An Offering For Sin - Part Two
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 Two
“Maybe I should drive.”
Dean shot a startled look at his brother. “Excuse me?”
“You look tired. I’m just,” Sam floundered for a moment, searching for what he wanted to say. He had that look like he’d eaten something bad. Or, he was constipated. Dean smirked to himself. Sam sighed and then continued in a somewhat defeated voice, “You just looked tired. I could take the wheel. If you wanted a break.”
“In your dreams, dude. I’m fine,” Dean growled, sitting up from his slouch slowly so it wouldn’t be obvious.
“Yeah. Whatever, Dean.”
They settled back into silence again, and the miles rolled by. Dean could tell that Sam was stewing about something, but he just sat there stiffly, filling the car with pissy vibes. Dean rolled his eyes; damned if he was going to start the conversation. If Sam wanted to say something, he could damn well bring it up himself. Besides, if Dean started it, Sam’d probably just lie about whatever it was anyway.
“I’m feeling better.”
Dean had gotten lulled by the road, and the sudden words startled him and made him jump almost as bad as when the damned angels popped in. He shot Sam an annoyed look, and, when Sam seemed to be waiting for a response, said, “That’s… good.”
“We could…” Sam exhaled loudly, and Dean just waited for him to spit out whatever it was. “We could split up.”
Dean shoved down the anger and guilt and… he couldn’t deny the small bit of hope that welled up at the words. He didn’t know what to do with any of the feelings, though, and he’d already decided against this plan anyway. “God damn it, Sam. Not this again.”
“This is different,” Sam said, his voice tired and remote as he keep his gaze fixed out the window. “This time I’m not saying them while I’m sick.”
Dean snorted and shook his head, struggling and failing to keep his anger at bay. “If you’re so anxious to go,” he snapped, “I’m not stopping you. Just tell me where to drop you the fuck off.”
Sam flinched, his gaze snapping back to Dean, and he looked wounded, which… What the fuck? Sam was the one who brought this up again, not him. How many times was he supposed to hold Sam’s hand and tell him everything he’d done was okay... especially when it really wasn’t?
“The next town is fine,” Sam finally replied in a low undertone.
Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly, his anger edging higher as the miles slipped by in silence once more. After everything Sam had done, he’d still stood by Sam, he’d offered forgiveness whether Sam deserved it or not. He wanted to tell Sam off, wanted to ask him where he got off… except that it wouldn’t help. Everything that needed to be said had been said already, and it hadn’t made a damn bit of difference. Bobby had been wrong; there was nothing left to salvage here.
When Sam interrupted his thoughts, he jumped again.
“Thank you,” Sam said quietly into the tense silence.
Dean shook his head at the unexpected statement. “For what?”
“I know you only came there to stop me. You didn’t have to stay…” Sam said, his voice thick, like he was having trouble getting the words out. There was a long pause, and Dean glanced over, started to open his mouth to say… something, he didn’t know what, but Sam interrupted, his tone cutting and sharp and unexpectedly angry, “Why didn’t you just leave when it was over?”
Dean gaped at Sam incredulously for a heartbeat, trying to make sense of Sam’s ridiculous question, before forcing his eyes back to the road. “What, I was just supposed to leave you naked and unconscious on the floor of the cathedral? That would have been classy of me,” Dean replied sarcastically. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. He peered into the darkness, looking desperately for a freeway sign with mileage for the next town, but there was nothing.
Sam stared at Dean, looking miserable. Under the weight of Sam’s expectation, he found himself talking once more. “Look,” he said slowly, “I’m not saying I’m not angry, because… I’m not gonna lie to you. You were the one that I depended on the most, and you let me down in ways that I can’t even…” Dean felt his throat closing off around the words, the hurt he’d been holding back for days suddenly welling up out of nowhere and taking him by surprise. “Shit, Sammy, you chose a demon over your own brother.”
He was shaking with tension, and he wanted to lash out, swing a punch, but that never seemed to make any kind of fucking impression. He spared a quick glance over at his brother. Sam looked devastated, and a part of Dean was glad.
“I’m sorry,” Sam rasped. “You must really hate me.”
Dean’s anger bled away as suddenly as it came, leaving him tired. “I don’t hate you, Sam.”
Sam laughed, short and harsh and disbelieving. He shifted his body away to look back out the window. “You said you were done. You said you wanted me dead. Must be pretty close…”
“What?” Dean demanded, startled. His brain finally caught up with the words. “What the fuck, Sam?” Dean asked. He thought about pulling over and just kicking his brother out of the car, screw getting to the next town. “I never said that,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “Now you’re just making shit up.”
Sam was still for a long moment. When he turned to look at Dean, his face was twisted with hurt. “You… not in so many words, maybe, but… You said Dad told you to either save me or kill me, and you were done trying to save me. How the hell else was I supposed to take that?”
Dean stared at Sam, baffled. He had to force his eyes back to the road. “I never said that, Sam.”
“Yes, you did,” Sam responded, his jaw clenched as anger finally overtook the wounded look.
Dean hit the breaks and pulled over to the side of the road; despite his promise to himself that he was done with the roadside chats, he needed to look at his brother. “I never said that.” When Sam looked like he was going to argue, Dean cut him off, “Look, when exactly do you think I said that? You were hallucinating a lot when you were coming down off the blood. I think you must’ve imagined that, Sam.”
“I wasn’t hallucinating, Dean,” Sam replied indignantly. “I’m talking about what you said in the message - before Lilith.”
Dean watched Sam incredulously, not sure what to say in the face of such a blatant lie. Sam was glaring daggers at him. The silence stretched on uncomfortably as they stared at one another. Sam finally pulled out his phone and shoved it at Dean so hard that Dean almost fumbled it. “I never deleted it. Are you still going to sit there and deny it?”
Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam was staring at him with such stone-faced resentment that he just opened the phone and entered in Sam’s password once it dialed. The only way to win this one was to play the message for Sam…
The blood drained from his face as he listened to his own harsh words spilling from the phone, “Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.” There was silence after that, and he stared at the phone uncomprehendingly until the voice came on, asking what he wanted to do with the message. He flipped the phone shut with a soft click.
Sam was turned away from him, every muscle so tense that Sam vibrated with the strain. If Dean’d thought he was sorry for his harsh words before… They’d been manipulated so thoroughly Dean didn’t even know what was real anymore. God damned Zachariah, or, hell, for that matter, he had no proof that it hadn’t been Castiel…
“I swear to God, Sammy, I didn’t leave that message. That wasn’t me. I apologized, Sam.” He rested a hand on Sam’s back, suddenly needing the connection. He tried to ignore the sick feeling in his gut when Sam flinched under his touch.
“Look, the message I left was completely different. The angels, or maybe Ruby, I don’t know, but somebody must have fucked with it somehow. I said that we’re family, Sam. I said that that wasn’t gonna change no matter how bad things got.” Sam turned slowly toward Dean, the look on his face a pathetic combination of hope and disbelief. Dean kept his hand on Sam’s shoulder, gripping it tightly to punctuate his words, “I promise you, that message is not what I said. That wasn’t me.”
Sam’s emotions played over his features for a few moments, and Dean thought that maybe Sam was actually going to listen to him this time. Somehow, though, he wasn’t surprised when the bitch-face finally won out. “Bullshit,” Sam said quietly.
Dean got out of the car, the sides too close for comfort, and strode a few feet away to try and get his swarming thoughts under control. The demons, the angels… both groups had been using them, tearing them apart - for months, and the two of them had just been bending over and taking it. Dean wrapped his arms around himself, gripping tight enough to bruise. The pain felt familiar and warm. He pressed harder, and it centered him, let him find a coherent response in the maelstrom.
All he had was his family. Somehow, he’d forgotten that.
He moved back to the door. Resting his hands on the top of the door frame of the car, he leaned in, so he could see Sam. “Why would I lie about it?” Dean asked calmly. “If I’d really left that message, I wouldn’t have any reason to say I didn’t.”
Sam’s eyes shut tightly, but a sense of betrayal still managed to shine through. After a moment, he opened his eyes but kept his wounded gaze locked on the seat. “I would’ve listened, Dean… I was so close to turning my back on Ruby, on the whole thing… If you’d said that, I would have listened.”
“They played us, Sam. Somehow, they changed that message. They manipulated you… us, into doing their dirty work for them.”
Sam finally looked up at Dean. His voice was small and needy, “I’m sorry, Dean.”
Dean lowered himself back into the car and shut the door, needing to get back on the road, needing the sense of freedom that movement brought.
The silence stretched on once more, and Dean was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Sam inching closer. Sam’s hand landed tentatively on Dean’s thigh, directly over where the bandage was. He stroked lightly, and Dean almost swerved off the road. “Jesus, Sam,” Dean muttered as he forced the car back under control. “What the…”
“What are we doing?” Sam whispered into Dean’s ear, cutting his words off. The hand slipped higher, and Dean’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.
“Sam, what… what the fuck?” Dean managed to get out breathlessly, barely keeping himself under control. He barely managed to hide the lust that raged uncontrollably when Sam invaded his space, when Sam took control. He wanted to stop the car and get the hell away from his brother. He wanted push himself into Sam’s embrace and never let go.
Sam’s hand moved up to cup around the back of Dean’s neck, and Sam’s thumb stroked over the sensitive flesh behind his ear. Dean’s breathing almost matched his heart rate, fast and staccato. It was hard to think. “Stop…” he managed to breathe out.
“You like this, Dean,” Sam whispered. “You can’t tell me you don’t.” Sam dragged his nail over Dean’s skin, pressed in until it burned. Dean leaned into Sam’s grip, completely unable, in that moment, to say no.
