Work Text:
Last Orders
You'd had a long day. Hell, every day was long. You barely remembered the time or date most days, just driving and running. It had been that way for too long - childhood a distant and hazy memory that only resurfaced in dreams. At twenty you'd lived a longer life than most.
It hadn't started like that. You'd grown up almost verbatim like the American Dream: a loving and doting mother, kind and benevolent father, older and wiser brother, and you, the bright and energetic youngest. And then...you grimaces at the memory of your sweet sixteenth. You'd walked downstairs, new dress smoothed under your fingers, hair curled and makeup finished. You'd been smiling with excitement all day, when you woke, when you changed, when you walked downstairs and saw the corpses of your family piled at the bottom of the staircase. Blood everywhere. You cleared your throat. Childhood was a dream.
This was real life.
'Another, please.' You muttered to the woman at the bar, you'd noticed was 'Joan' on her label. You noticed a lot, it was what you were good at. Tonight was no exception, and no amount of alcohol could numb it. You were all too aware of the gun hidden underneath the bar, the one the younger bartender kept anxiously looking at and checking. It was fair enoug - you had enough knives concealed on you to take out half of the bar. The way most people knew smoke meant a fire, was the way you sensed these things. The same way you knew that the man two seats away from you was drinking after quitting his job in retail, and the woman beside him was a hired sex worker. The same way you knew the group of rowdy men in the corner were regulars every day here. The same way you knew that the two men on the other side of the bar weren't.
One of them was almost skittish. Looking at every dark corner. His back was never exposed. His hand circled his drink but never lifted it. His other never left his concealed gun. Either they'd had a bad day, or this late-twenty-something year old man was borderline paranoid. Or, you thought for a second, maybe he knew what you knew. That monsters walked among us. That many of them were us.
The other barely moved. He held a whiskey glass in his hand, downed it, and pointed for more. A man of many words, you smirked. His face was hard, set, beautiful. His frame was big, his arms almost too big for his coat, his posture tight, military. His eyes distant. They held a lot in them, a lot of history. His eyes suddenly flicked up to yours, and you saw a flicker of emotion before he looked away. He was too much trouble, you thought. Dangerous. He's seen too much. The other, however? The taller one? He'd do.
Almost formulaically, you shifted off your jacket. Larger than you, it hid your frame. The vest you had on underneath, however, didn't. It accentuated your curves, with a well placed necklace, and a ridiculously tiny skirt, it was impeccable bait. You pulled the pin out of your hair, your long curls unfolding and falling over your shoulders. You felt eyes on you immediately. The bartender finally brought over your drink.
'Thank you,' you said to her, and you sensed the taller one looking up from their conversation as you said it. You felt his eyes follow your bare arm as you took up your glass to your lips. You smiled, and took a sip.
You were here on a case. You'd been following a trail of bloody murders - all the way down the east coast, left out in the open for anyone to see. It seemed the killer had no worries about being caught, something that aggravated you when you saw the way the victims had been treated. Like playthings, like toys. The killer, you'd gathered, had to be somewhere between twenty to thirty-five, white male, and strong. They most likely had some sort of trauma from their childhood and had recently experienced a trigger that led to them killing again. No one from this town would do that to their own people. But newcomers, newcomers who were perhaps a little skittish, now they might.
'Whiskey sour?' a voice asked to the left of you. You turned, finding the tall man you'd watched earlier standing before you. What a catch.
'That's pretty observant from the other side of the bar,' you teased, smiling up at him.
'Well, I know my drinks,' he replied, smiling and revealing a dimple. You looked at him as he spoke - he too had a tightness around his shoulders. His eyes did seem to hold a little too much - perhaps too much loss. You were beginning to doubt whether this man was who you were seeking.
'As do I. I'm pretty new here though, do you know any other good bars?' You asked. Casual. Not too pushy. But still, you were checking.
