A Very Supernatural Sing Along 5/? [NC17] Sam/Dean

[queenklu]

Title: A Very Supernatural Sing Along 5/?
Author: queenklu
Beta by:
shri_amato
Rating : NC17 No, REALLY
Disclaimer: Okay, if this happened? I will let Sam and Dean out of their jar.
Summary: On a long and lonesome highway, East of Omaha...(really East. Like, so East, it's West) Sam and Dean start working a case neither one of them will be able to live down. Ever.



previous chapters: Part One | Part Two | Part Three |  Part Four
soundtracks: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |  Part Five


A/N I need you to remember that this is an alternate version of season four LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. ;DD

Dean was twitchy the whole drive back, nails grinding into the steering wheel. Sam pressed himself into the corner and waited, watching Dean without looking in case he had to grab the wheel when whatever song Dean was swallowing broke loose.

If he was swallowing a song. Usually Sam could tell when there was magic in the air.

“You know we could just-"

“What?” Dean asked too fast in a way that said Don’t you dare answer. His throat convulsed around what sounded like a guitar lick, and Sam used everything he had not to stare.

It was a long drive. Sam closed his eyes for most of it, trying to untie the knots in his stomach long enough to breathe like a normal human being.

“So,” Sam said when they’d pulled to a stop in the middle of town in front of nothing in particular, right there on the edge of the street. His voice was too low for how bright it was, but he couldn’t make it any louder. “You know whatever we’re hunting is back that way, right?”

“Oh, you know what it is? How to kill it?” Still not looking at Sam, but his voice was so damn neutral it was eerie.

Sam shook it off and tried a guess.

~*~

“Singing shifter? You are shitting me.”

“I’m not seeing another option,” Sam said, rubbing at his eyes in the too-bright library light. The building was pretty much abandoned, more to do with the selection than the time of day, but it had a high speed internet connection for Sam’s laptop that their hotel sadly missed.

“Yeah, well, lucky for you, I am.” He threw down a book so it skid into Sam’s hands, hands open to a page that looked like it might be annoyingly familiar, if Sam could make his brain compute the damn thing.

It was stupidly draining pretending like everything was normal. Not when he couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d achieved eye-contact with his brother, on top of the fact that Dean was being placid to the point of rubbing Sam’s nerves raw while last night’s alcoholic escapades and his fight with the magic slowly sapped at his remaining energy. So when he finally managed to comprehend what he was seeing, he forgot about the thin ice they were treading and snapped, “Siren?”

“Yep,” Dean affirmed, checking the fit of a ring he’d been wearing since he turned sixteen. “Siren.”

“And he’s, what, drooling into the water supply?”

“No,” Dean said like Sam was particularly slow-but hallelujah, he made eye contact. For a split second. “Think about it. Odysseus, Sinbad… You really think sirens were standing on the banks hocking loogies at every passing ship? No. My money says whatever we hit in Iowa was either a crossbreed or a close cousin, and this, right here in River City, is the real freaking deal. And so help me, Sam, if you say ‘maybe’ I will punch you in the face.”

“No, I-it sounds good,” Sam said, caught off-guard by Dean’s sudden fire (and not a little uncomfortably turned on). “It sounds real good,” he repeated so he could aim his frown at the book. “We already know Sirens can shift…plus it makes sense that it’d target us specifically if it made us for hunters before we even got to town.”

There was this look Dean got on his face when things clicked, and again Sam had to wonder how much of that was his benefit. “That means it’s listening from the radios.”

“Honestly, that’s not our biggest problem,” Sam sighed, shoulders slumping as he looked across the room, the floor, nothing higher than Dean’s knees. Someone had to say it out loud. “It’s figuring out what we want. What matters most. It’s looking for our weaknesses.”

What Sam expected was some pretty hardcore denial of anything regarding what Dean and the creature-alright, fine, Siren-sang about. He was actually sort of counting on it turning into a fight, because obviously they needed to fight about something.

Instead all Dean did was scrub a hand over his face as he sank into a chair across from Sam, muttering behind his fingers, “Great.”

“Yeah…”

“You know, just once, I’d like a ghost or demon to exploit my love for cheeseburgers.”

Sam laughed, short and soft. “I’ll be sure to send out a memo.”

“You mean like the one that got sent out about you and breathplay?”

“What?” Sam blurted, caught off guard.

