castalie | Supernatural fic - Sam/Dean: Exorcism

Boy I'm feeling the Numb3rs love these days. Well okay I always do, but still... Last night I watched "Identity Crisis" and "Sniper Zero" and you know, I wonder, how is it possible to love a series so much? *sappy look*

Speaking of which, because apparently DVD Good News sometime come in pair, it seems Numb3rs S1 might come to DVD in 2006. I mean, there are, you know, official rumours ;-)

Anyway, I'm not here to ramble about Numb3rs - for once. I'm here to post a new fic. Go me! This is the Bottom!Dean Fic, which look! Has a real title now. Courtesy of StarWatcher, actually ;-)

Title: Exorcism
Pairing: Sam/Dean [read, incest]
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2684
Summary: Sam needs to let it go.
Notes/Warnings: This is a coda for "Skin", so spoilers ahead. Thanks to

starwatcher307 for the beta - again - and for the title *g*

Exorcism

Dean closed his eyes as a particularly powerful thrust pressed his body harder against the hood of his car.

Sam was angry. That much was clear.

But it wasn't the hard, almost punishing strokes inside him that spoke of his brother's anger. Dean loved nothing more than being fucked roughly and Sam was always happy to oblige, no matter how many times he tried to deny it. The way Sam was keeping Dean's hands firmly on each side of his head, effectively pinning them where he wanted in such a hard grip that they would leave bruises the next day, didn't mean anything either. It was part of the rough treatment they sometimes inflicted on each other and, here again, Dean revelled in it. He would just have to remember to keep his sleeves down the next few days for fear of making people uncomfortable when they would put two and two together; he could already imagine their faces. Scandalized, offended.

On second thought, maybe he would wear a tee-shirt, after all.

So yeah, the rough fucking was part of their routine - a delectable routine, to say the least, but a routine all the same. Although Dean recognized his brother's anger, it wasn't because of the way he was being manhandled.

It was because of the silence.

Sam was driving his cock inside his brother again and again, was gripping his wrists in a tight hold, sometimes grabbing his hair at the same time, and everything tasted of heaven for Dean - except for the unnerving silence that came with it.

Sam wasn't the talkative type. He certainly liked to lecture you when he was excited about a discovery he'd just made, or when he thought you'd fucked up or were about to fuck up, but pointless chatter wasn't exactly his forte. Nor was it Dean's; maybe it was genetics. But when they had sex? Oh, when they had sex, Sam knew how to use his mouth - and it wasn't just to drive his brother insane from pleasure by the way he sucked or licked or teased. He loved talking. He whispered so many things in Dean's ears, almost as if it was a secret between them - which, of course, it was.

Sam enjoyed explaining in great detail what he was going to do to his brother, loved talking dirty to him, sometimes even got off on telling him all those sweet nothings they couldn't ever use when it was daylight. It made for a nice change, too; dark usually meant pain and danger. Those times they meant pleasure and safety.

Except Sam was still not uttering a word. There were groans, definitely, as he put all of himself into the thrusts, but nothing else. Stubborn bastard. But Dean could accept it all; he certainly didn't mind because it was so fucking good.

He let a moan escape as a new stroke drove even deeper inside him, pushing him bodily against the car once more, though the movement was limited by his brother's tight hold on him. Oh yeah, Dean was loving this.

There was something to say about angry sex: it certainly reached new peaks of intensity. People never thought much about it, no doubt believing it wasn't safe, but they couldn't be further from the truth. Dean never worried his brother would go too far. And anyway, he wouldn't allow that; it would take only a word to stop Sam, if necessary. But Dean revelled in the cleansing effect provided by this kind of fucking. Afterward, it helped them both. They would be able to start over with a clean slate instead of constantly obsessing over whatever had gone wrong.

And Sam had a lot of pent up anger and worries to let go right now. Dean couldn't exactly blame him; with everything they’d gone through, it was no wonder. To name just one, he definitely didn't enjoy being "dead", but what could he do about it now? What was done, was done.

Except Sam didn't follow the same philosophy, of course.

To be honest, Sam was a master in the brooding department. He always worried about - well, everything - and he thought way too much, although that had undoubtedly been useful in his fancy college. He was also angry. At the world, at himself, at their dad, at those evil bastards that never left them alone - and at Dean, too. That was a lot of anger to handle for one man, but that's how Sam was. He hated when he couldn't control things, which was just too bad because in their line of "work"? They controlled shit. On a good day. So add to that Jessica's death, the fact that they weren't any closer to finding their father than they'd been at the beginning of their journey and now Dean Winchester’s official death and yeah, no wonder Sam was fucking him as if there was no tomorrow.

