New SPN fic - Sam/Dean
Feb. 19th, 2007 11:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
castalieI survived my first day at work! I'll talk about it tomorrow, but let's just say that it's gonna be a challenge :-) One I'm ready to take, that's not the problem, but dude! More tomorrow, anyway, right now, let's talk about business. Of another kind that is. Here is my brand new SPN fic, whee!
Title: Four Times Sam Wanted to Strangle Dean (And One That He Didn't)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 8.000+
Summary: Well, just what the title said.
Warnings: Okay so since it can be a squick for some people, at one point there is talk - nothing happens on screen - of underaged sex. Sixteen, if it makes a difference.
Author Notes: #2 is dedicated to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
greedy_dancer and sockich.
Big thanks tosockich for the cheerleading and to enigel and starwatcher307 for the precious help *kisses*
1.
After a quick shower they headed for the Allen's, where they were throwing a little party to welcome the new inhabitants of the neighborhood, and where he and Dean were supposed to gather information... or maybe just food; Sam wasn't certain which. Sam smiled; Dean had been complaining about 'suburb hell' since they set foot in town. To Sam he sounded like a broken record, but it was still funny, so he let him ramble about the evilness of it all. Even if it was basically the same story all the time.
"And seriously, doesn't all that political correctness freak you out? They're just a bunch of hypocrites," Dean said, scanning the neighborhood with an air of distaste on his face.
Sam shook his head. "Maybe they're not hypocrites at all. Maybe they're just trying to be friendly and welcoming."
"Well, there's such a thing as 'too' friendly, then. Scary." He shivered dramatically, making Sam chuckle.
"You're just whining because they assumed we were together." A pause. "Again."
"Yeah, what about - no wait, we're here." Dean waved toward the house on their left.
Sam would have to wait for his answer, then. Too bad; he was looking forward to it. They went straight to the garden in the backyard, as they'd been told to, following the sound of voices and laughter. They made fast work of introducing themselves to their hosts, while Sam marveled at the self-restraint that Dean exercised. Then they split up to ask questions among the other guests, see if they could find anything of interest.
After a while they found their way to each other again. Sam had to admit that the whole thing had been a waste of time, but Dean just shrugged it off. It happened.
"So anyway, how many times does it make?" Dean asked out of the blue, as if their conversation had never been interrupted.
Sam did a rapid mental count. "Three?"
Dean shook his head. "Four. Four times. What is it with us, anyway? Do we give off gay vibes or something?"
"I told you, you're a bit butch."
Dean rolled his eyes. "As if that explains anything. I mean, okay, so demons sometimes take you for a girl, and yeah, that's understandable." He easily dodged the swat Sam aimed at him. "But it doesn't really explain the whole 'you want a king size bed, of course?' thing."
"You mean 'queen'?" Sam chimed in. "And hey, you're usually jonesing for a king size bed. Let's just not mention a vibrating one," Sam said, mock-shivering.
"Don't tell me you didn't like what happened the last time we used that bed, dude!"
Sam's eyes glazed over at the thought. Yeah, so maybe Dean's sick habit had some redeeming qualities. Not that he was going to give Dean the satisfaction of admitting it. He chose to remain silent.
Beside him, he watched as Dean's eyes lit up; Sam turned his head to see what had attracted his brother's attention. Ah, a buffet, of course. They both headed toward the long table.
"Plus," Dean said, apparently enjoying the topic, "that's not even the point, anyway." He grabbed a handful of appetizers with a happy look on his face.
"Of course not." Sam followed his brother's lead and rolled his eyes when Dean all but stuffed himself with the hors d'oeuvres. What a pig. Of course, the variety was a welcome change from their customary fast food downed in a succession of motel rooms. "So anyway, does it bother you?"
Dean swallowed, and licked his lips as if he wanted to savor the taste till the very end. Sam felt his temperature rise a notch. Which was kinda bad; this was definitely not the moment.
"Bother me?" Dean asked, bringing Sam back to Earth.
Sam's eyes flickered to the people around them. "That they think we're an item."
"We are an item," Dean said matter-of-factly. And now he was licking the tip of his fingers. With a completely innocent look on his face. The bastard.
"You know what I mean."
"Sure, I'm just waiting for you to say it." Dean smiled one of his 'special' smiles - the one that had many, many interpretations. In this case, Sam knew perfectly well Dean's only goal was to rile him up. That kind of smile usually made Sam want to kick Dean's ass. Or, well, do other things to said ass. Hard.
Maybe later, then.
Sam decided to give Dean what he wanted. "Does it bother you that they think we're a couple?" he finally asked, emphasizing the last word.
"Nah." Dean shrugged, engulfing some more tiny sausages. "It just intrigues me, you know? I mean, what, is there some tattoo on our foreheads saying 'we like cocks' or something?"
