FIC: Night Blind
Title: Night Blind
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,463
Prompt: On a dark, desert highway from chemm80
Notes: For salt_burn_porn. Thanks to regala_electra for glaring death rays at me and loony_moony for reading it over. ♥ And thank you, Lords of Acid for enabling me to write porny things.
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester lose sight of each other, and have to feel their way back.
Night Blind
They will call him Nyctalopia, when they know enough to know who he is. He's the one reaching invisible spindle-fingers into their eye sockets and twisting-pulling their sight just slightly out-of-joint; like gremlins that loosen bolts or like how Dean still does that trick with the tops of salt shakers when people aren't paying attention.
It's so subtle at first that you don't feel it, don't realize what he's done until the last rays of sunlight drop below the horizon and it's weird that the highway lights haven't yet come on in the twilight.
And you're skidding out of control, your body jerking violent and you're both screaming. You don't know who turned the lights off, and maybe it's more like a light bulb that suddenly falls loose and shatters on the ground.
You'll call him Nyctalopia when you finally meet him, when you have the distinct pleasure of snapping those spindle-fingers in twain and punching his face so hard that you find chips of his shattered fangs embedded in your knuckles the next day.
But right now, you don't know Nyctalopia from any other monster you've faced before, and all you know is the car finally stops and you're night-blind and you can't tell how bad the crash was to your brother but you feel something wet when you reach out and touch his forehead. And you know it's blood, you know it's a lot of blood but you pray that it's not as much as you worry it is.
**
The flashlight starts to flicker and Sam looks up instinctively to the empty space where he assumes Dean's face is, and there's probably a similar look of worry painted in his expression, but Sam can't see it. It's unspoken in the way the both of them quicken their pace.
It's almost like being forced into tunnel-vision, the only thing their eyes can focus on is the cone of white light leading them down the empty stretch of highway. All they can see are the next few steps ahead of them along the eerie, empty highway. Everywhere else is just black as pitch, Sam can only just imagine that it's Dean's hand holding the flashlight, the night-blindness has robbed them of the ability to see anything from outside the shine of the beam.
It flickers twice more before Sam stops Dean by reaching his hand out and connecting with Dean's arm, pulling it towards him. "Dean, wait."
Dean shines the beam directly at Sam's face and Sam flinches in the brightness covering his face. "Ow! Dean!" Sam yells.
"Sorry?" Dean offers, turning the light back on himself. Sam can see the dried blood smears dried along he forehead, contrasting the bright red that still permeates the whites of his eyes.
Just like Sam has in his eyes, according to Dean.
"We should stop," Sam says, rubbing his neck when Dean settles the flashlight upon Sam's mouth, avoiding his now-sensitive eyes. "Dean, we don't know how far away the nearest town or motel is; my flashlight is dead, and now yours is dying. We should find a safe space and just rough it for the night."
Then Sam notices the light falling lower, down his neck and his chest. "Dean," Sam says in a warning tone when Dean focuses it right on Sam's crotch.
"What?" Dean asks, though the light shakes like he's chuckling slightly to himself.
"I'm serious, Dean," Sam says reaching out and pulling the light back up to his mouth. "It's too big a risk to keep moving forward when we could run out of light at any minute."
Sam hears Dean grumble in the darkness, pictures his face pulling. "I say we should try to make it back to the car then, it's safer in there."
"We could barely see the extent of the damage Dean, who knows if there's a fuel leak somewhere and the car's just a powder keg waiting to go off right now."
Sam can picture Dean's eyes darkening. "I'll kill whoever did this if that happens," Dean says. "Okay, let's find a good spot."
The light moves from side to side, Sam getting a brief glimpse of Dean standing before him in the transition, it settles left. "Down there, I think I see a clearing just past those trees."
Sam nods and follows the direction of the light down off the highway and to a beaten path leading into the woods. The light flickers and Sam crosses his fingers in the darkness that it lasts just a bit longer as they do make it to a clearing.
With Dean's shining the light above, Sam quickly sketches a few Keys of Solomon into the dirt around them with his finger. Sam hears Dean flop down on the ground beside him, the flashlight illuminating Dean's boots, covered in mud and road-dust, the image shifts slightly as Dean breathes out, his hands must be shaking.
"Maybe we should build a fire. I could take the light out and find some kindling?" Dean says.
"How would you find your way back to me, then?" Sam asks. "It'd be too easy for you to get lost, and I'm not really thrilled at the idea of being left along here right now, okay?"
"Wuss," Dean says darkly, but doesn't fight him on it. He just lifts the flashlight back on Sam's mouth, and Sam can't see much of the movement, but he figures Dean's rummaging around in his bag because the gleam of his silver Zippo enters the beam of light in front of Sam. "Can't believe I didn't think of this sooner," Dean says, and Sam takes the lighter and clicks it on.
It burns, it burns in all directions like a starburst or maybe it's what it's like to stare right into a supernova. Sam and Dean scream and Sam sees Dean's face for a moment as he drops the flashlight which finally decides to die as Sam closes the lighter and hears it clink on the ground.
**
"Sam," he hears Dean saying his name in a rough voice, there's the sound of someone turning and Sam can't feel his leg.
"Dean, you're sitting on my leg," Sam says as he does his best to orient himself to wherever they are. "At least, I hope that's you on my leg."
Sam feels something jab into his thigh repeatedly. "You feel that?"
