I'll find you even in the dark (Sam/Dean, nc-17ish?, 2200 words)
I'll find you even in the dark
(Sam/Dean, nc-17ish?, 2200 words, mildly AU for 4.17)
It's four months since Sam left and Dean didn't
So they went a little overboard on supplies and decorations and entertainment, and the accounting department's probably not going to speak to them for a month, but the New Year's office party is a huge success. Everyone's having a great time and it's exactly what they all needed after the year they've had.
Jesus, the year they've had. Equally full of awesome and things Dean never wants to think about again.
He's had a little too much of the spiked punch to drink and his tie is a loose knot around his throat. His skin feels hot and too tight, and his mouth aches from smiling so much. He escapes from the noise and heat, lingers at his desk in his office and checks his email for anything he can't ignore. It's a welcome respite but it doesn't take long before he's ready to head back. He just has time to check the message from Mr Adler and-
There's a light knock on his open office door and Dean looks up, and his ready smile freezes.
It's four months since Sam Wesson smashed up company property and disappeared, four months since Dean said he wasn't going to go with him and not even ghosts and cameos in Sam's dreams were going to make him. It's been a long four months for Dean and looking at Sam, it looks like it's been even longer for him.
The stupid yellow polo shirt he used to wear displayed his chest and shoulders better than the drab and scruffy hoodie and layers he's got on now do but Sam is somehow huger than he was before.
Dean's gaze fastens on Sam's split lower lip, red and sore.
"Hey, ghostfacer," Dean says in a small, quiet voice.
Sam moves through the doorway and Dean doesn't quite catch the strange little impulse he has to back up a step in time. He ends up swaying slightly on his feet and has to steady himself on the edge of his desk.
Sam still hasn't spoken yet. He's just watching Dean, studying him, taking in details that Dean kind of wishes he wouldn't notice. It makes him defensive having Sam here when he looks all capable and man-on-a-ghosthunting-mission. It makes Dean feel kind of stupid and prissy in his suit. He fidgets, cards his fingers through his styled hair, rolls his shoulders and frowns when the fine cotton chafes his suddenly sensitive skin.
He's just about to launch into yet another defence of his decision not to go with Sam when Sam finally speaks.
"Hey, Dean. You look good."
It's a nice normal little thing to say and Dean feels better for it, stronger. He ducks his head, smiling, and manages a step towards Sam. He catches Sam's hand in his, and he's aiming for a manly handshake but what he gets is Sam's hand swallowing his up, firm callused fingers wrapped around Dean's smaller, well-manicured ones. He lets go of Sam's hand quickly and shoves his hands in his pockets.
"You too, man." He doesn't mention the split lip. He doesn't want to be talking about ghosts in his office ever again. "But, y'know, Security catches you on the premises and they're gonna call the cops. I gotta get back to the party but maybe if you're still in town tomorrow, we could…" Dean trails off and wishes he hadn't made even half the suggestion he has. He doesn't want to see Sam. Seeing Sam makes everything more difficult.
But Sam just grins and glances around in case there are security guards lurking somewhere in Dean's office.
"I'll be careful," he says. He takes another step closer and Dean is ready for it this time, holds his ground. Sam trails a hand over Dean's desk, over the leather bound diary, knocks the executive toy into motion. "Still going good for you here?"
"Oh yeah, awesome," Dean says immediately. "Sales are up three percent this quarter, which is stunning growth considering the financial climate. And we've got another account ready to come on board early next month, which could take us another point-four percent easily."
He can't remember how much of the punch he had to drink, but it can't have been enough to make him feel so flushed and unsteady and hot. He turns his face away to the wall, dragging in a small shallow breath that isn't enough, and trying to get a grip of himself. There's a jittering, nervous current running beneath his heated skin. It makes him want to do something and he doesn't know what.
"What are you doing here, Sam?" he says finally.
Sam looks up at him and he's too close.
"I miss you, okay?" he says, sounding aggrieved that Dean has made him say it out loud. "I thought… thought I'd come back here and give it another shot. I want you to come with me, Dean. We're supposed to be together."
"That what your freaky-ass dreams tell you?" Dean shoots back.
Sam is beyond too close now. "Everything tells me that." His voice is pitched low and soft, and it hits Dean straight in the belly.
Helpless, Dean sways towards him, and Sam's smiling ever so slightly as he leans in to kiss him.
