An Unholy Union

A few months passed. Dean had come to the club a few times to get fucked. They’d made some new dents in walls, pillars and in the side of a car... not the impala. He’d unwound enough to get into the habit of phoning Spike to let him know he was in the area and to be at the club so they wouldn’t miss each other.



Sometimes they even talked some after the fucking was out of the way. Spike enjoyed those moments almost as much as he enjoyed the games they played and the explosive sex. But Dean… anytime he realized they might be connecting on a deeper level, he’d shut down and leave. Sure, he would joke, and wink, but the vampire saw through all that. Still, he didn’t ask for any more than Dean could or would give.



Dean had phoned early in the day today, but never showed up. Spike relentlessly scoured the area until he found out Dean had been hospitalized. Now he lurked in the hallways, reining in the need to drag Sam out of the room so he could get his bloody turn with Dean. If those two were any closer, they’d be lovers... he balled his fists and sent a dark look toward the room.



Just then, a tired looking Sam finally walked out. Spike wanted to duck into the room, but he followed the tall hunter to see if he was going to get a bit of information from the doctors, and to find out if he could gage how much time he might have with Dean.



The hunter got a cup of coffee from the vending machine. Spike cursed under his breath when he thought Sam was going to go back to see Dean. Instead, he walked into the waiting room and sat down at one of the two computer terminals available for use by visitors.



Wishing the hunter luck in burying himself in HOURS of research, the vampire headed straight for Dean’s room.



Dean laid on the bed, his cuts and bruises standing out against his pale skin. A bed sheet covered him and heart monitors beeped at his side. He was staring up at the ceiling, seeming to have some trouble breathing. He had to remind Sam, no more Hell Spawns. Those bastards were hard to kill and Dean nearly paid with his life.



When the door opened, Dean didn't turn his head, thinking it was Sam once again. Probably he was coming back to yell at him some more for taking such a risk. Sam might be pissed but he would get over it and really, he loved his brother.



The seriousness of Dean’s injuries hit Spike full force. He could have died. Worse..... even if Dean never fought another demon, in just over half a year, the hunter would die anyway. Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, when Spike reached Dean, he took his hand and was unaware of how hard he was squeezing until he felt the hunter’s silver ring give way. He swallowed and loosed his grip. “Club’s a mess. I don’t like not finding you anymore than you don’t like finding me.”



Dean jerked his head around and turned his red rimmed eyes to find himself staring into a set of piercing blues. What he saw there both warmed and scared Dean. He had been hoping all this time, or more like ignoring what he had been reading in those eyes... in Spike's touch and between some of the words he spoke. But now, it was becoming all too clear.



"Really," Dean played off, still half hoping he was wrong. "Well, had business." Dean pulled his hand away and rubbed his chest, over his tattoo and where one of those annoying heart monitor stickers was making him itch.



“Really? Looks to me more like business had you, luv.” He leaned over Dean, inspecting every visible inch and fighting the urge to grab a doctor by the scruff of his neck and demand he fix Dean now. “You alright?” Almost possessively, he put his hand over Dean’s tattoo, partially covering the hunter’s hand in the process.



Dean frowned as he looked at Spike. Luv, he called him. As much as Dean liked it, he disliked it. "What?" Dean pushed Spike's hand away, "You suck on some girl? I'm a hunter, it's expected to get banged up now and again."



“Rather it be me doing the banging.” Spike gave him a thoughtful look. “Make a prickly patient, don’t you?” Turning, he pulled up a chair and sat down. “Play your cards right, and I might take your mind off this place.” Spike ran his hand down Dean’s covered thigh, very close to the visible outline of his cock. “Figure I owe you one. After you went and got that pretty tat... just for me, yeah?”



It took everything in Dean to keep from getting hard. To keep from wanting to just give in. But how could he? It wasn't fair to either of them. Dean was gonna be dead in a little over six months. He didn't want Spike to go through the pain Dean had with his mom, his dad and his brother, even though Sam was now back from the dead and walking.



He gave Spike a look, "You’re always so full of yourself. Like you’re the most import thing in a person's life when you enter it." He rolled his eyes. "I didn't get this for you. Sam has one just like it. It's to keep demons out. Jeeze," Dean grumbled, starting to push Spike away because he knew just what he was gonna have to do. The last thing he needed right now was a relationship, even if he craved it.



“Been told that before.” Spike laughed, his gaze dropping to the tattoo. “Still. I know what’s mine, and you did that for me. Go on and be prickly if you want to. Just means you’ll have to wait longer for...” his voice dropped an octave as he bent over and lightly mouthed Dean’s cock over the thin sheet.