"Yeah," Sam says, smacking Dean's hand away.
"Then your leg is definitely what's digging into my spine. Ow," Dean says and the weight lifts off Sam's leg. There's quiet as Sam sits up and tries to massage feeling back into his limbs, he hears Dean rolling around on the ground nearby. Then something smacks his jaw, something rubbery.
"Hey!" Sam yells.
"Sorry," Dean says, "just getting these boots off, they're killing me. If we're stuck here, I'm at least gonna give my dogs a rest."
Sam breathes, Dean's right, there's nothing more either of them can do, and Sam shrugs out of his jacket and overshirt, feels around for their bags, and pulls out whatever he can use to make the dirt ground a bit more comfortable to rest on.
"Dean, toss your jackets in the direction of my voice, I'm trying to make things a bit more comfortab-thanks," Sam says as he feels Dean's jacket smack his backside.
"Did you get it?" Dean asks as Sam turns his head around and gets a face full of what he assumes is Dean's henley pullover.
"Bull's-eye, Dean," Sam deadpans and pulls the shirt off his face, and then something else smacks the side of his head. Something denim.
"Dean... did you just take your pants off and throw them at me?"
"No," Dean says quietly. "I found your bag, so those must be your pants."
"I have both of our bags in my hands right now, Dean."
Dean makes a strange sound and Sam feels a hand reach out and touch his face, feeling around for the denim jeans and then it grabs them, and he can picture Dean slinking back, embarrassed.
Sam doesn't say a word, just lays out whatever clothes and blankets he's got and tries to picture the square shape of a bed in his mind. "Okay, I think that's as comfortable as I can get it right now, we might as well just turn in. Dean, you can follow the sound of my voice over here, yeah?" Sam reaches out a hand into the darkness in front of him.
"Dean?" Sam asks, panic starting to set in as he grasps around the air with both hands now, standing up. "Dean, come on, follow my voice, you're here, right? Dean? Dean!" And Sam's actually panicking now. Trying to go back over the past few minutes in his head, to anything that he heard that might have been out of the ordinary, to anything that might have told him Dean had been dragged off and there's nothing Sam could do to-
Hands grabbing his ankles and Sam screams as loud as he can until he hears Dean laughing.
"I hate you," Sam says, Dean's still laughing at him as Sam drops back to the makeshift bed and kicks off his own shoes, hoping they somehow connect with Dean's face.
"I had to," Dean says. Sam just lies down on his back, feeling around for enough space for him to stretch out, and he sighs.
"You better be wearing pants, Dean," Sam mutters.
"Goodnight Sam," Dean says.
**
Sam's somewhere between awake and asleep when the pressure clamps down on him. He's definitely awake when the pins and needles start pinching his right thigh, and Sam realizes that Dean is currently using it as a pillow.
Which Sam doesn't really mind until Dean turns in his sleep and his hand comes smacking down on top of Sam's crotch.
The real problem is that Dean's become a fidgety sleeper; it used to be he'd sleep like the dead but ever since hell and back, he's become more likely to toss and turn; or to startle himself awake at any given moment. Sam's heard that tossing and turning, the teeth grinding and Dean suddenly yelping after falling off the side of the bed.
What Sam doesn't know is that Dean has also developed a rather odd habit of pulling at loose threads, and ripping tags off of blankets and sheets in his sleep. Sam would not have known this if it wasn't for a loose thread along the zipper of his jeans which Dean began to pull and tug and the next thing Sam knows, Dean's got his zipper down, pants open and is tugging at the hemline of his boxer-briefs.
Sam thinks that if there was any time for the night blindness to wear off, now would be really, really good. Oh sure, it would have been really good a few miles back when Dean crashed the car, or when they were chained to the flashlight or when he turned on the Zippo and it nearly melted his brains out. But right now would really, really be good for the moonlight to kick in and shine down on his brother's face so he could see if Dean was awake, or asleep, or tugging down his underwear in the middle of the night for a serious purpose.
Of course that sets Sam off thinking of all the reasons that Dean would have to-no, would really need to pull off his pants and strip him in the middle of the night:
"Sam! There's a giant spider in your pants! Take them off, quick!"
"Sam! There's a hungry troll beast in the room, and I have to feed him your underwear!"
"Sam! You accidentally cross-dressed! Quick, take off your briefs and put on this thong and lace teddy!"
"Sam, take off your pants so I can get your hot, thick cock down my moist, tight throat and I can suck down your seed; make you taste it on my tongue when I pin your body down and I'm licking my way-"
Sam squeezes his eyes shut and jams his fingernails as hard as he possibly can into his palm, but it's no use. Between Dean's hot breath and nimble fingers and his own fucked-up imagination, he's becoming harder by the second.
Sam really, really hopes Dean's just sleep-walking, or sleep-fidgeting as it were, and soon he'll roll over and just go back to sleep but instead Dean's hand tugs harder on a particularly stubborn thread and the next thing Sam knows, Dean's got his cock in his hand and he's squeezing.
That's the point where Sam gives up, and sits straight up, ready to grab Dean and ask him exactly what the hell he's doing, ready to shove him off if he's doing it in his sleep, or jump on him if he's doing it on purpose.
But Sam freezes when he hears Dean say in a sleepy voice. "Wait... this isn't mine."
