Fanfic - SPN: IDKMUIMY - Ch.2 - I Feel You and Forget Myself
Title: I Didn't Know Me Until I Met You
Author: eboniorchid
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Additional Series Info
Chapter 2: I Feel You and Forget Myself
[040.Flirty]
The alley wall felt rough against Sam's back, even through two layers of shirts, but it hardly registered in his mind right then. Dean's hands were hot on his hips and Dean's tongue was doing wicked things to his mouth. They were madly devouring each other as if their lives depended on that kiss.
Maybe it did.
Sam didn't know anymore.
It was sick how easily he could fall into the arms of the enemy. Dean was temptation and addiction at the same time. Now that he'd had a taste, Sam wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to stop.
He tried to remember how they'd gotten here, something about taking a walk, maybe checking out Dean's automobaby, but that was where things got fuzzy. Dean had pressed him into the wall as soon as they'd turned the corner, pressed him into the wall and pressed their lips together, pressed their bodies tight against each other. There was a brief moment, mere seconds, when fear had ruled him and he'd thought to fight, but Dean wasn't holding him down, wasn't forcing him, only giving in to his more-than-friendly interest, only offering Sam a way to give in to his own desires. And for a while Sam wasn't thinking about anything, just tasting the sweet underlying the bitter of beer on Dean's tongue, just feeling the brush of Dean's hands on his sides like the warmth of a hearth fire, just pushing up and into the rub of Dean's jeans on his own as if they could somehow fuck themselves through the fabric and into each other.
But his heartbeat skittered, threatening to stumble and stop, when he thought about being caught by his sister. Being caught in this alley, moaning his need into the mouth of a Hunter, a Hunter he was only supposed to be watching.
Watching, and definitely not fucking.
"Dean …" Sam dropped his head back against the cement blocks of the wall, trying to catch his breath. "We can't do this."
"Why not?" Dean mumbled, running his lips over Sam's jawline.
"Because …" His brain switched off momentarily as Dean ground their hips together. Then, he pushed Dean away, not hard, but enough to give him space to think. "Because my father will kill me. Hell, he'll kill you! This is just … it's too dangerous."
Dean snickered, getting as close as Sam would let him.
"I can take care of myself, Sammy."
He felt a rush up his spine when Dean called him "Sammy". His family had never really gone for pet names. But Dean didn't know what he was really up against. Well, he did, sort of, but he didn't know that the "demon" he'd been hunting was the father that Sam was talking about.
"Sure you can, Dean, but not for this, okay?" Sam shuddered thinking about the few times he'd rebelled against his father. He was sure he still had bruises, inside and out, even though the last time had been months ago. Not that his sister didn't have approval to refresh his memory if he got seriously unruly again and … "Fuck! What time is it?"
Dean looked at his watch, confused. "It's only quarter to one, dude-"
"Fuck!"
"You still have a curfew or something?"
"Or something." Sam pushed off from the wall and away from Dean. "Listen, I gotta go, but … nice meeting you and all."
Dean scoffed, confused. "You can't be serious. We almost screw each other silly in an alley and now we're at 'nice meeting you'?"
Sam sighed. He was already really late, which meant that he had probably already missed the call, which meant that he would be in for a rough night when he got home anyway. Damn rough. He looked Dean over again and thought he might as well try to make tonight worth it. If he was really going to hurt for this, he might as well make some pretty memories to cling to after Meg had bled him and royally bitched him out.
"You have a room somewhere?"
Dean's predatory smile made Sam's breath hitch, hard. "Sure. Car's this way."
---
"You really … have a thing … for walls." Sam whisper-mumbled his words, his hair scraping over wallpaper, as Dean jacked his dick through the open fly of his jeans.
Dean smirked, mouthing over his neck and giving his cock a gentle tug. "I'm happy to take this to the bed, ya know. If you can make it." Dean gripped a little tighter, fist shifting rough up and down on his cock, and Sam grunted softly every time Dean slid over the head of his cock. He was so fucking close, but he'd be damned if he was going to come in Dean's hand, half a foot from the motel room door.
Sam groaned, pushing Dean off him, his hand releasing Sam's cock to the cool air of the room. Dean staggered back, a satisfied grin on his face. "What's the matter, Sammy? Getting too good to ya?"
