FIC: 5 Times Dean's Appetite Got Him Into Trouble (And The One Time It Didn't)
OMG YAY. It's finally finished, this took an embarrassingly long time to transcribe.
Also, I'm joining all you lovely lemmings for the Big Bang. Let's defy nature documentaries fabricated by Disney! Or whatever that means.
Title: 5 Times Dean's Appetite Got Him Into Trouble (And The One Time It Didn't)
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Food, Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,361
Thanks: dark_reaction for beta and being awesome. katjad for fic consultating and Oktoberfest advising. :D
Notes: References to George Orwell's Animal Farm and I lifted a line from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If you can identify the line, who said it in what episode, you get a NO-PRIZE! Or a drabble or something I can fit into a comment box. Your choice.
Summary: Wherein Dean eats his way into trouble, Sam fidgets, and the pixies get a king.
5 Times Dean's Appetite Got Him Into Trouble (And The One Time It Didn't)
1. One hand in the jar
Sam looks at his big brother and whines, "Dean!" his cheeks puffing out in frustration. "You're not supposed to eat cookies before dinner."
"Deeeean, nyaah nyah nyaaah!" Dean mocks him, and sticks the two halves of the cookie together, making a double-stuff.
"I'm gonna tell Dad!'
"Oh fine, here you go you big baby, you can have the ends," Dean says handing him the halves of the cookies with the icing licked off.
Sam shrieks and stomps down the hall, throwing a mighty tantrum.
Dean gets sent to bed early, and flops down on the mattress. Just as he gets a really good sulk going, Sam appears at the side of his bed, tugging at his shirt and crying. Dean scrambles up and grabs his brother by the shoulders, and Sam manages to sniffle out, "It's under the bed!"
Dean grabs his switchblade and heads over to Sam's bed, knife at the ready as he lifts the covers hanging off the edge. Underneath he finds at he biggest, nastiest-looking waterbug he's ever seen. It's on it's back, whispy antennae twitching and it's mangled little legs kicking futilely in the air. Dean scrunches his nose up, sucks the air in his teeth and says, "Gross!"
Sam peeks out from in-between his fingers just as Dean lifts the creature in the air, having pierced through it with his knife and gasping as it continues to wriggle, Sam flinches and Dean smiles, waving it around and making Sam squirm. "It's still alive!" He beams.
"Dean! Please!" Sam cries, stamping a frustrated little foot and Dean shrugs, walking it over to the bathroom and flushing it down the toilet. He cleans off his blade and Sam's already buried in the covers. "Thanks, Dean," he says with a yawn.
"If you wanna thank me, quit gettin' me in trouble, Sammy."
"Then share with me..." Sam says quietly.
2. Insatiable sweet tooth
The neighborhood kids are scared shitless of Dean Winchester.
Sam? Not so much. He's innocuous, always trailing after his brother like a puppy, burying himself in a stack of books at the library; or playing with katydids and ladybugs, catching them and letting them go as he pleases.
Some of the other kids in the class start mocking him. Teasing becomes name calling and that evolves into full-on bullying. They corner him one day at the edge of the playground after school, playing keep-away with his backpack.
And then the shadow casts over the asphalt, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief as he sees his brother staring the boys down, jaw clenched tight and face hard. Dean clears his throat and some of the boys turn around to see who it is, eyes bugging out at the sight.
"Giff it back." Dean says, voice sounding odd, like his mouth is full of cotton.
And that's when Ollie Muldoon gets the bright idea to puff out his chest, stand up to Dean Winchester and sock him in the jaw. Dean goes down on the ground, howling in pain. For a moment, Sam thinks maybe Dean shouldn't have stood up his older sister, Penny Muldoon, for the Junior dance.
Dean coughs and spits blood, then reaches into his mouth and pulls out a wad of bloody cotton, throws it on the ground, stands up and kicks Ollie right in the shins with all his might. The other boys scatter away, and Dean kneels down to twist Ollie's arm until he apologizes to Sam, and admits he likes to wear pretty pink dresses and ribbons in his hair. Dean releases him and Ollie runs away crying, cradling his arm.
Sam pulls a tissue out of his bag and hands it to Dean, pointing to the blood still on the side of his mouth. Dean nods and wipes it off. "What happened?" Sam asks in a small voice.
"Sorry I was late Sammy, had to go to the dentist."
"Why?"
Dean looks down and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Chipped my tooth on a jawbreaker," he says quietly, out of the side of his mouth.
Sam rolls his eyes. "I told you not to bite it!"
3. The pixie king
Sam loses Dean one morning.