Sam's jaw drops as he feels Dean's body shift in the darkness, and oh God, he's actually trying to get a better grip on Sam's cock, squeezing and rocking it a little side to side. Sam's eyes roll back in his head as Dean's hot breath ghosts along it again.
"I've gotta be dreaming," Dean mumbles into the darkness, he must have been doing it all in his sleep, but now he's awake and he doesn't realize what's going on.
Sam steels himself, "You're not dreaming," he says carefully.
"Sam... please tell me this is yours," Dean says.
Sam nods, which is ridiculous because he can't see anything, so he adds in, "It's mine."
Dean sighs. "Good, I was worried there for a minute that I was jacking off some guy I didn't know."
"And this is better how?" Sam says quickly, the frustration at being consistently manhandled with no sign of release anytime soon starting to chip away at his calm, even tone.
Sam can picture Dean start to open his mouth to respond, and then clam up immediately. And Sam can picture the look on his face when he reacts the only way he knows how at the moment. Fidgeting with his hands, and by extension, Sam's cock.
Self-restraint leaves him the same way sight did, becoming too loose and shattering on the ground as Sam's body starts to shift. Leaning up into Dean's touch instead, of running away or shoving Dean off like he promised himself he would.
And Sam moans as his cock twitches more and he can feel it leaking, seeping precome into the cloth of his briefs and Dean gasps a little, pulling away completely. Sam moans again, but this time it becomes a whimper at the tail-end, at the loss of contact.
Sam can only lay there in the darkness, hard and aching, needing and waiting. Waiting for the rapid-fire breaths Dean makes to slow down, waiting for that warmth to come close to him again. For the ground to shift as he feels Dean looming over him.
Hands reaching down to the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up higher and higher until Sam just does it for him, throwing his shirt off and reaching forward, he comes into contact with Dean's bare chest.
He can see Dean smile in his mind's eye. "What? I kept my pants on, I promise."
"Take them off," Sam breathes as he runs his fingers along Dean's shoulder and around to his neck. One hand holding steady there, and the other tracing the lines of Dean's face; running around his cheeks and gentle around the cuts and scrapes along his forehead, the bruise where his head hit the steering wheel. Dean kisses the back of Sam's hand and he feels the definite smile along his skin this time.
"Whatever you say, Sam." And Dean reaches down to Sam's jeans, tugging them down lower and lower.
Sam shifts his hips up as Dean pulls off his pants and his briefs and a hand covers his cock. Dean's thumb running over the head as it leaks, spreading the precome over the head but it's not enough, it's not enough.
He hears Dean spit as another hand reaches out, grabbing Sam's cock and wetting it more, making it as slick as it can be. It's better, but Sam still wants more.
"I was dreaming and I heard your voice in the back of my mind, heard you talking about someone's moist, tight throat. And then something about snowballing," Dean says. "I'm paraphrasing here, it was kind of nasty."
Sam freezes, blood and adrenaline rushing to his head and feels his face flushing.
"And I thought to myself, damn, that Dream-Sam is a kinky fucking bastard. Never thought I'd meet a Sam that got off on the taste of his own come in his mouth. And fucking hell, I want to meet that Sam," Dean says, his voice lowering to a rasp that makes Sam shiver as it ghosts along his body in hot beats of air.
"I want to meet that Sam, I want to do all those dirty things that Sam was talking about. I want to lick sweat and come from that Sam's chest and force him to take it from my mouth. I want to be the one ravaging that Sam, making him come in the dark and in the dirt and-"
Sam growls, "Fucking do it already." He pauses as Dean's hand tightens around his cock.
"Say it," Dean answers.
"Fucking suck me down and make me come," Sam says, "I want it, I need it, I'm that kinky bastard that wants you-" And Sam cuts himself off there, wants to make Dean wonder what he means by that, wants to make him little crazy while he's driving Sam absolutely insane.
Sam almost yells out when he feels Dean's tongue lick across the head of his cock. He feels Dean's hands move to steady him, pinning his hips down as Sam's body instinctively tries to curl up. Sam feels another brush of Dean's tongue, back and forth, lapping at his still-leaking head; and then moving down, swirling along the shaft. He feels Dean's wet lips against him, moving lower and lower, placing wet-licking-sucking kisses down the length of his cock.
Sam concentrates on straightening out his legs, knows he's going to come too soon if he doesn't relax. Sam tries to will his blood to slow and his heartbeat to steady, as Dean's lips settle around his cockhead, and they begin to suck, more and more, further and further down.
Sam's hands shake as they reach out into the empty air and find themselves a place to relax on the sides of Dean's head. Dean stops what he's doing and Sam can feel his head tilt up. "It's okay Sam. You can hold me like this if you wanna, you can keep me from going too fast or too rough," he says, his voice his rough and deep and Sam flicks his fingers along the curves of Dean's ears nervously.
"Okay," Sam says, voice catching his breath.
Sam can feel the muscles of Dean's face pulling into whatever unreadable expression he's wearing in the darkness as Dean moves back down and Sam's there as he feels Dean swallow him slowly and deliberately.
Even though Dean stops just short of swallowing him to the root, it's perfect. Dean's warm and wet and it feels amazing; and Sam has to fight the urge he feels to come screaming right there. Dean starts moving back and forth, slowly in and out as Sam gets the rhythm and soon he's directing him with his hands.