“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.” The nail cut into his skin, and Dean felt the wet trickle of blood slip down the side of his throat. Sam’s warm breath skated across his neck, and then Sam’s tongue followed. Dean’s world narrowed dangerously until he was lost in the overwhelming sensation of Sam’s touch.
Dean almost missed the deer standing calmly in the middle of the road. He had to swerve to avoid hitting it, which sent the car into a 360-spin before coming to a stop in the middle of the empty road.
When he finally got himself under control enough to drive, Sam had moved back to his side of the car, his body language completely closed off. Dean couldn’t figure out how to bring up what had happened, so he just drove.
~o0O0o~
Dean opened the passenger door slowly, careful to brace it so that Sam’s weight didn’t send it flying open to spill his brother’s sleeping body down onto the concrete. When it was open far enough for Dean to get a hand in, he rested the door against his hip and reached in to touch Sam’s shoulder gently. “Come on, Sam. You need to wake up.”
“Dean?” Sam asked groggily, and shifted himself upright. “We at the church?”
Sam looked pale and miserable; the fine tremors were back. Dean exhaled loudly in disbelief. “No. We’re in Corpus Christi, but we’re stopping for the night,” Dean stated, his voice final.
Sam rested his head back against the seat. “I think i‘s back,” Sam slurred.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean muttered tiredly, but Sam started slipping down again, and Dean had to dive to keep him from falling out of the car. Dean cursed under each breath and pulled Sam around. Slapping his face until he woke up enough, Dean helped him stumble across the lot and into the room. Shivering helplessly, Sam crawled onto the closest bed and pulled the covers around him while Dean went back out to the car and grabbed the rest of their stuff.
Sam was a little more alert when Dean got back. They hadn’t really talked since the confrontation in the car. Part of Dean was scared shitless to cross over to Sam and ask him what he needed. It’s not like Dean didn’t already know the answer. The blood seemed to help, no matter how temporarily but Dean was at a loss as to why.
“Dean?” Sam whimpered from the bed. “We should go to the church. Maybe Castiel can tell us how to break this. It’s… maybe it’s just a curse. A curse can be broken.”
Sam sounded so lost, and Dean suddenly felt sick - he’d never seriously considered the possibility that this couldn’t be fixed. His brain flashed on the phone message - vampire. Fuck no.
He needed to do something. Anything. He sat on the bed next to Sam, not letting his thoughts continue down the path they’d started. He slipped a knife from his pocket and pressed it into Sam’s hand.
Sam’s breath caught sharply. “God, Dean. The things I want…” Sam snapped the small knife open with a flick of his wrist. He turned it back and forth just enough that the blade flashed in the light.
Dean reached a finger out to touch the flat of it. “You’re getting worse again,” Dean said, trying to stay focused on the practical. “We need to deal with this before we get to the church.” Dean started to pull his hand back, but Sam suddenly caught his wrist in a tight grip. The knife in Sam’s other hand touched against Dean’s outstretched finger.
Dean barely felt it, but his knife was sharp, and his blood welled up against the edge, bright and red and thick. The drop slid down his finger, leaving a long red trail. The sting built as he watched Sam’s mouth glide in close. Sam inched out his tongue to lightly skim the bottom of Dean’s finger before running it up to the tip and sucking it in. Sam looked… blissful, and Dean couldn’t look away, fascinated by the subtle seduction of what Sam was doing. Sam tongued over the tip, lingering there before sliding down until the entire length was enveloped in wet warmth. Sam sucked it hard, once and then again, before pulling off of it with a quiet moan.
“Dean…” he whispered, his grip on Dean’s wrist tightening. “You have to… I need…”
Dean felt a slight tremor of fear creep up his spine before Sam suddenly body-slammed him onto the bed. Sam straddled his hips, gathered both of Dean’s wrists in a hard grip and pressed them back against the headboard. The stitches in Dean’s forearm ground against skin and cloth painfully.
“What…” Dean started, struggling against Sam’s punishing one-handed grasp.
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam growled. He pushed Dean’s head roughly to the side; the hilt of the carelessly held blade connected hard against Dean’s forehead, making the room spin, and exposed Dean’s neck at the same time. Dean bucked up against Sam, panic driving his body, determined to push Sam away before whatever this was escalated out of control.
Abruptly, Dean realized that he could feel Sam’s erection through the layers of denim between them; he froze, unable to process what he could so clearly feel. Sam was… hard. Sam was getting off on this. He needed to stop this, needed to get away, but he couldn’t make himself move, couldn’t make himself breathe.
Sam didn’t seem to notice the panic that was holding Dean paralyzed. The knife pressed against his neck, cold and sharp with the power to change everything. It lingered for only a moment before it caressed down his skin, leaving a fiery line of heat in its wake. Dean felt his thoughts begin to still. Sam slid down Dean’s body until his torso was a long line pressed against Dean’s own, trapping Dean against the bed and keeping him safe, which… Dean knew the last thing he should be feeling was safe, but he felt the tension flow out of him as he released control to Sam, his muscles going loose and pliant in his brother’s grasp.
Well, every muscle except his cock, which was staining now, begging to be released from the confines of his clothes. Sam writhed against him, made him whimper with need, but Sam didn’t reach down. Instead Sam mouthed against Dean’s throat, biting against the skin and sucking hard.
Dean turned his head, further exposing his neck to Sam, and arched up to increase the contact between them. Sam sucked harder, and the ache and burn filled Dean’s consciousness until the only thing he could think about was the hot inferno of Sam’s mouth on his neck. He could feel his blood leaving him in a rush, the harsh roar accompanied by the pounding beat of his pulse. Sam clung to him, sucking at the wound until the world was spinning around them both.
He lost himself in sensation, everything muted in soft grays, and he let himself float there, free from everything that had been crowding his thoughts for months. It was a relief. In some ways, he missed the simplicity of hell.
He didn’t notice Sam’s hand snaking down to unbutton his jeans, didn’t notice the same hand pushing his boxers down, but when Sam’s hand gripped hard around his dick, he came back to himself with a gasp. Sam’s leg was slung across Dean’s thighs, and his other arm was across Dean’s chest. The weight of Sam’s body still kept Dean pinned, but he started struggling anyway. “Sam, don’t…” Dean panted out, but his hips thrust forward in a silent betrayal.
Sam leaned in until his lips brushed the curve of Dean’s ear. “Please, Dean. Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you need… for once,” Sam begged, his voice sounding more than a little bit desperate.
“What… Sam… wait…” Dean’s voice trailed off into a whimper as Sam ran his hand down, leaving Dean’s dick to cup his balls, massaging them softly between long fingers. Dean bucked up, trying to throw Sam off of him, but their legs were tangled together. Sam’s weight was pressing against him, and he couldn’t quite get his body to sync up enough with his brain to effectively wrestle.
“Sam…” Dean started again, reaching down to grab Sam’s wrist and pull it off. Sam immediately let his balls go, broke the ineffective hold Dean had managed and gripped both of Dean’s wrists. Sam pulled them back above Dean’s head to pin them there in a solid grasp. Sam shifted until he was lying fully on top of Dean once more, the weight of him solid along Dean’s body from chest to legs.
Dean shifted uncomfortably, the loss of Sam’s touch a heavy ache in his balls. His breath came out fast and labored. He wanted this; he couldn’t let it happen.
Dean’s mouth opened to say something, but Sam growled and dropped his head to let their mouths collide. He plunged his tongue hungrily into Dean’s mouth, exploring with deep thrusts, possessive and claiming, and effectively cut off Dean’s ability for speech.
Sam reached down between them again, his hand enveloping Dean’s cock, and Dean wondered how he was supposed to stop something he wanted so damn badly that he ached with it. Sam stroked forcefully up and down his length, sending fireworks of pleasure coursing through him. When Sam drew back, Dean had to swallow back his moan.
“Want you…” Sam said before Dean could form a coherent protest, and then Sam leaned back in, biting Dean’s lips hard enough to burn before dipping his tongue back inside.
It had been forever since Dean had this - their bodies fitted tightly together, just the two of them, uncomplicated with anything but need. Sam started thrusting his tongue into Dean’s mouth rhythmically, in time with the hard jerks he was giving Dean’s cock. Dean pushed back into Sam’s grip, unable to stop, and lost himself in the warm, heavy desire that radiated out from his groin in waves. He knew any minute he was going to lose control. Sam slid a wet tongue down the side of Dean’s face, until his lips found the lobe of Dean’s ear; Sam sucked it into his mouth, swirling it around with his tongue before biting down hard. Pleasure and pain blended together in a heady mix, causing Dean to writhe against Sam desperately, but somehow he couldn’t quite let himself give in, couldn’t let himself have what he wanted.
Sam released Dean’s ear with a final slow lick, whispering, “Come for me, Dean.”
It was like Dean’s body had been waiting for permission, because suddenly Dean was coming into Sam’s hand, hard waves of pleasure rocking through his body, over and over again. He yelled, not sure in that moment if it was out of pain or pleasure, not knowing if this brief moment of closeness was going to cost him everything he wanted, everything he desperately needed.
The orgasm slipped away, over too soon. Trying to find the energy to move, he lay there for a while. Sleep pulled at him hard, but Sam’s soft sound of distress pulled him out of it. Dean was a little surprised to notice that, with the exception of his open jeans and displaced boxers, they were both almost completely dressed.
Though he’d kept his leg slung over Dean’s, Sam had slipped to Dean’s side, and his groin was pressed tightly against Dean’s hip; his fingers had slipped under the top of his own pants, his face pressed into the pillow next to Dean’s head, and Dean could feel how hard he still was.
Between post-orgasm and blood-loss, Dean felt the cloying need to let unconsciousness claim him, but he managed to raise a hand and let it fall against Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy?” he scraped out, his voice gravelly and low.
