#i fucking freehanded all these hands! i have been practicing a LOT these past couple years
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MORE PROGRESS SHOTS BABYYYYY
[WIP]
#these are out of order#drawfee#Drawtectives#truebeans#Jancy true#day 4 of my musculature and nervous system being totally fucked but today was a lot better#wip#i can't decide exactly what i want joe to say in each panel#look at that fucking nose I'm so proud of that dang nose#suggestions for dialogue are welcome but i cannot guarantee I'll use it i will just be happy to hear it lol#just more fuel for this gay little fire#i fucking freehanded all these hands! i have been practicing a LOT these past couple years#and i still need to be faster but i have come so far and that rules#like i am actually a good enough artist now that it is at the level i need it to be for a graphic novel! fucking amazing!#the catch is that it will take me 30 years to complete so. yeah i gotta gO FAST#the only thing for it is practice and study but luckily I'm gay and autistic so that's gonna happen anyway#the learning goal of this comic is experimenting with simplified color schemes and a simplified pencil art style#except I totally got carried away and the art style is actually way more detailed than if I had just used a normal pen tool#it is a super satisfying way to draw though so it's a win-win#so excited to be done house sitting at the end of the week and then never leave my apartment to go on a trip ever again#or at least not for a hot minute#I worked really hard to set up my desk at home and I have never before so longed for the cold comforting glow of my huion tablet
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Killing Time
Because nothing can kill a relationship like lies.
A modern AU where crosshair is a hitman and you're his loyal girlfriend who happens to be in the bodyguard business, but neither one of you know the other's careers
Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, making oit and allusions to smut, also this is in no way accurate to real life and it's just dramatic, please don't hurt me lol
children you have full permission to run away and not come here, in fact please run away
Very few things phased you. The only things that brought you to your precipice of agitation was burning pasta, your phone charger not working, and showing up to your shift only to realize someone had been killing all your clients.
Who said keeping people alive was easy? No one, that was who, and if anyone said it they were wrong or had no experience working with others whatsoever. Making sure others lived to see their next day was deadly business, for the people that were trying to live, at least.
“Charles!” You barked, feet hitting the floor of the bull pen. “What the hell happened?” You slammed your files on your desk, face warm, head just about collapsing with pressure. Your fingers pressed to your temples, hoping that they would grip it, hold it together. “Burke was alive when I left last night.”
“Doesn't matter now." Your coworker dropped his sandwich onto his desk. "Burke is fucking dead now. As dead as a doorknob." He swallowed his bite. "Luckily, you weren't on shift when it happened, so you aren't gonna catch any fire for it."
"Shit, Charles, a man is dead." You collapsed in your chair, a gentle "oomph" escaping your mouth. Your lips pressed together in agitation and you moaned to yourself. "This is the third one in two months. Sure, I'll get a couple cold bodies, but-"
"But this is a lot." Charles sunk into his own chair, grabbing for his sandwich again.
You stared at him, disbelief coating your gaze. "One is a lot, Charles," You snarled, grabbing at the folder on your desk. "Any leads?"
"Oh, yeah. But they're all at Burke's mansion." Charles tossed the crust of his lunch into the trash can. "I can drive ya."
"No, I'll take my car," You grumbled. You swiped the keys from your desk and stood, stalking back towards the elevator, anger eating away at you.
If one more of your clients- YOUR own clients- got killed, you would have to start pulling full shifts again.
___
Your shoes, practical, did little more than tap against the marble floor as you ducked under the Police tape. You skimmed the scene, frowning, eyes gracing past a particularly nasty chunk of gore on the wall. "Shot from above," You mumbled, glancing at the shattered window.
The mansion was huge. You'd been coming here for nearly a year now to keep an eye on Burke, and it still shocked you when you saw the absolute volume of the home. How much house would one man need, exactly?
In your years as a bodyguard you'd watched out for a lot of people- spoiled celebrities, prideful and arrogant politicians, and a particularly interesting Chef who had an unusual desire to cook everything with some kind of caffeine in it. That was probably your favorite client.
"Excuse me, miss," a voice broke the mumble in the next room, probably of detectives or cops sweeping the house for evidence. "You shouldn't-"
"I was Burke's bodyguard." You tugged your badge out or your pocket, allowing the interrupting police officer to take it and examine it. “You can verify with my assistant, Charles. Make sure you tell him he’s my assistant and not the other way around, though, he can be a dick.”
The cop hesitated, then gave a slight nod. “Well, we’re still cleaning up the scene.” His hands offered your badge back, and you slid it into your back pocket, satisfaction deflating. “You can come by later after it’s clean. Ballistics is running comparisons right now.” He paused and glanced at the shattered window. “Looks like the shot came from the garage. It’s the only side with no motion sensors or alarms.” The cop’s brows raised in interest. “Know why?”
“No.” You said, calmly, turning towards the front door. “I assume I can go there?” You heard no objection as you stepped outside, tugging your sunglasses back on over your eyes. The sun was unforgiving and you gave an involuntary hiss as the bright rays hit your eyes just right to temporarily give your vision black spots. You blinked strongly and hurried towards the garage.
In truth, Burke had alarms everywhere except the garage because he had so many people and cars coming and going. For any new technology the billionaire was releasing, the man had drugs and other forms of entertainment coming in and out, and it was all stuff that would probably bring him down. That nondisclosure form was still somewhere in the house in some obscure filing cabinet and you really, really, really didn’t feel like having a lawsuit lurking over your shoulders. Life was too good- well, everything outside of people you were being paid to keep alive was good.
Death really killed the whole “survival” business.
You clamored your way to the roof of the garage, noting the ladder was the same one that the gardener used around the several acres Burke owned. The police had to have put it here- the gardener only came in the mornings.