He tries everything he can think of to track him down. The Impala's still in the hotel parking lot, not even a single tire track in the lot. The town has the shittiest cell service, so he can barely get a signal. When he does all of his calls to Dean go straight to voicemail.
They were investigating the recent unexplained disappearances in the town, and for a moment Sam fears for the worst. The only thing Sam can to do is to finish the case, find out what's been taking people, and hopefully find Dean alive wherever they are.
He researches late into the night, right up until closing time. The librarian walks by to give him his last 5 minute warning when there's a splash of blue in his eyes, and sleep overtakes him. When he wakes up, he's in the middle of the forest, alit with fireflies and glowing lanterns. He's surrounded by strange-looking little aqua-colored creatures, with insect-like wings and big onyx eyes.
Dean's sitting in front of him, lounging on a golden throne. He's got a laurel wreath on his head, a bejeweled scepter in his hand, which he holds up with a flourish, pupils dilated and face sparkling.
"They made me their King, Sammy!"
Sam cocks his head. "Huh?"
***
When he takes it all in, the Pixie village, the prophecies they whisper about in high-pitched voices, he still can't believe it. So he excuses himself from the feast, and goes exploring while most of the village is busy stuffing Dean full of food and mead.
Sam sneaks into the prophecy-cave they spoke of, adorned with tiny drawings; painted with what Sam assumes is a mixture of the glitter they sweat, and pixie-guano. It takes him all of ten minutes to decipher the glyphs. Honestly, they look like a kindergartener's drawings.
He takes off and finds Dean in the royal chamber, where his brother is lolling on the big velvet-covered bed, surrounded by empty cups of pixie-mead and his rubbing his bloated stomach.
"Dean!" Sam shouts. "We have to get you out of here!"
Dean groans. "Don't wanna."
Sam crosses the room to the bed and snatches the laurel off of Dean's head. "C'mon Dean-"
"I'm their King, Sammy!" Dean whines as he sits up. He tugs on Sam's sleeve until Sam sits down on the bed next to him. "They bring me whatever I want," Dean whispers.
"Dean..."
"'S why you're here," Dean says as he lays his wobbly drunk head on Sam's shoulder and closes his eyes.
"You're not their king, Dean." Sam sighs heavily and takes Dean's face in his hands, cupping both cheeks and sort of squishing him together like a kewpie doll. Sam stares at him straight on hoping his dilated eyes will focus through the haze of drugs and alcohol.
"They're going to eat you."
Dean scoffs through Sam's hands and he takes them off. "What?!" Dean says.
"It's true, I saw the glyphs," Sam pauses, sniffing the air. "What's that smell?"
"It's this, like, oil they keep rubbing me down with," Dean holds out a moistened arm for Sam to inspect. "It's making my skin soft..."
"Oil?"
"Yeah, here." Dean reaches under the flowered bed and produces the bottle to show him. Sam takes it and opens the cap to smell.
"Dean, this is meat tenderizer with the label torn off."
"Oh come on, Sam! Will you just get off of this whole eating-me-thing? They're vegetarians!"
Sam sighs and pulls out from his jacket pocket a little bowl of pixie-fruit-salad he'd swiped. He digs around the chunks of pears and berries and pulls out a severed human finger.
Dean swallows.
"Okay, maybe it's not so good to be the King..."
***
After Dean gets a thermos of coffee in him, he and Sam torch the entire pixie castle and village to the ground. They collect the bones they find for a proper burial, marking the grave with the gilded scepter Dean once held.
"Damn vicious little vermin, picked these bones clean," Dean mutters. "Sucked the marrow out."
"So, if you were King of the world, had servants at your beck and call. With limitless power and no responsibility, all you'd want is to eat, drink, and hang out with me?" Sam asks, smirking.
Dean kicks over another pixie corpse with the toe of his boot, watching as a few still-glowing embers rise with the motion.
"They made a really nice sizzle-pop, huh Sammy? Like bacon."
"You said they brought you anything you wanted, Dean. They brought you me."
"Yeah... Well, now I want a BLT."
"You're sick."
"Sizzle-pop..." Dean muses.
4. Weltschmertz
Dean's favorite holiday is Oktoberfest.
"Beer, bratwurst, and beer-wenches, Sammy! What's not to love?"
Sam resists repeating this sentiment the next day when he finds Dean on the bathroom floor, clutching his gut and trying to silence his moaning by biting the inside of his mouth.
"Too much of a good thing?"
"I will punch you while you sleep," Dean growls "in the kidneys."
Sam crouches down to the floor, takes in Dean's pale face, unshaven and looking decidedly green around the edges. He's got circles under his eyes and his breath reeks of vomit.
