laughter with how good they can be.
The vision of Dean like that, on a real bed, flushed and trembling on sweat-soaked sheets, open and loved, all defenses down, freely reacting to Benny’s every touch – for real this time, not just as an act – is what pushes Benny over the edge, his orgasm crashing through him like a freight train.
“Fuck,” he groans, burying his human teeth into Dean’s neck as he comes, and feels hot wetness spurt over his fingers as Dean follows him soon after.
For several long seconds, there’s no sound but for the water burbling behind them and Dean’s exaggeratedly harsh, labored breathing.
“That was so hot,” one of the specters says, and when Benny looks up, he can see that they've all abandoned their weapons in favor of jerking off now. “Come on, hand him over.”
“Yeah, come here, doll,” the leader steps forward, offering a hand to help Dean up. “You’re not done yet.”
Benny pulls out of Dean, forces himself to stay where he is while Dean lets the specter take him by the hand and pull him to his feet, swaying as if he’s unsteady, weak. He fakes a stumble as he follows the specter, going down to the ground and rolling towards his weapon. He grabs it in his right hand and throws a handful of sand at the specters with the left, already in motion again. The specters aren’t expecting any of this, so by the time they realize they’ve been played, one of them is already missing his head.
“You son of a –“ Their leader starts, finishing with a wet wheeze as Dean's blade pierces his lungs. The third one gets a few punches in, even nicks Dean’s side with his knife, but in the end, Dean makes short work of getting rid of him, too, turning around just in time to see Benny slitting the fourth specter’s throat.
“Man, now I gotta wash up again,” the hunter complains, staring disgustedly at the blood spattered all over him. “I fucking hate this place.” He strides into the stream and starts splashing water on himself angrily.
Benny does up his pants, wipes his weapon on the closest specter’s shirt, and goes to check if the corpses have anything useful on them. “It has its merits,” he says when he looks up, eyes landing on Dean who’s wading out of the stream, now clean again.
Dean scowls at him and shakes his head, droplets of cool water flying everywhere. “Don’t even talk to me, you bastard. You were showing me off to those fuckers, and you loved it. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“Wasn’t going to,” Benny grins. “You’re a sight to behold. Besides, something tells me you kinda enjoyed it too. Don’t even try to deny it.”
Dean’s still scowling as he starts to pull his jeans up over damp skin, but the corners of his mouth are twitching as he fights a smile. “Shut up and watch out.”
“I am watchin’, brother.” The still-wet t-shirt Dean just wrestled on clings to his body in all the right places.
Apparently torn between being flattered and annoyed, Dean rolls his eyes, then ducks his head to hide a smirk, and finally solves the dilemma by bending down to retrieve the rest of his clothes and gear. “We don’t wanna get jumped by every freak that lives around here, remember?”
Reluctantly, Benny turns to face the forest from which possible danger could emerge. “Sure. But you can’t exactly blame the poor bastards for trying. I mean, I’d jump your bones any time.”
Fully dressed now, Dean stands next to Benny to give him a mock-offended glare. “You saying you only like me for my body?”
“Absolutely,” Benny deadpans and lazily dodges Dean’s half-hearted attempt to cuff him on the head.
“Well, in that case I expect flowers and dinner the next time you want me to put out.”
“Sure thing, Dean.”
Dean chuckles. “Come on, we should head out.” He starts walking.
Benny follows, his attention divided between admiring the bow of Dean's legs (slightly more pronounced than usual, he notes with pride), keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings, and silently wondering whether Dean likes gumbo or jambalaya. Finally, he decides he should probably try something less exotic first. Judging by the food Dean usually raves about, he's probably not much of an adventurous guy. Culinarily speaking, that is.
“Hey, Dean, how do you feel about pecan pie?”