Sam made a quiet, strangled little sound. That was pure Dean, saying outrageous things in the vicinity of people who, no doubt, thought that anything other than the missionary position between a man and a woman had been invented by the devil. He cast a quick glance around him and smiled awkwardly, hoping Dean hadn't been as loud as he thought.
Naturally, his embarrassment seemed to fuel Dean's amusement. Sam should have known.
"Why, are you embarrassed?" Dean affected a hurt look. "Are you ashamed of me, Sam, is that it? Are you ashamed of us?"
This time, there was no mistaking that the lovely couple in matching outfits gave them extra leeway when they walked past. Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean in warning.
He would have had better results if he'd shaken a red flag in front of a bull.
Dean chuckled evilly and reached for a bottle of beer. "Really, I don't care if they think we're doing the horizontal tango." A slow smile appeared on his face, a slow, dirty smile. Dean hadn't finished playing with him; Sam didn't need any special abilities to recognize his mischievous mood.
"I mean, hey," Dean lowered his voice a little, his gaze never leaving Sam's, "why would I mind if people think we're doing the nasty together, dancing between the sheets -"
Sam's eyes widened in alarm. Dean knew an insane number of euphemisms for sex, from the most hilarious, passing by the grossest, all the way to the dirtiest. It was as if the guy had memorized the whole thesaurus when it came to sex and the many, many ways to talk about it. If Dean chose to play only with the humorous terms, this could be fun, yeah, but if he chose to up the ante and go with the dirty ones, then Sam was going to have a hard time with it. No pun intended.
And from the look on Dean's face, he was warming up to his subject.
"Don't you dare, man," Sam growled. This had to stop now.
Dean hid his grin behind the top of his beer. Then, his eyes still on Sam, he lifted it to his mouth. First he licked the rim, then tilted his head slightly and took a sip, his thumb caressing the bottle in a move that proved to be quite hypnotic.
Sam groaned at the sight; his brother was all but going down on the fucking bottle.
"I can't take you anywhere, Dean," he rasped, trying to sound stern and miserably failing. He also realized - only too late - his poor choice of words.
"Oh but you're so wrong, dude," Dean drawled. "I'd say you can take me anywhere you want." He put the bottle down on the buffet table beside him and invaded Sam's personal space. It wasn't suspicious; it looked like two brothers talking quietly about personal stuff, not... not talking dirty to each other. At least, Sam didn't think so. God, they needed to get out of here. But Dean was obviously not ready to leave yet.
"You could bend me over that bench over there," he said softly, head jerking in the direction of the unsuspecting bench. Sam's eyes flickered to it and he was assaulted by the kind of visual you weren't supposed to have in public... much less that kind of public, "...and fuck me hard and fast. I'm going commando, so you'd only have to push my jeans down. I'd be ready for you. You'd unzip your pants, take your cock out and just do it. Fuck my ass and make me come, just like that."
"Dean," Sam said, already a bit breathless. He was suddenly reminded that it'd been some time since they'd had sex. He was definitely primed for it. And God, he loved Dean's voice, loved the way his brother could turn him on so much without even touching him.
"Or," Dean continued, "I'd push you down over there, on that table. Looks solid enough for what I have in mind. I'd make you scream my name, my cock buried deep. Wonder what they'd think if they saw how well you beg for it."
"Then again, maybe you'd want my mouth? I'd drop on my knees, right here, in the middle of all these nice, decent people." Dean's voice was like velvet in Sam's mind. "I'd open your pants and deep-throat you in front of everyone. I'd let you cup the back of my head and pick the rhythm. I know you'd like to really get at it, wouldn't you, Sammy? You'd fuck my mouth roughly, you'd use me hard." He dropped his voice even lower. "And I'd love it."
Sam didn't know how he managed not to attract the attention of those aforementioned nice, decent people; he felt as if anyone around them could see how much he just wanted to moan his brother's name and fuck him blind, right here, right now.
He felt an almost irresistible need to rock his hips against Dean; anything to release some of the tension. Sam swallowed hard and stared at his brother. He was happy to see that Dean wasn't completely unaffected by his little display; the green eyes looked darker, as they always did when Dean was aroused.
Sam bent forward, also keeping his voice low. Sure, he had no intention of taking the risk of anyone hearing him, but he also didn't want to break the mood. "You are," he said slowly, trying to compose himself, "the most infuriating man on Earth, Dean. But payback is a bitch, dude. You're going to let me cool off a little, then we're going back to our room and I'm gonna take care of you. Starting with putting that mouth of yours to good work."
Dean bit his lips at that. "Fuck, yeah." His voice was raspy, which only made Sam hotter.