When he raised his head, he wore a smug smile. Dean’s body had responded as quickly as ever to him. “Now about these injuries... and about something else, I want you to think about something.” It was just a proposal... the hunter would probably tell him to jump out the window, but Spike thought as the man’s time grew shorter, he might see things differently. Maybe.



“Let me turn you.” He put his hand lightly on Dean’s chest when the hunter would have sat up. “Hear me out, yeah? Won’t hurt... not any more than...” he swept his hand over Dean’s injuries. “And its not so bad being a vampire. I know a way to keep your soul. And you’ll keep your life... even if it’s technically an unlife.”



Dean's eyes went wide. He wanted to turn him? To save his life?



If Spike hadn’t been holding him down, Dean would have sat up. Honestly, the proposal sounded decent enough and good for a very very very last resort. However, Dean wasn't gonna risk anything. Not with his life, not with Sam's more importantly.



He could see rejection was hot on Dean’s lips, so he put a finger across them. “Shshsh, don’t have to answer me now. Think about it, is all I’m asking. Now about your other problem,” he looked at Dean’s still swollen cock. “Want me to touch you over or under the sheets?” He licked his lips, and was more than a little pleased by the sound of Dean’s heart kicking up a notch.



"Fucking arrogant bastard," Dean slapped Spike's hand away, steeling himself. "I got this tattoo for Sam. Not you. For my brother. Get that through your thick bleached head. And what? You want to turn me into what you are? So I can go around being what I fucking hunt? Lose the last bit of humanity I still have even if it's for six months? And God fucking no, I'm not gonna risk my brother's life for you or for anyone.”



Spike shook his head, “don’t get worked up, right? Was a bad time to bring it up, I just...” he cocked his head to the side. “I don’t want to lose you any more than your brother does.” Something in the hunter’s eyes sent icy fingers into Spike’s gut. He’d said too much. Standing up, Spike put his hands up. “Dean...”



"No, get out. Leave. Now. Before I call for Sam and have him kill you.”



“What? Why?” The fact that his brother’s chances of success were slim to nothing was secondary. “Is it because I give a fuck about you?” That had to be it. He’d felt Dean withdraw anytime he’d shown a hint of emotion. “Not asking for anything from you.” It wasn’t as if he weren’t used to being love’s bitch. He didn’t need for Dean to feel anything beyond his obsession. “Just your fuck mate, right.” But Dean wasn’t listening...



“I don't want to be one of you.”



“Right... no turning then.” Spike dropped his hands to his sides and prepared to sit.



But Dean wasn’t done.



“Get it through your head, vampire. I’ll never ask to be a vampire, it’s beneath me. You’re beneath me.” But it hadn’t been beneath him to trade his soul.



Beneath me. The words rang again and again in Spike’s head. Old words. Words that had cut him... cut his soul to shreds when spoken by his first love. They haunted him still.



Spike focused his bleared vision onto Dean’s face. His eyes stung... another first, brought to him by this hunter. He wished he’d never met him... then maybe he wouldn’t be standing here with a big gaping hole where his heart should be... pain, where there could be none.



“That how it is, then.” He gave a curt nod. “Happy hunting. Next time I see you I’ll expect to see you pointing a stake at me and not your dick.”



Silence.



Turning on his heels, Spike strode out. As he passed Sam, his mind registered the fact that the hunter was scratching at his chest, and the movement pulled the neckline of his tee shirt down and revealed the edges of a tattoo matching Dean’s.



* * *



A few weeks passed. Dean had gotten a clean bill of health after his stay in the hospital. Another hunt was completed but at least it was easy, not like the last case. Again, the brothers found themselves near the nameless club and Dean felt the urge to go. Long before that, in fact the moment Spike had left his hospital room, he had wanted to go after him, but hadn’t.



Spike had become more than an addiction to Dean. It wasn't just the sex anymore, which was why he’d pushed Spike away. Dean was starting to care. He couldn't and shouldn't care. He kept telling himself that all the while they were apart.



Now Dean found himself at the club door staring at it and wondering if he should just turn around and walk away. After what he had said to Spike. The hurt expression on the Vampire's face. It had haunted Dean. Made him feel when he didn't want to. Finally his hand touched the cold metal and he pushed the door open.



He walked into the dark and flashing lights, instantly looking up but no one he wanted was up there. When he headed to the bar, to his surprise, there was Spike. Dean's steps slowed. His heart instantly started to race.



Spike knew that scent. He knew the rhythm of that heart’s beats. He recognized the sound of Dean’s gait, and still listened for it out of habit. But he couldn’t rightly say he’d expected to hear it any time soon.



“Naked scotch. Make it a double.” Spike didn’t turn, but searched his pockets for a smoke and brought it to his lips, then lit up.



Dean walked over and leaned on the bar, his back to it and right beside Spike, like he was on display. "Whiskey," Dean ordered, "So," He finally looked at the contour of Spike's face, "Missed me?"



