An Offering For Sin - Part Three
Title: An Offering For Sin
Author: Varkelton
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~33,500
Warnings aka Enticements aka Kinks: Blood-play, knife-play, violence, torture, D/s, mild breath-play, a little spanking, physical abuse, pain-kink, first-time sex, masturbation, orgasm denial, claiming, marking, rimming, barebacking, hurt/comfort, dub-con, non-con (outside POV), slash, and incest… oh yeah, and a healthy helping of angst. My favorite! Plus a couple more things I’m leaving off the list because they’re spoilery, and if you’re good with this list, you’ll be okay with them too. But if you really, really need to know, drop me an e-mail and I’ll be happy to discuss.
Disclaimer: Do you suppose if I asked sweetly, the boys would give themselves to me? Yeah, I know, not after they read my stories. Darn! Labor of love. No profit.
AN: Starts immediately at the end of Season Four (Lucifer Rising). It goes AU after that, although I have borrowed some of the plot elements and a little bit of dialog from the first part of Season Five, at least where I could. No spoilers for anything unaired.
Summary: The Angels’ plan to start the apocalypse is thwarted when Sam manages to shut the gate right after it opens, but it rapidly becomes apparent that there are no easy fixes to be found. Sam is still consumed with a need for blood that seems to be spiraling out of control, and Dean’s attempts to help his brother force him to relive experiences in hell that he’s been trying to forget since his return.
Artist: musingdarkly
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four and Thanks |
Art by musingdarkly
Part Three
Sam collapses at Dean’s feet, his chains pulled completely taut and his wrists nothing but ruined masses of sores and bone and blood. Sam had struggled so hard when Alistair was here earlier that he pulled both of his shoulders out of joint. Dean can’t help but worry - Sam doesn’t heal like he does. They haven’t let Dean off the rack in months. To be so close to Sam, yet not able to touch, is a far worse agony than all of the tortures Alistair has subjected them to over the years.
“Sammy,” Dean manages to whisper hoarsely before another healing tremor flashes through him like lightning and he cries out weakly. Dean tries again when it passes, “Sammy, please.”
Sam doesn’t move; a shuddering breath shakes his body in response to Dean’s voice, but there’s nothing else. Dean pulls helplessly against the bindings that hold him in place, oblivious to the extra strain it puts on his overtaxed limbs; Sam is his strength, the reassurance of Sam’s presence a desperate need. This silence is devastating.
“Dean,” Sam finally responds, his voice broken and dead.
Another flash of torment wracks Dean’s body, this one worse than before, a maelstrom of pain that consumes his awareness. He struggles futilely to keep his cries inside, only keeps up the fight because he doesn’t know how to stop, but the cries wrench themselves from his unwilling throat once more.
Sam whimpers once, tired and lost. Abject misery stretches across his features, chasing him back to life; Sam’s completely unable to ignore Dean’s agony, even after all this time. He throws himself against his chains in a vain, desperate attempt to get to his brother. Failing, his anguished cries blend hopelessly with Dean’s.
The moment eventually passes, but it leaves them both gasping, leaves Sam on his knees, sobbing out ragged breaths of defeat. When Sam finally looks up at him, there’s almost nothing left of sanity in his eyes. Dean tries to hold on to him, to hold his gaze, but he slips away. “I can’t do this anymore, Dean,” Sam coughs out onto the stone. “I’m sorry, I’m not… not strong enough.”
Dean tries to cut Sam off; “Sam, stop,” he pleads. He can’t bear to hear what Sam is saying, but Sam doesn’t seem to listen.
“Alistair says… if I do what he wants…” Sam gasps out, “If I pick up the knife… he’ll let me forget…” Sam looks up at him with a face that could break an angel, “I can’t die, Dean.” Sam’s breath hitches on a sob. “I need to forget. I need this to be over,” he whispers, eyes begging Dean to understand.
And Dean feels the last of his battered defenses crack…
Dean sucked in a trembling breath as he clawed his way slowly back to consciousness. The pillow under his face was wet, and something heavy was holding him down. Panic, sharp and hot, ripped through his chest. “No!” he yelled out weakly, struggling to free himself from the restraints.
“Dean, stop it. You’re okay,” Sam murmured into Dean’s hair. It was Sam - Sam’s body that lay over the top of him and tangled between his legs. Dean pulled in a deep, purposeful breath. Just Sam. He brought himself forcibly under control, his breath catching as he gulped down more air and fought to relax his muscles. Sam clutched him harder, mumbling reassuring nonsense through lips that were pressed against the top of Dean’s head, and that was…
Dean jerked himself free from Sam’s arms so hard he rolled all the way off the side of the bed where he landed with a solid thud. That fucking hurt; a train must have hit him in the night, he thought wretchedly… must have hit him repeatedly. He moaned out loud, and Sam’s head appeared over the side.
“Dean?” Sam held out a hand towards him. Dean flinched back and scrambled away, only then realizing that he was completely, stark, fucking naked. Sam had that stupid scrunched look on his face that seemed to happen whenever he thought Dean’d gone insane. Dean scowled back, but after what they’d done last night, Dean was inclined to wonder the same thing. Noticing his clothes lying in a heap under the table, he snagged his jeans from the pile and pulled them on clumsily.
“Dean?” Sam slowly sat up on the side of the bed; he sounded a lot more wary now.
Dean remained silent; any words he might have been able to come up with would only have been blocked by the brick in his throat anyway. He tried to swallow but whimpered instead. He spared a moment of irritation at himself for the irrelevant emotions that seemed to be forcing their way out.
He stood up to pull his jeans on the rest of the way and nearly fell on his face. Sam appeared at his side in an instant, steadying him with a solid grip on his shoulders. Dean froze, his brain suddenly incapable of forming a rational thought.
“Dean…” Sam whispered and pulled him into an embrace. Dean reacted blindly and threw a punch that caught Sam in the jaw and sent him stumbling back against the bed.
Sam turned back slowly, bringing a hand up to rub at his jaw while he tentatively rested his ass on the side of the bed. He exhaled, sharp with self-recrimination, and then looked up at Dean with a veiled expression. “Guess I deserved that…” he said quietly.
“Damn straight you deserved that!” Dean flung back furiously. Sam flinched like he’d been hit again, and all the fight bled out of Dean as fast as it had come. He stumbled back and sat heavily on the battered old chair next to the table. He was still off his game, even with the extra sleep he’d gotten yesterday...
“What the hell was that last night?” Dean asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as weak to Sam as it did to his own ears.
Sam stood up abruptly and threw on yesterday’s clothes before he started gathering their things. “Breakfast, and then we should head to Bobby’s.” he said as he moved, acting suddenly like nothing had fucking happened.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Sam replied dismissively before heading into the bathroom to gather the shaving kits.
“No,” Dean said, anger twisting his gut. He got up and followed Sam, standing in the doorway to block his brother from coming back into the room. “No,” he repeated, “you don’t get to pretend like nothing happened last night, or that it doesn’t matter. You don’t… we can’t… what were you even thinking, Sam? You… we… Just, Jesus Christ, Sam…”
Sam faced the sink, his hands gripping the sides of it tightly; tension curled up his arms and down his back. He was just standing there, not responding, and the full weight of what they’d done suddenly slammed into Dean. He wanted to sink through the floor and die. He deserved to go back to hell. “I think I should leave…” he managed to force out, starting to turn away. Suddenly Sam grabbed him, dragged him out of the bathroom doorway and around the corner to slam against the wall.
“No,” Sam gritted, fury twisting through his features. “Dean, you don’t get to leave me. Not again.” Sam buried his face against Dean’s neck and ran his teeth lightly over the stitches there. “Please.”