Sam's head drops down to his chest and he feels a drop of sweat drip fall from his nose. Maybe it hits the back of Dean's neck because Dean moans and vibrates around Sam's cock and now Sam's shaking. His calves are starting to twitch and Sam bites down on the inside of his mouth. He refuses to let go, not yet, not yet, not while it's still this good and this perfect and not while Dean is the best fucking thing in the world and digging his fingers into his thighs, leaving behind bruises he'll want to wear like trophies for the next few weeks.
But it's through no fault of Dean's or his own that the wind rustles through the trees and the cold air hitting his body, now covered in sweat. The chill and the shiver he can't control breaks his concentration and he comes hard with a grunt, his hands pulling and tugging at Dean's hair.
He feels his cock pulse, shooting down Dean's throat as he comes and comes and it's over in a matter of moments and heartbeats. His hands fall to his sides as Sam tries to keep from slumping forward on top of Dean. He breathes warm down the back of Dean's neck and Dean's mouth releases him. He feels the top of Dean's head brush his chin, and then he smells Dean's hair.
In the darkness, Dean's mouth seeks out his own, missing the mark at first and kissing the side of Sam's face until they meet somewhere in-between. And Sam tastes the salt of his own come and smiles as he lets Dean push him back down to the ground.
Sam's cock is spent and still wet, the cold air stinging it until Dean's warmth starts to pour back into him. Dean's rubbing himself against Sam, he can feel Dean's cock starting to harden against his thigh.
"Ow," Sam murmurs dreamily as Dean pulls away.
"What?" Dean asks, the crack in his voice almost enough to make Sam go hard again, thinking about how he's fucked Dean's throat raw.
"You left your claw marks in there," Sam says with a heavy breath, and hisses as Dean's cock rubs against him again.
"I'd fuck you raw if I could see where the goddamn lube was," Dean rasps dirty into Sam's ear, before tugging at Sam's earlobe with his teeth and running his mouth back across Sam's face, kissing and nipping along the way. And Sam reaches out, finding the sides of Dean's face again. He wants to curl his fingers around Dean's ears, wants to tug them and pull Dean close to him. Wants more of his mouth, and to feel him smile against his cheek.
Dean takes one of Sam's hands and holds it out, licking Sam's palm and then cursing as he coughs. "Shit, my mouth is too dry right now," he explains sheepishly and Sam licks his own hand and grabs Dean's cock, jacking him, wetting him, guiding him in-between Sam's legs.
Sam feels Dean groan and drop his head to Sam's chest when Sam finds the right spot for him to grind against. "That's it, Sammy," Dean groans as he starts to rock back and forth against him, cock rutting in-between Sam's legs, right beneath his balls, which makes Sam moan in appreciation.
Dean's kissing him again as he fucks himself off, Dean's face pressed so close to his, that Sam can feel when it tightens, his brow creased in concentration. And then Sam feels his eyes wet for a moment, blinking away the water and with that, goes the blackness.
Sam blinks, and he sees the blue.
Blue like he never thought he'd have again. Blue that begins on the edges of his vision, and grows into a horizon line, separating out the sky.
The landscape begins to form, mountains and trees in the distance but closer to Sam, and more importantly, is the landscape of Dean's shoulders as they tense and fall. The planes and ridges of his arms being washed in the blue of the oncoming dawn.
And finally Dean's face, eyes shut tight and mouth a thin line as he presses it close, so close and the creases and lines in his complexion. "Dean," Sam says.
Dean's eyes open, and the blood-red liquid pours down his cheeks, Sam realizes it was that washing away the blindness. Dean's eyes have their whites restored, and his face softens the more Sam comes into focus and into the light of the sunrise.
Dean comes with a few more thrusts, wetness splashing against Sam's body before Dean collapses on top of him, it's all too much. Sam's body still trembles and feels warm and soft from earlier, and now Dean buries his face in the crook of Sam's shoulder as Sam holds him close. Feels him coming down slower and slower, breath and heartbeat finding a steady pace.
They are covered in dirt, sweat and come and Sam feels incredible as his eyes slip shut.
**
The next night, neither of them are surprised when the lights flicker and shut off at sunset, and the whites of their eyes fill with blood again.
They will learn that this is the mark of Nyctalopia, the monster of the night that fills your eyes with his venom and marks you for death. The one that feeds and hunts only in absolute darkness and silence, and he'll pluck out your vocal chords like they were harp strings with his needle-fingers so you don't scream while he tears the flesh from your bones with his teeth.
And they will come to better know the one that calls himself Nyctalopia, the one that has been terrorizing the small town surrounding them. Bringing blindness and darkness each night while it feeds. They will feel his needle-like fingers piercing them as they fight. They will know him, they will spit his name out with disdain and they will not tremble as they stand united against him, arms locking together so he can't separate them. They will learn his smell, and hear his low growl as he pants ice-cold breath against their skin when they've finally cornered him.
But they will not know that the Nyctalopia burns bright green from all the copper in his blood when they set that nasty little motherfucker on fire.
They will not know what it looked like when it was alive, they'll only know the smoldering heap of bones and charred flesh at their feet when they can open their eyes again and they'll see the room illuminated by the moon and the stars.
They'll see the road stretching out for miles and miles, and Sam will be able to turn to Dean and watch him as he walks, confidence in his stride and satisfaction in his smile. But through this, Sam will see Dean's nervous, trembling fingers as they pull at a loose button on the cuff of his jacket.
Sam won't be able to tear his eyes away from Dean.