Sam kisses him gently, his tongue teasing between Dean's parted lips. Slowly, still carefully licking his way into Dean's mouth, Sam coils Dean's tie around his massive hand and tugs him closer. Dean's hands fly up to Sam's chest and he's not sure if he means to push him away or steady himself. He ducks his head just enough to break contact between their mouths. His lips feel electric where Sam's mouth was on him.
He swallows but it's hard to breathe, hard to think, when Sam is still so close, still peering intently into his face. Dean feels exposed and vulnerable, feels wrong. Sam's still holding onto him by his tie and Sam's gaze flickers down to it as he winds the expensive strip of fabric between his fingers.
"You're kind of ridiculous, you know that?" Sam tells him. "So fucking beautiful in your pretty little suit." He tweaks on the tie to emphasise his point. "All soft and pampered and totally ridiculous. And yeah, you're all that, but you could be so much more."
The next time he kisses Dean he's more direct about what he wants, just takes Dean's mouth and does what he wants with it, using Dean's tie to keep him held still against him. And Dean lets him. Dean lets Sam walk him backwards to his desk, lets Sam push him up against the edge of it and trap him there with his own weight.
The door's still open as Sam hooks Dean's legs around his narrow hips, stepping into the space between them to press hard and firm into Dean. The contact, even clothed, is shocking and Dean's hips arch towards Sam instantly like he's been physically pulled. One elbow propping him up on the desk, Dean hooks his other arm around Sam's neck and yanks him down closer, giving him his mouth again because whatever Sam wants to do with him feels right.
Right and terrifying and crazy.
"I've never, I mean, with a guy… I don't-"
Sam looks up from where he is stripping Dean's shirt open and he smiles. "There are lots of things you don't do that you really should."
Then his mouth, hot and greedy and fierce, is on Dean's throat and collarbone and his chest, and Dean can't talk anymore. Any words he tries to speak, about how they can't do this with the door open and how Sam can't do this and how Sam shouldn't be doing this, get lost in a moan that's the kind of sound Dean doesn't think he's ever made in his life before. He kind of wants to punch himself in the face for it, because maybe he wasn’t the kind of guy who was going to walk out on a regular life in order to go hunt ghosts with some guy he barely knows from Adam, but he's also not the kind of guy who's gonna let the aforementioned unknown put him down on his own desk and make him moan.
Turns out, Sam is the kind of guy who can make him be that guy.
Sam rides him with hard, shoving thrusts, grinding into Dean until the desk is rocking under them, the executive toy is swinging frantically, and Dean's diary is shuddering towards the edge. Dean's cock is aching, rubbed against the totally unmistakeable huge hardness of Sam, until he knows he's not going to be able to go back to the party without changing his pants first. The line of Dean's desk bites into the bare flesh of his back but Sam grips him steady with his big, sweaty, unfairly powerful hands.
"Fuck," Sam groans, his breath hot and damp in the crook of Dean's neck. "Wanted to make you ride my dick first time you walked into the elevator. Didn't dream about it 'til I saw you that day. Jesus, Dean, what have you done to me?"
The diary hits the floor with a fluttering of pages.
Sam stops suddenly. Dean makes a hurt sounding noise, squirming gracelessly to push up into him again, but still Sam doesn't move. Pinned entirely beneath the weight of Sam's body, Dean twists around, then feels his belly drop as he sees Mr Adler standing in the doorway of the office.
The alcoholic and sexual heat Dean was wallowing in abruptly turns sour. His stomach roils and he thinks he might be sick. He shoves Sam off of him and tries to redo the buttons on his shirt with fumbling fingers.
"It's not-" Dean says. "Shit! I didn't… Shit shit shit!"
"I'm very disappointed, Dean," Adler says, and Dean nods his head wretchedly.
Adler looks to Sam, raises an eyebrow. Dean can't believe he's been so stupid. It's one thing to get caught all but fucking on your desk by your boss, it's even worse when you're with the guy who went a bit crazy a couple of months ago and only managed to avoid criminal charges by dropping off the face of the planet. Looks real responsible and smart, definitely the act of someone the company will want to keep around.
Taking a deep breath, Dean shoves his shirttails back into his pants and faces Adler. "Mr Adler, I am so sorry. I can't apologise enough for this and I have no excuse. I can only say that-"
"Think very carefully about what you're about to do." Adler's voice breaks through Dean's stumbled apologies and Dean doesn't get it until he follows the line of his gaze and sees the strangely shaped blade in Sam's hand. It's more like a lance than a knife, short and shining.