Dean wanted to give in to Sam’s quiet plea, wanted it more than anything, but… He didn’t understand why Sam was acting like this, like what they were doing was even remotely okay. There was no way Sam wanted this. He placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders and tried to push Sam away. Sam didn’t budge, his mouth close and hot, so Dean attempted words instead. “What happened last night…”
Sam’s head snapped up, his gaze fierce, “I gave you what you needed. That’s all.”
“But that’s the thing, man, you should never have had to do that.” Dean’s composure was crumbling as he added, “I shouldn’t have needed that.” Sam just stared at him, and Dean couldn’t wrap his head around how everything had gotten so fucked up and out of control. “And why the hell aren’t you disgusted by me anyway?” he threw out accusingly. He pushed ineffectively against Sam’s unmovable bulk again before dropping his hands loosely down to his sides and letting his head fall back against the wall in defeat.
Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Disgusted by you? I wanted to do what we did. It’s not like I didn’t get off on it too.” Sam wrapped his hand around the side of Dean’s face, let his thumb play over the stubble on Dean’s chin... “What, should I be disgusted with myself, too?” he added, heavy lidded and lazy… almost predatory.
Dean started to say yes, but Sam caught Dean’s parted lips with his thumb, sealing them shut. “I lost normal a long time ago, Dean. Quit trying to protect me from what I want. I need this, too.” Sam pressed his thumb into Dean’s mouth, stroked it sensuously over Dean’s tongue. The salty caress seemed to go straight to Dean’s dick, effectively destroying Dean’s ability to protest what was happening. Completely lost, Dean wrapped his lips around Sam’s thumb and sucked down hard. Sam let out a needy moan that made Dean smile helplessly, all coherent thought shattering into pieces on the floor.
Sam pulled his thumb out of Dean’s mouth... When Dean went to chase after it, Sam replaced it with his mouth, his hands gripping the sides of Dean’s face to take control. Hot and demanding, he sealed his lips over Dean’s, and his tongue probed, demanding entrance.
Dean reached up instinctively to wrap his hands around Sam’s wrists and hold on tight. He opened eagerly under the assault and Sam swept in, colliding with Dean’s tongue so they glided together in a sloppy dance. Sam pulled back out to caress Dean’s lips only to quickly delve once more inside.
When Sam’s hands broke Dean’s hold and slid down the front of his chest, Dean became suddenly, acutely aware that all he had on were half-buttoned jeans. He started to reach down, but Sam stopped him and placed his hands purposefully against the wall. “Hands off,” Sam muttered, gaze narrowing possessively.
Sam’s teeth hungrily snagged his bottom lip; sharp pain flashed there before the metallic taste of blood started filling Dean’s mouth. Sam sucked feverishly at his bloody lip, worrying the skin. Never letting go of Dean’s mouth, Sam’s gliding fingers teased and played over Dean’s nipples until they peaked rigidly before pinching down hard. The dual assault shot straight to Dean’s groin, and he bucked up slightly before regaining control. His dick jutted out above the waistband of his open jeans, his pre-come heavy enough to leave damp patches along the edge of them.
With a pleased, breathy laugh, Sam wedged a leg between Dean's, putting pressure in just the right spot. Dean tried to resist, but Sam gave another sharp twist to Dean’s aching nipples and nipped at his lip once more. Dean rutted uncontrollably against his brother with a loud groan.
“God, you’re so hot like this,” Sam moaned against Dean’s ear, close enough to brush over the sensitive flesh as he talked. “Wanna keep you like this forever.” Sam’s voice was going lower, deeper, more lust-blown by the second. “Need you so much. Gonna make you mine.” Sam slid down Dean’s chest, their bodies gliding together until he knelt in front of Dean, his warm breath ghosting over Dean’s overeager dick.
Paused there, heavy breaths filling the room in synchronized bursts, his hands twitching restlessly at his sides, Dean stared fixedly down at his brother. Each breath of Sam’s washed, humid and heated, against Dean until every ounce of focus and attention zeroed in on what was to come. Dean whimpered, thrusting his hips forward in a silent demand for more.
Looking up to meet his eyes, Sam finally reached up, rested his hands on either side of Dean’s full erection, and smiled wickedly.
His fingers brushed over Dean’s fly. He let them linger over the buttons for a moment, pressing only lightly but hard enough to cause shivering sparks of pleasure to ripple outwards. Then he pulled the edges of cloth together and slowly… fastened them… back… together...
Dean just watched, perplexed and wanting, unable to move. Sam stood up. Dean couldn’t quite process what his brother had just done.
“Put on a shirt, and let’s go, Dean,” Sam commanded calmly. “We have a lot of miles between us and Bobby.”
“What?” Dean panted intelligently.
Sam simply moved away, picked up the bags he’d packed earlier and walked out of the room.
Dean stared hard at the door for at least a minute before his brain reengaged. He finally figured out that Sam had inexplicably put the breaks on, which… What the fuck? Dean shifted uncomfortably and dropped a hand down to adjust himself. It wasn’t enough. His dick throbbed against his hand, so he flicked open the top buttons on his jeans and thumbed over the aching tip, spreading his wetness around the head.
Why the hell had Sam worked him up like this only to walk out?
Annoyance flashed through him, and he moved to brace his back against the wall, popping open the last few buttons so he could get a firm grip around himself. He pumped once, sending shivers of pleasure tingling over his skin. Reaching with his other hand to push his jeans down a little bit, he cupped his balls and fondled the skin between his fingers. He moaned as he moved his hands in tandem, and it was probably quite the show when the door suddenly flew open again. Sam didn’t even pause, leaving the door swinging wide to stride across the room. He grabbed both of Dean’s wrists, ripped them away and slammed them harshly against the wall over Dean’s head.
“The hell, Sam?” Dean demanded, glaring up at his brother. “Get the fuck off of me.” He tried to jerk his hands free, but Sam’s hold was secure, and Dean cursed his continuing weakness.
Sam moved his face down so it was only an inch away from Dean’s and spat out, “That’s mine, Dean. As of last night, no one touches it without my permission. Including you. Or we go back to what we were. It’s your choice.”
The thought of going back to what they were, back to Sam constantly pushing Dean away, back to the mutual distrust and aching distance… Just the thought constricted his chest and blurred his sight, but he couldn’t make himself move, couldn’t make himself speak. Sam slammed Dean’s wrists against the wall once more; Dean knew there’d be bruises later. Sam stared him down for several more heartbeats then let him go and backed slowly away without breaking eye contact.
They stared at each other long enough to feel uncomfortable, but Dean couldn’t make his brain work; he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t think he’d made a decision, but he found himself reaching slowly down, his fingers closing around the edges of his jeans. He swallowed, looked down and carefully buttoned them back up over his rock hard and still weeping cock. His face burning with arousal and embarrassment, he walked over and grabbed the shirt that Sam had left draped over the back of the chair earlier. Without looking at his brother, he slipped it on and walked out of the room barefoot to get in the car. Sam followed him out a moment later.
Sam had the keys, and Dean didn’t even think to argue who drove.
~o0O0o~
Dean shifted uncomfortably on the seat as the scenery sped by. He rubbed a hand against his thigh, wishing he could stroke higher up; Sam seemed to have a sixth sense for when he got close enough for it to do any good, and Sam’d stopped him every time. At this point, the car vibrations alone were enough to drive him crazy. His jeans were unbuttoned, Sam had seen to that almost as soon as he’d gotten in the car, and his dick was hard and straining and exposed.