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,463
Prompt: On a dark, desert highway from chemm80
Notes: For salt_burn_porn. Thanks to regala_electra for glaring death rays at me and loony_moony for reading it over. ♥ And thank you, Lords of Acid for enabling me to write porny things.
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester lose sight of each other, and have to feel their way back.
Night Blind
They will call him Nyctalopia, when they know enough to know who he is. He's the one reaching invisible spindle-fingers into their eye sockets and twisting-pulling their sight just slightly out-of-joint; like gremlins that loosen bolts or like how Dean still does that trick with the tops of salt shakers when people aren't paying attention.
It's so subtle at first that you don't feel it, don't realize what he's done until the last rays of sunlight drop below the horizon and it's weird that the highway lights haven't yet come on in the twilight.
And you're skidding out of control, your body jerking violent and you're both screaming. You don't know who turned the lights off, and maybe it's more like a light bulb that suddenly falls loose and shatters on the ground.
You'll call him Nyctalopia when you finally meet him, when you have the distinct pleasure of snapping those spindle-fingers in twain and punching his face so hard that you find chips of his shattered fangs embedded in your knuckles the next day.
But right now, you don't know Nyctalopia from any other monster you've faced before, and all you know is the car finally stops and you're night-blind and you can't tell how bad the crash was to your brother but you feel something wet when you reach out and touch his forehead. And you know it's blood, you know it's a lot of blood but you pray that it's not as much as you worry it is.
**
The flashlight starts to flicker and Sam looks up instinctively to the empty space where he assumes Dean's face is, and there's probably a similar look of worry painted in his expression, but Sam can't see it. It's unspoken in the way the both of them quicken their pace.
It's almost like being forced into tunnel-vision, the only thing their eyes can focus on is the cone of white light leading them down the empty stretch of highway. All they can see are the next few steps ahead of them along the eerie, empty highway. Everywhere else is just black as pitch, Sam can only just imagine that it's Dean's hand holding the flashlight, the night-blindness has robbed them of the ability to see anything from outside the shine of the beam.
It flickers twice more before Sam stops Dean by reaching his hand out and connecting with Dean's arm, pulling it towards him. "Dean, wait."
Dean shines the beam directly at Sam's face and Sam flinches in the brightness covering his face. "Ow! Dean!" Sam yells.
"Sorry?" Dean offers, turning the light back on himself. Sam can see the dried blood smears dried along he forehead, contrasting the bright red that still permeates the whites of his eyes.
Just like Sam has in his eyes, according to Dean.
"We should stop," Sam says, rubbing his neck when Dean settles the flashlight upon Sam's mouth, avoiding his now-sensitive eyes. "Dean, we don't know how far away the nearest town or motel is; my flashlight is dead, and now yours is dying. We should find a safe space and just rough it for the night."
Then Sam notices the light falling lower, down his neck and his chest. "Dean," Sam says in a warning tone when Dean focuses it right on Sam's crotch.
"What?" Dean asks, though the light shakes like he's chuckling slightly to himself.
"I'm serious, Dean," Sam says reaching out and pulling the light back up to his mouth. "It's too big a risk to keep moving forward when we could run out of light at any minute."
Sam hears Dean grumble in the darkness, pictures his face pulling. "I say we should try to make it back to the car then, it's safer in there."
"We could barely see the extent of the damage Dean, who knows if there's a fuel leak somewhere and the car's just a powder keg waiting to go off right now."
Sam can picture Dean's eyes darkening. "I'll kill whoever did this if that happens," Dean says. "Okay, let's find a good spot."
The light moves from side to side, Sam getting a brief glimpse of Dean standing before him in the transition, it settles left. "Down there, I think I see a clearing just past those trees."
Sam nods and follows the direction of the light down off the highway and to a beaten path leading into the woods. The light flickers and Sam crosses his fingers in the darkness that it lasts just a bit longer as they do make it to a clearing.
With Dean's shining the light above, Sam quickly sketches a few Keys of Solomon into the dirt around them with his finger. Sam hears Dean flop down on the ground beside him, the flashlight illuminating Dean's boots, covered in mud and road-dust, the image shifts slightly as Dean breathes out, his hands must be shaking.
"Maybe we should build a fire. I could take the light out and find some kindling?" Dean says.
"How would you find your way back to me, then?" Sam asks. "It'd be too easy for you to get lost, and I'm not really thrilled at the idea of being left along here right now, okay?"
"Wuss," Dean says darkly, but doesn't fight him on it. He just lifts the flashlight back on Sam's mouth, and Sam can't see much of the movement, but he figures Dean's rummaging around in his bag because the gleam of his silver Zippo enters the beam of light in front of Sam. "Can't believe I didn't think of this sooner," Dean says, and Sam takes the lighter and clicks it on.
It burns, it burns in all directions like a starburst or maybe it's what it's like to stare right into a supernova. Sam and Dean scream and Sam sees Dean's face for a moment as he drops the flashlight which finally decides to die as Sam closes the lighter and hears it clink on the ground.
**
"Sam," he hears Dean saying his name in a rough voice, there's the sound of someone turning and Sam can't feel his leg.
"Dean, you're sitting on my leg," Sam says as he does his best to orient himself to wherever they are. "At least, I hope that's you on my leg."
Sam feels something jab into his thigh repeatedly. "You feel that?"