“I’m just saying, man,” Dean said as he scooped up their books with a smile that didn’t actually reach his eyes, “you get strangled a lot.”

Sam didn’t put any effort into the face he pulled, focusing instead on not visibly swallowing. Breathplay had never been a turn on for him, ever-Maggie, his short-lived girlfriend before Jess, was the only girl to ever suggest it to him, and he’d just stared at her until she laughed nervously and changed the subject. They ended not too long after that, because it seemed like every time Sam looked at her he had to bite back the words telling her he’d seen too many people strangled to find that sexy.

The way Dean hesitated for a fraction of a second before shoving all their books onto one shelf made Sam wonder how long he’d been putting off the siren theory so they had an excuse not to go home. They usually alternated between diner food and delivery.

“Alright, Sam, let’s go get dinner.”

Go get, as in, Go out. So a while, then.

The silence-the expression on Dean’s face looked like he was hoping Sam thought it was amicable-stretched. Sam hadn’t let himself go over what had happened in the bunkers, not when it happened, and certainly not now, when everything felt stretched so thin. He was willing to bet good money Dean was doing the exact same thing. But with all the effort they were putting into not thinking about it, they weren’t thinking anything else.

“At least we already know how to kill it,” he tried outside the library, dragging up the collar on his jacket against the rain.

“Yup, that’s right,” Dean said, just a little too fast. Then let out a soft huff of air, knuckling drops of rain off his forehead like that would keep Sam from noticing. “Bronze dagger dipped in the blood of one under the Siren’s song.”

Which was just great. Add Dean yanking out a knife and stabbing himself before Sam could to the list of things he had to worry about. Like it had been so much fun slicing Dean up the last time, while Dean was simultaneously trying to get into the Siren stripper’s pants and kill his little brother. Lucky they had Bobby working the hunt with them from the beginning. Not so lucky that Bobby happened to point out the stripper happened to look a little like a girl version of Sam in an attempt to lighten the mood while Sam was stitching Dean up. Dean had reverted to communicating with manly grunts and back slapping for a week.

“Any way we could just use the same bronze dagger?” Sam tried, watching the hem of his jeans turn dark with water walking to the car. “It’s probably still got some song-infected blood on it.”

“Pretty sure you soaked that thing in bleach, Sam,” Dean said, lack of any real emotion in his tone. “Anyway, odds are it has to be song specific to the siren we’re trying to kill.”

Sam figured as much. He just wanted Dean to keep talking to him.

The topic died, even though Dean said ‘yup’ at least once more.

~*~

Sam’s stomach clenched with more than hunger pangs when he pushed the cold glass door open on the Hearty Fork diner, and only second on the list was his fear that he was going to be forced to carry through on his threat concerning Food, Glorious Food. First on the list was that it didn’t happen. The diner stayed quiet, jingle of the bell even ringing on the subdued side as they stopped in the front entrance like they’d accidentally walked into the bridal section of a department store.

Dean did that thing with his shoulders to made them look broader than they actually were, shifting on his feet like that might be enough to distract Sam from noticing, then strode into the diner without a backward glance. Their previous table wasn’t occupied, but Dean headed for a different one anyway.

Sam wanted to kill something. Quite possibly with his brain.

So he ordered chicken fried steak, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, and when the whole boat-like thing arrived, he poured on the gravy and didn’t look at Dean.

“Sam.”

Until he said his name like that, of course. Sam’s head snapped up without a thought, gravy slipping onto his chin. “Whuh?”

But Dean just looked at him, nostrils flared and lip curled like he was half disgusted and half freaked the fuck out-and a third half wondering if he should be proud-which was about the instant Sam realized doing things out of character less than six hours after a run in with a psycho-double was not…smart.

“Um,” he said intelligently, wiping the gravy off with the back of his hand and kind of really annoyed at the heat on his cheeks. “I was hungry.”

He hadn’t eaten all day. Sam tried not to frown at his corn on the cob as he slid a knife along its sides, slicing off the kernels. Dean needed to cut him a little slack.

It took a bit, but Dean did relax, if forcibly. Sam understood a second too slow why-that he’d been cutting the corn off the cob since Dad let him hold a knife (so, around age four). And if he had a choice between pre-kerneled corn and on the cob, he always went with cob. Because it tasted better. Same reason Dean always ate his fries with steak sauce if he could, got Sam hooked on the stuff before he was old enough to know better.