Sam clicks his tongue and fixes him a pitying look. "You want something?"
"Horse tranquilizers."
"Try again."
"IV drip of morphine."
"How about tea?"
"Coffee."
"Tea."
"Fine. And a muffin. Blueberry muffin."
"Tea and saltines. You can have a muffin if you keep that down."
"Yes, Nurse Samantha."
Sam laughs and stands up. "Attaboy-"
"Try not to fall in love with me, Florence Nightingale."
Sam scoffs "I'm not gonna touch you, if at all possible. You're fuckin' rancid, dude. Take a shower and brush your teeth already. With Clorox if you can."
"You fucking love me," Dean murmurs before Sam shuts the door all the way.
There's a lump wedged in Sam's throat that he tries desperately to ignore for the rest of the day while he looks after Dean. Dean throws up one more time before crawling into bed, and demanding more muffins and opiates. He finally quiets down when Sam finds a Japanese monster movie marathon on cable, and they spend the afternoon arguing over the virtues of Mothra compared to Rodan.
Rodan is Sam's favorite, because when it comes on Dean always whispers the dialogue over the dubbing, he's seen it more times then either of them can count. But he'll still do the fake-gasps when they show the nest at the end.
5. Caliban's island
Sometimes Sam wonders if it's all on purpose, if Dean really does go looking for trouble. Like, from a sorceress living on an island just off the coast of North Carolina, who feeds he suitors enchanted food so they're under her spell? Like Circe except without all the turning into animals business.
Only the side-effect of her spelled food turns them ravenous, and livestock goes missing a few days before they go totally cannibal and start eating each other, and the poor milkman who got too close.
Needless to say, Sam's a little relieved to find asleep Dean in a barn, rather than picking apart some guy's ribcage.
He's conked out on the hay-laden floor, napping away his latest meal, smears of something red still on his mouth like a demented smile, and Sam shudders at the image. Sam leans in to nudge him awake, but there's just this sweet, contented little look on his face and he stops.
For what must be a good twenty minutes, he sits in the hay and the seeds, watching Dean sleep.
Dean stirs himself awake then, rolls his head and peeks at Sam through the corner of his eye.
"Hey..." Dean says and Sam smiles.
"I don't look like a giant steak to you, do I?"
"Nah, same giant 12-year old girl you always are."
"Oh good, I was worried. It might take a while for that enchanted food to wear off, but I think I found the cure in her pantry." Sam leans forward and helps Dean to his feet.
"So I didn't go Jeffrey Dahmer on some guy?"
"Nah, but... well see for yourself." Sam cocks his head behind him to the vivisected pig carcass on the sawdust floor, lying in a pool of dried blood matching the smears on Dean's mouth.
"Snowball?!" Dean gasps.
***
"I ate a pig!"
"I mean, the whole trichinosis issue notwithstanding, I think you got off pretty easy compared to some of those guys."
"Sammy, I taste bacon. I constantly taste bacon everywhere. Everything is bacon!"
"You love bacon!"
"Sam! I ate Snowball!"
Sam rolls his eyes. "I can't believe you named him that, I didn't even know you liked Orwell."
"I can't believe you don't remember me reading that to you when you were a kid."
Sam turns and gapes at Dean, fixing him with a horrified look. "What?!"
"Dude, we drove by a glue factory once and you started crying." Dean chuckles quietly, and takes another mouthful of the mouthwash Sam cooked up with vodka and witch hazel. Kill the impurities and hopefully drive out any lingering effects of the spell.
"The hell did you do that for, Dean?" Sam sputters, Dean spits.
"See, you stopped being scared of the boogeyman so I had to resort to torturing you with communism." Dean leaves the bathroom brushing by Sam, still standing by the doorway. "And it worked too, you gigantic freak." Dean wipes his chin with the back of his hand.
"Gee thanks Dean, that explains those years of nightmares with talking sheep."
"Four legs baaaaaad."
"Shut up!" Sam twitches and Dean cackles with laughter. "Whatever Dean, how's your mouth? Is the witch hazel helping?"
Dean stomach growls, as if on cue, before he can answer, he looks down at it, placing his hands flat and pulling at his tee.
Dean starts, "I can't taste-"
Sam sees this, shift in him, in the hunch of his shoulders, the color of his skin, the wetness of his eyes.
"I want to taste," Dean whispers.
Suddenly, Sam's crossing the room and quietly panicking in his mind. Dean ate raw meat, a lot of it, who knows what parasites or viruses or nasty things are swimming in his system right now. He needs a hospital, he needs stronger antibiotics then Sam can provide.