Dean's belly drops for the third time since he looked up and saw Sam in his office. He should have known, should have seen it coming. Nobody deals with the existence of ghosts that calmly, that reasonably. God, how long was Sam stuck in the elevator after the security guard was cut in two? Blood sprayed all over his face and a twitching body in halves in front of him? It'd be enough to drive anyone out of their mind. Dean's only lucky he's stayed sane himself. Then again, he didn't go off to make hunting ghosts a regular occurrence like Sam did, didn't fixate on it like Sam did.
Thank God he didn't go with Sam when he asked him to. How long would it have been before Sam snapped, got caught up in some delusion that Dean was possessed or evil and that Sam had to hunt him?
"I know what I'm about to do," Sam says.
Adler raises his hands but he doesn't move when Sam takes a step towards him. "It'll be a big mistake."
"Not as big as the one you made," Sam says.
As Sam is apparently so focused on Adler, Dean dares pick up the phone and start to dial 911. But Sam doesn't even look at him as he says, "Put the phone down, Dean."
Dean holds onto the phone but he doesn't dial another number. "You need help, Sam. It's gonna be okay but you need to put down the knife. I can get you help. We'll find someone you can talk to. It's okay. I'll get you through this. This doesn't have to go bad." He's proud that his voice doesn't even wobble.
Sam raises the blade, and it's elegant and vicious. Dean stares at it in cold horror.
"C'mon, Sam," he says, not quite so steady. "Just put it down. You don't wanna do this. You don't wanna hurt us."
"Not you," Sam says, eyes still fixed on Adler. "Him. I wanna hurt him."
Adler is watching them and Dean finds strength in his apparent calm. Slowly, heartbeat thudding in his ears, Dean takes a step towards Sam, hand outstretched. As he approaches, Sam's gaze slides towards him.
"C'mon, Sam," Dean says again, quiet and soothing. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay. Just… just give me the knife, okay? Come on, Sam."
The music from the party pounds along mutedly in the distance. There's the dull, irregular hum of laughter and chatter. It's almost midnight, the countdown to the new year will start soon.
"Sammy," Sam says to him.
The blade streaks through the air, slams clean through Adler's throat and knocks him to the floor with a thud. Dean gapes at the body. Sam lowers his hand and then moves in against Dean, turning Dean's face away from Adler's corpse and towards him.
"I haven't minded you calling me Sammy in years," he whispers against Dean's mouth.
~end
(Sam/Dean, nc-17ish?, 2200 words, mildly AU for 4.17)
It's four months since Sam left and Dean didn't
So they went a little overboard on supplies and decorations and entertainment, and the accounting department's probably not going to speak to them for a month, but the New Year's office party is a huge success. Everyone's having a great time and it's exactly what they all needed after the year they've had.
Jesus, the year they've had. Equally full of awesome and things Dean never wants to think about again.
He's had a little too much of the spiked punch to drink and his tie is a loose knot around his throat. His skin feels hot and too tight, and his mouth aches from smiling so much. He escapes from the noise and heat, lingers at his desk in his office and checks his email for anything he can't ignore. It's a welcome respite but it doesn't take long before he's ready to head back. He just has time to check the message from Mr Adler and-
There's a light knock on his open office door and Dean looks up, and his ready smile freezes.
It's four months since Sam Wesson smashed up company property and disappeared, four months since Dean said he wasn't going to go with him and not even ghosts and cameos in Sam's dreams were going to make him. It's been a long four months for Dean and looking at Sam, it looks like it's been even longer for him.
The stupid yellow polo shirt he used to wear displayed his chest and shoulders better than the drab and scruffy hoodie and layers he's got on now do but Sam is somehow huger than he was before.
Dean's gaze fastens on Sam's split lower lip, red and sore.
"Hey, ghostfacer," Dean says in a small, quiet voice.
Sam moves through the doorway and Dean doesn't quite catch the strange little impulse he has to back up a step in time. He ends up swaying slightly on his feet and has to steady himself on the edge of his desk.
Sam still hasn't spoken yet. He's just watching Dean, studying him, taking in details that Dean kind of wishes he wouldn't notice. It makes him defensive having Sam here when he looks all capable and man-on-a-ghosthunting-mission. It makes Dean feel kind of stupid and prissy in his suit. He fidgets, cards his fingers through his styled hair, rolls his shoulders and frowns when the fine cotton chafes his suddenly sensitive skin.
He's just about to launch into yet another defence of his decision not to go with Sam when Sam finally speaks.
"Hey, Dean. You look good."