"Fuck, Sam, harder! I know you want it," he managed to rasp.

Sam didn't answer in words; the bite he gave Dean's bare shoulder was answer enough.

Dean hissed at the pain, but it was immediately followed by a deep moan as he was hit by pure, unadulterated pleasure. The sensation was too much for Dean, who'd been on brink of orgasm for what felt like an eternity. He came, joyfully crying his brother's name, although it might have sounded like a curse too. Dean hated pain when those "evil son of bitches" they fought against were responsible, but when it was inflicted by his brother? It was pure ecstasy and it always made him lose it. Sam knew it and got off on it - and the bastard also enjoyed using that knowledge to make Dean come whenever he wanted, even when the older man wanted to delay the inevitable.

"Fucking control freak," Dean accused weakly, though he was amazed he could still think, much less speak coherently.

Sam didn't answer immediately; he was busy driving himself to his own climax and, when he finally came, it was with a cry that sounded almost inhuman to Dean. He liked the vision of his brother in that state; totally spent, finally sated, finally at peace. Even though it wouldn't last.

"You love it and don't try to deny it," Sam finally whispered while trying to catch his breath, already sliding out.

"In your dreams," was Dean’s quick reply. He had no intention of encouraging Sam.

"Right."

The look on Sam's face was definitely more relaxed but, come to think of it, maybe "at peace" was too strong a word. Obviously they weren't done with whatever had put the younger man in such a state.

Dean sat on the hood of the Impala. He rearranged his clothes, taking the time to brush against the bite on his shoulder, and licked his lips at the pain it elicited. He would take care of that later; right now, he wanted to feel the hurt, not soothe it away. He waited for Sam to start speaking his mind, but nothing came. The other man was apparently back to giving him the silent treatment.

This wouldn't do.

Dean watched his brother discard the condom - bareback was for the luxury of motel room or easy access to bathroom, not for impromptu fucking in the middle of nowhere; now and then you needed some discipline - and thought it was the perfect moment for breaking the silence.

"You'd better not be thinking of putting that condom in my car."

The annoyed look on the younger man's face told Dean he hadn't been shut out, at least. He hated when Sam did that.

"What? You want me to throw it away? Here?"

Dean shrugged. They had the exact same conversation each time; it was like a well rehearsed play. They both knew where the used condom was going to end. Dean didn't give a shit about it, but if it riled up Sam a little, all the better.

"You're good enough to suck me dry, swallow every drop - but heaven forbid I put the damn thing in your beloved car. You’re unbelievable, Dean."

"Glad we're on the same page."

"You're so full of shit."

"Right."

Dean expected an irritated answer but it didn't come. Apparently, Sam was still mulling over what was driving him crazy. Dean had a good idea what it was - it wasn't as if the announcement of his death hadn't unnerved him a bit - but as long as he was alive to see the irony of the whole situation, it was okay with him. Life was a bitch, nothing new there. But he realized that it was very different in Sam's view. So he waited patiently. His childhood training, as well as his experience at tracking beasts from Hell, had certainly given him a knack for waiting for the right moment to attack. This wasn't one of them.

Once again, their dad's lessons proved to be useful when Sam finally got it out.

"You're not dead." And damn if the little shit didn’t sound annoyed.

"Your powers of observation always amaze me," he scoffed. Going for levity was the answer to so many situations.

But apparently not this one; Sam advanced on him looking as if his fist was itching to make contact with his brother's face. He loomed over Dean, who didn't move, just looked back, waiting again.

"I had to fight you, I thought I would have to kill you. I saw your corpse, Dean!"

"You were fighting the bastard who'd taken my appearance and I know - I was the one who shot "myself", wasn't I? Except it wasn't me. Makes one hell of a difference, believe me."

"I know that. But it was your body... you were there and -"

"And it wasn't me, Sam.” Dean pointed between them. "You just fucked the hell out of me to prove to yourself that it wasn't me over there, wasn't that enough?"

"I don't know."

Sam spread his brother's thighs a little wider and took position here, as if it was home. And maybe it was. He traced a line along Dean's face, with a tenderness that was in total contrast to the rough treatment of before.

"I'm going to see that body in my nightmares for a long time."

"Ain't that a bitch."