"Yeah," Sam says, smacking Dean's hand away.
"Then your leg is definitely what's digging into my spine. Ow," Dean says and the weight lifts off Sam's leg. There's quiet as Sam sits up and tries to massage feeling back into his limbs, he hears Dean rolling around on the ground nearby. Then something smacks his jaw, something rubbery.
"Hey!" Sam yells.
"Sorry," Dean says, "just getting these boots off, they're killing me. If we're stuck here, I'm at least gonna give my dogs a rest."
Sam breathes, Dean's right, there's nothing more either of them can do, and Sam shrugs out of his jacket and overshirt, feels around for their bags, and pulls out whatever he can use to make the dirt ground a bit more comfortable to rest on.
"Dean, toss your jackets in the direction of my voice, I'm trying to make things a bit more comfortab-thanks," Sam says as he feels Dean's jacket smack his backside.
"Did you get it?" Dean asks as Sam turns his head around and gets a face full of what he assumes is Dean's henley pullover.
"Bull's-eye, Dean," Sam deadpans and pulls the shirt off his face, and then something else smacks the side of his head. Something denim.
"Dean... did you just take your pants off and throw them at me?"
"No," Dean says quietly. "I found your bag, so those must be your pants."
"I have both of our bags in my hands right now, Dean."
Dean makes a strange sound and Sam feels a hand reach out and touch his face, feeling around for the denim jeans and then it grabs them, and he can picture Dean slinking back, embarrassed.
Sam doesn't say a word, just lays out whatever clothes and blankets he's got and tries to picture the square shape of a bed in his mind. "Okay, I think that's as comfortable as I can get it right now, we might as well just turn in. Dean, you can follow the sound of my voice over here, yeah?" Sam reaches out a hand into the darkness in front of him.
"Dean?" Sam asks, panic starting to set in as he grasps around the air with both hands now, standing up. "Dean, come on, follow my voice, you're here, right? Dean? Dean!" And Sam's actually panicking now. Trying to go back over the past few minutes in his head, to anything that he heard that might have been out of the ordinary, to anything that might have told him Dean had been dragged off and there's nothing Sam could do to-
Hands grabbing his ankles and Sam screams as loud as he can until he hears Dean laughing.
"I hate you," Sam says, Dean's still laughing at him as Sam drops back to the makeshift bed and kicks off his own shoes, hoping they somehow connect with Dean's face.
"I had to," Dean says. Sam just lies down on his back, feeling around for enough space for him to stretch out, and he sighs.
"You better be wearing pants, Dean," Sam mutters.
"Goodnight Sam," Dean says.
**
Sam's somewhere between awake and asleep when the pressure clamps down on him. He's definitely awake when the pins and needles start pinching his right thigh, and Sam realizes that Dean is currently using it as a pillow.
Which Sam doesn't really mind until Dean turns in his sleep and his hand comes smacking down on top of Sam's crotch.
The real problem is that Dean's become a fidgety sleeper; it used to be he'd sleep like the dead but ever since hell and back, he's become more likely to toss and turn; or to startle himself awake at any given moment. Sam's heard that tossing and turning, the teeth grinding and Dean suddenly yelping after falling off the side of the bed.
What Sam doesn't know is that Dean has also developed a rather odd habit of pulling at loose threads, and ripping tags off of blankets and sheets in his sleep. Sam would not have known this if it wasn't for a loose thread along the zipper of his jeans which Dean began to pull and tug and the next thing Sam knows, Dean's got his zipper down, pants open and is tugging at the hemline of his boxer-briefs.
Sam thinks that if there was any time for the night blindness to wear off, now would be really, really good. Oh sure, it would have been really good a few miles back when Dean crashed the car, or when they were chained to the flashlight or when he turned on the Zippo and it nearly melted his brains out. But right now would really, really be good for the moonlight to kick in and shine down on his brother's face so he could see if Dean was awake, or asleep, or tugging down his underwear in the middle of the night for a serious purpose.
Of course that sets Sam off thinking of all the reasons that Dean would have to-no, would really need to pull off his pants and strip him in the middle of the night:
"Sam! There's a giant spider in your pants! Take them off, quick!"
"Sam! There's a hungry troll beast in the room, and I have to feed him your underwear!"
"Sam! You accidentally cross-dressed! Quick, take off your briefs and put on this thong and lace teddy!"
"Sam, take off your pants so I can get your hot, thick cock down my moist, tight throat and I can suck down your seed; make you taste it on my tongue when I pin your body down and I'm licking my way-"
Sam squeezes his eyes shut and jams his fingernails as hard as he possibly can into his palm, but it's no use. Between Dean's hot breath and nimble fingers and his own fucked-up imagination, he's becoming harder by the second.
Sam really, really hopes Dean's just sleep-walking, or sleep-fidgeting as it were, and soon he'll roll over and just go back to sleep but instead Dean's hand tugs harder on a particularly stubborn thread and the next thing Sam knows, Dean's got his cock in his hand and he's squeezing.
That's the point where Sam gives up, and sits straight up, ready to grab Dean and ask him exactly what the hell he's doing, ready to shove him off if he's doing it in his sleep, or jump on him if he's doing it on purpose.
But Sam freezes when he hears Dean say in a sleepy voice. "Wait... this isn't mine."