So who the hell climbed up here without a ladder? Most people didn’t want to put in the effort to scale this freehand or wedge between the wall of the garage and the fence to shimmy up. That someone had to be either very determined to kill Burke, for personal motive or financial motive.
You brushed off you pants and glanced around, looking down at the surface of the roof. Nothing- not even a bullet casing- had been left behind. You frowned and raked a hand through your hair, skimming your scalp as you examined the roof, walking to the edge closest to the window.
You stared in, at the shattered glass, pondering. Burke was heading to bed when he'd been shot, you assumed, so the assassian would have had to know his routine. Your mind ran through possibilities again, but you could come up with none that were motivated personally enough or fit enough to climb without much assistance. You trailed along the surface, frowning, unable to find anything, but paused at a smudge of black paint, small, on the corner of the roof.
____
You turned your car down the street, exhaling softly as you pulled into your driveway.
99. That was what the marks said. Very subtle, meant nothing, unless it was a birth year or graduating class. The cops had come back, irritated, snapped a couple of pictures, and told you off about your wild theories of a fiscally motivated assassian. Apparently, you watched too many scret agent movies, or something like that.
You opened the door of the car and climbed out, frustration making you slam it shut. You inhaled the scent of the yard- clean, fresh cut, and perhaps it could help soothe your anger before you went inside.
After fumbling on your Keychain, you unlocked the door and hurried in, locking it behind you. "Cross?"
A savory aroma wafted from the kitchen, and your mouth watered. Your toes found their way out of your shoes and you hurried to the kitchen, pausing briefly at the doorway.
Cross's lanky figure was leaning over the skillet, stirring something, pale hands moving in expertise across the stove top. "Darling, you're late." He drawled.
You sighed, fully entering the kitchen. "Yeah. Sorry." You leaned up and wrapped your arms around his waist, face pressing against his back. You sighed. The day felt a little less bad now- filled with him. "Work kept me."
"How was work?"
You grunted. "A killer. An absolute killer." The irony was not lost on you, but it was lost to your boyfriend. He thought you were an editor for some book publishing company, because cover was the most important thing. You were one of those people trying to stay alive, after all.
Lies hurt, but it was one of the necessary ones. A little lie.
"Yikes." His hands drew plates to himself. "Mine wasn't much better. Got a few new clients, a few new cases." He sighed. "The Baliff forgot to submit evidence."
You mumbled against his shirt. "Law school really paid off, huh?"
"I'll say." He turned around, adjusting your arms, slowly taking your chin and leaning down to peck you. You always melted at his kisses, knees weak and brain numb, and he seemed to know it every time. You hummed, running your hands up his chest, the irritation for the day pooling to your midsection as your fingers gripped his shirt, your lips pulling in on his.
Cross tugged away gently, and you whined, fingers stubbornly clasped. "Wow, really frustrated today."
"Yes," You mumbled.
His lips pressed towards one of their corners in a half smile, and he picked your head. "Go shower. Then we can eat and I'll take care of you."
You hummed, fingers reluctantly releasing him, and you hurried away to the bathroom. You paused at the dresser, rummaging through, grabbing an especially large t-shirt and hipster underwear. Comfort was more important at the moment.
You climbed into the shower, turning the water to as hot as you could and scrubbing yourself off, humming in pleasure as the day came off you and went down the drain. The floral scent of the soap remained, the purple bad working diligently to rid you of your grime and frustration. Lavender really is a natural relaxant. You sighed and leaned back briefly on the tile, feeling every muscle in you ease at the same time.
After toweling off and getting dressed, your padded to the kitchen where Cross was pouring a your favorite wine. You sighed happily, accepting the glass as he skimmed your fresh-showered body. "Thanks."
"Of course." Cross picked up his own glass, taking a sip, eyes still diligently stripping you on their own. You shivered slightly, setting down your glass and looking up at him. "Dinner's ready," He mumbled, leaning in, pressing a hand to the counter of either side of you, leaving your back to the counter. "But I would much rather start with dessert."
You drew in a breath as he pressed his lips to your neck, drawing out a sigh with his teeth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, humming in agreement, and he scooped you up. Your groaned as he drew your legs around his lips, shifting, the agitating heat pooling back between your legs. "That's a good idea." You mumbled, whimpering as he bucked his hips slightly. "I just showered, though."
"Then we can take another one," He hissed, lips covering yours. "You're so damn intoxicating."
You mumbled something against his lips, unable to get a coherent response out as he dropped you on the bed. You bounced briefly, giggling, and he yanked off his shirt and joined you, climbing over you and hovering. "Come here, sweetheart," His finger traced over your shirt between your breasts, running down to the hem. "Let's end the day on a good note."
You whimpered, neck straining as you leaned up for his kiss, and you felt Cross snarl against you, tugging your surrendered form up closer to him. Your body relaxed again, neck loosening and head back against the pillow as he tugged your own shirt up, eyes gleaming with a primal eagerness that made you swoon, ready to work out the agitation for the day you both had.
#crosshair x reader#bad batch crosshair x reader#bad batch au#hitman crosshair#bad batch reader insert#clone force 99 reader insert#crosshair#crosshair x you#minty writes
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(ao3) dean/omc, character study, dean with tattoos, etc etc. expanded part of this.
Sonny was always more forgiving than John, about a lot of things. One thing that Dean was always grateful for, was that he felt that it was important for them to be able to be, y’know… kids.
So, Dean’s sixteen standing in the basement of some kid’s house from school, with a red solo cup in his hands. Robin’s here, somewhere, but he doesn’t know where she went. It doesn’t matter, they’re not together or anything, but he just – he thinks he likes her.