Sam's lips became a thin line of frustration. "I'm not joking, Dean. Why can't you fucking see how serious this is?"

"I see it," he snapped. "I hated seeing myself there. And guess what? I hated thinking I could arrive too late and find you all trussed up and carved up like a turkey. I hated finding you being strangled by someone who had my fucking face! I hated a lot of things during that case, but I'm not dead and like I said, it makes all the difference." He looked away. 'And I’ve always seen your body in a lot of my nightmares; we're even that way."

Sam pulled his hand away at that, but didn't budge from between his brother's legs. His face hardened. "What about Dad?"

"What about Dad?"

"You're officially dead."

"And he's officially not here. Nothing to be done, right?"

Sam stared at him and seemed to understand that Dean didn't want to go down that route.

"Besides, it's not as if it'll be the first part of our lives we'll hide, is it?" Dean said pointedly.

Secrets within secrets - it was pretty much the story of their lives. It had been that way since the day they'd shared their first heated kiss in the dark. The only way they'd found to deal with it was to try and ignore how wrong it was, although they were unable to really ever forget. Not that it was the healthiest method, but if it helped their sanity, well, it had to do. Or so they told themselves, repeatedly.

Sam kept silent for a moment - and really, there wasn't anything to say. He looked away for a second then turned his attention back to his brother. "I don't suppose you'll want to talk about the rest, then," he stated more than asked.

"The rest?" This time, Dean couldn't really go for levity and couldn't stop his face from closing up. Sam had briefed him about what the shapeshifter had revealed, and he wasn't ready to face it. He was already pissed enough that the freak had jabbered on the way he had, spilling the deepest thoughts he'd rather have kept hidden; he wasn't going to have a nice heart to heart with his brother on that subject. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"Okay I get it," Sam said, looking both annoyed and hurt that Dean wouldn’t share his feelings with him. "We won't talk about how you think everyone wound up leaving you and how I abandoned you when I went to college."

Dean kept silent for a second and then gave his brother a beautiful but artificial smile. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"We're so messed up, Dean."

"Man, you have the shittiest pillow talk ever, Sammy, anyone ever told you that?"

Sam shook his head and chuckled against his will. He also accepted the change of subject. Impulsively, he pushed against Dean and forced him to lie along the hood of the car once again, then pressed his own body against Dean, apparently not caring about how his taller body was effectively imprisoning his brother.

Right. Dean knew that Sam did that on purpose; he sometimes used their height difference to take advantage of Dean. Bastard.

But Dean didn't protest. He seldom did - or did so only on principle. This time was no exception. He just shook his head and thought of what a pair of fucked up men they both were, but he let his brother hold him. And maybe, just maybe, he needed to feel Sam close as well.

He indulged him - or both of them - for a little while. Then wriggled and shook the body plastered against his front.

"Maaan Sam, are you falling asleep on me? Get off; sorry to tell you, but you're getting heavy."

His head still buried in the crook of his brother's neck, Sam's voice was muffled but clear enough so that Dean understood him.

"'m not heavy, 'm your brother."

Dean laughed at that. "You're so lame, Sam. Gotta work on your lines, really."

Sam nipped at Dean's jaw a last time because standing up and putting distance between them. He was smiling as he looked at his brother. "Asshole."

Dean hopped from the car. Now things were back to normal between them. Or what passed for normal. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean affected a wounded look. "Hey, that's my line."

"I just fucked your ass, I think I'm entitled to use it," Sam replied, smirking.

Dean laughed again. His brother infuriated him, but he was also the one who could always make him laugh.

"You're learning, Sam, you're learning. Get in the car. We’ve wasted enough time."

"Oh." Sam got himself comfortable on the passenger seat. "That's what they call it these days?"

"You're a riot, you know that?" Dean said, shaking his head. He took his place behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition and started the car. He immediately smiled and took a deep breath. He loved how he could feel as well as hear the engine humming; it always soothed him.

As he drove and his brother dozed off, he reflected on the events of the day before and tried to imagine what was waiting for them; Sam and he led one hell of a crazy life. Always had - well, apart from Sam's little incursion to Normal Life - and maybe always would. Yeah it was crazy and dangerous, but hey, it was the only one they had. But with his brother by his side again and with the hope that they would be find their father, Dean thought it was enough.

Fin

ETA: Ooops I forgot something and if I don't rectify it I'm pretty sure

enigel will come after me with a stick. So Numb3rs fans? We have our very own Secret Santa community now, namely