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They're sitting at a secluded table in the back because they have things to discuss that are better off unheard by others. Bobby picks at the label of his beer, tearing strips of it off and piling them up. Chris is drinking whiskey and somehow that doesn't surprise him though he's never gone out drinking with Chris.
"So how did you get your start hunting?" Bobby asks, thinking he might actually get an answer now that Chris is on his third glass of alcohol.
Chris stares down at the amber liquid as if it might give him the answer and then sighs, tossing it back in one go. "That's a long story."
"We've got the time." Bobby says, pressing just a bit.
"Yeah, I guess we do." Chris sighs and then gets up, going back to the bar for another drink. He comes back with both a drink and the bottle.
At Bobby's look, he sets the bottle on the table. "It's a very long story."
He pours himself a new glass and sighs, leaning back in his chair and studying Bobby. Bobby meets his gaze evenly.
"Every hunter has a different reason for going into the business. Maybe they come from a family of hunters and are raised in it. Others, like me, lose the most important people in their lives to the supernatural and vow to not rest until they wipe out those who hurt them." Chris takes a drink.
"What happened?" Bobby presses when Chris doesn't go on.
"My wife and daughter were killed by werewolves. They were mutilated, claw and fang marks all across their bodies, blood everywhere. Of course, police didn't believe me when I told them what had happened. They said I was going crazy with the grief of losing them. They looked for clues, evidence of who the murderer might be, but the case went cold after a few weeks because they didn't believe me when I told them about the werewolves." Chris shakes his head and tips the last of the whiskey in his glass into his mouth. Bobby pours him a fresh glass.
"You found them?" Bobby asks, sympathy in his eyes.
"Yeah, in our house. Broken glass all over the place. Police tried to tell me it was a robbery gone wrong, but I knew the truth. What else could it be with those gashes covering them and so much blood? They said some sort of serrated blade maybe, but they didn't really know. No one really knew because no one really believed me." Chris glares down at the table top, eyes glistening when he remembers his family.
Bobby stays quiet as Chris gets himself together once more.
"The funeral was a few weeks later. It was awful, seeing them lowered into the ground and knowing what had caused their deaths and being unable to do anything for them. I felt so helpless and useless and I vowed that I'd never feel that way again, so I learned how to be a hunter." Chris finishes off this drink too before pushing the bottle and glass away from him.
Bobby isn't sure what to say, so he stays quiet. He wants to reach out and comfort Chris, but he knows that any effort would be rejected and he doesn't want that from Chris and so it's safer to sit in silence with the other man until he decides that it's time to go.
He doesn't drink any more, but he stares around at the people, not really seeing them. He misses his family and talking about them tonight had only served to reopen wounds that he thought had scarred over by now. It had helped a little, he'll admit. At least Bobby believed him. He looks over at Bobby, watching him as he absently resumes picking the label off of his beer that's been untouched since Chris started his story.
"You ready?" Chris asks, getting to his feet.
"Yeah, guess so." Bobby stands and follows Chris out of the bar after they handle the tab.
The walk back to the motel is quiet, each man reflecting on all that was said tonight.
There's an odd tension crackling in the air between them, but Bobby chooses to ignore it. It's probably just a result of whatever feelings are still hovering around what was said tonight. There's nothing he can do to change the past, but he has control over what happens in the here and now. He opens the door to their hotel room and sinks down on the edge of his bed. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face before looking over at Chris, who's sitting at the table.
"Are you okay?" It's a stupid question, Bobby knows, but it's the only thing he can think of to say to the other man as he sits there with a lost expression on his face.
"No." Chris answers simply. He's not okay and he probably won't ever be okay again, but that's the way things go, he supposes, when your family is killed by werewolves and you devote the rest of your life to hunting them down and then find yourself getting tangled up in a man that you barely even know.
Chris gets up and stands in front of Bobby, forcing Bobby to tip his head back to look at him.
He reaches out and shoves Bobby back on the bed, ignoring Bobby's sound of confusion. He straddles him, pinning Bobby's wrists above his head. He needs this right now. He needs to feel human, alive. It's been so long since he's allowed himself to feel anything other than hatred and anger and pain. He needs this right now and Bobby seems to sense that as he goes limp under Chris.
Chris presses his mouth against Bobby's, tasting the alcohol on both of their tongues. He groans as Bobby kisses back, hands tightening on his wrists. He takes whatever Bobby's willing to give him as he grinds his hips down on Bobby, groaning at the friction of his jeans rubbing against him. He breaks the kiss and buries his face in Bobby's neck as they rock together, hands still pining Bobby's to the bed, though now he's just holding onto them.
Their hips rock together, hot and tight and it's overwhelming. Bobby groans, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He arches up against Chris, feeling the other man's teeth sink into his neck and he whines in the back of his throat, thinking that maybe they shouldn't be doing this, that maybe this is wrong in light of everything that's happened tonight, but Bobby can't bring himself to stop. It feels so good.
Chris rocks harder and harder against him, his cock pressing against the fly of his jeans. He groans, dragging his teeth along the side of Bobby's neck, marking him again and that thought goes straight to his cock in a burst of heat and he moans, shoving his hips down against Bobby's one last time.
He gives a broken cry as he comes in his jeans, sticky and hot. Bobby stills underneath him as his own orgasm washes over him. He doesn't move, letting Chris pant wetly into the side of his neck, struggling to hold back the tears. He tells himself it's okay to feel like this, but he really doesn't believe it.
He raises himself up, still straddling Bobby, and lets go of Bobby's wrists. There will be bruises there tomorrow and he's almost sorry, but he likes the flare of heat that goes through him at the thought of his mark being on the other man.
"Did it help?" Bobby asks, looking up at Chris, mouth flushed red and swollen.
"Maybe. I don't know." Chris answers truthfully.
He gets up and rummages through his bag for a clean pair of boxers and heads into the bathroom to clean himself up. Bobby sighs and doesn't press the issue, knowing Chris needs time. He winces as he feels the stickiness in his pants, glancing down at the wet spot on the front of his jeans. Looks like tomorrow will be laundry day.
Chris comes back out of the bathroom, tossing his dirty clothes in a pile at the end of his bed and climbs into bed without saying a word to Bobby. Bobby heads into the bathroom with a sigh and cleans up, going back into the room and flicking off the overhead light. He curls up in bed and stares at the red numbers on the bedside clock.
They'll figure things out. They have too because Bobby doesn't think he can do this without Chris with him and he doesn't really want Chris to be alone, though he doesn't examine that thought or its motivations too closely.
Everything will be fine in the morning light. They'll find a werewolf and hunt the beast down adn everything will be okay. At least that's what Bobby tells himself as he tries to fall alseep without thinking about how Chris' mouth felt against his or the solid warmth of his weight holding him to the bed or how they rocked together.