Sam's touching him, his face, leading him over to the bed and sitting him down. The color draining from his skin, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing at all, almost looking through him.
"Dean?"
Dean lifts his head and licks his lips. Sam feels his chest pull tight as he inhales and just holds it, burning lungs and he sits frozen as Dean pushes him down and the air comes out. It's all liquid-smooth slow descent into the bed and Dean licks his neck, tongue flicking out in an instant.
"You. I need to taste you."
6. The other hand
Sam shouldn't like it.
Sam should pull away in horror, fucking punch him and run away. At least give him a shove in the other direction. A good, hard, sexuality reaffirming shove away from him.
Instead, he's kind of digging his fingers into Dean's shoulders. Pulling him flush against his body. Trapping his mouth against Sam's neck. So Dean closes his eyes and sucks and bites him. Taste of his skin, salty bitter sweet Sam in his mouth, rolling with his saliva.
Wants Sam's flavor on his tongue when he wakes up. Wants it-
Touches his mouth to Sam's and pulls back, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny.
"Really kiss me this time," Dean growls.
"Oh. Okay," Sam says in a small voice. And he does, closes his eyes and presses dry, hesitant lips to Dean's wet, hungry ones. Dean splits the seal of his mouth open like the skin of fruit, tongue sweeping past teeth to lick inside.
Sam's tongue darting out to meet his own, pushes against Dean's and wrestle back and forth between mouths. And it's Sam, Sam on his lips and running across his palate, taste of him, warmth and spit and weight.
Dean runs hands up his chest, his neck, inching ever closer until they're on the sides of Sam's face; holding him down against the bed, pulling up and away from his mouth with a click of their lips together and apart. Dean straddles his hips and looks at Sam, face-flushed and mouth just slightly open.
Sam's hair splayed against the floral print of the comforter making Dean think of earth tones: browns and tans and reds and golds. Like autumn and the ground layered in the detritus of the shedding trees. Sam is autumn beneath him.
"I'm going to suck you off, okay?" Dean whispers. Sam nods.
Dean shifts himself down Sam's long torso, runs his hands up the denim to the fly of his jeans. The cold metal zipper in-between his thumb and index finger, and time goes slower. Dean already feels his head's in a vise, a slow falling-down dream of himself; but it's here, undressing Sam, where the world's a slow crawl.
He opens Sam's jeans and pulls out his cock, holds it in his hands for just a moment, before descending on it with an open mouth. His lips are already wet with saliva and red from kissing and devouring the flesh of animals and Sam. The red he can't wash away right now. He tastes it, moistens it with saliva and uses Sam's own precome to slick the head with clever spins of his tongue. Long, torturous licks and Sam writhes and presses his mouth together, teeth digging into his bottom lip.
Dean sucks him slow, as all other tastes leave his mouth, and he starts to feel it, feel full and satisfied.
But still wanting more.
Sam's cock is filling his mouth and Sam's hips are rising to thrust closer. Dean keeps his hands on the base, fingers playing with the underside and flicking against Sam. Tongue still moving against the head and shaft, teasing and swallowing in alternating motions. Dean feels Sam go still beneath him, and hears his name shouted out as Sam comes into the back of his throat.
The room goes quiet until Sam starts making noises again, Dean can't tell if they're soft moans or screams. He's too focused on Sam, on the fact that it's Sam. Sam's taste, Sam's come in his mouth, Sam surging forward to grab him and pull him up to tuck Dean close against his chest. Sam's heartbeat in his ear-staid rhythm in his mind, comforting him.
Sam might be talking, babbling or yelling. Dean doesn't care so long as he doesn't let go, so long as those arms stay wrapped tight around him.
He feels Sam kiss the top of his head before he falls asleep.
***
"Am I in trouble?" Dean asks, head down, fingers tangling in the hem of his shirt.
Sam wants to say no-but his father interrupts.
"Yes you are, Dean. Go get ready for bed, no TV tonight."
Sam gapes and watches as little 8-year-old Dean shuffles off, dejected.
His 4-year-old self crosses his arms and tsk-tsks Dean walking by him. "Shoulda shared them with me," he whines.
Sam crouches down and grabs the boy by the collar, turning him around to meet his eyes.
"Why didn't you tell him you wanted some?"
"He should just know!" Little Sam says, stamping his feet and balling his fists.
***
Dean has that same look on his face when Sam wakes up. Head down, nervous hands playing with a loose thread on the bedspread. He's at the edge of the bed, back turned to Sam.
Sam crawls to him, spins him around and kisses him.