Sam stepped in close to Dean, challenging, and snaked his hand between their bodies to cup and knead Dean's cock through it's denim casing. Dean moaned into the air between them, hips pressing up into Sam's hand. "Depends. Are you gonna fuck me? Or just dick around?"
Dean damn near growled at that, biting his lip and reaching into his back pocket, pulling out a little square foil package. "Oh, you're definitely getting fucked tonight, Sam."
"Then lets fuck already." Sam moved back with a smirk of his own, fingers flying through the buttons of his top shirt, hands tugging everything over his head, thumbs pulling down the jeans and boxers already loose from Dean's earlier attentions.
Dean was following his lead, a little more rushed, yanking everything off and tugging it all away.
Then their bodies met in the middle of the chaos, lips melding back into each others, hands roaming over strong sides, venturing around and back to squeeze asses, curved and toned. Dean led in the dance they were doing now, his movements turning them slowly, so that Sam's back was to the bed, and Dean let go of his hold on Sam's lips and pushed him hard enough for Sam to stumble, sprawling over and onto the bed.
Then Dean was on him again, they were tasting each other again, and their cocks were rubbing against each other again. They were moaning and grinding down and grinding up, their bodies wanting more contact, needing more of their skin to touch, needing to feel the hot slick of one inside the other. And Sam spread his legs wide and up, and Dean fit, just there, right there, between Sam's hips, and he readied himself, his stiff, hot cock set against Sam's entrance, both of them aching with need.
He felt Dean's dick slowly pressing into him and he tried to relax, his body warring with itself, wanting to push Dean out, but wanting so badly to pull Dean in. Then he could feel Dean's balls on his ass and he was so full of cock that he thought he might burst.
Dean leaned down, pushing Sam's legs closer to his body, folding him in on himself. And Dean kissed him, all heat, lips, tongue, and teeth, unrestrained and relentless.
Sam could barely breath, but he didn't know if it was more from the ache of Dean's cock, still but thick and throbbing in his ass, or from the strain of his thighs between his abdomen and Dean's, making his lungs burn, or from that kiss, Dean's fierce passion seeping into him through the crush of Dean's lips to his. Then Dean lifted his lips, his body, sliding out of Sam's ass, then grinding slowly back in, sliding out and grinding in. It was the sweetest of tortures and Sam couldn't decide if he wanted Dean to do that, just that, all night, or step up the speed, fuck him fast and hard, like he'd kissed him just now, like he'd kissed him before in the alley.
But then Dean rolled his hips and Sam arched up with a moan as Dean's dick grazed against that most sensitive place inside him. And Dean's tongue darted out to wet the half-smile playing on his lust-parted lips, as he kept that angle, right there, rocking into Sam again and again.
Sam reached for his cock, sure that he was going come any damn second. The ripple effect of sensation from Dean's cock slip-sliding in and out of his ass, rubbing that spot over and over, was driving Sam crazy with pleasure and he'd already been so sexed up, what with all the teasing in the alley, in the car, and the hand job only so many long minutes ago against the motel room wall. Now, his fingers wrapped tight around his dick, stroking almost double-time to Dean's thrusts, had Sam tossing his head back, breathless and trembling as his body tensed with his rising orgasm. And he cried out, his cock emptying strings of liquid pearl onto his chest and abs, as the tight clench of his ass around Dean's dick drew him over the edge of ecstasy too, Sam's name on his lips.
Pant. Sweat. Breathe. Rest. Sigh. Smile. Shift.
Dean pulled out and tumbled down to the bed beside Sam. And they breathed together, chests rising and falling almost in sync, drifting in the kind of bliss that only settled into muscles and bones when everything was good, so good, so fucking good that Sam didn't know if he'd ever had better and he wasn't sure that he ever would.
But when Sam closed his eyes, pain pricked harsh between his brows and he saw Meg's hand at his throat, the edge of her knife cutting through clothes to reach skin.
He saw blood and pain and he knew his fate tonight.
Sam shivered, stifling a groan as he rolled out of the bed and started to pull his clothes back on.
"You okay?" Dean looked all concerned, like they were boyfriends, or even just friends, instead of one-time-only fuck buddies.
"Yeah … I just … need to go."
"Sure."
He didn't want to go, though. That's probably why he was stalling so much, taking fifteen minutes to put on clothes when it should only take him five. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, but watched silently, nonchalant. He didn't say if he cared one way or another about whether Sam stayed the rest of the night or hightailed it out of there. Sam figured that Dean was a reasonable enough guy to allow for the occasional overnighter, but Sam had to go home sometime.