Sam reached over, cupped his hand around Dean’s balls and then just left it there, unmoving. Dean whimpered and shifted, trying to increase the friction or… something. Sam gave him a warning squeeze, and he froze, easing carefully back down against the seat.
“Can we stop?” Dean finally growled, well, tried to growl. It sounded kind of pathetic even to his own ears.
Sam glanced at him indolently. “Why, you hungry? We could go through a drive-thru.”
The thought of food twisted Dean’s stomach, and he moaned out a pathetic, “No.”
It was going to be a long fucking day.
~o0O0o~
By the time Sam pulled into the motel parking lot that night, Dean was so worn, so desperately in need of Sam, that he could barely move. He stayed in the car while Sam got them a room. At least Sam’d given him a break through the middle of the day, letting him doze fitfully until an hour or two ago, when he’d woken up to Sam’s hand on his dick once more.
Sam opened the car door and held out a steady hand to pull Dean up. When he got to his feet, Dean lurched and stumbled, almost fell, into Sam’s embrace. It felt so girly Dean wanted to throw up, but he found himself curling into the warm strength Sam offered instead.
“Let’s get you inside and out of those clothes. They’ve gotta be killing you,” Sam whispered against his ear, and Dean’s dick leapt, again, at the thought.
“Hell, yeah,” Dean croaked out, his voice wrecked, which really didn’t make much sense, seeing as how he’d done jack shit all day.
Sam gave a low chuckle that ran straight to Dean’s dick. Helping Dean stumble into the room, Sam ordered, “Strip,” as soon as they were inside with the door locked.
Dean looked down and flushed. He’d hobbled across the parking lot with his dick hanging out of his pants. Thank God it was dark outside. He toyed with just saying no, but if he didn’t get to come soon… Well, he might not actually die, but, shit. While he’d never really given it much thought before, he was rapidly becoming convinced that being hard all day could cause serious damage.
He pulled his t-shirt off, tossed it to the corner of the room and followed it quickly with his jeans. He looked up challengingly at Sam and waited for his brother’s next move while trying to look strong and controlled. Of course, considering how sure he was that Sam already knew he was just seconds away from crawling across the room and begging, the whole attempt at cool was really pretty lame. Fine tremors traveled through his muscles; his pulse raced, and cold sweat pooled in uncomfortable places. He wasn’t fooling anyone.
Sam just looked at him. His expressionless gaze traveled the length of Dean’s body, coming to rest on Dean’s dick. Dean shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. Sam didn’t react, and Dean was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with their relative states of undress. Or not undress. Or whatever. Dean broke first, his eyes hitting the grungy carpet, a fine sweat breaking out across his forehead and lower back.
Dean moved his hands to cover himself, and Sam finally stirred. “Don’t,” he commanded quietly. Dean’s fingers twitched, and he had to fight against his instincts, but he almost immediately managed to jerk his hands back to his sides. Sam’s stoic expression slipped, a light smile gracing his lips. He closed the distance between them, slow and panther-like, coming close, as close as he could without actually touching Dean - anywhere. “Go get in the shower,” he murmured, each word curling breathily into Dean’s ear and along every nerve.
“Yeah, that’s… yeah, okay,” Dean muttered and practically fled to the safety of the small room. The hot water felt great everywhere except where it ran over his dick. The skin was raw and sensitive, and the water burned as it cascaded over and down. Dean turned into it, seeking more, the burn somehow soothing against the throbbing pulse of his erection. He braced his hands against the showerhead wall and closed his eyes, letting the water pound against him.
Completely off guard, he tensed when he felt Sam’s hands on his back. He started to jerk up, but Sam held him in place, digging fingers into Dean’s tense muscles until he began to relax. Sam’s strong hands traveled over his skin and loosened muscles that had been tense for days. The press of Sam's hands narrowed Dean's awareness to the connection they shared, and the noise of the shower cocooned them, shielding them from the weight of everything that pushed and pulled and tried to break them apart. Sam kept at it until he was pliant and boneless everywhere except for the slow burning ache in his dick. He wanted nothing more than to sink down to the bottom of the tub and never move again; only his need for Sam’s hands in the only place Sam wouldn’t fucking go kept him standing.
When Sam stopped abruptly, Dean let out a moan of protest, but Sam only gripped his hip tightly and pushed against his back, forcing him to lean forward until his forearms were flat against the tile and his butt was pushing back against Sam. Sam’s hands moved over his ass, digging into the muscle and sending tingles of pleasure pulsing through his body. Dean shifted, desire heavy between his legs; he moved his feet apart, unable to resist offering himself in an open invitation.
Rubbing smooth, lazy circles over the sides of his ass, Sam’s hands gradually traveled closer together until Dean’s entire focus was narrowed to the thumbs hovering close to his hole. They teased around and beside and over, never pressing in, until Dean couldn’t help it and shoved back, seeking more.
Sharp pain flashed across the skin of his ass, a brief, hard crack of skin against skin, and Sam gripped his hip harshly, hard enough to bruise, holding him still with one hand. The other disappeared for a moment before coming back slicked with soap. The soap changed the way Sam’s skin glided over his, changing the sensation and making it… more. More sensuous, more seductive. Sam smoothed the soap across Dean’s cheeks, small slick circles slipping and pressing into the muscle, lingering there long enough to tease a needy, helpless whimper from Dean before, finally, moving over his hole. Sam slipped inside and Dean’s body offered no resistance, grasping at Sam’s fingers with tiny spasms in an attempt to pull him in more, to pull him in deeper.
Abruptly, Sam withdrew his fingers and drew Dean back against him, his arms circling around to rest against Dean’s chest and stomach. Dean turned slightly, opening his mouth to protest. Sam immediately covered it with his own, his tongue seeking out Dean’s with a hungry, feral intensity that left Dean breathless. Dean’s head was spinning when Sam finally let his mouth go and slipped soap-slicked hands down to run lightly over Dean’s engorged balls and dick. “God, you’re so beautiful,” Sam moaned over Dean’s shoulder, watching his hands play over Dean’s body.
The soap stung against Dean’s abused skin. He hissed out a vehement, “Fuck,” unable to stop himself, but he couldn’t help pushing into Sam’s hands anyway, wanting more. Sam slid his hands up, away, and a sob tore itself from Dean’s throat. Sam had ripped him open, left his very essence exposed, and every nerve in his body was flayed open and bleeding. He couldn’t take this anymore, he needed…
“Shhh,” Sam whispered against his ear, just loud enough to be heard over the spray, “I’ve got you, Dean. You’re okay.” Sam rinsed the soap away before turning off the spray, running a towel gently over his skin and leading him out to the bed.
Grabbing a couple of pillows and throwing them in the middle of the bed, Sam pushed Dean face down over them, aiming his shove so that Dean landed propped up a little, his dick hanging free. Sam crawled up behind him and tongued down Dean’s back, stopping every so often to lap up the little cooling pools of water that still dotted his skin. Tongue tracing a lazy path down, Sam didn’t stop even when he reached Dean’s ass, leaving wet, sloppy lines of bliss smoldering over his skin.
Pulling Dean’s cheeks apart, Sam’s tongue slipped between to circle gently around his hole. Dean jerked up against Sam’s face and Sam’s name ripped from his throat in a needy whine. Dean expected Sam to stop then, expected his tongue to be replaced with his fingers or dick, but Sam just pushed in farther. Sam buried his face in Dean’s ass and his tongue fluttered over the ridged skin of his hole, stuttering on the uneven skin. Dean yelled his frustration and need into the bed, his frantic breaths coming so tight and close that it felt like he wasn’t getting any air at all.
