With Words Unspoken
Title: With Words Unspoken
Author: missyjack
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,713
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warning: ref to sexual violence
Beta: Deep gratitutde to eboniorchid for helping and challenging me.
Disclaimer: all this owned by them not me.
Summary: After his possession by the demon, Sam struggles with unwanted desires.
A/N: I was (am?) writing a lighter story about the boys and sex set between BUABS and Tall Tales but Sam insisted I also write this very dark version of the aftermath of his possession.
Dean had long ago learned the deficiency of language in trying to describe his feelings or the bizarre supernatural world in which he lived. Of course John Winchester had not exactly been the best teacher, being himself fluent only in Marine and the sign language of the working class man, where the deep love and pride he had felt for his eldest son was most eloquently expressed with a punch to the arm.
Sam had picked up the knack of using words at college and while he found most of them inadequate for describing a wendigo or a hellhound he persisted with a Thesaurus, searching for the right words to use to communicate with his brother. He tossed that book out the window of the Impala about 3 weeks after he joined Dean hunting again.
Together, they found the best way to process their feelings and experiences was to fuck.
Sam learnt that to move inside Dean was the closest he could get to his brother’s feelings. Dean believed Sam wouldn’t leave him, not when he reassured him verbally, but when Sam held him after they fucked.
Fear, anger, excitement, disappointment, joy, love - all were spoken of through the touch of hands, lips and tongue, more eloquently and intimately than with any words. Coming was the release they needed when one of them had nearly died, or an evil creature nearly hadn’t.
In this language they were both articulate. Dean? Dean was a damn poet.
However, after Sam was possessed by the demon, neither words nor sex proved satisfactory.
If the English language is inadequate in the number of words it has for snow, it is appallingly lacking when it comes to words for describing what it feels like to be possessed by a demon. Or to be shot and beaten by your brother when he’s possessed by said demon for that matter.
“You okay?” asked Dean
“Sure. Fine.” replied Sam.
There was silence also in the language of their bodies. Their caresses stuttered and they were tongue-tied when they kissed. Every time a dialogue of desire started, each questioning touch was met with unyielding silence.
Eventually Dean resorted to his first language, the one he learnt at his mother’s knee. He composed and rehearsed a conversation in his head, and then he found a lonely stretch of road, pulled the Impala over, slammed the door and got out. Sam sat for a moment, anticipating what was to come and then exited the car and walked to where Dean leant against the hood.
“What‘s going on?” Dean wasn’t one for long speeches. ”You won’t talk to me, you won’t …you hardly touch me.”
“So what was that last night?”
“That was you jerking me off and then rolling over and going to sleep.” Dean squinted up at Sam, who stood haloed by the afternoon sun.
“I was tired.” said Sam as he stared at the ground.
“You’ve been tired for two weeks now. Ever since…” Dean’s voice trailed off. He knew he was going about this all wrong.
“Yeah, well sorry.” said Sam defiantly. “I guess being possessed kinda knocked the romance out of me.”
“That’s not it. There’s something else. You’re, I dunno, holding something back.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. It wasn’t about not fucking; it was about what Sam was saying by not fucking. “You know I’m no good at this - but look if you want to talk about what happened…”
“Been watching Dr Phil again?” Sam turned away and walked a few feet down the road.
Dean strode after him, and grabbed his arm, swinging him around.
“Dammit, I’m trying here. Is it me? Do you think I’m pissed at you or something? Because I know it wasn’t you Sam. And it wasn’t your fault.”
Sam shook lose from Dean and stepped back.
“See that’s just it Dean, you just accept it. Whatever I do, you accept it.”
“So… I’m not seeing a problem.”
“The problem is I can’t.” Sam slapped his chest with his hand. ”I can’t accept what I did. I let that demon in, let it use me, let it hurt you.”
“It is not your fault. It was stronger. There was nothing you could do. It was not your fault.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But now? What I feel now? That’s all me.” Sam stepped closer to Dean, anger flashing in his eyes.
“Still don’t see how that stops us fucking.” mumbled Dean.
Sam stared at Dean. Words alone were inadequate to explain this. So Sam punched him, catching him on the corner of the chin.
“What the..?” Dean shoved back at Sam.