And Meg was sure to fuck him up whenever he got there.
He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. This had been stupid, horrifically, violently, stupid on so many levels. It wasn't just that he'd skipped a report, he'd skipped a report to fuck around with a Hunter, with Dean fucking Winchester, someone Sam should be more likely to kill than screw. And … he sucked air in through his teeth … he'd totally forgotten that Meg had given him the brush-off and would probably have had to do some serious re-writing of the nights events and if he wasn't there, Father would be that much less likely to believe her story.
Fuck. She would really split him open tonight.
Sam finished yanking on the rest of his clothes, buttoning his overshirt in a rush, and didn't even notice that Dean had gotten off the bed until he was right in front of him.
"Are you seriously going to be in that much trouble?"
Sam could feel his breath speed up, pulse throbbing in his head, but he tried to laugh it off, though it came out somewhat shrill. "Yeah. It's fine, though, it's … it'll probably be fine."
Dean's look of concern deepened with the creases in his forehead. "How much trouble are we talking here, Sam?"
"It's nothing. I can handle it." He didn't even have to think about it. Family drama stayed in the family. Dean didn't seem very convinced, though.
"You can stay here if you want."
"I have to go home sometime, Dean." His laugh was hollow, his mouth dry. "Delaying things will only make them worse." He leaned in to kiss Dean, then, brief, quiet, soft. "Thanks though."
He moved to re-button his misaligned shirt, no longer either frantic or fearful, merely resigned.
"Need me to drop you somewhere?"
Sam didn't look up from his buttoning fingers, but shook his head. "No, I'm okay to walk."
"Right. Okay."
Sam finished with his shirt and toed on his still-tied sneakers, carefully looking at the floor, his shoes, the wall, really anywhere that wasn't Dean. This? Yeah … awkward. Not so much because he was leaving or even because he was going home to hours of pre-dawn torment. No, things just felt a little odd because he was fully-clothed, putting on shoes, and Dean was still gloriously, unselfconsciously, nude. But then Dean walked over to the small desk in the room and scribbled something on a pad of paper, tearing off the page and handing it to Sam.
Contact information.
Well, a phone number and his name, but that was probably all he could put down since the postal service probably wouldn't know where to send a letter marked "Dean Winchester, '67 Chevy Impala Veh., USA, KAZ2Y5."
"Umm … thanks." Sam didn't really think he'd call. Dean was most likely only in town for a few days, so they probably wouldn't have a chance for another roll in the hay, and they weren't really going to be friends or anything, so it wasn't like Sam would ever call just to chat. But, still, no reason to turn away the contact info for a really good lay, not to mention the many ways it might come in handy for the mission.
The mission.
Yeah, now that his dick was plenty satisfied, his brain could actually get some perspective on the situation. He shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have let his big head be shut down by his slightly less sizeable head. But he had. And now even if Dean would know him if he saw him, at least he was less likely to immediately shoot him for lurking somewhere. That was a very good thing. He'd fucked the enemy, yes, but the enemy had liked it, so now said enemy would be even less likely to realize they were, in fact, enemies. Right? Right.
And that would be exactly what he'd tell anyone who found out about this little tryst.
Dean was donning some boxers and a T, maybe to show him out, and Sam had to visualize very elderly hippopotami to keep from tearing off his clothes and taking Dean back to bed for another round of wrong, hot, good, slick, sex.
I'm fucking the enemy so I can fuck with his head. I'm fucking the enemy so it'll be easier to fuck him up later. I'm fucking the enemy because it's fun and I'm a sick bastard who likes to use people, just like the rest of you! It wasn't really true, he actually kind of liked the guy, not like like or whatever, just … he was hot and funny and didn't look at Sam like he was some kind of freak.
Not to mention the mind-shattering, life-altering sex.
But, if Sam had to explain this massive error in judgment, then he could easily cover it up by taking a page out of Meg's book. She would probably think he was brilliant, a viciously brilliant slut. Just like her. He hoped she wouldn't want matching "bossy bottom bitch" shirts or anything. She always went for crazy, cheesy shit like that.