Pushing passed the ring of muscle, Sam licked around his inner walls, and Dean writhed and bucked against Sam’s grasp, frantic to pull away, frantic for more, for Sam to go deeper. He was hovering tantalizingly close to the edge, but was still not able to go over, still not able to let go. “Sammy…” he gasped out, unable to say more, desperately hoping Sam would understand.
Before Dean could react, Sam pulled back just enough to sink his teeth into the inner curve of Dean’s ass. Dean hissed against the sudden pain, his hips pushing up involuntarily. Sam took advantage of the sudden access, reached between Dean’s legs and painfully grabbed his raw dick, sending waves of fire arcing across Dean’s groin.
It was, finally, enough.
Dean’s control broke in an overwhelming wave of pleasure and pain that slammed through his body in wave after wave so intense Dean thought he would drown in it. The entire world swept apart; each pulse rushed through him to carry a little more of his corruption away. He felt the end nearing, and he cried out with loss. The feverish need crested through him in one final, intense burst, flowing out and leaving him a boneless, brainless puddle on the bed.
Dean realized dimly that his face was wet, but before he could think too deeply about that, Sam collapsed on top of him, smearing sticky wetness between them. Dean realized that Sam must’ve come at the same time he did. For some stupid reason that forced another tear to skate down his nose. Sam moved off of him and tried to pull him into an embrace, but Dean pulled back, unable to let himself give in to the offered comfort. Sam was relentless though, and after a few moments, Dean gave in, his face pressed tightly against Sam’s chest.
“Tell me, Dean,” Sam ordered, cold steel in his tone even as his hand moved reassuringly across Dean’s back. “Tell me why you need it to hurt.”
Dean froze, panic clenching through every muscle in his body. He wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t tell Sam about the thirty years, not the truth of it, the truth that felt like such a betrayal now.
Sam just waited, his hand never faltering in its comforting path.
Silence built between them, demanded that he speak, pushing until the first thing that came to Dean’s head spilled out between them, “It was me, Sam.”
Sam’s hand stopped its journey, moved up to cup the back of Dean’s head and held it firmly still. “What was?” Sam rumbled.
“I broke the first seal. It was my fault we almost started the apocalypse.” Overwhelming horror, putrid and soul-crushing, washed over him as strong as it had when Alistair had first spoken the words. He desperately tried to stuff the feelings back down, to keep them buried where they belonged.
Sam tightened his grip on Dean, holding him even closer. “Hey,” Sam whispered, “you don’t have to be strong, not here, not with me… not anymore.” Sam moved down the bed a little, just enough to bring their faces even, and pressed a kiss against Dean’s lips.
Dean opened obediently to the silent demand, his tongue searching greedily for the comforting taste of Sam’s mouth. When Sam pressed in with a needy moan, Dean’s dick pulsed painfully with renewed interest. Sam smiled playfully against his mouth and pulled back just enough to whisper teasingly, “Slut,” before claiming his mouth once more. The kiss lingered, slow and languorous, before Sam licked up the side of Dean’s face and pressed a final kiss against Dean’s forehead.
“I don’t understand why you think you broke the first seal, Dean,” Sam muttered into his hair, the lighthearted mood slipping away almost as fast as it had come. “You couldn’t have.”
Dean felt the tension flood back, had to struggle with himself to stay where he was and not flee the bed, flee the hotel room. He wanted to run away from this whole fucked-up unholy mess he’d started. But, it wouldn’t help, and he knew it, so he somehow managed to stay put. Dean pressed his face against Sam’s chest so he wouldn’t have to see the pity and revulsion. “I broke in hell, Sammy. That was the first seal,” Dean gritted out, each word stabbing brutally like a dagger through his heart.
“What?” Sam sounded confused. “Lots of people break in hell, Dean. That’s why we have demons.”
Alistair’s words had been branded on his soul, and he whispered them out shamefully against Sam’s chest, “And it is written… that the first seal shall be broken… when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break…” Dean’s voice cracked at the end, and the rest of his words came out splintered and harsh. “I did it. I started everything.”
Sam’s grip on his neck got painfully tight as Dean spoke, but Sam shook his head in denial. There was a long pause, leaving Dean time to wonder if Sam was going to push him away in disgust, before Sam spit out angrily, “Who the hell told you that? Castiel?”
Dean pushed the single word past his lips, “Alistair.”
Sam’s response was almost automatic, “Demons lie.”
“Not this time,” Dean replied, absolutely certain. “And anyway, Castiel confirmed it.”
“Well, you didn’t know. You can’t blame yourself,” Sam said, matching his tone to Dean’s.
“The hell I can’t,” Dean snapped back, and then managed to choke out, “Dad didn’t... He was there for a hundred years, and he didn’t.”
Sam tightened his arms around Dean and growled out fiercely, “You’re a hundred times stronger than Dad, Dean. I don’t believe that for…”
“You saw Dad when he got out,” Dean yelled over Sam to make his point. Falling back on the determined aggression that had nearly always seen him through, he pulled back so he could see Sam’s face. “He didn’t break, and based on how long I was there…”
“But that’s the thing, Dean,” Sam said, cutting him off. “You’re assuming there’s some easy rule for how time moves in hell and how it moves here. It didn’t have to be the same time for dad at all. There’s no rule that says time in hell has to be consistent. For all we know, he was only there for a couple of months.”
“Alistair said…”
“Of course he did, Dean, but just because you think he told you the truth about the prophecy doesn’t mean he told you the truth about everything.” Dean flushed, feeling a little thick, but Sam went on without pausing, “Besides, do you really think you were the first righteous man to go to hell, to sacrifice themselves for someone else? What about Evan Hudson? Did he deserve to go to hell for wanting to save his wife’s life? Do you really think he didn’t break?” Sam sat up and left the bed to lean against the dresser, gaze catching on his own reflection in the mirror.
Dean slowly sat up, meaning to follow him, but every muscle in his body screamed in protest.
Sam started talking again before Dean had even made it to the edge of the bed, his voice filled with grim conviction. “Dad broke, Dad didn’t break; there was something else that they did to make what happened to you be the thing that broke the first seal, some other part of the prophesy that Alistair didn’t tell you about… They only went after you because of me. Because… because they knew you wouldn’t stop me.” The passion slowly died from Sam’s voice, leaving him sounding tired and defeated. “Dad wouldn’t have tried to reason with me; he would have just taken me out. I’m the fuck up here, not you.”
Dean eased himself off the bed and moved close to Sam. “Hey, I’m not saying I think what you did with Ruby was right, but you didn’t know, Sam. Who would’ve thought that killing Lilith was a bad idea? And besides, in the end, you stopped it.”
Sam met Dean’s gaze tentatively. A smile ghosted across his lips at Dean’s words but quickly disappeared again. “The angels and demons played us both, Dean,” Sam said, anger lacing his tone, “We can’t trust anyone else. We’re all we’ve got.”
An uneasy feeling stirred in the pit of Dean’s stomach at Sam’s words, but he pushed it away, snapping back with a forced, “And don’t you forget it.”
Sam smiled possessively, his gaze roving slowly over Dean’s body, “I think we need to shower again.”
Intensely grateful for the distraction, Dean called out, “Dibbs!” immediately, and shuffled stiffly toward the door, half waiting for Sam to follow him in.
Sam didn’t say anything in response, and Dean had to stifle his disappointment. The door was almost shut before Sam finally called out, “Dean?” in a low voice.
“What?” Dean asked pulling the door open again.
“I know there’s something else,” Sam said, with just the barest hint of a threat. Dean felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “You don’t have to say anything today, but you won’t be allowed to keep it from me forever.”
Dean stared at Sam for a moment, but he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he simply shut the door, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Sam let him.