Sam moved slightly, grinding his hard cock against Dean’s hip. Almost as quickly as he had started, he stopped and jerked away to roll over and sit up on the far side of the bed. Dean managed to open his mouth to say something, but Sam cut him off with an anguished, “God, Dean, I’m so sorry.” Before Dean could begin to process that, Sam was off the bed and slamming the door of the bathroom.
Dean barely managed to think about following Sam before oblivion claimed him.
~o0O0o~
Alistair crouches down to kneel where he’d just unceremoniously dumped Dean onto the ground. “So how about it, Dean?” Alistair whispers cruelly into his ear, “You want to pick up the knife? Put an end to all your suffering?” He screams when Alistair pushes against the ruined skin of his chest, fingers sliding slickly in the wet mess. His body arches up into the touch, increasing the torment, but he can’t stop it. He lost control of what was his a long time ago.
Instead he goes with the only thing he can control: his shouted, “Fuck you,” reverberating around the walls of their cage.
Alistair chuckles softly, but he does remove his hand from Dean, and Dean claims that as a victory however slight, however temporary. “Good night, boys,” Alistair calls out sweetly as he leaves.
His injuries are already knitting back together, and he slowly rolls over to sob miserably into the floor. Sam’s touch, when it comes, is soft and tender against his hair. He pulls himself into Sam’s lap, letting his face come to rest against the bend of Sam’s hip. “God, Sam,” he croaks out. “I need…”
“I know,” Sam answers, his voice almost as wrecked as Dean’s. Sam shifts under Dean, coaxing him to lay back. Dean lets the gentle hands guide him, lets them cradle his head between strong, welcoming legs. A fresh spasm sends Dean scrabbling against the ground, and Sam strokes down his side, a quiet counterpoint against the tremors in his body. Sam bends over him and tenderly licks against Dean’s stomach, running his tongue through the blood Dean knows covers him, licking away the evidence of his weakness.
Dean loses himself in the tingling pleasure of Sam’s tongue slowly moving and circling just above his dick, but the pain of healing bones and terrible wounds escalates until the frisson of pleasure isn’t enough anymore. “Please…” Dean moans softly. Sam’s hands wrap tightly around his own, pinning them down to his sides. The pain of knitting ribs jack-knifes sharply through his body, making him scream, making him writhe, and at the same moment, Sam wraps soft lips around Dean’s cock and sucks him down deeply.
Sam is wrapped around Dean, enveloping him, but it isn’t enough, not yet. “Please…” Dean whispers once more. Sam grips his hands more tightly, until they ache as he works his tongue over Dean’s flesh, pulling his thickening cock more deeply down. Sam swallows, the muscles of his throat working around Dean, sending waves of pleasure spiraling from his dick outward, blending with the pain until Dean can’t distinguish between the two sensations anymore. He spreads his legs further apart, exposing himself, allowing his brother more room to work and opening himself up to the only comfort he’s been allowed in years.
He can feel the climax build deep within him. Too soon…
“No…” he moans, but Sam already knows, and one of Sam’s hands lets go of Dean’s to slip around the base of his dick tightly, holding him just at the edge. The pain wars with pleasure for dominance, the two mixing together and flowing through him, and he finds himself whispering a long string of “Need you, Sammy, God… want you, need you so much, please…” The words tumble out of him until he has no more voice and he’s forced to mouth the words against the silence, but Sam never stops, never falters until, just after the worst of the agony crests through him, Sam relaxes his hand and lets him go.
The wrenching ecstasy of his release chases the torment away…
“Dean? Dude, let’s go.” The weight of Sam’s hand on his shoulder pulled him back to reality with a jolt. His head snapped up off his folded hands, causing the stitches that decorated his neck to twinge painfully. He pulled at the collar of his turtle-neck self-consciously, uncomfortable under the priest’s patient gaze.
Sam gave Dean’s shoulder a quick squeeze before dropping his arm down, and Dean awkwardly stood up from the pew, the room only spinning around him a little bit this time. He tried to meet Sam’s eyes, but although Sam immediately turned away, Dean noted that he stayed close as they followed the priest down into the crypts.
The path they took was almost maze-like and by the time they stood expectantly before the closed door the old priest had led them to, Dean was leaning heavily against his brother. The priest gave Dean a concerned look before he left them there with a nod, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief that the man hadn’t decided to question them.
Sam pushed the door open; it creaked loudly, causing Dean to smile a little to himself, having watched this scene play out in a hundred horror movies. He followed Sam into the room, and they stopped abruptly. Castiel was kneeling on the ground in front of an altar with hundreds of candles lit upon it, his head bowed silently in prayer. Dean could see him swaying slightly as he knelt there, but he looked uninjured, or at least, the back of his trench coat wasn’t stained with blood. That horrific image made Dean’s stomach clench for a moment before he forced the unwanted thought away; Cas didn’t really need Dean’s sympathy anyway.
They stood there, watching in silence. Somehow neither Dean nor his brother wanted to disturb the solemn air in the little room. Sam was the first to break, coughing politely, but Castiel still didn’t turn. Damn fool angel could have been stabbed in the back by now, but, well, yeah, of course, Cas didn’t really have to worry about that kind of thing. Sam turned and shrugged at Dean, his posture and expression broadcasting that he wasn’t sure what the fuck to do, so Dean stepped forward and put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. The angel kept his hands clasped in front of him in silent prayer, his head resting upon them, but after an uncomfortable moment he slowly looked up at Dean.
His face remained passive, even as he met Dean’s stare. “Dean,” he said, with a slight inflection of acknowledgement.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean replied, his voice quiet and echoey in the cave-like room. “You uh… looks like you made it out of there, huh?”
Castiel nodded slightly and replied simply, “Yes,” before reaching a hand up, a silent request for aid. Dean wasn’t sure he had the strength to help the angel, but he held his hand out anyway. Cas stopped, resting a cold hand against Dean’s cheek instead, his stoic eyes growing wide with concern. “You are injured,” he stated, and then looked around, his eyes finally finding Sam, who’d moved around to stand next to Dean.
Sam held a hand out, and Castiel flinched back, landing ass first as he hit the ground. “Sa…Samuel?” Cas stuttered, like he’d suddenly forgotten who Dean’s brother was. Dean looked at Sam, confused, but Sam’s gaze was locked on Castiel, a small frown creasing his forehead. Castiel put his hands on the ground and rose unsteadily to his feet, backing away until he hit the wall and was forced to stop. He put his hands against the wall to steady himself, and his eyes slid shut, his head falling forward. Dean moved toward him to try to help, but Sam’s unexpected grip on his shoulder held him in place.
Dean looked back at Sam in confusion, and Sam said, “Just give him a moment, Dean. He’s obviously been weakened from that fight or something.”
A couple of minutes passed, both of them watching the silent angel. Finally Dean couldn’t take it anymore; he shrugged off Sam’s hold and stepped close to Cas. “Hey man, is there something we can do to help you?”
Cas slowly looked up and met Dean’s gaze. He looked… lost… weak. Dean had never seen him like that, and it threw him. “What happened?” Dean asked, tentatively allowing some concern to show in his voice.
“I am sorry,” Castiel replied, keeping his gaze locked on Dean’s face. “The fight was… hard. It left me… weakened.” He cast a nervous look over at Sam before bringing his gaze quickly back to Dean. “But, I will recover.”
“Well, that’s… cryptic as usual.” Dean waited with growing irritation, wondering if Cas would take the hint and give them some more details, but Cas just kept staring until Dean had to talk again just to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Yeah, so, we got a question we’re hoping you can answer. Sam here,” Dean took a breath and nodded his chin towards Sam, “he killed Lilith after all. I couldn’t stop him, but,” he rushed to add, suddenly needing to defend Sam’s actions, “he managed to close the gate, so it’s all good. We just… we need to know, is Lucifer stopped? Did that actually reset all the seals, or are we still staring down at one door between us and the fucking apocalypse?”
Castiel had gone even paler during Dean’s speech, and he was gazing at Dean with an inscrutable look on his face, as though he expected to divine some sort of wisdom if he looked at Dean long enough. The pause was getting uncomfortable when Castiel finally replied, “I did not know that that could be done. I will have to… think on the answer. In the meantime,” Castiel’s eyes narrowed in concern, “be careful, Dean.”
Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Castiel was gone. “God damn it!” he swore furiously, swaying on his feet. Sam was almost instantly at his side, a hand on his elbow to steady him. “Now what?”
Sam looked at him, a puzzled frown on his face. A lost, “I don’t know,” was all he could offer.
~o0O0o~
Dean’s dreams were filled with broken bits of images and fear interspersed with feelings of shame and failure. When Sam shook him awake, however, he was filled with a sense of loss so profound it made his eyes burn. He shook his head, willing the memories away. It had been so much easier before…
“Come on, Dean,” Sam said quietly. “I got us a room.”
“What?” Dean mumbled, confused. He hadn’t yet managed to open his eyes, but he could tell it wasn’t dark yet. “Why’re we stopping already?” He dragged his eyelids apart, so he could peer at his brother.
“You need sleep. You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Sam had the good grace to flush a little with embarrassment, “and you haven’t really slept in days.” Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam cut him off, “Passing out doesn’t count as sleep, idiot.” Dean snapped his mouth shut with a scowl.
Sam pulled on Dean’s elbow, coaxing him out of the car, and steadied him over to the room. Dean played along until Sam opened the door, but he pulled up short when he saw the room, grabbing the door jamb to avoid going in. Unreasonable anger flared up out of nowhere. “What the fuck’s up with the king?”