With a sigh that was supposed to sound like relief, maybe, Dean sealed his end of the deal by attacking his fries with A-1, mumbling, “We should really come up with some kind of code.”

Ignoring him-because a shifter would know the code within minutes-Sam went back to eating, trying not to let his ears strain too hard for normal diner sounds while maybe, if he was being honest, searching for a drum riff somewhere in there. He felt too loud, every rustle of his clothing or clink of his fork.

“You think we killed it?” he asked around a bite of steak, split second glance to make sure Dean was still there.

Dean shrugged, but since Sam was back looking at his food-and he wasn’t supposed to know these things without looking-he glanced up again and waited for Dean to say it.

“Kinda doubt it.”

It was like the car radio all over again, this serious vacuum in the way he was used to living his life. He felt…sort of empty without music in the background, stupid because it was good if this meant the Siren was dead, stupider because he couldn’t think of a damn thing to fill the silence with Dean, and all but mentally handicapped that he’d kind of maybe liked having the curse spill Dean’s emotional baggage before Sam turned old and grey.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Maybe it had just left town.

~*~

The drive back was numbing, damp streets dulling the sound of the tires until Sam, well-fed and exhausted, couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or not.

~*~

When Dean got out of the car at the motel it was the only thing he did, cradled between the open door and the drivers seat, one arm resting on the Impala’s dark top while green eyes slid across the pavement.

Sam’s heart-and something else, something magic-slammed into his throat at the first guitar notes humming through the air, the way each one made Dean’s shoulders tense like they were raking down his spine. Even so, when Dean’s voice-quiet and low and rough-slid into a song, it still caught him off guard.

“You whispered that you were getting tired,” almost too quiet to hear, murmured in the dead hush still clinging to them in the drizzling rain, “Got a look in your eye, looks a lot like goodbye. Hold on to your secrets tonight.”

Sam opened his mouth without thought to what he’d say, only that he needed to say it, before Dean cut him off with a wave. “Don't want to know, I'm okay with this silence. It's truth that I don't want to hear…”

Then Sam moved, because thank god this thing was only fucking with his vocals and actions spoke louder than words, anyway, right? He barely made it one step before Dean jerked out of the way of his door, slam of metal not freezing Sam in his tracks so much as Dean’s face. Closed off, because he had to, but breaking at the edges in a way that said Please, Sammy, please…

“So lie to me and tell me that it's gonna be alright, so lie to me and tell me that we'll make it through the night. I don't mind if you wait before you tear me apart-Look me in the eye…” And Dean did, that hollow, dark-eyed emptiness Sam hadn’t seen since Christmas before last, that weak struggle to hide it from Sam even as the words dragged out of him. “Lie, lie, lie.”

There was more to the song, probably a lot more, but Dean doubled over, clutching his chest, and Sam was there in an instant come hell or Impala, hands crushing the leather around Dean’s biceps as helpless little words battered against the music in his throat. Dean-

“Tomorrow's all wrong,” Dean hissed out around clenched teeth, clinging onto Sam just as tightly even if his eyes were squeezed shut, “if you walk away-Just stay…”

The music cut off, snapped like a guitar string breaking, and they both fell against each other when it shattered. But they didn’t move. Dean’s inhales were sharp, something just this side of raw in the sounds, head ducked into the circled they’d made with their arms. Sam didn’t want to let go-wanted to wrap Dean in the biggest fucking hug since he’d been dragged out of hell-but he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he so much as breathed wrong Dean would shove him away.

Dean took a deep breath and stopped, and in the fraction of a second after Sam’s heartbeat followed suit he started talking.

“Guess we didn’t kill it.”

“Dean-" Sam started, a flash of annoyance at his flippancy and a cringe for what was going to happen next as lyrics surged back, burning hot in the back of his throat.

Dean yanked away, to his feet, gravel clinging to the knees of his jeans the only thing Sam saw the instant Dean hesitated, when-when Sam was at the perfect level to-

Then Dean was gunning for the hotel like hellhounds were on his tail, shoving the key so hard in the lock Sam could’ve sworn he heard it snap as he scrambled upright, after him. He caught up just inside the door, hand closing hard around the leather of Dean’s sleeve, fingertips skidding off his arm.