"You're not in trouble, Dean."
Dean smiles and licks his lips.
end.
Also, I'm joining all you lovely lemmings for the Big Bang. Let's defy nature documentaries fabricated by Disney! Or whatever that means.
Title: 5 Times Dean's Appetite Got Him Into Trouble (And The One Time It Didn't)
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Food, Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,361
Thanks: dark_reaction for beta and being awesome. katjad for fic consultating and Oktoberfest advising. :D
Notes: References to George Orwell's Animal Farm and I lifted a line from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If you can identify the line, who said it in what episode, you get a NO-PRIZE! Or a drabble or something I can fit into a comment box. Your choice.
Summary: Wherein Dean eats his way into trouble, Sam fidgets, and the pixies get a king.
5 Times Dean's Appetite Got Him Into Trouble (And The One Time It Didn't)
1. One hand in the jar
Sam looks at his big brother and whines, "Dean!" his cheeks puffing out in frustration. "You're not supposed to eat cookies before dinner."
"Deeeean, nyaah nyah nyaaah!" Dean mocks him, and sticks the two halves of the cookie together, making a double-stuff.
"I'm gonna tell Dad!'
"Oh fine, here you go you big baby, you can have the ends," Dean says handing him the halves of the cookies with the icing licked off.
Sam shrieks and stomps down the hall, throwing a mighty tantrum.
Dean gets sent to bed early, and flops down on the mattress. Just as he gets a really good sulk going, Sam appears at the side of his bed, tugging at his shirt and crying. Dean scrambles up and grabs his brother by the shoulders, and Sam manages to sniffle out, "It's under the bed!"
Dean grabs his switchblade and heads over to Sam's bed, knife at the ready as he lifts the covers hanging off the edge. Underneath he finds at he biggest, nastiest-looking waterbug he's ever seen. It's on it's back, whispy antennae twitching and it's mangled little legs kicking futilely in the air. Dean scrunches his nose up, sucks the air in his teeth and says, "Gross!"
Sam peeks out from in-between his fingers just as Dean lifts the creature in the air, having pierced through it with his knife and gasping as it continues to wriggle, Sam flinches and Dean smiles, waving it around and making Sam squirm. "It's still alive!" He beams.
"Dean! Please!" Sam cries, stamping a frustrated little foot and Dean shrugs, walking it over to the bathroom and flushing it down the toilet. He cleans off his blade and Sam's already buried in the covers. "Thanks, Dean," he says with a yawn.
"If you wanna thank me, quit gettin' me in trouble, Sammy."
"Then share with me..." Sam says quietly.
2. Insatiable sweet tooth
The neighborhood kids are scared shitless of Dean Winchester.
Sam? Not so much. He's innocuous, always trailing after his brother like a puppy, burying himself in a stack of books at the library; or playing with katydids and ladybugs, catching them and letting them go as he pleases.
Some of the other kids in the class start mocking him. Teasing becomes name calling and that evolves into full-on bullying. They corner him one day at the edge of the playground after school, playing keep-away with his backpack.
And then the shadow casts over the asphalt, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief as he sees his brother staring the boys down, jaw clenched tight and face hard. Dean clears his throat and some of the boys turn around to see who it is, eyes bugging out at the sight.
"Giff it back." Dean says, voice sounding odd, like his mouth is full of cotton.
And that's when Ollie Muldoon gets the bright idea to puff out his chest, stand up to Dean Winchester and sock him in the jaw. Dean goes down on the ground, howling in pain. For a moment, Sam thinks maybe Dean shouldn't have stood up his older sister, Penny Muldoon, for the Junior dance.
Dean coughs and spits blood, then reaches into his mouth and pulls out a wad of bloody cotton, throws it on the ground, stands up and kicks Ollie right in the shins with all his might. The other boys scatter away, and Dean kneels down to twist Ollie's arm until he apologizes to Sam, and admits he likes to wear pretty pink dresses and ribbons in his hair. Dean releases him and Ollie runs away crying, cradling his arm.
Sam pulls a tissue out of his bag and hands it to Dean, pointing to the blood still on the side of his mouth. Dean nods and wipes it off. "What happened?" Sam asks in a small voice.
"Sorry I was late Sammy, had to go to the dentist."
"Why?"
Dean looks down and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Chipped my tooth on a jawbreaker," he says quietly, out of the side of his mouth.
Sam rolls his eyes. "I told you not to bite it!"
3. The pixie king
Sam loses Dean one morning.
He tries everything he can think of to track him down. The Impala's still in the hotel parking lot, not even a single tire track in the lot. The town has the shittiest cell service, so he can barely get a signal. When he does all of his calls to Dean go straight to voicemail.