“It’s all they had, Dean,” Sam sighed tolerantly, pushing him into the room. Dean tried to look back at the parking lot, because he didn’t remember it being all that full, but Sam shut the door behind them, cutting off his view. The bed was irresistible, and Dean moved to sit down wearily, stretching back and luxuriating in the feeling of being out of the car. His car was roomy, but as a place to sleep, she left a lot to be desired. He wasn’t sure what he was so upset about anyway. It’s not like they’d never shared a king before. He felt Sam pulling off his shoes; he considered making some smart remark about foot servants, but he fell asleep before he could complete the thought.
~o0O0o~
Dean didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to lose the feeling of Sam wrapped around him, their naked bodies pressed solidly together, Sam’s hard dick tucked close, warm against the cleft of his ass.
Sam ran his tongue, soft and wet, over the skin of Dean’s shoulder. Dean moaned, pushing back and inviting more. Sam’s teeth closed over the skin of his neck, biting hard and sending waves of pleasure-pain rocketing through him.
He froze in sudden panic. This wasn’t a dream.
Dean was up and out of the bed faster than he could process his actions. He had his hand on the door and the knob twisted almost open before he managed to stop himself. He couldn’t run out of the room butt naked, no matter how tempting it was. He glanced behind him to look frantically for his clothes, but before he was fully turned, he felt himself slammed bodily against the door.
“No, Dean, you don’t get to run away from this… from me. Not this time,” Sam said, his voice fierce and raspy.
Dean started to push back but stopped when Sam’s dick rubbed against him, reminding him of the fact that they were both naked… and both hard. He closed his eyes and pressed against the cold metal door instead. Praying for the cold to fucking do something, he vaguely wished that he could merge through the icy metal and out the other side. Sam only moved in closer, trapping him firmly against the barrier. The contrast between Sam’s feverishly hot body and the almost painfully cold door scrambled his focus; it magnified the conflicting impulses and waves of unwanted desire pulsing through his veins. “Sam, get off of me,” he begged, his voice barely a whisper.
Sam didn’t listen, just shifted closer and slipped his legs to either side of Dean’s to trap him even more thoroughly. Ignoring Dean’s token resistance and easily winning the contest of strength, Sam grabbed Dean’s right hand and pulled it away from the knob. He slammed Dean’s wrist against the door above his head with a loud thud and reached up to force Dean’s head to the side and expose Dean’s neck. “You want this, Dean,” he growled against the flesh under his mouth.
Sam’s warm breath ghosted over the side of Dean’s neck and sent shivers racing through his body. Sam licked along his throat, wet and messy, before asking in a puzzled, quiet voice, “Why do you keep trying to fight it?”
Dean twisted in Sam’s grip, almost breaking the hold, but Sam anticipated the move, got him back under control and slammed him roughly against the door once more. Sam sucked against his neck, pulling the skin into his mouth until it burned, a slowly building intensity that had Dean writhing against his brother helplessly. Sam scraped his teeth against Dean’s sensitized skin before letting it go. “You’re mine,” Sam snarled, biting at his neck hard enough to bruise.
Sam thrust against Dean and, already slick with pre-come, slipped easily between his ass cheeks to nudge dangerously against his hole. Dean’s breaths came out in short, staccato bursts, fast enough to leave him feeling light-headed; it was hard to think. Sweat slicked his skin and pooled in the sway of his lower back. He should have been trying to get away, to gain an advantage, but instead he writhed back, hard enough that Sam’s dick breached him slightly before Dean’s tight muscles kept Sam out. A low, needy keening noise escaped from the back of his throat.
Sam’s arm slipped around him, coming up against Dean’s neck and holding him tight. Dean tried to draw in a breath and failed. His hands frantically wrapped around Sam’s arm, trying to pull it away, but it was like being held in a solid vise. Sam was a furnace behind him, and he could feel Sam’s heartbeat, solid and steady and reassuring; his focus narrowed in, until all he knew was the pounding that seemed to be answered by the pulse in his dick.
Sam yanked him back from the door, swung him around, and threw him down on the bed. Dean came back to his senses long enough to force himself to scramble back, gasping for breath, but Sam was on him before he made it very far, flipping him onto his stomach and straddling his hips. Sam caught his arms in a tight, painful pin against his back. “Lemme go,” Dean ground out, his bruised neck making speech difficult.
“Why?” Sam growled, sinking his teeth into the back of Dean’s neck hard enough to make him cry out. “You aren’t leaving me, Dean. I’m not gonna let you leave me. Not again.” Sam bit him again a little lower, then again, trailing the bites down the side of Dean’s spine and leaving a long trail of stinging marks from his neck all the way down to just above his ass.
Overwhelmed with sensation, Dean whimpered, and pushed back with his ass. He needed to feel Sam against him, inside him, needed Sam more than he needed to breathe. Sam’s fingers glided wetly against his ass before they sank between, sank down, sank into him; a burning ache trailing all the way into his core. He relaxed against the intrusion and welcomed the invading fingers in.
Sam pumped them in and out, and Dean pushed back, urging them deeper. He was being split in half, and Dean wanted this, wanted to let the burn fill him up and consume him until there was nothing left but the two of them. He hung there, on the edge of giving in, giving over completely, but a tiny part of himself still clung to the idea that this could kill the broken remains of his relationship with Sam. He couldn’t let himself do that. “Stop, just stop,” he begged, his writhing body giving lie to his anxious words.
“No,” Sam growled back, forcing another finger inside, and Dean had to fight back a moment of panic when it occurred to him that Sam might be going for the whole fist. “You don’t really want me to,” he stated, his voice tinged with annoyance, then his hand was gone, and Dean couldn’t keep himself from crying out with loss.
Sam swung his hand down against Dean’s ass, hard and stinging, hit him a second time before hissing out, “Stop fighting me, Dean.”
Dean struggled to hold back a moan as Sam ran his hand over Dean’s stinging backside before plunging his fingers back inside, pressing in deep before he just… stopped. Dean held his breath, waiting for Sam to push in more or pull out or fucking do something, anything, but still Sam didn’t move. Dean whimpered, deep in the back of his throat, and it sounded loud in the quiet room filled with nothing but their heavy breaths. His body twitched, shifted, and he tried to buck his hips, but he could barely move; Sam still had him tightly pinned.
“Tell me you want it, Dean, or I really will stop.” Sam sounded so fucking calm, and Dean was shaking so badly he thought he might shatter.
“God, Sammy…” Dean sobbed out. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t admit what he needed out loud.
“Tell me you want it,” Sam repeated harshly.
“Sammy…” Dean whispered.
“Tell me,” Sam snarled, accentuating each word with a deep, satisfying thrust, “You. Want. It.” And then Sam pulled out of him roughly. Released his arms. Let him go. Moved off the bed.
Dean felt something crumble inside of him. “Please, Sammy, please… I need you.”
Sam put a knee back on the bed, leaned in and grasped the back of Dean’s neck, heavy and restraining, and then moved in closer. He let his breath play over Dean’s ear for a moment before whispering, “Good boy.”
There was a moment of stillness, of building anticipation, and then Sam slid between his legs panther-like and pushed forward, sheathing himself in Dean’s body with one forceful shove. Dean welcomed the searing pain of entry, pushed back until their bodies met in a solid sensual line and then pulled forward to match his brother thrust for thrust. Sam grabbed Dean’s hands, forcing one down against the bed and twisting the other up behind Dean’s back, effectively immobilizing him. Sam let his lips trail over the skin behind Dean’s ear and whispered, “You’re mine, Dean. I’m in charge,” before he pulled out and then sank in even more deeply than he had before.
Dean closed his eyes tightly as Sam moved, trying desperately to contain the flood of emotions that were suddenly coursing through him. He’d wanted this for so long. He’d never dared to wish that it might actually happen. He felt a tear hit the side of his nose, slide over the side of it and down his cheek. A moment later he felt Sam’s tongue chasing the path it had traveled. He bit the inside of his mouth hard, willing himself back under control.
“Let it go, Dean,” Sam commanded, quiet and intense, before picking up speed and setting a pace that drove all his thoughts from his head. Sam eased his hold and dropped Dean’s hand down onto the bed. Dean surged back into Sam until their bodies were slamming together and Dean’s dick was aching for release. Dean’s hand jerked down almost of its own will, but Sam slammed it back against the bed. “Let me take care of you,” Sam panted out.
Panic sprang up out of nowhere, threatening to overwhelm him, and he started struggling to get away. Sam tightened his grip, but his thrusts remained steady. “I’ve got you, just let go.”
Withdrawing into himself, his thoughts in turmoil, Dean’s dick began to lose interest. The press and pull in his brain, too full of everything that should have led him down the path of insanity long ago, slowly began to win the contest against the pulse and thrum and needful grasping of his body. He desperately tried to focus on Sam’s fingers around his wrists, Sam’s breath caressing his skin, Sam in him and around him, but it was all slipping away… this was never anything that he should have wanted, never anything that he deserved…
He heard Sam swear above him, felt him transfer both wrists to a one handed grip. “No, Dean, I told you, you don’t get to hide from this. I need you here, damn it.”
He felt Sam shift, and then the flat of a blade pressed against his shoulder. Dean’s body roared back to life, and Sam bore the knife down hard against his back. The dull blade left a welted trail of fire where it traveled along his spine before Sam brought it back up to do again, and then again.
Sam continued to thrust inside of him, and Dean cried out as everything whirled out of control. Pain and pleasure wrapped around his thoughts until all he could feel, all he knew, was Sam. Pleasure and awareness spiraled down to his dick, focusing there until it had nowhere to go but out. Wave after wave pulsed through him, built up to dizzying intensity before spiraling lazily back down to leave him wrung out, tired, and at peace.
Sam collapsed to the side of him, pulling Dean in close and tangling their limbs together. “Thank you,” Sam whispered, and dropped a kiss on top of Dean’s head before oblivion claimed them both.