“Wait. I’m-" Sam swallowed and verse shifted, not fast enough to stop until- “I’m lost…” Grit his teeth against words that would hurt either way. “I’ll pay any cost. Save me from being confused…”

He couldn’t make himself turn Dean around, and moving closer felt like pressing together two opposing magnets. But he had to see Dean’s face, had to-

“Show me what I’m looking for,” he sang, half the words soundless with the air he couldn’t get his lungs to take, then again, “Show me what I’m looking for…”

More music was bubbling up, so fast on the heels of the last one that Sam felt almost dizzy with it, overpowering the song as Dean jerked free, hands up and defensive as he kept backing up, words tumbling out of mouth, eyes somewhere east-really east, he thought hysterically-of eye contact.

“I’ve got a disease-deep inside me, makes me-feel uneasy, baby. I can't live without you, tell me what I am supposed to do about it?” Sam reached for him on instinct and Dean full out flinched. “Keep your distance from it. Don't pay no attention to me…” His voice was rubbed raw from singing, quieting as the music seemed to realize it’d done its damage and faded out. “I got a disease…”

Sam’s ears kept ringing long after the silence fell, but the music cloying his mouth disappeared with another snap. In some vague part of his brain he figured that probably meant they’d at least hurt the fucking Siren, if it couldn’t keep its grip on them for long. Maybe their fierce emotional battles were even draining the thing.

The rest of him, though, was focused pretty solidly on his brother. His brother, who’d all but-

“Dean,” he said, barely above a whisper, “what-?”

“FUCK!” Dean screamed, so loud his voice broke.

“Jesus!” Sam jumped, then felt it click as Dean drew in another breath. “Fuck, Dean, stop!”

Another curse burned and tore, turning into another wordless sound and he couldn’t-

“Stop it!” Sam slammed him against the wall, shoving the air out of Dean’s lungs before he could do anymore damage, didn’t let himself freeze when he registered just how much of him was pressed against his brother. Not even when he realized he had one hand on Dean’s throat, and the lurch of something as he remembered the way Dean’s mouth shaped the word breathplay, something he’d never found appealing before. But his palm on Dean’s neck, the slide of his Adam’s apple, the throb of a pulse like a bass violin…

“Never know how much I love you.” God, Sam’s voice felt low, low and rough and reverberating between them, reaching for Dean’s face with fingers he tried to tell himself weren’t trembling. “Never know how much I care. When you put your arms around me…”

Dean’s breath caught, under Sam’s palm, eyes so green they hurt to look at.

He couldn’t do it, let his hands fall to skim down Dean’s arms, clasp around his wrists the same instant their foreheads brushed, eyes closing against the clichéd song. “I get a fever that's so hard to bear. You give me fever…” They were so close he could taste Dean’s breath, wrenching a near-silent moan from him and a tremble from Dean that Sam felt ripple down his thighs. “…when you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight. Fever…in the morning, fever all through the night.”

What the hell was he doing? What the hell was he doing? What the hell was he doing?

It surged up through his abdomen, panic and magic and something else, something that belonged just to Dean, and he lowered his head the same instant a low drum beat made his hips stutter against Dean’s.

There was one terrifying moment when nothing happened, music ringing like the space of time after the last shot in a gun fight, blood beating against thin veins and-

Dean snapped, fist locked in Sam’s shirt and sharp yank forward until Sam slammed against his mouth, the curl of Dean’s lips like a snarl and a-something else, that something else, and Sam thrived off it, eating into Dean’s mouth like they were going to die, like that wasn’t the very realest possibility.

He didn’t even realize the low, steady beat in his skin was in his ears too until Dean panted out against his lips, “If you want this-"

Sam’s knees just about buckled he was so fully hard so fucking fast, knuckles grinding against the rough wallpaper on either side of Dean’s shoulders because he wouldn’t let himself touch. Dean’s fist just tightened on his shirt, breathed the words again before diving back in, took him three times before he got to the part Sam needed to hear like he was bleeding out and Dean had the cure. Like Dean was bleeding out and he knew what Sam had to do to save him.

