💫 and Dean/Ketch?

rosemoonweaver:

Now the devil’s in a rush
And this duct tape makes you hush
Hey there Sedona let me cut you a deal
I’m a little hungover and I have to steal your soul
– Sedona – Houndmouth

The first thing Ketch noticed upon waking was just how stiff his muscles were. Sure, he’d been a little more physical than usual the night before, but he could barely move his legs and his arms… he didn’t think he’d been that rough on his body. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” the voice of the previous night’s bed mate call out from the in-suite bathroom. 

Ketch attempted to roll over, to lift himself off the mattress, but was unable. All at once the sensation of thick, coarse rope around his wrists, the tape plastered to his lip, and sticky, dried sweat came to the forefront of his awareness. Well, that explained the stiffness, then. 

Dean, the man he’d shared the night with, came out of the bathroom, straight razor in his hand. He was wearing the same thing he had been before, a blood red shirt over a dark t-shirt and jeans and a wicked smile that promised all manner of new troubles. 

“Sorry about the restraints but I can’t exactly let a Man of Letters out of my sight now, can I?” Dean’s eyes flashed black as he spoke, beating the flat back of the razor against his palm. 

Ketch glared at him. That’s the punishment for forgoing proper demon checks with his dalliances then. 

“Now, I’m a little short on time, and as much as I’d like to drag this out a little more I can’t afford it. So, here’s the deal; you tell me what I want to know and I slit your throat. You waste my time and I make sure you never walk again and dump your ass in the middle of the desert for the buzzards to deal with. Capisce? 

Ketch rolled his eyes and mumbled behind the tape. 

Dean huffed in response. “You know, all you gotta do is shake your head.” 

Ketch let out an indignant puff of air and nodded. Only then did Dean rip the tape off his mouth, taking a good portion of the skin on his lips with it. 

“You bastard,” Ketch muttered, sucking his bloodied bottom lip into his mouth. 

“I’ve been called worse,” Dean said, pressing his thumb to the edge of the blade. “Now,” he said, “I know you know where the American base for the Men of Letters is. You’re going to tell me.” 

“Lebanon, Kansas,” Ketch said. 

“Okay well if you’re…. wait, what?” Dean froze mid-gesture to stare down at Ketch. “Just like that?” 

“Just like that,” he said.

“You got a death wish or something man? ‘Cause I gotta say, you’re killin’ my murder high here.” 

“If you kill me, I’ll just come back. It’s an inconvenience, at best.” 

“You’re not a witch.” 

“No, but I happen to know a very powerful on. Have known a very powerful one since the 18th century.” 

Ketch smirks as Dean’s eyebrow raises. “Well then I’ll kill them, too.” 

“I doubt your King would be too pleased with that,” Ketch said. 

Dean’s expression grew tight as his gaze skimmed up and down Ketch’s nearly naked body, spread out like a starfish on the bed. 

“You have your location. You can kill me now if you want, though I’d ask you to hurry if you’re going to. I have a schedule to keep, too.” 

Dean shrugged, raising the razor to Ketch’s throat. 

“Or,” Ketch said, “I can tell you the easiest ways to counteract the magic that makes the bunker impenetrable to demons. And where they keep their best artifacts.” 

Dean’s hand stills, and with one swift movement, he moves the razor away from Ketch’s throat and slashes through the rope that binds his right wrist to the headboard. 

“That’s what I thought,” Ketch said with a smirk.