Part Three
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 Two
“Maybe I should drive.”
Dean shot a startled look at his brother. “Excuse me?”
“You look tired. I’m just,” Sam floundered for a moment, searching for what he wanted to say. He had that look like he’d eaten something bad. Or, he was constipated. Dean smirked to himself. Sam sighed and then continued in a somewhat defeated voice, “You just looked tired. I could take the wheel. If you wanted a break.”
“In your dreams, dude. I’m fine,” Dean growled, sitting up from his slouch slowly so it wouldn’t be obvious.
“Yeah. Whatever, Dean.”
They settled back into silence again, and the miles rolled by. Dean could tell that Sam was stewing about something, but he just sat there stiffly, filling the car with pissy vibes. Dean rolled his eyes; damned if he was going to start the conversation. If Sam wanted to say something, he could damn well bring it up himself. Besides, if Dean started it, Sam’d probably just lie about whatever it was anyway.
“I’m feeling better.”
Dean had gotten lulled by the road, and the sudden words startled him and made him jump almost as bad as when the damned angels popped in. He shot Sam an annoyed look, and, when Sam seemed to be waiting for a response, said, “That’s… good.”
“We could…” Sam exhaled loudly, and Dean just waited for him to spit out whatever it was. “We could split up.”
Dean shoved down the anger and guilt and… he couldn’t deny the small bit of hope that welled up at the words. He didn’t know what to do with any of the feelings, though, and he’d already decided against this plan anyway. “God damn it, Sam. Not this again.”
“This is different,” Sam said, his voice tired and remote as he keep his gaze fixed out the window. “This time I’m not saying them while I’m sick.”
Dean snorted and shook his head, struggling and failing to keep his anger at bay. “If you’re so anxious to go,” he snapped, “I’m not stopping you. Just tell me where to drop you the fuck off.”
Sam flinched, his gaze snapping back to Dean, and he looked wounded, which… What the fuck? Sam was the one who brought this up again, not him. How many times was he supposed to hold Sam’s hand and tell him everything he’d done was okay... especially when it really wasn’t?
“The next town is fine,” Sam finally replied in a low undertone.
Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly, his anger edging higher as the miles slipped by in silence once more. After everything Sam had done, he’d still stood by Sam, he’d offered forgiveness whether Sam deserved it or not. He wanted to tell Sam off, wanted to ask him where he got off… except that it wouldn’t help. Everything that needed to be said had been said already, and it hadn’t made a damn bit of difference. Bobby had been wrong; there was nothing left to salvage here.
When Sam interrupted his thoughts, he jumped again.
“Thank you,” Sam said quietly into the tense silence.
Dean shook his head at the unexpected statement. “For what?”
“I know you only came there to stop me. You didn’t have to stay…” Sam said, his voice thick, like he was having trouble getting the words out. There was a long pause, and Dean glanced over, started to open his mouth to say… something, he didn’t know what, but Sam interrupted, his tone cutting and sharp and unexpectedly angry, “Why didn’t you just leave when it was over?”
Dean gaped at Sam incredulously for a heartbeat, trying to make sense of Sam’s ridiculous question, before forcing his eyes back to the road. “What, I was just supposed to leave you naked and unconscious on the floor of the cathedral? That would have been classy of me,” Dean replied sarcastically. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. He peered into the darkness, looking desperately for a freeway sign with mileage for the next town, but there was nothing.
Sam stared at Dean, looking miserable. Under the weight of Sam’s expectation, he found himself talking once more. “Look,” he said slowly, “I’m not saying I’m not angry, because… I’m not gonna lie to you. You were the one that I depended on the most, and you let me down in ways that I can’t even…” Dean felt his throat closing off around the words, the hurt he’d been holding back for days suddenly welling up out of nowhere and taking him by surprise. “Shit, Sammy, you chose a demon over your own brother.”
He was shaking with tension, and he wanted to lash out, swing a punch, but that never seemed to make any kind of fucking impression. He spared a quick glance over at his brother. Sam looked devastated, and a part of Dean was glad.
“I’m sorry,” Sam rasped. “You must really hate me.”
Dean’s anger bled away as suddenly as it came, leaving him tired. “I don’t hate you, Sam.”
Sam laughed, short and harsh and disbelieving. He shifted his body away to look back out the window. “You said you were done. You said you wanted me dead. Must be pretty close…”
“What?” Dean demanded, startled. His brain finally caught up with the words. “What the fuck, Sam?” Dean asked. He thought about pulling over and just kicking his brother out of the car, screw getting to the next town. “I never said that,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “Now you’re just making shit up.”
Sam was still for a long moment. When he turned to look at Dean, his face was twisted with hurt. “You… not in so many words, maybe, but… You said Dad told you to either save me or kill me, and you were done trying to save me. How the hell else was I supposed to take that?”
Dean stared at Sam, baffled. He had to force his eyes back to the road. “I never said that, Sam.”
“Yes, you did,” Sam responded, his jaw clenched as anger finally overtook the wounded look.
Dean hit the breaks and pulled over to the side of the road; despite his promise to himself that he was done with the roadside chats, he needed to look at his brother. “I never said that.” When Sam looked like he was going to argue, Dean cut him off, “Look, when exactly do you think I said that? You were hallucinating a lot when you were coming down off the blood. I think you must’ve imagined that, Sam.”
“I wasn’t hallucinating, Dean,” Sam replied indignantly. “I’m talking about what you said in the message - before Lilith.”
Dean watched Sam incredulously, not sure what to say in the face of such a blatant lie. Sam was glaring daggers at him. The silence stretched on uncomfortably as they stared at one another. Sam finally pulled out his phone and shoved it at Dean so hard that Dean almost fumbled it. “I never deleted it. Are you still going to sit there and deny it?”
Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam was staring at him with such stone-faced resentment that he just opened the phone and entered in Sam’s password once it dialed. The only way to win this one was to play the message for Sam…
The blood drained from his face as he listened to his own harsh words spilling from the phone, “Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.” There was silence after that, and he stared at the phone uncomprehendingly until the voice came on, asking what he wanted to do with the message. He flipped the phone shut with a soft click.
Sam was turned away from him, every muscle so tense that Sam vibrated with the strain. If Dean’d thought he was sorry for his harsh words before… They’d been manipulated so thoroughly Dean didn’t even know what was real anymore. God damned Zachariah, or, hell, for that matter, he had no proof that it hadn’t been Castiel…
“I swear to God, Sammy, I didn’t leave that message. That wasn’t me. I apologized, Sam.” He rested a hand on Sam’s back, suddenly needing the connection. He tried to ignore the sick feeling in his gut when Sam flinched under his touch.
“Look, the message I left was completely different. The angels, or maybe Ruby, I don’t know, but somebody must have fucked with it somehow. I said that we’re family, Sam. I said that that wasn’t gonna change no matter how bad things got.” Sam turned slowly toward Dean, the look on his face a pathetic combination of hope and disbelief. Dean kept his hand on Sam’s shoulder, gripping it tightly to punctuate his words, “I promise you, that message is not what I said. That wasn’t me.”
Sam’s emotions played over his features for a few moments, and Dean thought that maybe Sam was actually going to listen to him this time. Somehow, though, he wasn’t surprised when the bitch-face finally won out. “Bullshit,” Sam said quietly.
Dean got out of the car, the sides too close for comfort, and strode a few feet away to try and get his swarming thoughts under control. The demons, the angels… both groups had been using them, tearing them apart - for months, and the two of them had just been bending over and taking it. Dean wrapped his arms around himself, gripping tight enough to bruise. The pain felt familiar and warm. He pressed harder, and it centered him, let him find a coherent response in the maelstrom.
All he had was his family. Somehow, he’d forgotten that.
He moved back to the door. Resting his hands on the top of the door frame of the car, he leaned in, so he could see Sam. “Why would I lie about it?” Dean asked calmly. “If I’d really left that message, I wouldn’t have any reason to say I didn’t.”
Sam’s eyes shut tightly, but a sense of betrayal still managed to shine through. After a moment, he opened his eyes but kept his wounded gaze locked on the seat. “I would’ve listened, Dean… I was so close to turning my back on Ruby, on the whole thing… If you’d said that, I would have listened.”
“They played us, Sam. Somehow, they changed that message. They manipulated you… us, into doing their dirty work for them.”
Sam finally looked up at Dean. His voice was small and needy, “I’m sorry, Dean.”
Dean lowered himself back into the car and shut the door, needing to get back on the road, needing the sense of freedom that movement brought.
The silence stretched on once more, and Dean was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Sam inching closer. Sam’s hand landed tentatively on Dean’s thigh, directly over where the bandage was. He stroked lightly, and Dean almost swerved off the road. “Jesus, Sam,” Dean muttered as he forced the car back under control. “What the…”
“What are we doing?” Sam whispered into Dean’s ear, cutting his words off. The hand slipped higher, and Dean’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.
“Sam, what… what the fuck?” Dean managed to get out breathlessly, barely keeping himself under control. He barely managed to hide the lust that raged uncontrollably when Sam invaded his space, when Sam took control. He wanted to stop the car and get the hell away from his brother. He wanted push himself into Sam’s embrace and never let go.
Sam’s hand moved up to cup around the back of Dean’s neck, and Sam’s thumb stroked over the sensitive flesh behind his ear. Dean’s breathing almost matched his heart rate, fast and staccato. It was hard to think. “Stop…” he managed to breathe out.
“You like this, Dean,” Sam whispered. “You can’t tell me you don’t.” Sam dragged his nail over Dean’s skin, pressed in until it burned. Dean leaned into Sam’s grip, completely unable, in that moment, to say no.