Part Four
Author: Varkelton
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~33,500
Warnings aka Enticements aka Kinks: Blood-play, knife-play, violence, torture, D/s, mild breath-play, a little spanking, physical abuse, pain-kink, first-time sex, masturbation, orgasm denial, claiming, marking, rimming, barebacking, hurt/comfort, dub-con, non-con (outside POV), slash, and incest… oh yeah, and a healthy helping of angst. My favorite! Plus a couple more things I’m leaving off the list because they’re spoilery, and if you’re good with this list, you’ll be okay with them too. But if you really, really need to know, drop me an e-mail and I’ll be happy to discuss.
Disclaimer: Do you suppose if I asked sweetly, the boys would give themselves to me? Yeah, I know, not after they read my stories. Darn! Labor of love. No profit.
AN: Starts immediately at the end of Season Four (Lucifer Rising). It goes AU after that, although I have borrowed some of the plot elements and a little bit of dialog from the first part of Season Five, at least where I could. No spoilers for anything unaired.
Summary: The Angels’ plan to start the apocalypse is thwarted when Sam manages to shut the gate right after it opens, but it rapidly becomes apparent that there are no easy fixes to be found. Sam is still consumed with a need for blood that seems to be spiraling out of control, and Dean’s attempts to help his brother force him to relive experiences in hell that he’s been trying to forget since his return.
Artist: musingdarkly
| Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four and Thanks |
Art by musingdarkly
Part Three
Sam collapses at Dean’s feet, his chains pulled completely taut and his wrists nothing but ruined masses of sores and bone and blood. Sam had struggled so hard when Alistair was here earlier that he pulled both of his shoulders out of joint. Dean can’t help but worry - Sam doesn’t heal like he does. They haven’t let Dean off the rack in months. To be so close to Sam, yet not able to touch, is a far worse agony than all of the tortures Alistair has subjected them to over the years.
“Sammy,” Dean manages to whisper hoarsely before another healing tremor flashes through him like lightning and he cries out weakly. Dean tries again when it passes, “Sammy, please.”
Sam doesn’t move; a shuddering breath shakes his body in response to Dean’s voice, but there’s nothing else. Dean pulls helplessly against the bindings that hold him in place, oblivious to the extra strain it puts on his overtaxed limbs; Sam is his strength, the reassurance of Sam’s presence a desperate need. This silence is devastating.
“Dean,” Sam finally responds, his voice broken and dead.
Another flash of torment wracks Dean’s body, this one worse than before, a maelstrom of pain that consumes his awareness. He struggles futilely to keep his cries inside, only keeps up the fight because he doesn’t know how to stop, but the cries wrench themselves from his unwilling throat once more.
Sam whimpers once, tired and lost. Abject misery stretches across his features, chasing him back to life; Sam’s completely unable to ignore Dean’s agony, even after all this time. He throws himself against his chains in a vain, desperate attempt to get to his brother. Failing, his anguished cries blend hopelessly with Dean’s.
The moment eventually passes, but it leaves them both gasping, leaves Sam on his knees, sobbing out ragged breaths of defeat. When Sam finally looks up at him, there’s almost nothing left of sanity in his eyes. Dean tries to hold on to him, to hold his gaze, but he slips away. “I can’t do this anymore, Dean,” Sam coughs out onto the stone. “I’m sorry, I’m not… not strong enough.”
Dean tries to cut Sam off; “Sam, stop,” he pleads. He can’t bear to hear what Sam is saying, but Sam doesn’t seem to listen.
“Alistair says… if I do what he wants…” Sam gasps out, “If I pick up the knife… he’ll let me forget…” Sam looks up at him with a face that could break an angel, “I can’t die, Dean.” Sam’s breath hitches on a sob. “I need to forget. I need this to be over,” he whispers, eyes begging Dean to understand.
And Dean feels the last of his battered defenses crack…
Dean sucked in a trembling breath as he clawed his way slowly back to consciousness. The pillow under his face was wet, and something heavy was holding him down. Panic, sharp and hot, ripped through his chest. “No!” he yelled out weakly, struggling to free himself from the restraints.
“Dean, stop it. You’re okay,” Sam murmured into Dean’s hair. It was Sam - Sam’s body that lay over the top of him and tangled between his legs. Dean pulled in a deep, purposeful breath. Just Sam. He brought himself forcibly under control, his breath catching as he gulped down more air and fought to relax his muscles. Sam clutched him harder, mumbling reassuring nonsense through lips that were pressed against the top of Dean’s head, and that was…
Dean jerked himself free from Sam’s arms so hard he rolled all the way off the side of the bed where he landed with a solid thud. That fucking hurt; a train must have hit him in the night, he thought wretchedly… must have hit him repeatedly. He moaned out loud, and Sam’s head appeared over the side.
“Dean?” Sam held out a hand towards him. Dean flinched back and scrambled away, only then realizing that he was completely, stark, fucking naked. Sam had that stupid scrunched look on his face that seemed to happen whenever he thought Dean’d gone insane. Dean scowled back, but after what they’d done last night, Dean was inclined to wonder the same thing. Noticing his clothes lying in a heap under the table, he snagged his jeans from the pile and pulled them on clumsily.
“Dean?” Sam slowly sat up on the side of the bed; he sounded a lot more wary now.
Dean remained silent; any words he might have been able to come up with would only have been blocked by the brick in his throat anyway. He tried to swallow but whimpered instead. He spared a moment of irritation at himself for the irrelevant emotions that seemed to be forcing their way out.
He stood up to pull his jeans on the rest of the way and nearly fell on his face. Sam appeared at his side in an instant, steadying him with a solid grip on his shoulders. Dean froze, his brain suddenly incapable of forming a rational thought.
“Dean…” Sam whispered and pulled him into an embrace. Dean reacted blindly and threw a punch that caught Sam in the jaw and sent him stumbling back against the bed.
Sam turned back slowly, bringing a hand up to rub at his jaw while he tentatively rested his ass on the side of the bed. He exhaled, sharp with self-recrimination, and then looked up at Dean with a veiled expression. “Guess I deserved that…” he said quietly.
“Damn straight you deserved that!” Dean flung back furiously. Sam flinched like he’d been hit again, and all the fight bled out of Dean as fast as it had come. He stumbled back and sat heavily on the battered old chair next to the table. He was still off his game, even with the extra sleep he’d gotten yesterday...
“What the hell was that last night?” Dean asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as weak to Sam as it did to his own ears.
Sam stood up abruptly and threw on yesterday’s clothes before he started gathering their things. “Breakfast, and then we should head to Bobby’s.” he said as he moved, acting suddenly like nothing had fucking happened.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Sam replied dismissively before heading into the bathroom to gather the shaving kits.
“No,” Dean said, anger twisting his gut. He got up and followed Sam, standing in the doorway to block his brother from coming back into the room. “No,” he repeated, “you don’t get to pretend like nothing happened last night, or that it doesn’t matter. You don’t… we can’t… what were you even thinking, Sam? You… we… Just, Jesus Christ, Sam…”
Sam faced the sink, his hands gripping the sides of it tightly; tension curled up his arms and down his back. He was just standing there, not responding, and the full weight of what they’d done suddenly slammed into Dean. He wanted to sink through the floor and die. He deserved to go back to hell. “I think I should leave…” he managed to force out, starting to turn away. Suddenly Sam grabbed him, dragged him out of the bathroom doorway and around the corner to slam against the wall.
“No,” Sam gritted, fury twisting through his features. “Dean, you don’t get to leave me. Not again.” Sam buried his face against Dean’s neck and ran his teeth lightly over the stitches there. “Please.”