Then Dean was back in Sam's personal space, not exactly prostituting himself, but … apparently, strategically placed clothes weren't especially helpful in making Dean any less unbelievably fuckable. "You sure you don't wanna stay?" He said it with a little wag of his eyebrow. Dean had to know that he was sexy as hell. He was tempting to Sam now in a way that was somehow even more intense that before they got to the alley, before they came to the motel, because now Sam knew for a fact that the sex would be phenomenal.
"Oh I do, Dean. I do. I just can't tonight. But … how long are you in town for?" He said it with a dip of his head, not quite a promise, but an acknowledgment that they both wanted to squeak up the bed some more.
Dean reached back, scratching the nape of his neck in a gesture that could be read as nervous, if Dean's confident sexiness wasn't drowning out all other interpretations of the way his body moved. "Probably until, hmm, Monday or so. But, I'm working off and on 'til then."
"Right. Well … maybe I'll give you a call or something." Sam started inching towards the door, Dean following close behind.
"Sure. And, uh, you could always stop into Lucy's for coffee in the morning. If you're ever up early." He paused, seeming to laugh to himself. "I can't function without at least a double dose of caffeine in the morning and that's the cheapest place for coffee in this richie town. Oh … and really … no big deal about the call, man. I gave you the info so you'd have it, ya know, just in case. Seriously, you don't have to call. I'm not gonna have a chick-like freak out fest if my phone's not ringing."
Sam unlatched the chain and turned to face Dean with a shrug, hand on the knob. "Yeah. Of course. No big deal."
Dean's nod was slow, his face a mask of indifference. "See you 'round then."
"Yeah, see ya."
Then Sam was off, closed door behind him, parking lot stretching out under his feet.
Somehow, though, it felt like he had missed something, left something. He stopped halfway to the street and checked his clothes, his pockets. Everything seemed to be there, but he almost wanted to go back anyway. Go back and say what? Did you notice anything I might have left here? You know, during the thirty seconds I was gone? He shook his head laughing at his dread-induced paranoia. Looking for imaginary things that he'd never lost was one stall tactic he wouldn't even begin to entertain. He had to go home. He'd bleed tonight, but he'd heal. He'd probably not, however, have another chance to fuck his target's terribly attractive son.
And even though his every step carried him closer to the price he'd pay tonight, he couldn't help but smile, just a little, like a schoolboy with a secret crush.
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12
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Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Additional Series Info
Chapter 2: I Feel You and Forget Myself
[040.Flirty]
The alley wall felt rough against Sam's back, even through two layers of shirts, but it hardly registered in his mind right then. Dean's hands were hot on his hips and Dean's tongue was doing wicked things to his mouth. They were madly devouring each other as if their lives depended on that kiss.
Maybe it did.
Sam didn't know anymore.
It was sick how easily he could fall into the arms of the enemy. Dean was temptation and addiction at the same time. Now that he'd had a taste, Sam wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to stop.
He tried to remember how they'd gotten here, something about taking a walk, maybe checking out Dean's automobaby, but that was where things got fuzzy. Dean had pressed him into the wall as soon as they'd turned the corner, pressed him into the wall and pressed their lips together, pressed their bodies tight against each other. There was a brief moment, mere seconds, when fear had ruled him and he'd thought to fight, but Dean wasn't holding him down, wasn't forcing him, only giving in to his more-than-friendly interest, only offering Sam a way to give in to his own desires. And for a while Sam wasn't thinking about anything, just tasting the sweet underlying the bitter of beer on Dean's tongue, just feeling the brush of Dean's hands on his sides like the warmth of a hearth fire, just pushing up and into the rub of Dean's jeans on his own as if they could somehow fuck themselves through the fabric and into each other.
But his heartbeat skittered, threatening to stumble and stop, when he thought about being caught by his sister. Being caught in this alley, moaning his need into the mouth of a Hunter, a Hunter he was only supposed to be watching.
Watching, and definitely not fucking.
"Dean …" Sam dropped his head back against the cement blocks of the wall, trying to catch his breath. "We can't do this."
"Why not?" Dean mumbled, running his lips over Sam's jawline.
"Because …" His brain switched off momentarily as Dean ground their hips together. Then, he pushed Dean away, not hard, but enough to give him space to think. "Because my father will kill me. Hell, he'll kill you! This is just … it's too dangerous."
Dean snickered, getting as close as Sam would let him.
"I can take care of myself, Sammy."