They were investigating the recent unexplained disappearances in the town, and for a moment Sam fears for the worst. The only thing Sam can to do is to finish the case, find out what's been taking people, and hopefully find Dean alive wherever they are.
He researches late into the night, right up until closing time. The librarian walks by to give him his last 5 minute warning when there's a splash of blue in his eyes, and sleep overtakes him. When he wakes up, he's in the middle of the forest, alit with fireflies and glowing lanterns. He's surrounded by strange-looking little aqua-colored creatures, with insect-like wings and big onyx eyes.
Dean's sitting in front of him, lounging on a golden throne. He's got a laurel wreath on his head, a bejeweled scepter in his hand, which he holds up with a flourish, pupils dilated and face sparkling.
"They made me their King, Sammy!"
Sam cocks his head. "Huh?"
***
When he takes it all in, the Pixie village, the prophecies they whisper about in high-pitched voices, he still can't believe it. So he excuses himself from the feast, and goes exploring while most of the village is busy stuffing Dean full of food and mead.
Sam sneaks into the prophecy-cave they spoke of, adorned with tiny drawings; painted with what Sam assumes is a mixture of the glitter they sweat, and pixie-guano. It takes him all of ten minutes to decipher the glyphs. Honestly, they look like a kindergartener's drawings.
He takes off and finds Dean in the royal chamber, where his brother is lolling on the big velvet-covered bed, surrounded by empty cups of pixie-mead and his rubbing his bloated stomach.
"Dean!" Sam shouts. "We have to get you out of here!"
Dean groans. "Don't wanna."
Sam crosses the room to the bed and snatches the laurel off of Dean's head. "C'mon Dean-"
"I'm their King, Sammy!" Dean whines as he sits up. He tugs on Sam's sleeve until Sam sits down on the bed next to him. "They bring me whatever I want," Dean whispers.
"Dean..."
"'S why you're here," Dean says as he lays his wobbly drunk head on Sam's shoulder and closes his eyes.
"You're not their king, Dean." Sam sighs heavily and takes Dean's face in his hands, cupping both cheeks and sort of squishing him together like a kewpie doll. Sam stares at him straight on hoping his dilated eyes will focus through the haze of drugs and alcohol.
"They're going to eat you."
Dean scoffs through Sam's hands and he takes them off. "What?!" Dean says.
"It's true, I saw the glyphs," Sam pauses, sniffing the air. "What's that smell?"
"It's this, like, oil they keep rubbing me down with," Dean holds out a moistened arm for Sam to inspect. "It's making my skin soft..."
"Oil?"
"Yeah, here." Dean reaches under the flowered bed and produces the bottle to show him. Sam takes it and opens the cap to smell.
"Dean, this is meat tenderizer with the label torn off."
"Oh come on, Sam! Will you just get off of this whole eating-me-thing? They're vegetarians!"
Sam sighs and pulls out from his jacket pocket a little bowl of pixie-fruit-salad he'd swiped. He digs around the chunks of pears and berries and pulls out a severed human finger.
Dean swallows.
"Okay, maybe it's not so good to be the King..."
***
After Dean gets a thermos of coffee in him, he and Sam torch the entire pixie castle and village to the ground. They collect the bones they find for a proper burial, marking the grave with the gilded scepter Dean once held.
"Damn vicious little vermin, picked these bones clean," Dean mutters. "Sucked the marrow out."
"So, if you were King of the world, had servants at your beck and call. With limitless power and no responsibility, all you'd want is to eat, drink, and hang out with me?" Sam asks, smirking.
Dean kicks over another pixie corpse with the toe of his boot, watching as a few still-glowing embers rise with the motion.
"They made a really nice sizzle-pop, huh Sammy? Like bacon."
"You said they brought you anything you wanted, Dean. They brought you me."
"Yeah... Well, now I want a BLT."
"You're sick."
"Sizzle-pop..." Dean muses.
4. Weltschmertz
Dean's favorite holiday is Oktoberfest.
"Beer, bratwurst, and beer-wenches, Sammy! What's not to love?"
Sam resists repeating this sentiment the next day when he finds Dean on the bathroom floor, clutching his gut and trying to silence his moaning by biting the inside of his mouth.
"Too much of a good thing?"
"I will punch you while you sleep," Dean growls "in the kidneys."
Sam crouches down to the floor, takes in Dean's pale face, unshaven and looking decidedly green around the edges. He's got circles under his eyes and his breath reeks of vomit.