“If you want this, you’re gonna have to ask…” Dean was hardly audible, words sliding cross the skin of Sam’s neck as Dean’s hand suddenly let go and skid down the line of his chest, lower, knuckle grazing his belly button and down, over the button of his jeans. And Sam about missed all of that when Dean tilted his head up, almost-smile-a muscle memory, a this-is-my-let-me-touch-you smile-flickering across his kiss-bruised lips. “…nicely please…”

Sam swallowed around a breathless groan, hands falling to Dean’s sides, the shape of him under his clothes as Dean’s chin, stubble rough, grazed Sam’s neck as Dean moved close enough for Sam to feel his lips move along his collarbone. “Yeah if you want this, you’re gonna have to ask me…you’re gonna have to ask me…”

“Dean,” Sam whispered, as loud as he could go against the magic. God, he wanted to kiss him again, wanted to pin Dean back against the wall and grind, wanted Dean to shove him on the bed or to his knees or what the fuck ever-

“Whatever you want,” Dean’s moan hitched, eyelashes trembling against his skin like Sam had somehow managed to say it. “I’ll give it to you…I’ll give it to you slowly…” Dean’s fucking hands, fuck, Dean’s fucking everything- “’till you’re just begging me to hold you…”

If Sam could’ve begged he would have, with his eyes and mouth and tongue, anything, everything, but he could barely stand upright with the feel of Dean moving under his fingertips, the way Dean’s words ghosted over his neck and the shell of his ear.

“Yeah, whatever you want…whatever you want…but you’re gonna have to ask me…”

Sam asked the only way he knew how anymore, grabbed Dean’s head in his hands and held him still for-just a fucking second while Sam’s mouth moved over Dean’s slick, tender lips, dipping inside to taste-french fries and pepsi and steak sauce and Dean, fuck, Dean.

The hands planted on his chest weren’t supposed to shove, but that’s what they did, Dean sending him sprawling backwards, knee catching on one of the beds and knocking him half on his ass, barely catching himself at the elbow with the way his shirts were tangled around his arms. He knew his last white tee was riding up his belly before he saw it, the way Dean’s eyes were locked on the space an inch higher than his belt.

Sam also saw the instant Dean started to freeze.

Sam kicked off his boots, let them fall with a thud even Dean had to appreciate, then, when Dean’s uncertain eyes flicked up to his and back down, Sam steeled himself, leaned back even further on the bed and let his hips grind down.

The pained looked on Dean’s face as one hand wandered to his belt said Jesus Sammy better than words. Sam’s heart lurched into his throat when he felt himself smile, but he didn’t fight it back.

And then Dean was there, crawling over him, jacket shucked and the edges of his other shirts trailing over Sam’s chest, jeans pulling nice and tight over Dean’s thighs as the shine in his eyes took on a predatory glint. He could hear him like he was inside his head, Fuck, Sam, Jesus…look at you…and it made the heat in Sam’s gut coil.

Dean kissed him when he reached him, bass guitar thrumming through them both as he licked over Sam’s lips. “Your mouth waters…” he murmured against Sam’s tongue, hands roaming down the curve of his ribcage, “stretched out on my bed…your fingers are trembling…and your heart,” Dean added, palm like a brand over where he knew Sam’s tattoo was, “is heavy and red. And your head is bent back,” he growled like a punch, dragging a fistful of Sam’s hair until he’d bared his neck, watched the way Sam knew his throat was working to swallow a gasp, “and your back is arched. My hand is under there…holding you up…”

Dean was undulating with the music like he couldn’t help it, like he couldn’t feel Sam’s huge hands clamped down on his jean covered hips, like Sam wasn’t about to spontaneously combust with just his thumbs pressing the dip of Dean’s taint. Fuck, too many clothes. His fingertips dug into the top of Dean’s jeans, spark of heat ricocheting up his arms as he tugged down.

Then Dean’s hands clamped down on his wrists as the chorus kicked in, and fuck Sam couldn’t even hear it with the roar of blood in his ears when Dean forced his arms half-way to over his head before he dropped them in favor of tearing Sam’s shirts off in the mostly literal sense. Jesus Christ. Sam ground his hips up against Dean’s, back arching just like the song said as he let Dean strip him, eyes raking over the miasma of expressions flickering across Dean’s face.

Want. Awe. Shouldn’t. Mine. Sam.

The instant his tee-shirt disappeared over his head Sam was up, muscles tensing as he met Dean’s mouth the instant Dean slid a little further onto his lap, lips muffling lyrics as Sam’s hands burned palm-prints across Dean’s quickly revealed skin.