Maybe loves her?
Dean takes a sip of his beer and looks around the basement, feeling woefully out of place and also, absurdly excited to be here. He’s never been able to go to a party before.
Kyle – Kevin, maybe? – the kid who’s throwing the party, is yammering on in Dean’s ear and he tuned him out a while ago.
He feels his head bobbing along to the music without his permission and if Dean really focuses, he recognizes the voice singing. He’s heard her on the radio before in the Impala, but John never left it on for long.
Dean smiles to himself as the song changes, and this time it’s one he recognizes.
John would probably disown him and have a few choice words if he knew, but damn, he’s a teenager in the 90’s, of course he likes hip hop.
I love it when you call me Big Poppa.
“…Anyways, my brother comes home and he’s got this tattoo gun –“
Dean’s brain catches that last part of whatever this kid is saying (he’s really gotta remember his name) and it makes a lightbulb go off in his head. Huh.
“Hey,” Dean turns completely, so he’s facing the kid. “Does your brother actually tattoo?”
Kevin (Kyle? Ken?) grins, cross-faded beyond comprehension, “Hell yeah bro, he’s pretty good too.”
Some kid on the other side of the room yells before dive bombing off of the bar and the whole room erupts into loud, celebratory screams. It’s like, the perfect cliché high school party moment and Dean doesn’t even care that he’s missing it.
“Sick,” Dean remarks, feeling his own grin spread across his face. “Can he do one for me?”
Kyle (it’s a K name, he’s sure of it) claps a hand on his shoulder, shrugging, “I don’t see why not, man. Le’s go ask.”
He takes Dean’s hand abruptly and turns, pulling the two of them out of the main room in the basement and down a side hall. Dean tries to pretend that the heat spreading up his back to his face is just because it’s hot with all these kids crammed down here, and not because a cute boy is holding his hand. Especially since they’re having to shove past couples making out all up and down this narrow hallway and wow, it’s getting hard to focus.
It’s fine, right? Anybody would be blushing like this in Dean’s position. It’s not weird.
Kenny (fuck, he really should just ask him or something) drops his hand to knock on a door at the end of the hallway, “Jake!” He’s practically yelling and Dean chugs the rest of his beer when he feels the judgmental eyes of the couples turning to look at them. It’s fine, everything’s fine.
It takes a moment but then the door opens up and Dean’s brain fritzes out for a second.
Wow. Jake has gotta be the hottest guy he’s ever seen in real life.
Wait, what?
Jake glares at them, clearly amused that his little brother is fucking toasted, “What do you want Cam? You can’t make out with your boytoy in my room.”
Fuck, Dean swears internally. Not a K name then.
Cameron (allegedly) shoves Dean forward when he doesn’t say anything, “Not a boytoy. He wants a tat.”
It’s only at this point that Dean realizes he actually hasn’t said anything yet.
“Uh,” he tries, offering a hand to Jake. “Name’s Dean.”
He examines the offered hand for a moment and just when Dean’s certain the door is going to get slammed in his face, he looks up at Dean and says, “You got money?”
Dean nods, pulling his wallet out and handing over the $20 he got for doing a bunch of yardwork last weekend with some of the other boys from Sonny’s place.
Jake seems to think about it for another moment before sighing and opening the door wider, “Yeah, okay, why the hell not.” Dean nods, passing the $20 into his hand as he walks through the doorway.
Cameron makes a move to follow them but Jake stops him with a hand on his chest.
“No fucking way bro, I don’t want you anywhere near this with your drunk and germy ass.”
Absurdly, Dean feels a little lightheaded at the idea of being alone with this guy (or is it that he appreciates the consideration for his safety – he doesn’t want to think about it). He offers Cam a smile, “I’m good man, thanks.”
Cameron offers them both a salute with the same hand that his cup is in, and ends up spilling it on himself with a delighted cackle. “Aye-aye, Captain!”
Dean has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing.
Jake however, just slams the door in his brother’s face with an amused snort, “How drunk is he anyways?”
Dean hums, looking around the room with interested eyes, “I dunno… he’s been talkin’ to me for the last thirty minutes with that same cup, but I wasn’t really listening.”
The music is much quieter in here, and he can’t make out any of the words anymore. But the room is clean with really only some clothes near the dresser, and the desk in the corner is a little cluttered, but it’s – it’s nice. It feels… cozy.
Jake makes a noise of affirmation, walking over to start clearing off at least part of his desk, “How drunk are you?”
Dean snorts, his eyes flying over all the books stacked under a record player in the corner.
“I had one beer…” He drops down onto the floor and pulls a book off the shelf, turning to grin at Jake, “You got good taste.”
It’s a well-worn, well-loved copy of Cat’s Cradle. It looks almost as beat to shit as Dean’s is.
Jake doesn’t quite smile at him, but he does look thoroughly amused at Dean’s excitement, “Yeah, I do alright.”
Dean sets it back on the bookshelf and sighs contently, relaxing back against the bed, “You don’t really look old enough to be, y’know…” He watches him move around the room easily, cleaning off the desk and pulling a big case out from the foot of the bed, “Doing this.”
There’s a muffled yell from somewhere out in the basement, and then the sound of another crash, and Dean can’t even bring himself to wonder what he’s missing.
“Eh,” Jake shrugs, going through the motions that he’s clearly done many times before. “Dropped out the same week I got an under the table apprenticeship. Been doin’ it for almost two years now.”
Dean squints, mentally doing the math, “So, you’re… what? 17? 18?”
Jake glances over his shoulder at him, smirking, “Why?”