Dean wanted to give in to Sam’s quiet plea, wanted it more than anything, but… He didn’t understand why Sam was acting like this, like what they were doing was even remotely okay. There was no way Sam wanted this. He placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders and tried to push Sam away. Sam didn’t budge, his mouth close and hot, so Dean attempted words instead. “What happened last night…”
Sam’s head snapped up, his gaze fierce, “I gave you what you needed. That’s all.”
“But that’s the thing, man, you should never have had to do that.” Dean’s composure was crumbling as he added, “I shouldn’t have needed that.” Sam just stared at him, and Dean couldn’t wrap his head around how everything had gotten so fucked up and out of control. “And why the hell aren’t you disgusted by me anyway?” he threw out accusingly. He pushed ineffectively against Sam’s unmovable bulk again before dropping his hands loosely down to his sides and letting his head fall back against the wall in defeat.
Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Disgusted by you? I wanted to do what we did. It’s not like I didn’t get off on it too.” Sam wrapped his hand around the side of Dean’s face, let his thumb play over the stubble on Dean’s chin... “What, should I be disgusted with myself, too?” he added, heavy lidded and lazy… almost predatory.
Dean started to say yes, but Sam caught Dean’s parted lips with his thumb, sealing them shut. “I lost normal a long time ago, Dean. Quit trying to protect me from what I want. I need this, too.” Sam pressed his thumb into Dean’s mouth, stroked it sensuously over Dean’s tongue. The salty caress seemed to go straight to Dean’s dick, effectively destroying Dean’s ability to protest what was happening. Completely lost, Dean wrapped his lips around Sam’s thumb and sucked down hard. Sam let out a needy moan that made Dean smile helplessly, all coherent thought shattering into pieces on the floor.
Sam pulled his thumb out of Dean’s mouth... When Dean went to chase after it, Sam replaced it with his mouth, his hands gripping the sides of Dean’s face to take control. Hot and demanding, he sealed his lips over Dean’s, and his tongue probed, demanding entrance.
Dean reached up instinctively to wrap his hands around Sam’s wrists and hold on tight. He opened eagerly under the assault and Sam swept in, colliding with Dean’s tongue so they glided together in a sloppy dance. Sam pulled back out to caress Dean’s lips only to quickly delve once more inside.
When Sam’s hands broke Dean’s hold and slid down the front of his chest, Dean became suddenly, acutely aware that all he had on were half-buttoned jeans. He started to reach down, but Sam stopped him and placed his hands purposefully against the wall. “Hands off,” Sam muttered, gaze narrowing possessively.
Sam’s teeth hungrily snagged his bottom lip; sharp pain flashed there before the metallic taste of blood started filling Dean’s mouth. Sam sucked feverishly at his bloody lip, worrying the skin. Never letting go of Dean’s mouth, Sam’s gliding fingers teased and played over Dean’s nipples until they peaked rigidly before pinching down hard. The dual assault shot straight to Dean’s groin, and he bucked up slightly before regaining control. His dick jutted out above the waistband of his open jeans, his pre-come heavy enough to leave damp patches along the edge of them.
With a pleased, breathy laugh, Sam wedged a leg between Dean's, putting pressure in just the right spot. Dean tried to resist, but Sam gave another sharp twist to Dean’s aching nipples and nipped at his lip once more. Dean rutted uncontrollably against his brother with a loud groan.
“God, you’re so hot like this,” Sam moaned against Dean’s ear, close enough to brush over the sensitive flesh as he talked. “Wanna keep you like this forever.” Sam’s voice was going lower, deeper, more lust-blown by the second. “Need you so much. Gonna make you mine.” Sam slid down Dean’s chest, their bodies gliding together until he knelt in front of Dean, his warm breath ghosting over Dean’s overeager dick.
Paused there, heavy breaths filling the room in synchronized bursts, his hands twitching restlessly at his sides, Dean stared fixedly down at his brother. Each breath of Sam’s washed, humid and heated, against Dean until every ounce of focus and attention zeroed in on what was to come. Dean whimpered, thrusting his hips forward in a silent demand for more.
Looking up to meet his eyes, Sam finally reached up, rested his hands on either side of Dean’s full erection, and smiled wickedly.
His fingers brushed over Dean’s fly. He let them linger over the buttons for a moment, pressing only lightly but hard enough to cause shivering sparks of pleasure to ripple outwards. Then he pulled the edges of cloth together and slowly… fastened them… back… together...
Dean just watched, perplexed and wanting, unable to move. Sam stood up. Dean couldn’t quite process what his brother had just done.
“Put on a shirt, and let’s go, Dean,” Sam commanded calmly. “We have a lot of miles between us and Bobby.”
“What?” Dean panted intelligently.
Sam simply moved away, picked up the bags he’d packed earlier and walked out of the room.
Dean stared hard at the door for at least a minute before his brain reengaged. He finally figured out that Sam had inexplicably put the breaks on, which… What the fuck? Dean shifted uncomfortably and dropped a hand down to adjust himself. It wasn’t enough. His dick throbbed against his hand, so he flicked open the top buttons on his jeans and thumbed over the aching tip, spreading his wetness around the head.
Why the hell had Sam worked him up like this only to walk out?
Annoyance flashed through him, and he moved to brace his back against the wall, popping open the last few buttons so he could get a firm grip around himself. He pumped once, sending shivers of pleasure tingling over his skin. Reaching with his other hand to push his jeans down a little bit, he cupped his balls and fondled the skin between his fingers. He moaned as he moved his hands in tandem, and it was probably quite the show when the door suddenly flew open again. Sam didn’t even pause, leaving the door swinging wide to stride across the room. He grabbed both of Dean’s wrists, ripped them away and slammed them harshly against the wall over Dean’s head.
“The hell, Sam?” Dean demanded, glaring up at his brother. “Get the fuck off of me.” He tried to jerk his hands free, but Sam’s hold was secure, and Dean cursed his continuing weakness.
Sam moved his face down so it was only an inch away from Dean’s and spat out, “That’s mine, Dean. As of last night, no one touches it without my permission. Including you. Or we go back to what we were. It’s your choice.”
The thought of going back to what they were, back to Sam constantly pushing Dean away, back to the mutual distrust and aching distance… Just the thought constricted his chest and blurred his sight, but he couldn’t make himself move, couldn’t make himself speak. Sam slammed Dean’s wrists against the wall once more; Dean knew there’d be bruises later. Sam stared him down for several more heartbeats then let him go and backed slowly away without breaking eye contact.
They stared at each other long enough to feel uncomfortable, but Dean couldn’t make his brain work; he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t think he’d made a decision, but he found himself reaching slowly down, his fingers closing around the edges of his jeans. He swallowed, looked down and carefully buttoned them back up over his rock hard and still weeping cock. His face burning with arousal and embarrassment, he walked over and grabbed the shirt that Sam had left draped over the back of the chair earlier. Without looking at his brother, he slipped it on and walked out of the room barefoot to get in the car. Sam followed him out a moment later.
Sam had the keys, and Dean didn’t even think to argue who drove.
~o0O0o~
Dean shifted uncomfortably on the seat as the scenery sped by. He rubbed a hand against his thigh, wishing he could stroke higher up; Sam seemed to have a sixth sense for when he got close enough for it to do any good, and Sam’d stopped him every time. At this point, the car vibrations alone were enough to drive him crazy. His jeans were unbuttoned, Sam had seen to that almost as soon as he’d gotten in the car, and his dick was hard and straining and exposed.