“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.” The nail cut into his skin, and Dean felt the wet trickle of blood slip down the side of his throat. Sam’s warm breath skated across his neck, and then Sam’s tongue followed. Dean’s world narrowed dangerously until he was lost in the overwhelming sensation of Sam’s touch.
Dean almost missed the deer standing calmly in the middle of the road. He had to swerve to avoid hitting it, which sent the car into a 360-spin before coming to a stop in the middle of the empty road.
When he finally got himself under control enough to drive, Sam had moved back to his side of the car, his body language completely closed off. Dean couldn’t figure out how to bring up what had happened, so he just drove.
~o0O0o~
Dean opened the passenger door slowly, careful to brace it so that Sam’s weight didn’t send it flying open to spill his brother’s sleeping body down onto the concrete. When it was open far enough for Dean to get a hand in, he rested the door against his hip and reached in to touch Sam’s shoulder gently. “Come on, Sam. You need to wake up.”
“Dean?” Sam asked groggily, and shifted himself upright. “We at the church?”
Sam looked pale and miserable; the fine tremors were back. Dean exhaled loudly in disbelief. “No. We’re in Corpus Christi, but we’re stopping for the night,” Dean stated, his voice final.
Sam rested his head back against the seat. “I think i‘s back,” Sam slurred.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean muttered tiredly, but Sam started slipping down again, and Dean had to dive to keep him from falling out of the car. Dean cursed under each breath and pulled Sam around. Slapping his face until he woke up enough, Dean helped him stumble across the lot and into the room. Shivering helplessly, Sam crawled onto the closest bed and pulled the covers around him while Dean went back out to the car and grabbed the rest of their stuff.
Sam was a little more alert when Dean got back. They hadn’t really talked since the confrontation in the car. Part of Dean was scared shitless to cross over to Sam and ask him what he needed. It’s not like Dean didn’t already know the answer. The blood seemed to help, no matter how temporarily but Dean was at a loss as to why.
“Dean?” Sam whimpered from the bed. “We should go to the church. Maybe Castiel can tell us how to break this. It’s… maybe it’s just a curse. A curse can be broken.”
Sam sounded so lost, and Dean suddenly felt sick - he’d never seriously considered the possibility that this couldn’t be fixed. His brain flashed on the phone message - vampire. Fuck no.
He needed to do something. Anything. He sat on the bed next to Sam, not letting his thoughts continue down the path they’d started. He slipped a knife from his pocket and pressed it into Sam’s hand.
Sam’s breath caught sharply. “God, Dean. The things I want…” Sam snapped the small knife open with a flick of his wrist. He turned it back and forth just enough that the blade flashed in the light.
Dean reached a finger out to touch the flat of it. “You’re getting worse again,” Dean said, trying to stay focused on the practical. “We need to deal with this before we get to the church.” Dean started to pull his hand back, but Sam suddenly caught his wrist in a tight grip. The knife in Sam’s other hand touched against Dean’s outstretched finger.
Dean barely felt it, but his knife was sharp, and his blood welled up against the edge, bright and red and thick. The drop slid down his finger, leaving a long red trail. The sting built as he watched Sam’s mouth glide in close. Sam inched out his tongue to lightly skim the bottom of Dean’s finger before running it up to the tip and sucking it in. Sam looked… blissful, and Dean couldn’t look away, fascinated by the subtle seduction of what Sam was doing. Sam tongued over the tip, lingering there before sliding down until the entire length was enveloped in wet warmth. Sam sucked it hard, once and then again, before pulling off of it with a quiet moan.
“Dean…” he whispered, his grip on Dean’s wrist tightening. “You have to… I need…”
Dean felt a slight tremor of fear creep up his spine before Sam suddenly body-slammed him onto the bed. Sam straddled his hips, gathered both of Dean’s wrists in a hard grip and pressed them back against the headboard. The stitches in Dean’s forearm ground against skin and cloth painfully.
“What…” Dean started, struggling against Sam’s punishing one-handed grasp.
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam growled. He pushed Dean’s head roughly to the side; the hilt of the carelessly held blade connected hard against Dean’s forehead, making the room spin, and exposed Dean’s neck at the same time. Dean bucked up against Sam, panic driving his body, determined to push Sam away before whatever this was escalated out of control.
Abruptly, Dean realized that he could feel Sam’s erection through the layers of denim between them; he froze, unable to process what he could so clearly feel. Sam was… hard. Sam was getting off on this. He needed to stop this, needed to get away, but he couldn’t make himself move, couldn’t make himself breathe.
Sam didn’t seem to notice the panic that was holding Dean paralyzed. The knife pressed against his neck, cold and sharp with the power to change everything. It lingered for only a moment before it caressed down his skin, leaving a fiery line of heat in its wake. Dean felt his thoughts begin to still. Sam slid down Dean’s body until his torso was a long line pressed against Dean’s own, trapping Dean against the bed and keeping him safe, which… Dean knew the last thing he should be feeling was safe, but he felt the tension flow out of him as he released control to Sam, his muscles going loose and pliant in his brother’s grasp.
Well, every muscle except his cock, which was staining now, begging to be released from the confines of his clothes. Sam writhed against him, made him whimper with need, but Sam didn’t reach down. Instead Sam mouthed against Dean’s throat, biting against the skin and sucking hard.
Dean turned his head, further exposing his neck to Sam, and arched up to increase the contact between them. Sam sucked harder, and the ache and burn filled Dean’s consciousness until the only thing he could think about was the hot inferno of Sam’s mouth on his neck. He could feel his blood leaving him in a rush, the harsh roar accompanied by the pounding beat of his pulse. Sam clung to him, sucking at the wound until the world was spinning around them both.
He lost himself in sensation, everything muted in soft grays, and he let himself float there, free from everything that had been crowding his thoughts for months. It was a relief. In some ways, he missed the simplicity of hell.
He didn’t notice Sam’s hand snaking down to unbutton his jeans, didn’t notice the same hand pushing his boxers down, but when Sam’s hand gripped hard around his dick, he came back to himself with a gasp. Sam’s leg was slung across Dean’s thighs, and his other arm was across Dean’s chest. The weight of Sam’s body still kept Dean pinned, but he started struggling anyway. “Sam, don’t…” Dean panted out, but his hips thrust forward in a silent betrayal.
Sam leaned in until his lips brushed the curve of Dean’s ear. “Please, Dean. Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you need… for once,” Sam begged, his voice sounding more than a little bit desperate.
“What… Sam… wait…” Dean’s voice trailed off into a whimper as Sam ran his hand down, leaving Dean’s dick to cup his balls, massaging them softly between long fingers. Dean bucked up, trying to throw Sam off of him, but their legs were tangled together. Sam’s weight was pressing against him, and he couldn’t quite get his body to sync up enough with his brain to effectively wrestle.
“Sam…” Dean started again, reaching down to grab Sam’s wrist and pull it off. Sam immediately let his balls go, broke the ineffective hold Dean had managed and gripped both of Dean’s wrists. Sam pulled them back above Dean’s head to pin them there in a solid grasp. Sam shifted until he was lying fully on top of Dean once more, the weight of him solid along Dean’s body from chest to legs.
Dean shifted uncomfortably, the loss of Sam’s touch a heavy ache in his balls. His breath came out fast and labored. He wanted this; he couldn’t let it happen.
Dean’s mouth opened to say something, but Sam growled and dropped his head to let their mouths collide. He plunged his tongue hungrily into Dean’s mouth, exploring with deep thrusts, possessive and claiming, and effectively cut off Dean’s ability for speech.
Sam reached down between them again, his hand enveloping Dean’s cock, and Dean wondered how he was supposed to stop something he wanted so damn badly that he ached with it. Sam stroked forcefully up and down his length, sending fireworks of pleasure coursing through him. When Sam drew back, Dean had to swallow back his moan.
“Want you…” Sam said before Dean could form a coherent protest, and then Sam leaned back in, biting Dean’s lips hard enough to burn before dipping his tongue back inside.
It had been forever since Dean had this - their bodies fitted tightly together, just the two of them, uncomplicated with anything but need. Sam started thrusting his tongue into Dean’s mouth rhythmically, in time with the hard jerks he was giving Dean’s cock. Dean pushed back into Sam’s grip, unable to stop, and lost himself in the warm, heavy desire that radiated out from his groin in waves. He knew any minute he was going to lose control. Sam slid a wet tongue down the side of Dean’s face, until his lips found the lobe of Dean’s ear; Sam sucked it into his mouth, swirling it around with his tongue before biting down hard. Pleasure and pain blended together in a heady mix, causing Dean to writhe against Sam desperately, but somehow he couldn’t quite let himself give in, couldn’t let himself have what he wanted.
Sam released Dean’s ear with a final slow lick, whispering, “Come for me, Dean.”
It was like Dean’s body had been waiting for permission, because suddenly Dean was coming into Sam’s hand, hard waves of pleasure rocking through his body, over and over again. He yelled, not sure in that moment if it was out of pain or pleasure, not knowing if this brief moment of closeness was going to cost him everything he wanted, everything he desperately needed.
The orgasm slipped away, over too soon. Trying to find the energy to move, he lay there for a while. Sleep pulled at him hard, but Sam’s soft sound of distress pulled him out of it. Dean was a little surprised to notice that, with the exception of his open jeans and displaced boxers, they were both almost completely dressed.
Though he’d kept his leg slung over Dean’s, Sam had slipped to Dean’s side, and his groin was pressed tightly against Dean’s hip; his fingers had slipped under the top of his own pants, his face pressed into the pillow next to Dean’s head, and Dean could feel how hard he still was.
Between post-orgasm and blood-loss, Dean felt the cloying need to let unconsciousness claim him, but he managed to raise a hand and let it fall against Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy?” he scraped out, his voice gravelly and low.