Even Dean’s slightly impaired brain catches the implied question, and he squirms a little bit on the carpet, shrugging. “Can’t a guy ask questions?”
They both go quiet after that for a couple minutes, Dean too embarrassed to say anything else, and Jake too focused to try and carry a conversation with a kid he doesn’t know.
Maybe ten minutes later, Jake claps his hands together and it makes Dean jump out of his skin. He tries to glare at him, but judging by the way Jake’s barely containing his laughter, it probably doesn’t come across as very threatening.
“Okay,” Jake turns so he’s facing Dean in his chair. “What do you want?”
Dean nods, leaning forward and grabbing another book off the shelf, “You know the portrait?”
Finally, Dean seems to be the one with the upper hand, because Jake is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.
“Uh…” He squints at Dean, a small bit of amusement threatening to break into a grin, “No?”
Because he’s kind of a brat, Dean scoffs and flips to the title page where the autograph and self-portrait are staring back at him, “You don’t know and it’s your book?!” He leans forward, stretching as far as he can to hand the book over to Jake.
He looks at it for a moment, barely containing his smile, “You want this?”
Dean nods, scooting around so he’s facing Jake’s desk. “Yeah.”
Jake looks back up at him, feeling a little bit bewildered by the request, “You’re sure?”
It takes a lot of Dean’s self-control not to groan, so he just nods and says, “Definitely.”
They just stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, but is probably thirty seconds, before Jake laughs outright and shrugs, “Yeah, okay.”
Dean squawks, indignant, and moves so he’s sitting at the foot of the bed instead of on the floor, “What? You think it’s dumb or somethin’?”
Jake seems to consider him for a moment before his smile softens, “Nah, it’s just…” He points his pencil at Dean, “You’re kind of a weird kid.”
Dean huffs, rolling his eyes, “I’m not a kid. I’m gonna be 17 in January.”
He doesn’t say that he’s never really been a kid. He doesn’t say that this isn’t his first beer, but this is the first time he’s been able to go to a party and stay for longer than ten minutes. He doesn’t say that this is the first time he’s ever felt like a kid, but that he’s not really good at being 16. He doesn’t know how to talk to kids his own age because they’re only thinking about the SAT’s and prom and the sports team they’re on, and Dean can’t stop thinking about his little brother being alone with John.
“I just,” he says instead. “I just really like his stuff.”
And he knows that Mary supposedly liked it too.
Jake shrugs, still smiling at Dean, “Hey man, I’m not complaining. Just, y’know…” He turns around and starts pulling things out of his desk, “Cam probably doesn’t even know who Vonnegut is.”
Dean snorts, pulling his legs up onto the bed to sit with them crossed, “No offense, but your brother is kinda dumb.”
At that Jake barks a laugh, his shoulders relaxing minutely, “You’re not wrong.”
They talk while he works, about what kind of music they’re into and the other authors they’ve read and Dean even talks about Star Trek, and Jake just listens to him talk for as long as he wants. There’s no calling him a nerd or interrupting him, he just… listens. Eventually he asks Dean after a couple minutes if he’d be okay with it being freehand. He agrees because all the practice drawings Jake’s been doing look damn near perfect (and, well, he’s sixteen and doesn’t know how tattoos work).
Dean goes over to the record player and puts something on when Jake’s ready to start.
Ramble On starts thrumming through the speakers, and they can just barely hear it over the music from the party. It’s kinda nice.
He helps Jake pull the desk closer to the bed and the whole time they’re talking like it’s normal and they’ve known each other forever.
“Okay,” Jake interrupts him before Dean goes off on another tangent. “Drop your pants.”
For a second, Dean thinks that the record player is actually the source of the record scratch he just heard but nope, that was his head. Somehow, all the color drains from his face at the same time the rest of him starts to feel too hot and his skin feels too tight.
Dean makes a choking noise that was supposed to be a ‘What?!’
Jake sets a hand on his arm, biting his lip to stop from laughing at Dean’s panic, “You said you want it on your thigh, right?” He doesn’t wait for Dean to respond, he just squeezes his shoulder and says, “I need to shave it.”
Some part of Dean’s brain powers back on and he swallows, not sure why he’s so panicked, “Yeah, uh –“ He forces a laugh, “Yeah, duh, I – I knew that.”
Mercifully, Jake turns around for a moment so that Dean can pull his jeans down. He hops up onto the bed, feeling a little exposed, and ends up pulling a pillow onto his lap for, uh… reasons.
“Okay,” Dean squeaks out. He clears his throat, trying to get it back down to its normal pitch, “I mean, uh…” He gestures at his leg, “Go ahead.”
That time Jake does laugh at him and that’s fine, that’s fair, Dean likes his laugh. It’s nice.
Jake makes quick work of shaving the spot, a consummate professional – or at least, Dean assumes he is. He’s never actually gotten a tattoo before.
The alcohol that gets poured over the spot and then wiped off makes him hiss through his teeth, mostly from the temperature than anything else. Jake squeeze’s his other knee, meeting Dean’s eyes again with a smile. “Sorry, almost ready to start.”
And jesus, what a picture he makes.
Dean’s not gay, totally not gay, but wow, Jake is… beautiful. If he was a girl, Dean wouldn’t be able to stop talking about how gorgeous and full his lips are. Ever since he turned 13, Dean’s gotten shit for his lips and he never really got the appeal before, but he thinks he might get it now. Because yeah, if Jake was a girl, Dean would totally want to kiss those lips.
And you know, from a totally Not Gay perspective, the guy’s got a really nice face – a strong jaw with as much five-o’clock shadow that an eighteen-year-old can grow, dark skin that makes the color in his lips pop and the slight bit of green in his eyes glow.