Sam reached over, cupped his hand around Dean’s balls and then just left it there, unmoving. Dean whimpered and shifted, trying to increase the friction or… something. Sam gave him a warning squeeze, and he froze, easing carefully back down against the seat.
“Can we stop?” Dean finally growled, well, tried to growl. It sounded kind of pathetic even to his own ears.
Sam glanced at him indolently. “Why, you hungry? We could go through a drive-thru.”
The thought of food twisted Dean’s stomach, and he moaned out a pathetic, “No.”
It was going to be a long fucking day.
~o0O0o~
By the time Sam pulled into the motel parking lot that night, Dean was so worn, so desperately in need of Sam, that he could barely move. He stayed in the car while Sam got them a room. At least Sam’d given him a break through the middle of the day, letting him doze fitfully until an hour or two ago, when he’d woken up to Sam’s hand on his dick once more.
Sam opened the car door and held out a steady hand to pull Dean up. When he got to his feet, Dean lurched and stumbled, almost fell, into Sam’s embrace. It felt so girly Dean wanted to throw up, but he found himself curling into the warm strength Sam offered instead.
“Let’s get you inside and out of those clothes. They’ve gotta be killing you,” Sam whispered against his ear, and Dean’s dick leapt, again, at the thought.
“Hell, yeah,” Dean croaked out, his voice wrecked, which really didn’t make much sense, seeing as how he’d done jack shit all day.
Sam gave a low chuckle that ran straight to Dean’s dick. Helping Dean stumble into the room, Sam ordered, “Strip,” as soon as they were inside with the door locked.
Dean looked down and flushed. He’d hobbled across the parking lot with his dick hanging out of his pants. Thank God it was dark outside. He toyed with just saying no, but if he didn’t get to come soon… Well, he might not actually die, but, shit. While he’d never really given it much thought before, he was rapidly becoming convinced that being hard all day could cause serious damage.
He pulled his t-shirt off, tossed it to the corner of the room and followed it quickly with his jeans. He looked up challengingly at Sam and waited for his brother’s next move while trying to look strong and controlled. Of course, considering how sure he was that Sam already knew he was just seconds away from crawling across the room and begging, the whole attempt at cool was really pretty lame. Fine tremors traveled through his muscles; his pulse raced, and cold sweat pooled in uncomfortable places. He wasn’t fooling anyone.
Sam just looked at him. His expressionless gaze traveled the length of Dean’s body, coming to rest on Dean’s dick. Dean shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. Sam didn’t react, and Dean was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with their relative states of undress. Or not undress. Or whatever. Dean broke first, his eyes hitting the grungy carpet, a fine sweat breaking out across his forehead and lower back.
Dean moved his hands to cover himself, and Sam finally stirred. “Don’t,” he commanded quietly. Dean’s fingers twitched, and he had to fight against his instincts, but he almost immediately managed to jerk his hands back to his sides. Sam’s stoic expression slipped, a light smile gracing his lips. He closed the distance between them, slow and panther-like, coming close, as close as he could without actually touching Dean - anywhere. “Go get in the shower,” he murmured, each word curling breathily into Dean’s ear and along every nerve.
“Yeah, that’s… yeah, okay,” Dean muttered and practically fled to the safety of the small room. The hot water felt great everywhere except where it ran over his dick. The skin was raw and sensitive, and the water burned as it cascaded over and down. Dean turned into it, seeking more, the burn somehow soothing against the throbbing pulse of his erection. He braced his hands against the showerhead wall and closed his eyes, letting the water pound against him.
Completely off guard, he tensed when he felt Sam’s hands on his back. He started to jerk up, but Sam held him in place, digging fingers into Dean’s tense muscles until he began to relax. Sam’s strong hands traveled over his skin and loosened muscles that had been tense for days. The press of Sam's hands narrowed Dean's awareness to the connection they shared, and the noise of the shower cocooned them, shielding them from the weight of everything that pushed and pulled and tried to break them apart. Sam kept at it until he was pliant and boneless everywhere except for the slow burning ache in his dick. He wanted nothing more than to sink down to the bottom of the tub and never move again; only his need for Sam’s hands in the only place Sam wouldn’t fucking go kept him standing.
When Sam stopped abruptly, Dean let out a moan of protest, but Sam only gripped his hip tightly and pushed against his back, forcing him to lean forward until his forearms were flat against the tile and his butt was pushing back against Sam. Sam’s hands moved over his ass, digging into the muscle and sending tingles of pleasure pulsing through his body. Dean shifted, desire heavy between his legs; he moved his feet apart, unable to resist offering himself in an open invitation.
Rubbing smooth, lazy circles over the sides of his ass, Sam’s hands gradually traveled closer together until Dean’s entire focus was narrowed to the thumbs hovering close to his hole. They teased around and beside and over, never pressing in, until Dean couldn’t help it and shoved back, seeking more.
Sharp pain flashed across the skin of his ass, a brief, hard crack of skin against skin, and Sam gripped his hip harshly, hard enough to bruise, holding him still with one hand. The other disappeared for a moment before coming back slicked with soap. The soap changed the way Sam’s skin glided over his, changing the sensation and making it… more. More sensuous, more seductive. Sam smoothed the soap across Dean’s cheeks, small slick circles slipping and pressing into the muscle, lingering there long enough to tease a needy, helpless whimper from Dean before, finally, moving over his hole. Sam slipped inside and Dean’s body offered no resistance, grasping at Sam’s fingers with tiny spasms in an attempt to pull him in more, to pull him in deeper.
Abruptly, Sam withdrew his fingers and drew Dean back against him, his arms circling around to rest against Dean’s chest and stomach. Dean turned slightly, opening his mouth to protest. Sam immediately covered it with his own, his tongue seeking out Dean’s with a hungry, feral intensity that left Dean breathless. Dean’s head was spinning when Sam finally let his mouth go and slipped soap-slicked hands down to run lightly over Dean’s engorged balls and dick. “God, you’re so beautiful,” Sam moaned over Dean’s shoulder, watching his hands play over Dean’s body.
The soap stung against Dean’s abused skin. He hissed out a vehement, “Fuck,” unable to stop himself, but he couldn’t help pushing into Sam’s hands anyway, wanting more. Sam slid his hands up, away, and a sob tore itself from Dean’s throat. Sam had ripped him open, left his very essence exposed, and every nerve in his body was flayed open and bleeding. He couldn’t take this anymore, he needed…
“Shhh,” Sam whispered against his ear, just loud enough to be heard over the spray, “I’ve got you, Dean. You’re okay.” Sam rinsed the soap away before turning off the spray, running a towel gently over his skin and leading him out to the bed.
Grabbing a couple of pillows and throwing them in the middle of the bed, Sam pushed Dean face down over them, aiming his shove so that Dean landed propped up a little, his dick hanging free. Sam crawled up behind him and tongued down Dean’s back, stopping every so often to lap up the little cooling pools of water that still dotted his skin. Tongue tracing a lazy path down, Sam didn’t stop even when he reached Dean’s ass, leaving wet, sloppy lines of bliss smoldering over his skin.
Pulling Dean’s cheeks apart, Sam’s tongue slipped between to circle gently around his hole. Dean jerked up against Sam’s face and Sam’s name ripped from his throat in a needy whine. Dean expected Sam to stop then, expected his tongue to be replaced with his fingers or dick, but Sam just pushed in farther. Sam buried his face in Dean’s ass and his tongue fluttered over the ridged skin of his hole, stuttering on the uneven skin. Dean yelled his frustration and need into the bed, his frantic breaths coming so tight and close that it felt like he wasn’t getting any air at all.