He felt a rush up his spine when Dean called him "Sammy". His family had never really gone for pet names. But Dean didn't know what he was really up against. Well, he did, sort of, but he didn't know that the "demon" he'd been hunting was the father that Sam was talking about.
"Sure you can, Dean, but not for this, okay?" Sam shuddered thinking about the few times he'd rebelled against his father. He was sure he still had bruises, inside and out, even though the last time had been months ago. Not that his sister didn't have approval to refresh his memory if he got seriously unruly again and … "Fuck! What time is it?"
Dean looked at his watch, confused. "It's only quarter to one, dude-"
"Fuck!"
"You still have a curfew or something?"
"Or something." Sam pushed off from the wall and away from Dean. "Listen, I gotta go, but … nice meeting you and all."
Dean scoffed, confused. "You can't be serious. We almost screw each other silly in an alley and now we're at 'nice meeting you'?"
Sam sighed. He was already really late, which meant that he had probably already missed the call, which meant that he would be in for a rough night when he got home anyway. Damn rough. He looked Dean over again and thought he might as well try to make tonight worth it. If he was really going to hurt for this, he might as well make some pretty memories to cling to after Meg had bled him and royally bitched him out.
"You have a room somewhere?"
Dean's predatory smile made Sam's breath hitch, hard. "Sure. Car's this way."
---
"You really … have a thing … for walls." Sam whisper-mumbled his words, his hair scraping over wallpaper, as Dean jacked his dick through the open fly of his jeans.
Dean smirked, mouthing over his neck and giving his cock a gentle tug. "I'm happy to take this to the bed, ya know. If you can make it." Dean gripped a little tighter, fist shifting rough up and down on his cock, and Sam grunted softly every time Dean slid over the head of his cock. He was so fucking close, but he'd be damned if he was going to come in Dean's hand, half a foot from the motel room door.
Sam groaned, pushing Dean off him, his hand releasing Sam's cock to the cool air of the room. Dean staggered back, a satisfied grin on his face. "What's the matter, Sammy? Getting too good to ya?"
Sam stepped in close to Dean, challenging, and snaked his hand between their bodies to cup and knead Dean's cock through it's denim casing. Dean moaned into the air between them, hips pressing up into Sam's hand. "Depends. Are you gonna fuck me? Or just dick around?"
Dean damn near growled at that, biting his lip and reaching into his back pocket, pulling out a little square foil package. "Oh, you're definitely getting fucked tonight, Sam."
"Then lets fuck already." Sam moved back with a smirk of his own, fingers flying through the buttons of his top shirt, hands tugging everything over his head, thumbs pulling down the jeans and boxers already loose from Dean's earlier attentions.
Dean was following his lead, a little more rushed, yanking everything off and tugging it all away.
Then their bodies met in the middle of the chaos, lips melding back into each others, hands roaming over strong sides, venturing around and back to squeeze asses, curved and toned. Dean led in the dance they were doing now, his movements turning them slowly, so that Sam's back was to the bed, and Dean let go of his hold on Sam's lips and pushed him hard enough for Sam to stumble, sprawling over and onto the bed.
Then Dean was on him again, they were tasting each other again, and their cocks were rubbing against each other again. They were moaning and grinding down and grinding up, their bodies wanting more contact, needing more of their skin to touch, needing to feel the hot slick of one inside the other. And Sam spread his legs wide and up, and Dean fit, just there, right there, between Sam's hips, and he readied himself, his stiff, hot cock set against Sam's entrance, both of them aching with need.
He felt Dean's dick slowly pressing into him and he tried to relax, his body warring with itself, wanting to push Dean out, but wanting so badly to pull Dean in. Then he could feel Dean's balls on his ass and he was so full of cock that he thought he might burst.
Dean leaned down, pushing Sam's legs closer to his body, folding him in on himself. And Dean kissed him, all heat, lips, tongue, and teeth, unrestrained and relentless.
Sam could barely breath, but he didn't know if it was more from the ache of Dean's cock, still but thick and throbbing in his ass, or from the strain of his thighs between his abdomen and Dean's, making his lungs burn, or from that kiss, Dean's fierce passion seeping into him through the crush of Dean's lips to his. Then Dean lifted his lips, his body, sliding out of Sam's ass, then grinding slowly back in, sliding out and grinding in. It was the sweetest of tortures and Sam couldn't decide if he wanted Dean to do that, just that, all night, or step up the speed, fuck him fast and hard, like he'd kissed him just now, like he'd kissed him before in the alley.