And that smile? Jesus, Dean’s man enough to admit it makes his heart do the same thing it does when Robin smiles at him. It’s a really, really nice smile.
And the fact that Dean suddenly can’t not imagine Jake on his knees, sucking Dean’s –
He shakes himself out of it and he can feel the blush spreading across… well, probably across his whole face really.
“Okay,” Dean chokes out, trying desperately to pretend he isn’t getting hard under the pillow.
Jake smirks make him feel like he knows what Dean is thinking about, but he’s kind enough not to say anything. Not that there’s anything to say, clearly, because Dean’s definitely Not Into Dudes, he’s just – he’s just… hot. Like a girl, or –
The song changes as Jake finally (finally) turns the machine on. He makes eye contact with Dean, giving him another out if he wants it, “You ready?”
No.
Dean swallows and offers him his cockiest grin, pretending he isn’t freaking out, “I was born ready.” There’s a moment where it feels like Jake’s going to back out, going to call Dean on his shit, but then he leans forward and draws the first line.
He brings a hand up to bite at his fist and has to choke back a yelp.
Jake looks up at him again, not even bothering to hide his amusement, “You good?”
Dean nods, “Yeah, I, uh –“ He smiles, embarrassed, “I’m good. Go ahead.”
Thankfully, Jake just goes back to work without any further comment. It doesn’t hurt really, it just feels… weird. Dean grimaces at one pass and oh, okay, yeah, maybe it hurts a little bit, but it’s not like getting hurt on a hunt bad.
He closes his eyes and lets his mind zone out while Jake works.
Because his brain is terrible and can never be trusted, the first thing that pops into his head is that if he popped a chubby thinking about Jake, a dude, on his knees in front of him, he might actually be gay.
And well, that’s just – that’s a can of worms he’s never going to touch, at least not until John is dead. He winces at the thought, imagining that his dad dying would be a good thing, and Dean feels guilty. This is why John left him here.
If Dean doesn’t get off this train of thought, he’s going to have a panic attack in front of this really hot nice guy and he’d rather not embarrass himself. He tries to focus on the music and that isn’t even working because Dean can feel his muscles fighting to move.
Jake must notice because he takes that time to start talking while he works.
He tells Dean about high school, and the shop that he’ll legally work at when he turns 18, and about how bad his parents freaked when he dropped out. He tells Dean about his brother, about this girl that he went on a date with last week that was in love with her roommate, about the concert he went to last month – about everything and nothing, and Dean forgets… everything.
He forgets to panic and he forgets that his leg has gone numb from the vibrations of the gun. He laughs more than he has in a while, and they’re real laughs, the ones that make his whole face light up.
In return, he tells Jake about Sam, about Robin, about how he’s never stayed in one place so long, about high school and how much he really likes physics. Jake calls him a nerd again and Dean just shrugs, trying to play it cool. Really, he’s just excited to feel like he understands something in school.
It takes a total of 30 minutes for Jake to finish. He cleans it off carefully, explaining to Dean the whole time how to properly take care of a tattoo and what the healing process is like.
Some part of his brain wonders if he should be taking notes, because Dean’s a little too lightheaded to be sure he’s going to remember all of this in the morning.
He must have said something to that effect out loud because Jake laughs, “Don’t worry man, I’ve got a pamphlet in my backpack from the shop that you can have.”
He looks at Dean again with that beautiful smile that makes Dean feel like he’s floating. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
The record player comes to a stop with a quiet click.
Before he chickens out, Dean surges forward and tries to pull Jake into a kiss – he misses, and ends up kissing just to the left of his mouth.
They both freeze for a moment and Dean should probably open his eyes to gauge the situation, but he’s terrified that he’s about to get thrown through a wall or something.
Fuck, he’s really stupid.
Instead, Jake huffs a laugh and brings his hand up to rest on the back of Dean’s head. “Hey, Dean?”
Dean squeezes his eyes tighter and has to lick his lips, his tongue ghosting over the corner of Jake’s mouth for a moment, before answering. “Yeah?” His voice breaks, but Dean can barely hear it over the hammering in his chest.
Jake smiles against his mouth, just breathing for a moment. “You ever kissed anybody before?”
He jerks his head to the side just a tiny bit, just enough to answer the question without having to move away. He’s still too scared to open his eyes.
Jake’s hand is big, big enough that his thumb ghosts over Dean’s jaw and it makes him shiver.
“Can I kiss you?”
Dean swallows, finally cracking one eye open.
Their foreheads are pressed together and Dean has never felt so… nervous before. Excited. Terrified. Hopeful. He licks his lips again and he shivers a little at the look Jake is giving him now, “Yeah… yeah, okay.”
This time, their lips actually make contact and – oh.
Dean makes a soft noise into it, one of his hands grabbing onto Jake’s forearm. He lets Jake take the lead here and just… tries to listen to his body. It’s better than he thought it would be. Jake’s lips are soft, and gentle, and plush and his brain flashes a mental image from before behind his eyes and Dean groans into it.
The groan makes it easier for someone, Dean’s not really sure who, to deepen the kiss. Jake stands up just a little bit, crowding closer to Dean on the bed, and Dean takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around his neck.
He nibbles at Jake’s bottom lip experimentally and it earns him a moan that makes Dean feel like he’s on fire. The hand that was on his head drops down to his lower back and some part of Dean’s brain chimes in with, I bet he could pick me up.
Dean whines at the thought, actually whines, and it would be mortifying if it didn’t make Jake make a truly beautiful sound in response.
He tries to lean up more into it the kiss but Jake pulls away, his lips a little swollen and a lot pinker. He closes his eyes for a moment while they both catch their breath and Dean licks his lips, unable to stop thinking about that noise.