'Um, not really. Me and my brother are just passing through. We have a job to take care of, and then we'll be on the road again,' he said. His voice tightened at word 'job'. You sensed the other man, the brother, tuning into your conversation.
'What kind of work do you two do?' You asked, leaning forward a little. You felt him stiffen a bit at your proximity. He could smell your perfume, you guessed, and could see your exposed chest and collarbone. You felt another's eyes watching you move. Heat over you, dragging over your body.
'We're somewhat detectives.'
'Detectives, huh? You gotta badge?' You questioned, 'There I was thinking you were military.' You played with his coat, and he smiled a little at you as you pulled him in closer.
'Well, funny you say that-'
'Sammy, you need to go.' A gruff voice cut him off. Sam's eyes snapped to a tall man stood behind you. Surely his brother, you noted, but Sam's immediate snap to attention suggested the one behind you was older. Tougher. And perhaps knew exactly what game you were playing.
'Sure. Uh, sorry, I've uh- work calls. It was lovely to meet you though, um-' He started, flustered but ensuring to look you in the eyes as he spoke, showing his full attention and meaning.
'Grace.' You replied, combing your hair to the side, revealing a neck tattoo on the back of your neck, as he left. You were all too aware that the man behind you did not move, or even attempt to, as his brother left the bar. You could feel his breath on your neck though, how it seemed to falter a bit when you moved. You left it a minute. Let him speak first.
'You been in town long, Grace?' he started with. You didnt turn as you replied.
'No.'
'For business or for pleasure then?'
'Both.'
'Hm' he replied. At this, he turned your chair a little, to face the bar. He leant against it as he said his next words.
'You had a lot of questions for my brother didn't you?'
At this, you raised your eyebrow. He was asking you a lot of questions. He wasn't exactly being defensive - he felt more assertive. What point was he trying to make?
'You sure have a lot for me, Dean.' You said. At this, he stiffened, and you smiled. Taking people off guard was amusing, but it was better when it was someone like you. Someone who could do what you did. 'Calm down, I heard your brother call you Dean earlier. I'm assuming you're not employed in education, so I took a guess at your name. Call it morbid curiosity.'
'Very good. You're observant. Why?' He said, matter of factly. You turned your face, finding his closer than you thought. His eyes were genuine, his interest genuine. He'd determined you were not a threat.
'I have to be.'
'Do you also have to carry ten knives on you?' He added. At this, you laughed.
'Okay, very good.' They always missed the last one, you thought to yourself.
'Not including the pin you took out of your hair,' he added, taking your drink and finishing it. You started to form a reply when he finished with, 'It was lovely to meet you Sophie.'
At this, he left the bar. You froze. Sophie? How on earth had he found your name? Who was this man? Your only conclusion you could draw in that moment was one: that he was dangerous. And bad news. And you had to follow him.
You threw a couple of notes at the bar and ran out, following Dean. You reached the cold air only to find no one in the parking lot. Just darkness and silence. It frustrated you.
'Who are you?' You yelled, angry. How dare he call you Sophie. How dare he know your name. How dare he.
'Who are you?' He replied loudly, appearing from behind you and pushing you against a wall. His hands locked your arms against you, but your fingers worked quickly, unsheathing a dagger from your forearm and scratching (pushing into) his abdomen. He groaned, knocking it out of your hands, bringing his left hand to your neck and forcing your head upwards.
'You want information out of my brother? You go through me. You new to this town? You've been new to the past four we've been to. You think you're observant huh? Try to be a little less obvious you murdering bitch.' He spat at you.
'Leaving a trail of bodies isn't my calling card you fucker,' you spat back, twisting out of his reach and kicking his knee, temporarily wounding him long enough to grab his gun from behind and push his head against the wall. 'Your turn to speak. You and your brother have just happened to be following this thing leaving bodies in its wake, but you've really not realised who it is? Bullshit. You know its an angel. I've seen you speaking to it before.' You spat on the ground. 'That thing isn't human, and it isn't good. I know you can take it out. You're weak. Both of you.'