Then they were down to jeans, and the feel of Sam’s bare chest sliding against Dean’s was just about fucking it. His breath came in shudders, abs fluttering with the strain of sitting up and god, Dean’s scent-fistful of Sam’s hair again as Dean bared his neck again, hips rocking against Sam’s like a tease, growl raking over Sam’s skin like fingernails.

“In the kitchen, in the shower…” Dean was teasing, hint of a smirk because he fucking knew it too, “and in the back seat of my car, I’ll hold you up-"

Fuck.

Sam yanked Dean’s belt open and captured his mouth in the same second, eating the words out of his mouth before started crying out for it, hiccups of too-proud whimpers caught in his throat already and Dean’s belt open, shoved aside as Sam yanked the zipper down and shoved inside his boxers.

It was like something electric, the shock of closing his hand around Dean’s dick. Something even headier than the magic coursing through him, something that let him choke out, “God, Dean-" at the look on his brother’s face.

Eyes fluttered shut, mouth open like he didn’t know about it, easy knot between his eyebrows, flash of pink tongue behind his lips.

And then Sam was flat on his back again, sound like something feral ringing in his ears as Dean ripped at his belt like he had to get it off before Sam drowned, words forced around his grit teeth. Your mouth waters… Only this time when he sang, “…your heart is heavy and red…” he wasn’t talking about anything near his heart.

Sam had never seen himself so hard, so flushed, and he barely noticed it at all with the way Dean’s was so close behind it, beads of precome at the tip, not as long but god, fucking beautiful, mouth-watering. He was so caught up in staring that when Dean slid his hand over the top of Sam’s cock and curled around the shaft-my hand is under there-slide eased with his own slick, Sam just about bucked and came right there.

“Holding you up,” Dean breathed, eyes wide and fixed on the sight of his fingers around Sam.

Sam gave up and keened, almost a harmony with Dean’s pull and twist, writhing and gasping and trying to buck up, trying to get more, touch more, completely pinned under Dean’s hips, cock jutting from his jeans and just out of reach.

“I’ll hold you up, and drive you all night…I’ll hold you up, and drive you, baby, ‘till you feel the daylight…” Over and over, until Sam wasn’t even sure Dean was singing anymore, numb all over except where Dean was touching him, even when his weight shifted and disappeared.

He didn’t realize his eyes were closed until they flew open, breath hiccupping on a cry as Dean’s mouth-Dean’s mouth-slid across the tip of Sam’s cock, lips rumbling as he sang. He had a hand clenched in Dean’s short hair before he knew he was moving, and that still wasn’t fast enough.

A long, wordless moan tore from somewhere so deep in his chest he felt it in his stomach, in the hand Dean had pressed there, ring glinting in the grey light of the room as Sam disappeared behind the obscene stretch of Dean’s mouth.

And he didn’t fucking stop singing. The music, the words, the soft hum in Dean’s throat, all wrapped up in wet, hot heaven, a buzz that ricocheted up his spine like a shot gun blast, short pleading cries punched out of him as he tried to pull Dean back, tried to hold off before- He felt the head of himself brush the back of Dean’s throat as it constricted around a high note, and it was definitely over before the fat lady sang.

Dean had his cock pinned against his belly the instant he pulled free, working him through each pump that sprayed hot and slick across his chest. Sam stared at him the whole time, even when his vision started to grey at the edges as each twist of Dean’s wrist wrung another burst from him. He was shaking, every part of him was shaking except for the places Dean was touching.

“Jesus,” Sam wanted to say, maybe pull Dean down with a hand at the back of his neck and murmur against his lips, “You’re way too good at this.” But the magic still had a hold of his vocals-at least, what wasn’t forced out by the sight of Dean licking a stray drop of come from his mouth, green eyes darkening a dangerous amount.

Dean’s hand slid through the mess on Sam’s belly, possessive, pushing him down like he thought Sam could possibly have had somewhere else to be. “Oh, and this has just begun.”

Something in Sam turned over slow.

“Yeah this has just begun.” Dean got up enough to shuck his jeans, then Sam’s, hands-one sticky with come-sliding down Sam’s flanks like he couldn’t help touching, words slipping out like he was talking to himself. “Because we haven’t even gotten started yet. I haven’t even-I haven’t even tied you up.”

Oh Jesus Christ. How the hell was this a song?