“Dean,” Jake starts and he sounds like he’s really trying to argue with himself here. “Dean, look, we can’t –“
That seems to snap Dean out of it because suddenly it feels like everything’s crashing down around him and now, he can’t breathe for a totally un-fun reason.
The panic is clearly written across his face because Jake moves both of his hands to Dean’s cheeks. “Hey, Dean, look at me,” he sounds a little frantic with it. “Dean, buddy, just, look at me – please?”
“I’m sorry,” Dean blurts out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did wrong, I’m sorry, of course you don’t want to kiss me! Of course you don’t want to kiss me, you’re so cool and I’m just a kid and –“
He’s pulled up into another kiss and Dean’s brain totally fuzzes out with it.
God, he really likes kissing.
Long before he’s ready to stop, Jake pulls away again with a laugh and presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek this time. “Dean, I really like kissing you.” Dean thinks he probably looks really dopey right now, grinning up at him, and he feels like he’s maybe floating. “Yeah,” he giggles a little. “Me too.”
Jake presses a kiss to his forehead, so gentle and Dean feels like his heart is going to explode in his chest. “If you want to continue this…” He takes a step back so he’s no longer touching Dean and he laughs when Dean whines at him.
“Hey, no,” Jake’s grinning at him, and it’s a new grin than any of the other ones he’s seen tonight, and Dean feels like he can take on the world.
“If you, uh…” He brings a hand up to rub at his neck, looking away from Dean for a moment, “If you wanted to, y’know… continue this…” Jake gestures between the two of them and for the first time, Dean’s able to see that he’s not the only one who’s hard. That’s exciting.
“We should wait,” Jake finally says. “Until you’re, y’know… totally sober.”
Dean pouts, getting up onto his knees so they’re almost eye-to-eye.
(Has he mentioned how tall Jake is? Now that the floodgates are opened, all Dean can think about his climbing this kid like a god damn tree and wow, where the hell did that come from -)
“I’m totally sober.” He slurs the ‘s’ in sober, just a little bit.
Jake laughs, his hands coming up to rest on Dean’s hips to steady him, “Yeah okay, whatever you say.”
Dean tries to channel his little brother’s puppydog eyes, his arms coming up to wrap around Jake’s neck again, “Oh come on, pleeeease?”
A look flashes over his eyes, something a little dangerous peeking into that expression for a moment, and it’s gone as soon as it showed up. Jake smiles and kisses his forehead again, “Sorry buddy. Talk to me tomorrow morning.”
Dean sighs and pulls his arms away, crossing them over his chest. He looks adorable, not that Jake would ever tell him that.
He finally takes a full step backwards, this time completely out of reach, “So… do you like it?”
Because he’s still a little lust drunk Dean leers at him, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, “Yeah, dude.”
Jake rolls his eyes, wondering how he ended up in this situation, “The tattoo, idiot.”
Dean blinks owlishly at him for a moment, something finally clicking in his brain, “Oh, shit.”
He really did only have one beer, but he also got high with a couple of Robin’s friends before they got to the party, so Dean just tries to crawl off the bed like that on his knees, with his jeans around his ankles. Of course, Jake catches him before he slams face first into the desk. He’s a gentleman.
Dean yelps, his hands scrambling to grab onto Jake’s jacket. “Oh, shit, sorry.” His fingers dig into the muscles there and Dean makes a noise, “Oh wow, you’re strong.”
Jake doesn’t say anything, just deposits Dean safely onto the floor and takes a full two steps back. He’s a good guy, but he’s not a saint, and Dean seems intent on having all of his firsts in one night (which Jake wouldn’t recommend).
Dean pulls his jeans up enough to hop over to the full-length mirror by the door and his whole face lights up at the tattoo.
“Dude…” He doesn’t know how to communicate how this makes him feel. “It’s perfect.”
Jake covers it for him and helps Dean pull his pants on without disturbing the covering. He keeps a professional distance, and it’s driving Dean insane, but he’s getting close to missing his curfew anyways.
Neither one of them says anything until they’re at the door and Jake’s hand is on the knob. And then because he’s Dean, and he’s terrified and he doesn’t think he’ll do this again, he pulls Jake down into another kiss.
“Thanks,” he says against his lips.
Jake smiles, “My pleasure.”
---------------------------------------
The next time Dean sees Jake, it’s at a diner after school one day. They make out behind the dumpsters and Dean comes in his pants when Jake holds him up against the wall. It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so hot.
A couple days after that Dean’s got another $20 from raking Sonny’s neighbors’ leaves, and he asks Sonny to drop him off at Cam’s house to work on a school project.
Sonny agrees and because he’s Sonny, and he can read Dean like a book for some reason, he spends the whole ride over there talking about the birds and the bees. The first half of it Dean’s terrified that he somehow knows about Jake, but then he realizes that Sonny saw Robin kiss him the other day.
Turns out, Dean’s kind of a hot commodity in his age group.
“Look, Sonny, I appreciate it,” Dean interrupts before he gets to a clinical explanation of how sex with a girl works. “But that’s like…” He huffs, making a vague gesture with his hands, “A while away.”
Sonny ‘harrumphs’ a pleased, gruff noise, and nods as they pull up to Cameron’s house, “Well that’s good to hear, kiddo. But you let me know when it gets there.”
Dean squirms in his seat, “Yeah yeah, sure, I’ll let you know.” He looks over at the house, “Can I get out now?” Sonny rolls his eyes and mumbles something about ‘damn kids.’
“Thanks Sonny, I’ll be home by 10!” He yells as he gets out of the car and runs up to the door. Sonny yells at his back, “9!” Dean turns to glare at him when he gets to the door but sighs and gives him a thumbs up.