He scoffed before he moved. The two of you were almost dancing at this point, you grabbed his gun, he unsheathed another dagger. You span and landed circling each other.
'That thing is our friend. He's just in a rough place at the moment,' he admitted, lurching towards you, unsheathing a dagger and shrugging. You grunted in annoyance.
'Oh is he? You call ten bodies in three towns 'a rough place'?' You cried, jumping onto him and landing a punch against his shoulder. You brought your hand back to go again but he caught it.
'You wouldn't understand Sophie-'
'How do you know my name?' You seethed, he now had you against the wall, squirming to get free. He was enjoying this, you realised, as he slowed his breathing.
'I know a lot of things,' he whispered, his low voice awakening something inside you. You brushed it off, pushing against him again, with no success. He continued: 'I know you take out bad things. I know you do it alone. I know you had a terrible childhood, and I know because I did too. I know you're hiding another dagger somewhere. I know you've been watching my brother all evening. I know that you noticed me first. I know that you know too much. And I know,' he added, leaning against you fully, 'that your body likes when I do that.'
You tried to ignore how you faltered as you felt him against you.
'Yeah? You know what I know?' You started. If he was playing this way, you would too. You closed your hands around his, hooking a leg around his. His eyes widened, mouth opening a little in surprise, attraction lacing his breath.
'I know that you had a military father who treated you like a soldier. I know that your brother looks to you for help. I know that you carry his and others' wellbeing on your shoulders. I know you have another gun in your trousers, and that you prefer the one I have. I know that you watched when I took off my jacket. I know you can smell my perfume and that you like it. And I know you like it when I do this,' You said, pulling his shoulder towards your head as you traced your hand down his front, your lips to his ear, 'or maybe you dont? Your dick says otherwise,' you whispered, lips tracing his jawline as he pulled away a little, eyes meeting. His were full of desire. You couldn't stop thinking about his hardness against you. How it would feel inside.
'You are unlike anyone I've ever met.' He muttered softly , almost against his own will. His hand left yours only to trace your jawline. You could leave. You could.
But his touch made you a little crazy.
'I'm dangerous.' You replied softly, eyes not leaving his. You noticed it was hard to talk. To think. To do anything, really.
'As am I,' he breathed, almost coming out as a whimper as you rocked your hips against his, almost out of reflex. Your body wanted his. You could feel his bulge against you.
His eyes caressed your face, dragging over your eyes, lips, jawline. He looked at you again, waiting, holding. You gave a slight, imperceptible nod.
He brought his lips to your jawline, neck, kissing softly. His touch was electric, his kiss light but burning. You could feel him against you, and pushed your hand into his hair as his tongue circled the freckle on your neck. He moved slowly, thoughtfully, painfully slowly. You moaned in enjoyment when he reached your breast, hands clutching at your boobs and your waist, pulling you into him, as close as you could be. You groaned in pleasure.
'Don't make that noise again, god,' he whispered, words laced with desire and need. You pushed him away from your neck, eyes locked again.
'Stop making me,' you whimpered, lips speaking against his. You playfully nipped at his lips, desperate for a taste. He got the message, lips almost crashing into yours. His tongue in your mouth, both of you tasted like whiskey and need. It was deep and intense, fuelled with desire and lust. Your hand plunged into his trousers, hand over his boxers, feeling the length of him and rubbing against him a little. He groaned in pleasure against your mouth, hips automatically rocking against your hand. He was big, and fucking gorgeous. You kissed deeper, stronger, pulling at each other, needing more. Needing to get closer. Needing him inside. Needing his hands in you, and now.
He suddently pulled your hand away, pushing off the wall. You'd forgotten you were even outside.
He took a couple of steps back, physically distancing himself from you. You were a little undressed, hair messy, breathing heavy. He had lust in his eyes.
'Not here.' He said, forcing the words out. Wordlessly, you followed as he walked towards the motel across the road.