“I haven’t even-turned you over…” Dean looked like he was starving, touching everywhere he could, the flare of Sam’s calves and the softness of his inner thighs. Sam was too fucked out to do anything but let him, feel the gun-calloused fingers skimming over the dip between his hips and legs, so close to where it’d be too much-so he didn’t notice where Dean was moving until he was suddenly back between Sam’s legs.

In the abstract way he’d thought about sex with a guy-but Christ, this was Dean-Sam had always bought the hype that bottoming was tantamount to being the ‘feminine one.’ He’d never let himself really plan anything like this happening because what the fuck kind of torture was that? But now that he was here a part of his brain stuttered on the assumption that he should be thrashing and moaning all pretty and slutty while-Dean reamed his virgin ass or something else fucking ridiculous, oh god.

Oh god, was that-?

Dean choked, painfully, forcing himself back on his haunches and away from Sam, one hand-the one not slick with Sam’s come-clutching their half-empty bottle of organic gun oil like he wanted to kill it.

The music pounded harder, insistent, beating against them from the inside out, and Dean was looking at Sam like-

Asking permission. Asking please, asking-like it was going to kill him, but he’d still back off.

Sam nodded, like a shudder of breath, eager noise that actually belonged to him curling at the back of his throat like a caress. He’d give Dean the fucking moon if he asked.

The next thing he knew Dean’s gun-calloused, oil- and come-slick fingertip was circling that pucker of skin, sinking in like sin. And Dean-Dean buckled, like a puppet with it’s strings cut, forehead resting against Sam’s knee with a groan that meant Oh, god, finger sliding in and back out, in again, Dean’s eyes focused on the sight like there was nothing else in the world to see.

It didn’t feel…good exactly, but it wasn’t bad either, and Sam figured if he got to watch Dean’s face when he sank inside they’d be alright, but-

Dean slid in another finger and, with less than a second to adjust, crooked, a tentative Come here that had Sam’s hips shooting off the bed with a cry that might’ve been, “F-Fever!” but god, he hoped not. It wasn’t enough to get it up again, he didn’t really think it would be, but a couple more times hitting that spot and he wouldn’t be lying back and thinking of England.

When Dean let up, went back to scissoring, the first thing Sam recognized coming down was Dean’s low singing again, murmur against the skin of Sam’s thigh, knee pressed to the side of Dean’s face. The words all ran together, Sam’s hands itching at his sides to grab Dean and make him hurry up, screw this whole fucking plan and rut against Dean until he spilled all over Sam’s already come-sticky chest while Sam kissed the music out of their mouths.

Sam jumped when a calloused hand wrapped his own fingers around his wrung out dick, showing him what to do like Sam had never jerked off before. He tried not to squirm as Dean’s fingers worked even harder inside him, perfect rhythm with the pace Dean set with Sam’s hand, eased with come and gun oil. Dark, god, Dean’s gaze burned, heat scalding the flesh under Sam’s hand, making it fill like Dean was the one with psychic tendencies. Sam’s throat convulsed around a curse.

Then Dean was gone, fingers gone, and Sam hissed in discomfort and annoyance and please, god, come back before what he saw made breathing impossible.

His ring glinted silver against the flushed head of Dean’s cock, teasing into the slit as Dean half bent over on barely steady legs, searching his jeans for a condom.

Holy shit. Sam mouthed the words, music surging against his vocals with the need to sing, or growl, or whimper.

Dean’s eyes closed when he slid the rubber on and smeared on the slick, heady smell that always meant metal to Sam combined with the even thicker smell of sex and fuck, Dean. Something in Sam snapped, yanked him up and over to the edge of the bed, reaching for Dean, touching him for the first time in what felt like hours. He felt Dean’s breath stutter against the hand curling around his ribs, bass notes pulsing in his blood, that look back in his eyes where Sam called him on being terrified and all his defenses slipped.

It was a good look, pounded through Sam, his cock, flushing him out as his fingers curled around Dean’s dick and pulled.

He was back-flat on the bed before Dean’s strangled whimper finished fucking over his heartbeat, Dean’s hands everywhere, shoving his legs wide and positioning himself with the angry red curve of his tip at Sam’s entrance and pushed.

Sam was so fucking glad they didn’t need words he could’ve cried with relief, reading Dean’s breathe, Sammy, breathe beneath his oh fuck, oh god like Dean was inside his head. Jesus-Christ, he was too fucking hot. It burned through every molecule, rippling through his skin and pressed back by the weight of Dean’s palm against his belly, Sam’s cock smearing the ridges of Dean’s knuckles with precome.