That should be plenty of time anyways.
Jake opens the front door and both of the boys wave to Sonny before he actually pulls away from the curb.
Dean pushes him into the house once the truck is out of view and grins, “I want another tattoo.” He considers the situation for a moment before adding, “Please.”
Jake rolls his eyes, “I thought you just wanted to see me.”
A moment of panic flashes over Dean’s face and Jake sighs, remembering himself, “Sorry. Nobody’s home, it’s just me.”
He pulls Dean down the hall into the living room where the TV’s playing, “See? No parents, Cam’s at practice, Ali’s at a friend’s house.”
Dean looks around the room, taking Jake’s hand in his, “Oh… okay.”
They both watch whatever’s on MTV for a few minutes, just standing there in the middle of the room. Janet Jackson’s dancing with an animated cat, and it’s really weird, and then suddenly Dean hears himself say, “Hey, after, can I suck your dick?”
Jake sounds like he’s choking on something before it turns into a slightly hysterical laugh, because he’s now spent a total of at least two hours with Dean and he’s still floored by him.
But now, Dean’s the one staring at him like he’s lost his mind (also, like he wants to eat him) and Jake audibly swallows. “Uh… maybe.”
Sure, he’s got more experience than Dean does, but this is… a big responsibility.
For God knows what reason, Jake really likes Dean.
He barely knows this kid, but it feels like he’s known him forever. Dean is smart and he’s funny and he has great taste in everything, and he doesn’t think Jake is throwing his life away or whatever for not going to college. He thinks that Jake is talented and back behind the diner, Dean had told him that he thinks Jake’s going to be really famous one day.
It was kinda nice.
They go downstairs to Jake’s room after a couple minutes and Dean pulls a piece of notebook paper out of his backpack, “Here go.” He pulls the twenty out of his back pocket and offers it to Jake with a sheepish smile, “If it’s not enough, I can make more, it’ll just take me a couple days.”
Jake hesitates for a moment, looking back down at the sketch on the paper and then up at Dean, “Don’t… don’t worry about it.”
It’s the opening chords for Hey Jude.
He doesn’t have to know Dean very well to know that a sixteen-year-old boy who wants to get Hey Jude tattooed on him probably has some sentimental value tied to it.
Dean frowns, looking nervous for the first time since the other night, “Are you sure? I mean –“
Jake kisses him briefly, damn near chastely, to head off a bickering argument.
“I’m sure.”
It’s worth it for the smile Dean gives him anyways.
It’s easier this time, now that Dean knows what to do, and that they’re more comfortable with each other. Dean tells him about the wrestling team, about this project he really is working on with Cam, about how Robin kissed him the other day.
Jake smiles without looking up from what he’s cleaning, “Oh?”
Dean sighs, flopping back down on the bed, “It was a good kiss…” He knows that Jake can’t see him like this, but suddenly he feels a little too vulnerable so he covers it up like he always does.
“Didn’t make me come in my pants though.”
Jake’s laugh is loud and beautiful, and Dean watches him from an awkward angle on the bed.
They keep talking while Jake gets everything set up, goes through the motions of preparing Dean’s other thigh, and it isn’t up until the gun’s buzzing in his hand that Dean stops talking.
Jake squeezes the knee under the Vonnegut tattoo he did last week (that’s healing beautifully), “Hey.” He smiles at Dean, “You ready?”
Dean nods, but he doesn’t really say anything.
He’s wanted this one ever since he was twelve and he met a hunter who had the EKG of her dead daughter’s heartbeat tattooed on her arm. He doesn’t have anything like that from mom, nothing that is tangibly her, but he does have this song.
And yeah, maybe Dean’s a sap or a pussy, whatever. He loves his mom.
He watches the top of Jake’s head without sitting up and sighs tiredly, “You know…” Dean licks his lips, his voice a little too quiet, “I think my mom would like you.”
Jake pauses for half a second, not sure if he heard that right, but continues tracing over the lines on Dean’s thigh.
If Dean noticed the lack of response, he doesn’t seem to care.
“I don’t know what she’d think about you being a dude,” Dean sighs, his eyes looking back up at the ceiling. “But I think she’d like you.”
Jake smiles to himself, “Tell me about her?”
This time, Dean’s sigh sounds more dreamy than sad, “I don’t really remember much… I was four when she died.” He pauses for a moment, definitely not collecting himself or anything, “But she was my best friend.”
He feels tears welling up in his eyes but he ignores them.
“She made me chicken and rice soup when I was sick… I’m not sure if they’re memories or dreams, but I think we used to play dress up when I was like 3. She’d let me try on her dresses… oh, and she let me play with her makeup.” Dean laughs, blinking away the tears, “When my dad would come home hammered and screaming at us, she’d always come and find me wherever I hid. She’d hold me until I felt safe again… even when she was pregnant with Sammy.”
Jake doesn’t say anything, but he does squeeze Dean’s knee again.
“She was so brave… I’m sure she’d hate that I remember it, but oh man,” he laughs. “I remember when I was like three and a half, mom came home from a trip and I had this big bruise on my face. She went and got dad’s shotgun from the closet and chased him out of the house.”
It’s not a good memory, but it’s the last time anybody ever tried to protect Dean from John.
They’re quiet for a few minutes and right before he starts on the second pass, Jake finally asks, “How’s… how’s your dad?”
Dean laughs again, but it’s a bitter, angry laugh.
“John’s fine. John’s great.” Dean snorts and brings a hand up to wipe his face dry, “John told the cops to let me fucking rot in juvie.” He leans up just enough to make eye contact with Jake, “Oh yeah, I don’t know if you knew that, I’m living at Sonny’s.”