Sam's jaw drops as he feels Dean's body shift in the darkness, and oh God, he's actually trying to get a better grip on Sam's cock, squeezing and rocking it a little side to side. Sam's eyes roll back in his head as Dean's hot breath ghosts along it again.
"I've gotta be dreaming," Dean mumbles into the darkness, he must have been doing it all in his sleep, but now he's awake and he doesn't realize what's going on.
Sam steels himself, "You're not dreaming," he says carefully.
"Sam... please tell me this is yours," Dean says.
Sam nods, which is ridiculous because he can't see anything, so he adds in, "It's mine."
Dean sighs. "Good, I was worried there for a minute that I was jacking off some guy I didn't know."
"And this is better how?" Sam says quickly, the frustration at being consistently manhandled with no sign of release anytime soon starting to chip away at his calm, even tone.
Sam can picture Dean start to open his mouth to respond, and then clam up immediately. And Sam can picture the look on his face when he reacts the only way he knows how at the moment. Fidgeting with his hands, and by extension, Sam's cock.
Self-restraint leaves him the same way sight did, becoming too loose and shattering on the ground as Sam's body starts to shift. Leaning up into Dean's touch instead, of running away or shoving Dean off like he promised himself he would.
And Sam moans as his cock twitches more and he can feel it leaking, seeping precome into the cloth of his briefs and Dean gasps a little, pulling away completely. Sam moans again, but this time it becomes a whimper at the tail-end, at the loss of contact.
Sam can only lay there in the darkness, hard and aching, needing and waiting. Waiting for the rapid-fire breaths Dean makes to slow down, waiting for that warmth to come close to him again. For the ground to shift as he feels Dean looming over him.
Hands reaching down to the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up higher and higher until Sam just does it for him, throwing his shirt off and reaching forward, he comes into contact with Dean's bare chest.
He can see Dean smile in his mind's eye. "What? I kept my pants on, I promise."
"Take them off," Sam breathes as he runs his fingers along Dean's shoulder and around to his neck. One hand holding steady there, and the other tracing the lines of Dean's face; running around his cheeks and gentle around the cuts and scrapes along his forehead, the bruise where his head hit the steering wheel. Dean kisses the back of Sam's hand and he feels the definite smile along his skin this time.
"Whatever you say, Sam." And Dean reaches down to Sam's jeans, tugging them down lower and lower.
Sam shifts his hips up as Dean pulls off his pants and his briefs and a hand covers his cock. Dean's thumb running over the head as it leaks, spreading the precome over the head but it's not enough, it's not enough.
He hears Dean spit as another hand reaches out, grabbing Sam's cock and wetting it more, making it as slick as it can be. It's better, but Sam still wants more.
"I was dreaming and I heard your voice in the back of my mind, heard you talking about someone's moist, tight throat. And then something about snowballing," Dean says. "I'm paraphrasing here, it was kind of nasty."
Sam freezes, blood and adrenaline rushing to his head and feels his face flushing.
"And I thought to myself, damn, that Dream-Sam is a kinky fucking bastard. Never thought I'd meet a Sam that got off on the taste of his own come in his mouth. And fucking hell, I want to meet that Sam," Dean says, his voice lowering to a rasp that makes Sam shiver as it ghosts along his body in hot beats of air.
"I want to meet that Sam, I want to do all those dirty things that Sam was talking about. I want to lick sweat and come from that Sam's chest and force him to take it from my mouth. I want to be the one ravaging that Sam, making him come in the dark and in the dirt and-"
Sam growls, "Fucking do it already." He pauses as Dean's hand tightens around his cock.
"Say it," Dean answers.
"Fucking suck me down and make me come," Sam says, "I want it, I need it, I'm that kinky bastard that wants you-" And Sam cuts himself off there, wants to make Dean wonder what he means by that, wants to make him little crazy while he's driving Sam absolutely insane.
Sam almost yells out when he feels Dean's tongue lick across the head of his cock. He feels Dean's hands move to steady him, pinning his hips down as Sam's body instinctively tries to curl up. Sam feels another brush of Dean's tongue, back and forth, lapping at his still-leaking head; and then moving down, swirling along the shaft. He feels Dean's wet lips against him, moving lower and lower, placing wet-licking-sucking kisses down the length of his cock.
Sam concentrates on straightening out his legs, knows he's going to come too soon if he doesn't relax. Sam tries to will his blood to slow and his heartbeat to steady, as Dean's lips settle around his cockhead, and they begin to suck, more and more, further and further down.
Sam's hands shake as they reach out into the empty air and find themselves a place to relax on the sides of Dean's head. Dean stops what he's doing and Sam can feel his head tilt up. "It's okay Sam. You can hold me like this if you wanna, you can keep me from going too fast or too rough," he says, his voice his rough and deep and Sam flicks his fingers along the curves of Dean's ears nervously.
"Okay," Sam says, voice catching his breath.
Sam can feel the muscles of Dean's face pulling into whatever unreadable expression he's wearing in the darkness as Dean moves back down and Sam's there as he feels Dean swallow him slowly and deliberately.
Even though Dean stops just short of swallowing him to the root, it's perfect. Dean's warm and wet and it feels amazing; and Sam has to fight the urge he feels to come screaming right there. Dean starts moving back and forth, slowly in and out as Sam gets the rhythm and soon he's directing him with his hands.