Sam moved slightly, grinding his hard cock against Dean’s hip. Almost as quickly as he had started, he stopped and jerked away to roll over and sit up on the far side of the bed. Dean managed to open his mouth to say something, but Sam cut him off with an anguished, “God, Dean, I’m so sorry.” Before Dean could begin to process that, Sam was off the bed and slamming the door of the bathroom.
Dean barely managed to think about following Sam before oblivion claimed him.
~o0O0o~
Alistair crouches down to kneel where he’d just unceremoniously dumped Dean onto the ground. “So how about it, Dean?” Alistair whispers cruelly into his ear, “You want to pick up the knife? Put an end to all your suffering?” He screams when Alistair pushes against the ruined skin of his chest, fingers sliding slickly in the wet mess. His body arches up into the touch, increasing the torment, but he can’t stop it. He lost control of what was his a long time ago.
Instead he goes with the only thing he can control: his shouted, “Fuck you,” reverberating around the walls of their cage.
Alistair chuckles softly, but he does remove his hand from Dean, and Dean claims that as a victory however slight, however temporary. “Good night, boys,” Alistair calls out sweetly as he leaves.
His injuries are already knitting back together, and he slowly rolls over to sob miserably into the floor. Sam’s touch, when it comes, is soft and tender against his hair. He pulls himself into Sam’s lap, letting his face come to rest against the bend of Sam’s hip. “God, Sam,” he croaks out. “I need…”
“I know,” Sam answers, his voice almost as wrecked as Dean’s. Sam shifts under Dean, coaxing him to lay back. Dean lets the gentle hands guide him, lets them cradle his head between strong, welcoming legs. A fresh spasm sends Dean scrabbling against the ground, and Sam strokes down his side, a quiet counterpoint against the tremors in his body. Sam bends over him and tenderly licks against Dean’s stomach, running his tongue through the blood Dean knows covers him, licking away the evidence of his weakness.
Dean loses himself in the tingling pleasure of Sam’s tongue slowly moving and circling just above his dick, but the pain of healing bones and terrible wounds escalates until the frisson of pleasure isn’t enough anymore. “Please…” Dean moans softly. Sam’s hands wrap tightly around his own, pinning them down to his sides. The pain of knitting ribs jack-knifes sharply through his body, making him scream, making him writhe, and at the same moment, Sam wraps soft lips around Dean’s cock and sucks him down deeply.
Sam is wrapped around Dean, enveloping him, but it isn’t enough, not yet. “Please…” Dean whispers once more. Sam grips his hands more tightly, until they ache as he works his tongue over Dean’s flesh, pulling his thickening cock more deeply down. Sam swallows, the muscles of his throat working around Dean, sending waves of pleasure spiraling from his dick outward, blending with the pain until Dean can’t distinguish between the two sensations anymore. He spreads his legs further apart, exposing himself, allowing his brother more room to work and opening himself up to the only comfort he’s been allowed in years.
He can feel the climax build deep within him. Too soon…
“No…” he moans, but Sam already knows, and one of Sam’s hands lets go of Dean’s to slip around the base of his dick tightly, holding him just at the edge. The pain wars with pleasure for dominance, the two mixing together and flowing through him, and he finds himself whispering a long string of “Need you, Sammy, God… want you, need you so much, please…” The words tumble out of him until he has no more voice and he’s forced to mouth the words against the silence, but Sam never stops, never falters until, just after the worst of the agony crests through him, Sam relaxes his hand and lets him go.
The wrenching ecstasy of his release chases the torment away…
“Dean? Dude, let’s go.” The weight of Sam’s hand on his shoulder pulled him back to reality with a jolt. His head snapped up off his folded hands, causing the stitches that decorated his neck to twinge painfully. He pulled at the collar of his turtle-neck self-consciously, uncomfortable under the priest’s patient gaze.
Sam gave Dean’s shoulder a quick squeeze before dropping his arm down, and Dean awkwardly stood up from the pew, the room only spinning around him a little bit this time. He tried to meet Sam’s eyes, but although Sam immediately turned away, Dean noted that he stayed close as they followed the priest down into the crypts.
The path they took was almost maze-like and by the time they stood expectantly before the closed door the old priest had led them to, Dean was leaning heavily against his brother. The priest gave Dean a concerned look before he left them there with a nod, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief that the man hadn’t decided to question them.
Sam pushed the door open; it creaked loudly, causing Dean to smile a little to himself, having watched this scene play out in a hundred horror movies. He followed Sam into the room, and they stopped abruptly. Castiel was kneeling on the ground in front of an altar with hundreds of candles lit upon it, his head bowed silently in prayer. Dean could see him swaying slightly as he knelt there, but he looked uninjured, or at least, the back of his trench coat wasn’t stained with blood. That horrific image made Dean’s stomach clench for a moment before he forced the unwanted thought away; Cas didn’t really need Dean’s sympathy anyway.
They stood there, watching in silence. Somehow neither Dean nor his brother wanted to disturb the solemn air in the little room. Sam was the first to break, coughing politely, but Castiel still didn’t turn. Damn fool angel could have been stabbed in the back by now, but, well, yeah, of course, Cas didn’t really have to worry about that kind of thing. Sam turned and shrugged at Dean, his posture and expression broadcasting that he wasn’t sure what the fuck to do, so Dean stepped forward and put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. The angel kept his hands clasped in front of him in silent prayer, his head resting upon them, but after an uncomfortable moment he slowly looked up at Dean.
His face remained passive, even as he met Dean’s stare. “Dean,” he said, with a slight inflection of acknowledgement.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean replied, his voice quiet and echoey in the cave-like room. “You uh… looks like you made it out of there, huh?”
Castiel nodded slightly and replied simply, “Yes,” before reaching a hand up, a silent request for aid. Dean wasn’t sure he had the strength to help the angel, but he held his hand out anyway. Cas stopped, resting a cold hand against Dean’s cheek instead, his stoic eyes growing wide with concern. “You are injured,” he stated, and then looked around, his eyes finally finding Sam, who’d moved around to stand next to Dean.
Sam held a hand out, and Castiel flinched back, landing ass first as he hit the ground. “Sa…Samuel?” Cas stuttered, like he’d suddenly forgotten who Dean’s brother was. Dean looked at Sam, confused, but Sam’s gaze was locked on Castiel, a small frown creasing his forehead. Castiel put his hands on the ground and rose unsteadily to his feet, backing away until he hit the wall and was forced to stop. He put his hands against the wall to steady himself, and his eyes slid shut, his head falling forward. Dean moved toward him to try to help, but Sam’s unexpected grip on his shoulder held him in place.
Dean looked back at Sam in confusion, and Sam said, “Just give him a moment, Dean. He’s obviously been weakened from that fight or something.”
A couple of minutes passed, both of them watching the silent angel. Finally Dean couldn’t take it anymore; he shrugged off Sam’s hold and stepped close to Cas. “Hey man, is there something we can do to help you?”
Cas slowly looked up and met Dean’s gaze. He looked… lost… weak. Dean had never seen him like that, and it threw him. “What happened?” Dean asked, tentatively allowing some concern to show in his voice.
“I am sorry,” Castiel replied, keeping his gaze locked on Dean’s face. “The fight was… hard. It left me… weakened.” He cast a nervous look over at Sam before bringing his gaze quickly back to Dean. “But, I will recover.”
“Well, that’s… cryptic as usual.” Dean waited with growing irritation, wondering if Cas would take the hint and give them some more details, but Cas just kept staring until Dean had to talk again just to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Yeah, so, we got a question we’re hoping you can answer. Sam here,” Dean took a breath and nodded his chin towards Sam, “he killed Lilith after all. I couldn’t stop him, but,” he rushed to add, suddenly needing to defend Sam’s actions, “he managed to close the gate, so it’s all good. We just… we need to know, is Lucifer stopped? Did that actually reset all the seals, or are we still staring down at one door between us and the fucking apocalypse?”
Castiel had gone even paler during Dean’s speech, and he was gazing at Dean with an inscrutable look on his face, as though he expected to divine some sort of wisdom if he looked at Dean long enough. The pause was getting uncomfortable when Castiel finally replied, “I did not know that that could be done. I will have to… think on the answer. In the meantime,” Castiel’s eyes narrowed in concern, “be careful, Dean.”
Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Castiel was gone. “God damn it!” he swore furiously, swaying on his feet. Sam was almost instantly at his side, a hand on his elbow to steady him. “Now what?”
Sam looked at him, a puzzled frown on his face. A lost, “I don’t know,” was all he could offer.
~o0O0o~
Dean’s dreams were filled with broken bits of images and fear interspersed with feelings of shame and failure. When Sam shook him awake, however, he was filled with a sense of loss so profound it made his eyes burn. He shook his head, willing the memories away. It had been so much easier before…
“Come on, Dean,” Sam said quietly. “I got us a room.”
“What?” Dean mumbled, confused. He hadn’t yet managed to open his eyes, but he could tell it wasn’t dark yet. “Why’re we stopping already?” He dragged his eyelids apart, so he could peer at his brother.
“You need sleep. You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Sam had the good grace to flush a little with embarrassment, “and you haven’t really slept in days.” Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam cut him off, “Passing out doesn’t count as sleep, idiot.” Dean snapped his mouth shut with a scowl.
Sam pulled on Dean’s elbow, coaxing him out of the car, and steadied him over to the room. Dean played along until Sam opened the door, but he pulled up short when he saw the room, grabbing the door jamb to avoid going in. Unreasonable anger flared up out of nowhere. “What the fuck’s up with the king?”