Because Dean seems to need to get some stuff off of his chest, Jake just goes back to work.
Dean flops back on the bed again, “Wanna know why I got arrested?” He waits for a minute before actually saying anything. Dramatic effect and all that.
“I stole food.” He laughs and steadfastly ignores how much he’s crying now, “My fucking dad left us for so long, I ran out of food and there’s no god damn truck stops around here –“
Oops, he hadn’t meant to say that.
For his part, Jake doesn’t really react to that. Dean won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
“…I had to get something for Sam to eat.” He sniffles, bringing an arm up to cover his eyes, “That was my big crime worthy of rotting in juvie for. Stealing some fucking bread and peanut butter from a store because my dad can’t do his only fucking job.”
Dean laughs again, “And now I’m here for fuck knows how long, and Sam’s with dad and –“ The laugh turns into a sob, “I’m not there to protect him.”
Jake lets out a breath as he finishes the last line and turns his gun off. He does a quick, cursory wipe of the tattoo and pulls his gloves off before climbing onto the bed and on top of Dean.
He’s fully, fully crying now, and Jake doesn’t like that.
So, he pulls Dean into his arms, slots a leg in between his, and uses that leverage to flip them so that Dean is laying on his chest. Dean wraps his arms tighter around Jake and hides his face in his neck, because this has to be the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to him. Worse than walking home with sticky jeans.
Jake rubs his back while he cries and he, blessedly, doesn’t try to say anything. There’s no pity, not placating, no platitudes, just a firm physical reminder that Dean’s not alone in his grief. He does occasionally press kisses to the top and sides of Dean’s head and Dean feels so wonderfully, devastatingly cherished.
If he was a better man, it would make him cry even more.
It takes him a little while to calm down, until his breathing no longer sounds like hyper ventilating. There’s definitely a snot stain on Jake’s shirt and Dean snorts when he’s aware enough to notice it.
“What?” Jake hums, running a hand through Dean’s hair, “What’s so funny?” Dean tucks his head further into his chest and sighs, “I left a snot stain on your shirt.”
After a beat Jake just shrugs, “Easier to get out than a come stain.”
The answer takes Dean by surprise and he has to pull back so that he can laugh sufficiently.
It gives them both a new angle to look at each other, and Dean can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed anymore. He’s sure that he looks gross, his face is definitely all snotty and red and swollen, but Jake’s still looking at him the same way he has every time. Like Dean is something weird and wonderful and exciting, and Dean’s never felt like anything but a burden before.
So, yeah. He doesn’t mind so much that he cried in front of this hot boy that Dean kinda likes.
Jake brings a hand up to Dean’s cheek and wipes a stray tear away. Because he’s secretly desperate for affection, Dean can’t help but lean into it, turning his head just a little to kiss the hand.
“Dean…” Jake sighs and looks away for a moment, clearly debating whether he should say what he’s thinking or not.
No, he decides. Dean doesn’t need a lecture.
“You’re a really good guy.”
It seems to be the right thing to say, because Dean flops down on top of him again and pulls him into a new hug. Jake makes an ‘oof’ noise at the impact before he laughs, “And you’re apparently a cuddle whore.”
Dean snorts, snuffling even closer to him, “Shut up.”
Jake presses a kiss to the top of his head, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.
“It’s okay. I like cuddling.”
Jake doesn’t see Dean for a couple weeks.
Finally, he’s home at the same time as his brother long enough to ask if Dean’s doing okay. Cam informs him that Dean hasn’t been at school for the last week and a half. There’s a rumor going around that he got expelled, but he doesn’t actually know what happened.
So the next day, on his way home from work, Jake pulls up to Sonny’s and parks his bike in front of the sign. Sonny’s Home For Boys.
Right.
He hesitates for a moment, not sure if this is going to fuck things up for Dean, before he finally talks himself into just… asking. What’s the harm in asking?
The kids playing in the front yard don’t even look up at him, even as he hops up the front steps. Jake stops at the front door and hesitates just long enough that the door opens in his face before he even gets a chance.
He vaguely knows Sonny, has seen him around, but they’ve never actually met.
As it stands, Sonny’s just glaring at him like Jake’s existence is a deep imposition to him.
“Can I help you, son?”
Jake smiles awkwardly, “Uh, yeah, I –“ Shit. He didn’t think this far ahead.
Sonny crosses his arms over his chest, “Are you looking for someone?”
“Yes!” Jake laughs a little bit, “Yeah, I uh…” He winces, “I was looking for Dean? My brother goes to school with him and he hasn’t seen him in a little bit…”
Sonny’s face is infuriatingly understanding for a moment. “Ah.”
His posture relaxes and he offers Jake a small smile, “He’s gone, kid. His daddy came and picked him up a couplea’ weeks ago.”
Jake figured as much, but it still takes him by surprise how much it hurts to hear it out loud.
He returns the smile, “Oh, well…” He laughs, “My brother’s gonna be bummed. Him and Dean were, y’know, pretty…” Jake swallows, “Pretty close.”
Sonny’s looking at him like he knows a little too much.
“I should, uh,” Jake points back at the road, “I should probably go, then.”
He takes a couple of steps backwards, offering a hand up in lieu of a wave, “I’ll just get out of your hair. Thank you, thanks.”
Jake makes it to the end of the driveway before he hears Sonny yell at him from the front porch, “Hey, kid!”
He turns around, feeling a little bit absurd all of a sudden, “Yes sir?”
“He liked you too, you know.”
#spn fic#mackenzie attempts fics#sex work mention cw //#this will eventually be deancas but pls accept my offering#personal#tattooed!dean
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