But then Dean rolled his hips and Sam arched up with a moan as Dean's dick grazed against that most sensitive place inside him. And Dean's tongue darted out to wet the half-smile playing on his lust-parted lips, as he kept that angle, right there, rocking into Sam again and again.
Sam reached for his cock, sure that he was going come any damn second. The ripple effect of sensation from Dean's cock slip-sliding in and out of his ass, rubbing that spot over and over, was driving Sam crazy with pleasure and he'd already been so sexed up, what with all the teasing in the alley, in the car, and the hand job only so many long minutes ago against the motel room wall. Now, his fingers wrapped tight around his dick, stroking almost double-time to Dean's thrusts, had Sam tossing his head back, breathless and trembling as his body tensed with his rising orgasm. And he cried out, his cock emptying strings of liquid pearl onto his chest and abs, as the tight clench of his ass around Dean's dick drew him over the edge of ecstasy too, Sam's name on his lips.
Pant. Sweat. Breathe. Rest. Sigh. Smile. Shift.
Dean pulled out and tumbled down to the bed beside Sam. And they breathed together, chests rising and falling almost in sync, drifting in the kind of bliss that only settled into muscles and bones when everything was good, so good, so fucking good that Sam didn't know if he'd ever had better and he wasn't sure that he ever would.
But when Sam closed his eyes, pain pricked harsh between his brows and he saw Meg's hand at his throat, the edge of her knife cutting through clothes to reach skin.
He saw blood and pain and he knew his fate tonight.
Sam shivered, stifling a groan as he rolled out of the bed and started to pull his clothes back on.
"You okay?" Dean looked all concerned, like they were boyfriends, or even just friends, instead of one-time-only fuck buddies.
"Yeah … I just … need to go."
"Sure."
He didn't want to go, though. That's probably why he was stalling so much, taking fifteen minutes to put on clothes when it should only take him five. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, but watched silently, nonchalant. He didn't say if he cared one way or another about whether Sam stayed the rest of the night or hightailed it out of there. Sam figured that Dean was a reasonable enough guy to allow for the occasional overnighter, but Sam had to go home sometime.
And Meg was sure to fuck him up whenever he got there.
He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. This had been stupid, horrifically, violently, stupid on so many levels. It wasn't just that he'd skipped a report, he'd skipped a report to fuck around with a Hunter, with Dean fucking Winchester, someone Sam should be more likely to kill than screw. And … he sucked air in through his teeth … he'd totally forgotten that Meg had given him the brush-off and would probably have had to do some serious re-writing of the nights events and if he wasn't there, Father would be that much less likely to believe her story.
Fuck. She would really split him open tonight.
Sam finished yanking on the rest of his clothes, buttoning his overshirt in a rush, and didn't even notice that Dean had gotten off the bed until he was right in front of him.
"Are you seriously going to be in that much trouble?"
Sam could feel his breath speed up, pulse throbbing in his head, but he tried to laugh it off, though it came out somewhat shrill. "Yeah. It's fine, though, it's … it'll probably be fine."
Dean's look of concern deepened with the creases in his forehead. "How much trouble are we talking here, Sam?"
"It's nothing. I can handle it." He didn't even have to think about it. Family drama stayed in the family. Dean didn't seem very convinced, though.
"You can stay here if you want."
"I have to go home sometime, Dean." His laugh was hollow, his mouth dry. "Delaying things will only make them worse." He leaned in to kiss Dean, then, brief, quiet, soft. "Thanks though."
He moved to re-button his misaligned shirt, no longer either frantic or fearful, merely resigned.
"Need me to drop you somewhere?"
Sam didn't look up from his buttoning fingers, but shook his head. "No, I'm okay to walk."
"Right. Okay."
Sam finished with his shirt and toed on his still-tied sneakers, carefully looking at the floor, his shoes, the wall, really anywhere that wasn't Dean. This? Yeah … awkward. Not so much because he was leaving or even because he was going home to hours of pre-dawn torment. No, things just felt a little odd because he was fully-clothed, putting on shoes, and Dean was still gloriously, unselfconsciously, nude. But then Dean walked over to the small desk in the room and scribbled something on a pad of paper, tearing off the page and handing it to Sam.
Contact information.