It's a nice normal little thing to say and Dean feels better for it, stronger. He ducks his head, smiling, and manages a step towards Sam. He catches Sam's hand in his, and he's aiming for a manly handshake but what he gets is Sam's hand swallowing his up, firm callused fingers wrapped around Dean's smaller, well-manicured ones. He lets go of Sam's hand quickly and shoves his hands in his pockets.
"You too, man." He doesn't mention the split lip. He doesn't want to be talking about ghosts in his office ever again. "But, y'know, Security catches you on the premises and they're gonna call the cops. I gotta get back to the party but maybe if you're still in town tomorrow, we could…" Dean trails off and wishes he hadn't made even half the suggestion he has. He doesn't want to see Sam. Seeing Sam makes everything more difficult.
But Sam just grins and glances around in case there are security guards lurking somewhere in Dean's office.
"I'll be careful," he says. He takes another step closer and Dean is ready for it this time, holds his ground. Sam trails a hand over Dean's desk, over the leather bound diary, knocks the executive toy into motion. "Still going good for you here?"
"Oh yeah, awesome," Dean says immediately. "Sales are up three percent this quarter, which is stunning growth considering the financial climate. And we've got another account ready to come on board early next month, which could take us another point-four percent easily."
He can't remember how much of the punch he had to drink, but it can't have been enough to make him feel so flushed and unsteady and hot. He turns his face away to the wall, dragging in a small shallow breath that isn't enough, and trying to get a grip of himself. There's a jittering, nervous current running beneath his heated skin. It makes him want to do something and he doesn't know what.
"What are you doing here, Sam?" he says finally.
Sam looks up at him and he's too close.
"I miss you, okay?" he says, sounding aggrieved that Dean has made him say it out loud. "I thought… thought I'd come back here and give it another shot. I want you to come with me, Dean. We're supposed to be together."
"That what your freaky-ass dreams tell you?" Dean shoots back.
Sam is beyond too close now. "Everything tells me that." His voice is pitched low and soft, and it hits Dean straight in the belly.
Helpless, Dean sways towards him, and Sam's smiling ever so slightly as he leans in to kiss him.
Sam kisses him gently, his tongue teasing between Dean's parted lips. Slowly, still carefully licking his way into Dean's mouth, Sam coils Dean's tie around his massive hand and tugs him closer. Dean's hands fly up to Sam's chest and he's not sure if he means to push him away or steady himself. He ducks his head just enough to break contact between their mouths. His lips feel electric where Sam's mouth was on him.
He swallows but it's hard to breathe, hard to think, when Sam is still so close, still peering intently into his face. Dean feels exposed and vulnerable, feels wrong. Sam's still holding onto him by his tie and Sam's gaze flickers down to it as he winds the expensive strip of fabric between his fingers.
"You're kind of ridiculous, you know that?" Sam tells him. "So fucking beautiful in your pretty little suit." He tweaks on the tie to emphasise his point. "All soft and pampered and totally ridiculous. And yeah, you're all that, but you could be so much more."
The next time he kisses Dean he's more direct about what he wants, just takes Dean's mouth and does what he wants with it, using Dean's tie to keep him held still against him. And Dean lets him. Dean lets Sam walk him backwards to his desk, lets Sam push him up against the edge of it and trap him there with his own weight.
The door's still open as Sam hooks Dean's legs around his narrow hips, stepping into the space between them to press hard and firm into Dean. The contact, even clothed, is shocking and Dean's hips arch towards Sam instantly like he's been physically pulled. One elbow propping him up on the desk, Dean hooks his other arm around Sam's neck and yanks him down closer, giving him his mouth again because whatever Sam wants to do with him feels right.
Right and terrifying and crazy.
"I've never, I mean, with a guy… I don't-"
Sam looks up from where he is stripping Dean's shirt open and he smiles. "There are lots of things you don't do that you really should."
Then his mouth, hot and greedy and fierce, is on Dean's throat and collarbone and his chest, and Dean can't talk anymore. Any words he tries to speak, about how they can't do this with the door open and how Sam can't do this and how Sam shouldn't be doing this, get lost in a moan that's the kind of sound Dean doesn't think he's ever made in his life before. He kind of wants to punch himself in the face for it, because maybe he wasn’t the kind of guy who was going to walk out on a regular life in order to go hunt ghosts with some guy he barely knows from Adam, but he's also not the kind of guy who's gonna let the aforementioned unknown put him down on his own desk and make him moan.
Turns out, Sam is the kind of guy who can make him be that guy.