Sam's head drops down to his chest and he feels a drop of sweat drip fall from his nose. Maybe it hits the back of Dean's neck because Dean moans and vibrates around Sam's cock and now Sam's shaking. His calves are starting to twitch and Sam bites down on the inside of his mouth. He refuses to let go, not yet, not yet, not while it's still this good and this perfect and not while Dean is the best fucking thing in the world and digging his fingers into his thighs, leaving behind bruises he'll want to wear like trophies for the next few weeks.
But it's through no fault of Dean's or his own that the wind rustles through the trees and the cold air hitting his body, now covered in sweat. The chill and the shiver he can't control breaks his concentration and he comes hard with a grunt, his hands pulling and tugging at Dean's hair.
He feels his cock pulse, shooting down Dean's throat as he comes and comes and it's over in a matter of moments and heartbeats. His hands fall to his sides as Sam tries to keep from slumping forward on top of Dean. He breathes warm down the back of Dean's neck and Dean's mouth releases him. He feels the top of Dean's head brush his chin, and then he smells Dean's hair.
In the darkness, Dean's mouth seeks out his own, missing the mark at first and kissing the side of Sam's face until they meet somewhere in-between. And Sam tastes the salt of his own come and smiles as he lets Dean push him back down to the ground.
Sam's cock is spent and still wet, the cold air stinging it until Dean's warmth starts to pour back into him. Dean's rubbing himself against Sam, he can feel Dean's cock starting to harden against his thigh.
"Ow," Sam murmurs dreamily as Dean pulls away.
"What?" Dean asks, the crack in his voice almost enough to make Sam go hard again, thinking about how he's fucked Dean's throat raw.
"You left your claw marks in there," Sam says with a heavy breath, and hisses as Dean's cock rubs against him again.
"I'd fuck you raw if I could see where the goddamn lube was," Dean rasps dirty into Sam's ear, before tugging at Sam's earlobe with his teeth and running his mouth back across Sam's face, kissing and nipping along the way. And Sam reaches out, finding the sides of Dean's face again. He wants to curl his fingers around Dean's ears, wants to tug them and pull Dean close to him. Wants more of his mouth, and to feel him smile against his cheek.
Dean takes one of Sam's hands and holds it out, licking Sam's palm and then cursing as he coughs. "Shit, my mouth is too dry right now," he explains sheepishly and Sam licks his own hand and grabs Dean's cock, jacking him, wetting him, guiding him in-between Sam's legs.
Sam feels Dean groan and drop his head to Sam's chest when Sam finds the right spot for him to grind against. "That's it, Sammy," Dean groans as he starts to rock back and forth against him, cock rutting in-between Sam's legs, right beneath his balls, which makes Sam moan in appreciation.
Dean's kissing him again as he fucks himself off, Dean's face pressed so close to his, that Sam can feel when it tightens, his brow creased in concentration. And then Sam feels his eyes wet for a moment, blinking away the water and with that, goes the blackness.
Sam blinks, and he sees the blue.
Blue like he never thought he'd have again. Blue that begins on the edges of his vision, and grows into a horizon line, separating out the sky.
The landscape begins to form, mountains and trees in the distance but closer to Sam, and more importantly, is the landscape of Dean's shoulders as they tense and fall. The planes and ridges of his arms being washed in the blue of the oncoming dawn.
And finally Dean's face, eyes shut tight and mouth a thin line as he presses it close, so close and the creases and lines in his complexion. "Dean," Sam says.
Dean's eyes open, and the blood-red liquid pours down his cheeks, Sam realizes it was that washing away the blindness. Dean's eyes have their whites restored, and his face softens the more Sam comes into focus and into the light of the sunrise.
Dean comes with a few more thrusts, wetness splashing against Sam's body before Dean collapses on top of him, it's all too much. Sam's body still trembles and feels warm and soft from earlier, and now Dean buries his face in the crook of Sam's shoulder as Sam holds him close. Feels him coming down slower and slower, breath and heartbeat finding a steady pace.
They are covered in dirt, sweat and come and Sam feels incredible as his eyes slip shut.
**
The next night, neither of them are surprised when the lights flicker and shut off at sunset, and the whites of their eyes fill with blood again.
They will learn that this is the mark of Nyctalopia, the monster of the night that fills your eyes with his venom and marks you for death. The one that feeds and hunts only in absolute darkness and silence, and he'll pluck out your vocal chords like they were harp strings with his needle-fingers so you don't scream while he tears the flesh from your bones with his teeth.
And they will come to better know the one that calls himself Nyctalopia, the one that has been terrorizing the small town surrounding them. Bringing blindness and darkness each night while it feeds. They will feel his needle-like fingers piercing them as they fight. They will know him, they will spit his name out with disdain and they will not tremble as they stand united against him, arms locking together so he can't separate them. They will learn his smell, and hear his low growl as he pants ice-cold breath against their skin when they've finally cornered him.
But they will not know that the Nyctalopia burns bright green from all the copper in his blood when they set that nasty little motherfucker on fire.
They will not know what it looked like when it was alive, they'll only know the smoldering heap of bones and charred flesh at their feet when they can open their eyes again and they'll see the room illuminated by the moon and the stars.
They'll see the road stretching out for miles and miles, and Sam will be able to turn to Dean and watch him as he walks, confidence in his stride and satisfaction in his smile. But through this, Sam will see Dean's nervous, trembling fingers as they pull at a loose button on the cuff of his jacket.
Sam won't be able to tear his eyes away from Dean.