“You’ll accept me as I am? However I am?” The second punch was a harsh blow to Dean’s jaw, and bought him to his knees. He spat out some blood-flecked saliva as he steadied himself with a hand on the gravel road.
“Do you know that I came when I killed that hunter?” Sam loomed large over him. ”Murder made me hard. I shot a load in my pants as the blood from his throat spurted out. And it felt so sweet.”
“That was the demon Sammy. Not you. You couldn’t help that; it was just a physical reaction”
Sam stood over Dean as he knelt on one knee in the dust, rubbing his face.
“And Jo? Strong, but small. So small.” Sam undid his fly and pulled out his cock. “She was terrified. Frightened of me, the way you should be. And her fear thrilled me.”
Sam was hard, his cock pumped thick in his fist, his voice as rough and dry as the road.
“And when I knocked her out and she was helpless in my arms, I felt like I could swallow her whole. I wanted to fuck her until she broke into pieces.”
Dean looked up at Sam. Usually when he was on his knees like this, Sam was looking at him with desire, or affection, or just a big ass grin. But not now. There was something terrible and hard in his expression, an echo of how he’d looked when he was possseed.
“Sammy,” Dean almost whispered his name. “That was…not you. Those were the demon’s thoughts. The demon’s feelings. You couldn’t help yourself.”
“You think so? Look at this.” He grabbed Dean by the hair and forced his face close to his cock. “Does this look like the memory disgusts me? Because it doesn’t. It gets me as hard as you ever have.”
“It will be okay. Everything will be okay.” Dean whispered, and it wasn’t clear whether he was talking to his brother or himself.
Sam slapped his moist cock across Dean’s face
“I’m a murderer. A sick killer. Forget what I might become, could it be any worse than this?”
Dean had no words. He could think of no platitude of reassurance, no phrase of comfort. So he placed one hand over Sam’s and guided his cock into his mouth. Words had failed him, maybe this would calm Sam, let him know things were going to be fine.
For a moment Dean thought it had worked, Sam’s breathing steadied at the familiar touch of Dean’s mouth. But then Dean felt him slip from his lips, as Sam pulled back and away from him.
“You disgust me.”
Sam grabbed Dean by the shirt, dragged him to his feet and pushed him face down on the hood of the car.
“Do you know what I want to do to you? I want to hurt you. I remember your moans when the demon… when I beat you.” A large hand pressed Dean’s face against the warm hood of the car. “It knew you wouldn’t fight back. That you’d take it. And I know you’d take it now.”
Dean felt the weight of Sam’s body heavy against him, pressing down until the hood buckled beneath them.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you.” A hand grabbed Dean’s ass roughly. Sam’s voice was low, darkly seductively. “To stretch you open and fill you up. You'd let me in, take all of me. You always have….”
Dean felt Sam, still hard, start to move against him. He lay motionless, lost for words in any language.
“But if I start, I don’t know if I can stop. What if I want to feel what I felt when the demon was in me? That power? Your pain?”
Sam thrust against Dean, as if he planned to fuck him through his jeans.
“Do you still want me to fuck you? Do you want to have something evil deep inside you?”
Sam let go of Dean and staggered back from the car.
“Because I had it inside me. It forced its way in, and I couldn’t fight it. It chose me because I’m like it.” Sam cried. “And it filled me and … made me ...and I let it…and what if I wanted it? What if part of me wanted to do those things? Wanted to kill you?”
Sam doubled over gagging and retching saliva and bile onto the road.
Dean raised himself from the car and stood next to Sam. With one hand he rubbed the small of Sam’s back, as dry sobs heaved through his body.
Eventually, Sam stood up and tucked himself back into his pants. He tensed as Dean ran his hands up his shoulders until they rested on his neck, but he didn’t pull away.
Dean didn’t know what to say. He had no answers; words seemed inadequate to ease Sam’s pain and a kiss nothing but a hollow platitude. Sometimes it seemed that no language could address what the world threw at them
“Dean?” asked Sam.
In reply, Dean drew him into a tight embrace and they stood, wrapped in each other’s arms. The sun was bleeding into the horizon and their shadows were long and thin on the ground.
At least, thought Dean, they were talking again.