Well, a phone number and his name, but that was probably all he could put down since the postal service probably wouldn't know where to send a letter marked "Dean Winchester, '67 Chevy Impala Veh., USA, KAZ2Y5."
"Umm … thanks." Sam didn't really think he'd call. Dean was most likely only in town for a few days, so they probably wouldn't have a chance for another roll in the hay, and they weren't really going to be friends or anything, so it wasn't like Sam would ever call just to chat. But, still, no reason to turn away the contact info for a really good lay, not to mention the many ways it might come in handy for the mission.
The mission.
Yeah, now that his dick was plenty satisfied, his brain could actually get some perspective on the situation. He shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have let his big head be shut down by his slightly less sizeable head. But he had. And now even if Dean would know him if he saw him, at least he was less likely to immediately shoot him for lurking somewhere. That was a very good thing. He'd fucked the enemy, yes, but the enemy had liked it, so now said enemy would be even less likely to realize they were, in fact, enemies. Right? Right.
And that would be exactly what he'd tell anyone who found out about this little tryst.
Dean was donning some boxers and a T, maybe to show him out, and Sam had to visualize very elderly hippopotami to keep from tearing off his clothes and taking Dean back to bed for another round of wrong, hot, good, slick, sex.
I'm fucking the enemy so I can fuck with his head. I'm fucking the enemy so it'll be easier to fuck him up later. I'm fucking the enemy because it's fun and I'm a sick bastard who likes to use people, just like the rest of you! It wasn't really true, he actually kind of liked the guy, not like like or whatever, just … he was hot and funny and didn't look at Sam like he was some kind of freak.
Not to mention the mind-shattering, life-altering sex.
But, if Sam had to explain this massive error in judgment, then he could easily cover it up by taking a page out of Meg's book. She would probably think he was brilliant, a viciously brilliant slut. Just like her. He hoped she wouldn't want matching "bossy bottom bitch" shirts or anything. She always went for crazy, cheesy shit like that.
Then Dean was back in Sam's personal space, not exactly prostituting himself, but … apparently, strategically placed clothes weren't especially helpful in making Dean any less unbelievably fuckable. "You sure you don't wanna stay?" He said it with a little wag of his eyebrow. Dean had to know that he was sexy as hell. He was tempting to Sam now in a way that was somehow even more intense that before they got to the alley, before they came to the motel, because now Sam knew for a fact that the sex would be phenomenal.
"Oh I do, Dean. I do. I just can't tonight. But … how long are you in town for?" He said it with a dip of his head, not quite a promise, but an acknowledgment that they both wanted to squeak up the bed some more.
Dean reached back, scratching the nape of his neck in a gesture that could be read as nervous, if Dean's confident sexiness wasn't drowning out all other interpretations of the way his body moved. "Probably until, hmm, Monday or so. But, I'm working off and on 'til then."
"Right. Well … maybe I'll give you a call or something." Sam started inching towards the door, Dean following close behind.
"Sure. And, uh, you could always stop into Lucy's for coffee in the morning. If you're ever up early." He paused, seeming to laugh to himself. "I can't function without at least a double dose of caffeine in the morning and that's the cheapest place for coffee in this richie town. Oh … and really … no big deal about the call, man. I gave you the info so you'd have it, ya know, just in case. Seriously, you don't have to call. I'm not gonna have a chick-like freak out fest if my phone's not ringing."
Sam unlatched the chain and turned to face Dean with a shrug, hand on the knob. "Yeah. Of course. No big deal."
Dean's nod was slow, his face a mask of indifference. "See you 'round then."
"Yeah, see ya."
Then Sam was off, closed door behind him, parking lot stretching out under his feet.
Somehow, though, it felt like he had missed something, left something. He stopped halfway to the street and checked his clothes, his pockets. Everything seemed to be there, but he almost wanted to go back anyway. Go back and say what? Did you notice anything I might have left here? You know, during the thirty seconds I was gone? He shook his head laughing at his dread-induced paranoia. Looking for imaginary things that he'd never lost was one stall tactic he wouldn't even begin to entertain. He had to go home. He'd bleed tonight, but he'd heal. He'd probably not, however, have another chance to fuck his target's terribly attractive son.
And even though his every step carried him closer to the price he'd pay tonight, he couldn't help but smile, just a little, like a schoolboy with a secret crush.
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12
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