Piercing blue eyes shifted to Dean. So fucking hot. “Where’s your stake, Hunter?” He sucked on his cigarette and blew the smoke right into Dean’s face ... watching it clear away. Still fucking hot.



Dean let out a cough. "C'mon, you still pissy pouty?" Dean stepped closer. He was now in Spike's personal space.



Sodding hell. Spike put his hand out, pressing his palm into Dean’s chest to make him back off. Problem with that was the feel of his heart beating under his palm was sending all sorts of messages.... most of them straight to his groin. “What do you want?”



Oh he knew what Dean wanted. Knew how obsession could ride a man... make him give everything up for just one more fuck. It was good enough for Spike before. Before words that could never be taken back were spoken.



Dean tried not to move but Spike was stronger so the Hunter rocked on his heels. His hand reached out and curled around Spike's wrist. He pulled it up to his lips and kissed his palm, "Now what do you think?" He asked.



For one of Dean’s heartbeats, all Spike could think about was throwing him onto the bar and fucking him in full view of everyone. He steeled himself, reminded himself that Dean wasn’t here to just fuck the enemy, he was here to fuck something that disgusted him. He wasn’t going to be that thing.



Shoving Dean’s face away, he pulled back his hand. “Think it’s a pity you came all the way down here to slum it up for nothing, that’s what I think.” Picking his glass up, he drank it, every last burning drop of it.



Dean rocked back and looked at him. He grabbed his drink, looked at it then tossed it at Spike and set the glass down. He then leaned in, "It was a pity, that I wasted the gas or even the energy. Especially over you. And I so would have liked to see your face again as I fucked you. Again. How often has that happened." He pulled away and headed for the exit.



“Hunter!” Spike called out in his trademark drawl.



When Dean paused and looked slightly over his shoulder, Spike pointed to several people near the bar, each of them human. “Might try one of them. They’re in your league. Not beneath you,” he forced the words out and wiped the dripping liquor off his face. “I’d best find someone to lick this off...”





White hot fury was the last thing he saw flashing in the hunter’s greens as the man left.





*



The club was miles away and Dean sat in his car, radio on, beer in hand outside the motel room he was sharing with Sam. The air was cold but Dean's body was heated. Seeing Spike had been a mistake. A mistake from the very beginning. And now, Dean was addicted. More than addicted, and seeing Spike reject him like that hurt.



He closed his eyes and damn if he couldn't still smell the smoke, the musky scent of sexed up Spike and just ... Dean shivered as he longed to feel those lips on him again. To feel that body against him and taste that cock in his mouth.



Dean hadn’t realized he had been undoing his jeans as he thought on these things and was now fondling his cock. His fingers curled around his cock, imagining it was Spike's hand, and started stroking. He moaned as he tipped his head back. Longing to feel the vampire’s lips around his cock.



His thumb rubbed over his crown, smearing drops as he pictured Spike’s lips around him, and it caused Dean to tremble. "Damn you, Spike," He breathed as he stroked faster.



A branch broke in Spike’s hand. God help him, he hadn’t been able to make good on his threat to get satisfaction elsewhere. He’d followed the git, sure he’d find him fucking someone... probably a girl, that or getting drunk. But there he was, alone... in his car... calling Spike’s name as he touched himself.



Spike couldn’t see Dean’s cock and didn’t know if he was just reaching inside his pants, or had pulled completely out. Still, images of all possibilities tortured his brain... worse, tortured his cock. He’d been hard from the instant Dean’s moist mouth had slammed into his palm.



Shifting, he drew a bit closer, uncomfortably aware of how he was straining against his pants... how much he wanted Dean’s mouth or hands or just Dean to sheath him. Fuck. Dropping his smoke, he crushed the butt with the heel of his boot. His gaze remained laser focused on Dean’s face.



Dean gasped for breath, his windows, except for the open one, were fogging. He wanted Spike but was probably never going to have him again. He closed his eyes tight, biting his bottom lip as he pumped his hand over his cock. The sounds breaking from him were starting to fill the car and Dean gritted his teeth.



He labored for breath just briefly before he felt himself releasing and sagged against his seat. "God, I hate you. Hate you 'cause I love you. Love you." He sighed softly.



Unable to restrain himself, Spike had his hand in his pants and was squeezing himself... ready to come until he heard those words. Hard, aching, pulsing... he pulled his hand out and punched the tree trunk with a closed fist. Bastard. Bastard ‘loved what he hated’. Wasn’t the same thing, was it? You couldn’t love that which disgusted you. Damn that boy. Damn that hunter for tying him up in knots... for confusing him.



Back against the trunk, he sank down, rocking back on his heels... hating... hating, but unable to leave until Dean went inside and was no longer within sight.



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