Sam clicks his tongue and fixes him a pitying look. "You want something?"
"Horse tranquilizers."
"Try again."
"IV drip of morphine."
"How about tea?"
"Coffee."
"Tea."
"Fine. And a muffin. Blueberry muffin."
"Tea and saltines. You can have a muffin if you keep that down."
"Yes, Nurse Samantha."
Sam laughs and stands up. "Attaboy-"
"Try not to fall in love with me, Florence Nightingale."
Sam scoffs "I'm not gonna touch you, if at all possible. You're fuckin' rancid, dude. Take a shower and brush your teeth already. With Clorox if you can."
"You fucking love me," Dean murmurs before Sam shuts the door all the way.
There's a lump wedged in Sam's throat that he tries desperately to ignore for the rest of the day while he looks after Dean. Dean throws up one more time before crawling into bed, and demanding more muffins and opiates. He finally quiets down when Sam finds a Japanese monster movie marathon on cable, and they spend the afternoon arguing over the virtues of Mothra compared to Rodan.
Rodan is Sam's favorite, because when it comes on Dean always whispers the dialogue over the dubbing, he's seen it more times then either of them can count. But he'll still do the fake-gasps when they show the nest at the end.
5. Caliban's island
Sometimes Sam wonders if it's all on purpose, if Dean really does go looking for trouble. Like, from a sorceress living on an island just off the coast of North Carolina, who feeds he suitors enchanted food so they're under her spell? Like Circe except without all the turning into animals business.
Only the side-effect of her spelled food turns them ravenous, and livestock goes missing a few days before they go totally cannibal and start eating each other, and the poor milkman who got too close.
Needless to say, Sam's a little relieved to find asleep Dean in a barn, rather than picking apart some guy's ribcage.
He's conked out on the hay-laden floor, napping away his latest meal, smears of something red still on his mouth like a demented smile, and Sam shudders at the image. Sam leans in to nudge him awake, but there's just this sweet, contented little look on his face and he stops.
For what must be a good twenty minutes, he sits in the hay and the seeds, watching Dean sleep.
Dean stirs himself awake then, rolls his head and peeks at Sam through the corner of his eye.
"Hey..." Dean says and Sam smiles.
"I don't look like a giant steak to you, do I?"
"Nah, same giant 12-year old girl you always are."
"Oh good, I was worried. It might take a while for that enchanted food to wear off, but I think I found the cure in her pantry." Sam leans forward and helps Dean to his feet.
"So I didn't go Jeffrey Dahmer on some guy?"
"Nah, but... well see for yourself." Sam cocks his head behind him to the vivisected pig carcass on the sawdust floor, lying in a pool of dried blood matching the smears on Dean's mouth.
"Snowball?!" Dean gasps.
***
"I ate a pig!"
"I mean, the whole trichinosis issue notwithstanding, I think you got off pretty easy compared to some of those guys."
"Sammy, I taste bacon. I constantly taste bacon everywhere. Everything is bacon!"
"You love bacon!"
"Sam! I ate Snowball!"
Sam rolls his eyes. "I can't believe you named him that, I didn't even know you liked Orwell."
"I can't believe you don't remember me reading that to you when you were a kid."
Sam turns and gapes at Dean, fixing him with a horrified look. "What?!"
"Dude, we drove by a glue factory once and you started crying." Dean chuckles quietly, and takes another mouthful of the mouthwash Sam cooked up with vodka and witch hazel. Kill the impurities and hopefully drive out any lingering effects of the spell.
"The hell did you do that for, Dean?" Sam sputters, Dean spits.
"See, you stopped being scared of the boogeyman so I had to resort to torturing you with communism." Dean leaves the bathroom brushing by Sam, still standing by the doorway. "And it worked too, you gigantic freak." Dean wipes his chin with the back of his hand.
"Gee thanks Dean, that explains those years of nightmares with talking sheep."
"Four legs baaaaaad."
"Shut up!" Sam twitches and Dean cackles with laughter. "Whatever Dean, how's your mouth? Is the witch hazel helping?"
Dean stomach growls, as if on cue, before he can answer, he looks down at it, placing his hands flat and pulling at his tee.
Dean starts, "I can't taste-"
Sam sees this, shift in him, in the hunch of his shoulders, the color of his skin, the wetness of his eyes.
"I want to taste," Dean whispers.
Suddenly, Sam's crossing the room and quietly panicking in his mind. Dean ate raw meat, a lot of it, who knows what parasites or viruses or nasty things are swimming in his system right now. He needs a hospital, he needs stronger antibiotics then Sam can provide.