Sam rides him with hard, shoving thrusts, grinding into Dean until the desk is rocking under them, the executive toy is swinging frantically, and Dean's diary is shuddering towards the edge. Dean's cock is aching, rubbed against the totally unmistakeable huge hardness of Sam, until he knows he's not going to be able to go back to the party without changing his pants first. The line of Dean's desk bites into the bare flesh of his back but Sam grips him steady with his big, sweaty, unfairly powerful hands.
"Fuck," Sam groans, his breath hot and damp in the crook of Dean's neck. "Wanted to make you ride my dick first time you walked into the elevator. Didn't dream about it 'til I saw you that day. Jesus, Dean, what have you done to me?"
The diary hits the floor with a fluttering of pages.
Sam stops suddenly. Dean makes a hurt sounding noise, squirming gracelessly to push up into him again, but still Sam doesn't move. Pinned entirely beneath the weight of Sam's body, Dean twists around, then feels his belly drop as he sees Mr Adler standing in the doorway of the office.
The alcoholic and sexual heat Dean was wallowing in abruptly turns sour. His stomach roils and he thinks he might be sick. He shoves Sam off of him and tries to redo the buttons on his shirt with fumbling fingers.
"It's not-" Dean says. "Shit! I didn't… Shit shit shit!"
"I'm very disappointed, Dean," Adler says, and Dean nods his head wretchedly.
Adler looks to Sam, raises an eyebrow. Dean can't believe he's been so stupid. It's one thing to get caught all but fucking on your desk by your boss, it's even worse when you're with the guy who went a bit crazy a couple of months ago and only managed to avoid criminal charges by dropping off the face of the planet. Looks real responsible and smart, definitely the act of someone the company will want to keep around.
Taking a deep breath, Dean shoves his shirttails back into his pants and faces Adler. "Mr Adler, I am so sorry. I can't apologise enough for this and I have no excuse. I can only say that-"
"Think very carefully about what you're about to do." Adler's voice breaks through Dean's stumbled apologies and Dean doesn't get it until he follows the line of his gaze and sees the strangely shaped blade in Sam's hand. It's more like a lance than a knife, short and shining.
Dean's belly drops for the third time since he looked up and saw Sam in his office. He should have known, should have seen it coming. Nobody deals with the existence of ghosts that calmly, that reasonably. God, how long was Sam stuck in the elevator after the security guard was cut in two? Blood sprayed all over his face and a twitching body in halves in front of him? It'd be enough to drive anyone out of their mind. Dean's only lucky he's stayed sane himself. Then again, he didn't go off to make hunting ghosts a regular occurrence like Sam did, didn't fixate on it like Sam did.
Thank God he didn't go with Sam when he asked him to. How long would it have been before Sam snapped, got caught up in some delusion that Dean was possessed or evil and that Sam had to hunt him?
"I know what I'm about to do," Sam says.
Adler raises his hands but he doesn't move when Sam takes a step towards him. "It'll be a big mistake."
"Not as big as the one you made," Sam says.
As Sam is apparently so focused on Adler, Dean dares pick up the phone and start to dial 911. But Sam doesn't even look at him as he says, "Put the phone down, Dean."
Dean holds onto the phone but he doesn't dial another number. "You need help, Sam. It's gonna be okay but you need to put down the knife. I can get you help. We'll find someone you can talk to. It's okay. I'll get you through this. This doesn't have to go bad." He's proud that his voice doesn't even wobble.
Sam raises the blade, and it's elegant and vicious. Dean stares at it in cold horror.
"C'mon, Sam," he says, not quite so steady. "Just put it down. You don't wanna do this. You don't wanna hurt us."
"Not you," Sam says, eyes still fixed on Adler. "Him. I wanna hurt him."
Adler is watching them and Dean finds strength in his apparent calm. Slowly, heartbeat thudding in his ears, Dean takes a step towards Sam, hand outstretched. As he approaches, Sam's gaze slides towards him.
"C'mon, Sam," Dean says again, quiet and soothing. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay. Just… just give me the knife, okay? Come on, Sam."
The music from the party pounds along mutedly in the distance. There's the dull, irregular hum of laughter and chatter. It's almost midnight, the countdown to the new year will start soon.
"Sammy," Sam says to him.
The blade streaks through the air, slams clean through Adler's throat and knocks him to the floor with a thud. Dean gapes at the body. Sam lowers his hand and then moves in against Dean, turning Dean's face away from Adler's corpse and towards him.
"I haven't minded you calling me Sammy in years," he whispers against Dean's mouth.
~end