“It’s all they had, Dean,” Sam sighed tolerantly, pushing him into the room. Dean tried to look back at the parking lot, because he didn’t remember it being all that full, but Sam shut the door behind them, cutting off his view. The bed was irresistible, and Dean moved to sit down wearily, stretching back and luxuriating in the feeling of being out of the car. His car was roomy, but as a place to sleep, she left a lot to be desired. He wasn’t sure what he was so upset about anyway. It’s not like they’d never shared a king before. He felt Sam pulling off his shoes; he considered making some smart remark about foot servants, but he fell asleep before he could complete the thought.
~o0O0o~
Dean didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to lose the feeling of Sam wrapped around him, their naked bodies pressed solidly together, Sam’s hard dick tucked close, warm against the cleft of his ass.
Sam ran his tongue, soft and wet, over the skin of Dean’s shoulder. Dean moaned, pushing back and inviting more. Sam’s teeth closed over the skin of his neck, biting hard and sending waves of pleasure-pain rocketing through him.
He froze in sudden panic. This wasn’t a dream.
Dean was up and out of the bed faster than he could process his actions. He had his hand on the door and the knob twisted almost open before he managed to stop himself. He couldn’t run out of the room butt naked, no matter how tempting it was. He glanced behind him to look frantically for his clothes, but before he was fully turned, he felt himself slammed bodily against the door.
“No, Dean, you don’t get to run away from this… from me. Not this time,” Sam said, his voice fierce and raspy.
Dean started to push back but stopped when Sam’s dick rubbed against him, reminding him of the fact that they were both naked… and both hard. He closed his eyes and pressed against the cold metal door instead. Praying for the cold to fucking do something, he vaguely wished that he could merge through the icy metal and out the other side. Sam only moved in closer, trapping him firmly against the barrier. The contrast between Sam’s feverishly hot body and the almost painfully cold door scrambled his focus; it magnified the conflicting impulses and waves of unwanted desire pulsing through his veins. “Sam, get off of me,” he begged, his voice barely a whisper.
Sam didn’t listen, just shifted closer and slipped his legs to either side of Dean’s to trap him even more thoroughly. Ignoring Dean’s token resistance and easily winning the contest of strength, Sam grabbed Dean’s right hand and pulled it away from the knob. He slammed Dean’s wrist against the door above his head with a loud thud and reached up to force Dean’s head to the side and expose Dean’s neck. “You want this, Dean,” he growled against the flesh under his mouth.
Sam’s warm breath ghosted over the side of Dean’s neck and sent shivers racing through his body. Sam licked along his throat, wet and messy, before asking in a puzzled, quiet voice, “Why do you keep trying to fight it?”
Dean twisted in Sam’s grip, almost breaking the hold, but Sam anticipated the move, got him back under control and slammed him roughly against the door once more. Sam sucked against his neck, pulling the skin into his mouth until it burned, a slowly building intensity that had Dean writhing against his brother helplessly. Sam scraped his teeth against Dean’s sensitized skin before letting it go. “You’re mine,” Sam snarled, biting at his neck hard enough to bruise.
Sam thrust against Dean and, already slick with pre-come, slipped easily between his ass cheeks to nudge dangerously against his hole. Dean’s breaths came out in short, staccato bursts, fast enough to leave him feeling light-headed; it was hard to think. Sweat slicked his skin and pooled in the sway of his lower back. He should have been trying to get away, to gain an advantage, but instead he writhed back, hard enough that Sam’s dick breached him slightly before Dean’s tight muscles kept Sam out. A low, needy keening noise escaped from the back of his throat.
Sam’s arm slipped around him, coming up against Dean’s neck and holding him tight. Dean tried to draw in a breath and failed. His hands frantically wrapped around Sam’s arm, trying to pull it away, but it was like being held in a solid vise. Sam was a furnace behind him, and he could feel Sam’s heartbeat, solid and steady and reassuring; his focus narrowed in, until all he knew was the pounding that seemed to be answered by the pulse in his dick.
Sam yanked him back from the door, swung him around, and threw him down on the bed. Dean came back to his senses long enough to force himself to scramble back, gasping for breath, but Sam was on him before he made it very far, flipping him onto his stomach and straddling his hips. Sam caught his arms in a tight, painful pin against his back. “Lemme go,” Dean ground out, his bruised neck making speech difficult.
“Why?” Sam growled, sinking his teeth into the back of Dean’s neck hard enough to make him cry out. “You aren’t leaving me, Dean. I’m not gonna let you leave me. Not again.” Sam bit him again a little lower, then again, trailing the bites down the side of Dean’s spine and leaving a long trail of stinging marks from his neck all the way down to just above his ass.
Overwhelmed with sensation, Dean whimpered, and pushed back with his ass. He needed to feel Sam against him, inside him, needed Sam more than he needed to breathe. Sam’s fingers glided wetly against his ass before they sank between, sank down, sank into him; a burning ache trailing all the way into his core. He relaxed against the intrusion and welcomed the invading fingers in.
Sam pumped them in and out, and Dean pushed back, urging them deeper. He was being split in half, and Dean wanted this, wanted to let the burn fill him up and consume him until there was nothing left but the two of them. He hung there, on the edge of giving in, giving over completely, but a tiny part of himself still clung to the idea that this could kill the broken remains of his relationship with Sam. He couldn’t let himself do that. “Stop, just stop,” he begged, his writhing body giving lie to his anxious words.
“No,” Sam growled back, forcing another finger inside, and Dean had to fight back a moment of panic when it occurred to him that Sam might be going for the whole fist. “You don’t really want me to,” he stated, his voice tinged with annoyance, then his hand was gone, and Dean couldn’t keep himself from crying out with loss.
Sam swung his hand down against Dean’s ass, hard and stinging, hit him a second time before hissing out, “Stop fighting me, Dean.”
Dean struggled to hold back a moan as Sam ran his hand over Dean’s stinging backside before plunging his fingers back inside, pressing in deep before he just… stopped. Dean held his breath, waiting for Sam to push in more or pull out or fucking do something, anything, but still Sam didn’t move. Dean whimpered, deep in the back of his throat, and it sounded loud in the quiet room filled with nothing but their heavy breaths. His body twitched, shifted, and he tried to buck his hips, but he could barely move; Sam still had him tightly pinned.
“Tell me you want it, Dean, or I really will stop.” Sam sounded so fucking calm, and Dean was shaking so badly he thought he might shatter.
“God, Sammy…” Dean sobbed out. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t admit what he needed out loud.
“Tell me you want it,” Sam repeated harshly.
“Sammy…” Dean whispered.
“Tell me,” Sam snarled, accentuating each word with a deep, satisfying thrust, “You. Want. It.” And then Sam pulled out of him roughly. Released his arms. Let him go. Moved off the bed.
Dean felt something crumble inside of him. “Please, Sammy, please… I need you.”
Sam put a knee back on the bed, leaned in and grasped the back of Dean’s neck, heavy and restraining, and then moved in closer. He let his breath play over Dean’s ear for a moment before whispering, “Good boy.”
There was a moment of stillness, of building anticipation, and then Sam slid between his legs panther-like and pushed forward, sheathing himself in Dean’s body with one forceful shove. Dean welcomed the searing pain of entry, pushed back until their bodies met in a solid sensual line and then pulled forward to match his brother thrust for thrust. Sam grabbed Dean’s hands, forcing one down against the bed and twisting the other up behind Dean’s back, effectively immobilizing him. Sam let his lips trail over the skin behind Dean’s ear and whispered, “You’re mine, Dean. I’m in charge,” before he pulled out and then sank in even more deeply than he had before.
Dean closed his eyes tightly as Sam moved, trying desperately to contain the flood of emotions that were suddenly coursing through him. He’d wanted this for so long. He’d never dared to wish that it might actually happen. He felt a tear hit the side of his nose, slide over the side of it and down his cheek. A moment later he felt Sam’s tongue chasing the path it had traveled. He bit the inside of his mouth hard, willing himself back under control.
“Let it go, Dean,” Sam commanded, quiet and intense, before picking up speed and setting a pace that drove all his thoughts from his head. Sam eased his hold and dropped Dean’s hand down onto the bed. Dean surged back into Sam until their bodies were slamming together and Dean’s dick was aching for release. Dean’s hand jerked down almost of its own will, but Sam slammed it back against the bed. “Let me take care of you,” Sam panted out.
Panic sprang up out of nowhere, threatening to overwhelm him, and he started struggling to get away. Sam tightened his grip, but his thrusts remained steady. “I’ve got you, just let go.”
Withdrawing into himself, his thoughts in turmoil, Dean’s dick began to lose interest. The press and pull in his brain, too full of everything that should have led him down the path of insanity long ago, slowly began to win the contest against the pulse and thrum and needful grasping of his body. He desperately tried to focus on Sam’s fingers around his wrists, Sam’s breath caressing his skin, Sam in him and around him, but it was all slipping away… this was never anything that he should have wanted, never anything that he deserved…
He heard Sam swear above him, felt him transfer both wrists to a one handed grip. “No, Dean, I told you, you don’t get to hide from this. I need you here, damn it.”
He felt Sam shift, and then the flat of a blade pressed against his shoulder. Dean’s body roared back to life, and Sam bore the knife down hard against his back. The dull blade left a welted trail of fire where it traveled along his spine before Sam brought it back up to do again, and then again.
Sam continued to thrust inside of him, and Dean cried out as everything whirled out of control. Pain and pleasure wrapped around his thoughts until all he could feel, all he knew, was Sam. Pleasure and awareness spiraled down to his dick, focusing there until it had nowhere to go but out. Wave after wave pulsed through him, built up to dizzying intensity before spiraling lazily back down to leave him wrung out, tired, and at peace.
Sam collapsed to the side of him, pulling Dean in close and tangling their limbs together. “Thank you,” Sam whispered, and dropped a kiss on top of Dean’s head before oblivion claimed them both.
Part Three