Sam’s hand, already digging into Dean’s shoulders, dragged him down for a kiss just as Dean’s hips nudged him all the way inside. Sam shuddered out a moan against Dean’s mouth as Dean murmured, low and filthy and breaking apart, “This is where I want to live... Right here between your hips…where all the love you hold and hide…it’s where it lives…” Rocking forward, pulling back, pulling Sam inside out inch by inch with the feel and sight and smell of what this was doing to Dean, “Right here between your hips…th-this is where I want to live…A-Ah-!”

Fuck, that was Sam’s line, but he supposed Dean was entitled with the way he convulsed as Dean’s cock snapped against that place that sent sparks up Sam’s spine. His eyes squeezed shut and forced open, and there was Dean staring down at him with everything that said Sam as he hit that spot again.

Sam’s hand closed in Dean’s short hair, pulling him down and following when Dean attacked his throat, bit down and Sam hissed, fucked down and up at the same time into Dean hard enough to see stars. And then everything else, because at this angle he could see across the flex of Dean’s shoulder blades, the curve of his spine and the dip before the clench of his ass as his hips rolled against Sam’s. And there was no way he could keep his hands off that.

He bucked again, grinding up the same instant his free hand closed around the curve of Dean’s ass and dragged him down. Dean arched with a hiss, fucking into Sam, rhythm completely fucked over as his ring hand closed around Sam’s cock.

“Sammy,” Dean stammered.

Sam lost it like he’d never come before, shuddered and convulsed and bit his lip until Dean licked it, felt the shaky breathing fan across his face and lost it even harder, pumping over the curl of Dean’s fingers and slicking them up to their collarbones, glide of Dean’s chest and the way his pinky flicked over Sam’s belly button and god, too much, he was so, so fucked.

He knew he was clamped vice-like around Dean-fuck, felt like he could feel every ridge he was so tight-but it didn’t look like Dean minded, abortive, not-enough-room-to-thrust shoves with a sound like a sob in his throat and a full-body shudder that made Sam think, I did that, that’s mine before he forced himself to relax enough for Dean’s hips to stutter against his one last time.

Everything went hazy at the edges, except Dean and the way he was shaking like a new born colt. Sam drank his fill of the sight, so blissfully wrung out that it took a minute to realize what was missing.

Music.

Sam had Dean pinned the instant he pulled free, before he could even shuck the condom even though his limbs felt like they were filled with molasses. But he had a serious advantage in that he’d pretty much laid there and taken it while Dean did all the work, so flattening himself over Dean and caging him in with his arms (well, elbows) wasn’t nearly as hard as it could’ve been.

“Hey,” he said, voice raw and fucked out like he’d been doing much more interesting things with it.

“Hey,” Dean mirrored exactly, because he had.

Sam liked the way he could feel Dean breathe, unconsciously matched his own to work in tandem. “I’m not leaving,” he said, meeting Dean’s eyes head on and serious so he could catch that flicker of doubt with a kiss. “I’m not leaving.”

Slowly Dean relaxed under Sam’s weight-either that or he was losing feeling in his limbs-as Sam kept kissing him, long and slow.

“You fucked up my bed,” Dean said when he pulled back, not quite the right amount of…something in it.

“Good thing we’ve got mine to sleep in,” Sam answered, shrugging to hide the way his stomach flipped expecting Dean to refuse.

A flash of surprise lit up Dean’s face for a minute, before his guards snapped back on (if a little shakily). When he said, “Okay,” Sam couldn’t tell if it was whispered because he was scared or if his voice was simply gone.

Dean couldn’t seem to catch a break, even in the other bed. As soon as they’d slid under the covers, tangled tentatively together, Sam felt Dean brush the hair away from his forehead and sing, something like a smile in the raw sound of his voice, “I will keep the bad things from you, I will keep a straight face honey, you can keep your last name if you want to, I will give you all my money…”

Sam fell asleep so fast he was dimly embarrassed when he woke up. Until he opened his eyes and realized Dean was gone.

THE END OF PART FIVE!
A/n ;3 (Not even my beta knew the end) Comments are BUCKETS of love!
If you would like a reminder for next week's chapter, drop me a line!

ON TO  PART SIX!!