Pushing passed the ring of muscle, Sam licked around his inner walls, and Dean writhed and bucked against Sam’s grasp, frantic to pull away, frantic for more, for Sam to go deeper. He was hovering tantalizingly close to the edge, but was still not able to go over, still not able to let go. “Sammy…” he gasped out, unable to say more, desperately hoping Sam would understand.
Before Dean could react, Sam pulled back just enough to sink his teeth into the inner curve of Dean’s ass. Dean hissed against the sudden pain, his hips pushing up involuntarily. Sam took advantage of the sudden access, reached between Dean’s legs and painfully grabbed his raw dick, sending waves of fire arcing across Dean’s groin.
It was, finally, enough.
Dean’s control broke in an overwhelming wave of pleasure and pain that slammed through his body in wave after wave so intense Dean thought he would drown in it. The entire world swept apart; each pulse rushed through him to carry a little more of his corruption away. He felt the end nearing, and he cried out with loss. The feverish need crested through him in one final, intense burst, flowing out and leaving him a boneless, brainless puddle on the bed.
Dean realized dimly that his face was wet, but before he could think too deeply about that, Sam collapsed on top of him, smearing sticky wetness between them. Dean realized that Sam must’ve come at the same time he did. For some stupid reason that forced another tear to skate down his nose. Sam moved off of him and tried to pull him into an embrace, but Dean pulled back, unable to let himself give in to the offered comfort. Sam was relentless though, and after a few moments, Dean gave in, his face pressed tightly against Sam’s chest.
“Tell me, Dean,” Sam ordered, cold steel in his tone even as his hand moved reassuringly across Dean’s back. “Tell me why you need it to hurt.”
Dean froze, panic clenching through every muscle in his body. He wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t tell Sam about the thirty years, not the truth of it, the truth that felt like such a betrayal now.
Sam just waited, his hand never faltering in its comforting path.
Silence built between them, demanded that he speak, pushing until the first thing that came to Dean’s head spilled out between them, “It was me, Sam.”
Sam’s hand stopped its journey, moved up to cup the back of Dean’s head and held it firmly still. “What was?” Sam rumbled.
“I broke the first seal. It was my fault we almost started the apocalypse.” Overwhelming horror, putrid and soul-crushing, washed over him as strong as it had when Alistair had first spoken the words. He desperately tried to stuff the feelings back down, to keep them buried where they belonged.
Sam tightened his grip on Dean, holding him even closer. “Hey,” Sam whispered, “you don’t have to be strong, not here, not with me… not anymore.” Sam moved down the bed a little, just enough to bring their faces even, and pressed a kiss against Dean’s lips.
Dean opened obediently to the silent demand, his tongue searching greedily for the comforting taste of Sam’s mouth. When Sam pressed in with a needy moan, Dean’s dick pulsed painfully with renewed interest. Sam smiled playfully against his mouth and pulled back just enough to whisper teasingly, “Slut,” before claiming his mouth once more. The kiss lingered, slow and languorous, before Sam licked up the side of Dean’s face and pressed a final kiss against Dean’s forehead.
“I don’t understand why you think you broke the first seal, Dean,” Sam muttered into his hair, the lighthearted mood slipping away almost as fast as it had come. “You couldn’t have.”
Dean felt the tension flood back, had to struggle with himself to stay where he was and not flee the bed, flee the hotel room. He wanted to run away from this whole fucked-up unholy mess he’d started. But, it wouldn’t help, and he knew it, so he somehow managed to stay put. Dean pressed his face against Sam’s chest so he wouldn’t have to see the pity and revulsion. “I broke in hell, Sammy. That was the first seal,” Dean gritted out, each word stabbing brutally like a dagger through his heart.
“What?” Sam sounded confused. “Lots of people break in hell, Dean. That’s why we have demons.”
Alistair’s words had been branded on his soul, and he whispered them out shamefully against Sam’s chest, “And it is written… that the first seal shall be broken… when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break…” Dean’s voice cracked at the end, and the rest of his words came out splintered and harsh. “I did it. I started everything.”
Sam’s grip on his neck got painfully tight as Dean spoke, but Sam shook his head in denial. There was a long pause, leaving Dean time to wonder if Sam was going to push him away in disgust, before Sam spit out angrily, “Who the hell told you that? Castiel?”
Dean pushed the single word past his lips, “Alistair.”
Sam’s response was almost automatic, “Demons lie.”
“Not this time,” Dean replied, absolutely certain. “And anyway, Castiel confirmed it.”
“Well, you didn’t know. You can’t blame yourself,” Sam said, matching his tone to Dean’s.
“The hell I can’t,” Dean snapped back, and then managed to choke out, “Dad didn’t... He was there for a hundred years, and he didn’t.”
Sam tightened his arms around Dean and growled out fiercely, “You’re a hundred times stronger than Dad, Dean. I don’t believe that for…”
“You saw Dad when he got out,” Dean yelled over Sam to make his point. Falling back on the determined aggression that had nearly always seen him through, he pulled back so he could see Sam’s face. “He didn’t break, and based on how long I was there…”
“But that’s the thing, Dean,” Sam said, cutting him off. “You’re assuming there’s some easy rule for how time moves in hell and how it moves here. It didn’t have to be the same time for dad at all. There’s no rule that says time in hell has to be consistent. For all we know, he was only there for a couple of months.”
“Alistair said…”
“Of course he did, Dean, but just because you think he told you the truth about the prophecy doesn’t mean he told you the truth about everything.” Dean flushed, feeling a little thick, but Sam went on without pausing, “Besides, do you really think you were the first righteous man to go to hell, to sacrifice themselves for someone else? What about Evan Hudson? Did he deserve to go to hell for wanting to save his wife’s life? Do you really think he didn’t break?” Sam sat up and left the bed to lean against the dresser, gaze catching on his own reflection in the mirror.
Dean slowly sat up, meaning to follow him, but every muscle in his body screamed in protest.
Sam started talking again before Dean had even made it to the edge of the bed, his voice filled with grim conviction. “Dad broke, Dad didn’t break; there was something else that they did to make what happened to you be the thing that broke the first seal, some other part of the prophesy that Alistair didn’t tell you about… They only went after you because of me. Because… because they knew you wouldn’t stop me.” The passion slowly died from Sam’s voice, leaving him sounding tired and defeated. “Dad wouldn’t have tried to reason with me; he would have just taken me out. I’m the fuck up here, not you.”
Dean eased himself off the bed and moved close to Sam. “Hey, I’m not saying I think what you did with Ruby was right, but you didn’t know, Sam. Who would’ve thought that killing Lilith was a bad idea? And besides, in the end, you stopped it.”
Sam met Dean’s gaze tentatively. A smile ghosted across his lips at Dean’s words but quickly disappeared again. “The angels and demons played us both, Dean,” Sam said, anger lacing his tone, “We can’t trust anyone else. We’re all we’ve got.”
An uneasy feeling stirred in the pit of Dean’s stomach at Sam’s words, but he pushed it away, snapping back with a forced, “And don’t you forget it.”
Sam smiled possessively, his gaze roving slowly over Dean’s body, “I think we need to shower again.”
Intensely grateful for the distraction, Dean called out, “Dibbs!” immediately, and shuffled stiffly toward the door, half waiting for Sam to follow him in.
Sam didn’t say anything in response, and Dean had to stifle his disappointment. The door was almost shut before Sam finally called out, “Dean?” in a low voice.
“What?” Dean asked pulling the door open again.
“I know there’s something else,” Sam said, with just the barest hint of a threat. Dean felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “You don’t have to say anything today, but you won’t be allowed to keep it from me forever.”
Dean stared at Sam for a moment, but he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he simply shut the door, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Sam let him.
Part Four