Sam's touching him, his face, leading him over to the bed and sitting him down. The color draining from his skin, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing at all, almost looking through him.
"Dean?"
Dean lifts his head and licks his lips. Sam feels his chest pull tight as he inhales and just holds it, burning lungs and he sits frozen as Dean pushes him down and the air comes out. It's all liquid-smooth slow descent into the bed and Dean licks his neck, tongue flicking out in an instant.
"You. I need to taste you."
6. The other hand
Sam shouldn't like it.
Sam should pull away in horror, fucking punch him and run away. At least give him a shove in the other direction. A good, hard, sexuality reaffirming shove away from him.
Instead, he's kind of digging his fingers into Dean's shoulders. Pulling him flush against his body. Trapping his mouth against Sam's neck. So Dean closes his eyes and sucks and bites him. Taste of his skin, salty bitter sweet Sam in his mouth, rolling with his saliva.
Wants Sam's flavor on his tongue when he wakes up. Wants it-
Touches his mouth to Sam's and pulls back, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny.
"Really kiss me this time," Dean growls.
"Oh. Okay," Sam says in a small voice. And he does, closes his eyes and presses dry, hesitant lips to Dean's wet, hungry ones. Dean splits the seal of his mouth open like the skin of fruit, tongue sweeping past teeth to lick inside.
Sam's tongue darting out to meet his own, pushes against Dean's and wrestle back and forth between mouths. And it's Sam, Sam on his lips and running across his palate, taste of him, warmth and spit and weight.
Dean runs hands up his chest, his neck, inching ever closer until they're on the sides of Sam's face; holding him down against the bed, pulling up and away from his mouth with a click of their lips together and apart. Dean straddles his hips and looks at Sam, face-flushed and mouth just slightly open.
Sam's hair splayed against the floral print of the comforter making Dean think of earth tones: browns and tans and reds and golds. Like autumn and the ground layered in the detritus of the shedding trees. Sam is autumn beneath him.
"I'm going to suck you off, okay?" Dean whispers. Sam nods.
Dean shifts himself down Sam's long torso, runs his hands up the denim to the fly of his jeans. The cold metal zipper in-between his thumb and index finger, and time goes slower. Dean already feels his head's in a vise, a slow falling-down dream of himself; but it's here, undressing Sam, where the world's a slow crawl.
He opens Sam's jeans and pulls out his cock, holds it in his hands for just a moment, before descending on it with an open mouth. His lips are already wet with saliva and red from kissing and devouring the flesh of animals and Sam. The red he can't wash away right now. He tastes it, moistens it with saliva and uses Sam's own precome to slick the head with clever spins of his tongue. Long, torturous licks and Sam writhes and presses his mouth together, teeth digging into his bottom lip.
Dean sucks him slow, as all other tastes leave his mouth, and he starts to feel it, feel full and satisfied.
But still wanting more.
Sam's cock is filling his mouth and Sam's hips are rising to thrust closer. Dean keeps his hands on the base, fingers playing with the underside and flicking against Sam. Tongue still moving against the head and shaft, teasing and swallowing in alternating motions. Dean feels Sam go still beneath him, and hears his name shouted out as Sam comes into the back of his throat.
The room goes quiet until Sam starts making noises again, Dean can't tell if they're soft moans or screams. He's too focused on Sam, on the fact that it's Sam. Sam's taste, Sam's come in his mouth, Sam surging forward to grab him and pull him up to tuck Dean close against his chest. Sam's heartbeat in his ear-staid rhythm in his mind, comforting him.
Sam might be talking, babbling or yelling. Dean doesn't care so long as he doesn't let go, so long as those arms stay wrapped tight around him.
He feels Sam kiss the top of his head before he falls asleep.
***
"Am I in trouble?" Dean asks, head down, fingers tangling in the hem of his shirt.
Sam wants to say no-but his father interrupts.
"Yes you are, Dean. Go get ready for bed, no TV tonight."
Sam gapes and watches as little 8-year-old Dean shuffles off, dejected.
His 4-year-old self crosses his arms and tsk-tsks Dean walking by him. "Shoulda shared them with me," he whines.
Sam crouches down and grabs the boy by the collar, turning him around to meet his eyes.
"Why didn't you tell him you wanted some?"
"He should just know!" Little Sam says, stamping his feet and balling his fists.
***
Dean has that same look on his face when Sam wakes up. Head down, nervous hands playing with a loose thread on the bedspread. He's at the edge of the bed, back turned to Sam.
Sam crawls to him, spins him around and kisses him.
"You're not in trouble, Dean."
Dean smiles and licks his lips.
end.