"You need to shut your mouth, man. For now." Sam reached around Dean and grabbed the bottle he'd abandoned earlier. He drank a generous gulp, then groaned softly. "I can't believe you did that. And here, of all places."
Dean just smiled.
"Fuck. I am going to make you pay later. I'm gonna make you scream my name."
Dean's smile got wider. "Then we'll see who makes the other scream the loudest."
2.
"Dean!" Sam had no idea whether he'd screamed the name or just breathed it; it seemed that the air around him had suddenly ran out of oxygen. Before he even realized what he was doing, he'd jumped over the fence and started racing in the direction of where he'd seen Dean disappear. He ran as fast as he could, and then even faster; a dim part of his mind was aware that fear always made you push your limits.
All the way to the lake, his frantic mind tried to come up with the necessary intel. How deep was the water? Was it freezing? How long could someone hold their breath while underwater? Had Dean been even conscious when the rented car had slowly sunk?
His run seemed to last a lifetime. He was moving in slow-motion; there was no other explanation as to why the fucking lake wasn't getting nearer. He would never get there in time. Would never find the strength to open the door. Wouldn't be able to break it. And break it with what, his fucking shoe?
Dean was gonna die. He was going to suffocate and then his lungs would fill with water and - God,, he just needed to stop panicking. He had to keep his head straight. Run. Not think of anything, just run and it would be okay.
When he finally made it to the edge of the lake, he dived in and swam as if his life - Dean's - depended on it. Same difference. He opened his eyes and cursed inwardly as he realized he couldn't really see anything. His clothes were getting heavier, soaked as they were, but he just ignored the weight, simply stroked that much harder with his feet and hands. Where the fuck was the car? It couldn't be that far, it had to be somewhere close , he was sure of it.
After a while, his lungs felt as if they were going to explode, so he caved in to the demands of his body and surfaced, head and back arched. He didn't waste time, just took a deep, deep breath before he went under again, determined not to let panic cloud his mind. Dean was somewhere in there... Dean was okay. It hadn't been that long since the car had been run off the road, had it? Sam had no doubt that it was just his mind playing games with him, distorting the reality, making him believe it'd been longer than it really was.
He just needed to keep his cool and pay attention and - there! A shape that didn't belong here gave him hope again. He couldn't see anything clearly from this distance, so he simply swam in the direction of what he knew had to be the car, and almost had a heart attack when a body suddenly appeared from out of nowhere in front of him and all but collided into him. He felt a hand clumsily touch his chest, then blindly find its way to his collar and grab him there. Sam felt himself being pushed upward, and the hand only let him go when Sam took the hint and swam toward the surface.
As soon as he was in open air again, he took what felt like the biggest breath of his life and then blinked stupidly at Dean, who was doing the same in front of him. Gasping and breathing hard, they didn't say a word, just kicked their legs to keep floating.
"Are you," Sam started after a time, coughing, "okay? Are you okay, Dean?"
"Peachy, dude." And damn if Dean didn't sound peachy, indeed. His breathing was still nowhere near close to normal, but he sounded more... excited than freaked out. "What a rush, Sammy!" Without another word, he swam up to the bank, calm as you pleased.
Sam had nothing to do but follow him, so he did just that. He joined his brother on the bank and sprawled back on the grass, his eyes fixed on Dean's face.
"You look..." Sam tried to find the right word, "energized, man."
Dean didn't reply, just kept breathing, as if it was the best thing in the world. Which, yeah, it was.
"Did you see God or something?" Sam asked out of the blue, going for a reaction - something, anything. His brother's behavior was unnerving him.
Dean laughed and shook his head to get rid of the water in his hair, like a damn dog. Sam supposed it didn't have the same effect when he did it, with his long strands, but it was still a good imitation. Sam considered telling Dean about it, but he was interrupted by the excited voice.
"God? If I saw a god, it had to be the god of science, man. Or two gods, if you want. Wanna know their names?"
"What?" Sam wondered if maybe Dean really had stayed underwater for too long.
"Adam and Jamie! They fucking saved my life, Sam."
"What?" Maybe it was Sam who had stayed too long without breathing properly; he certainly didn't understand a word that came out of Dean's mouth.
"Survival technique, dude. I couldn't open the door during the first window of opportunity so I just waited till the whole car filled with water and then bam! The door opened like a charm!" Dean chuckled then let himself fall on his back, turning his head to the side so he could smile at Sam. "It's official; I'll make you watch that damn show even if I have to sit on you. Might save your life one day, see?"
Sam slowly sat up and then towered over Dean. "I thought you were gonna die in there, I was out of my mind and you were, what, emulating those Mythhunters guys?"
"Mythbusters," Dean corrected easily, as if he didn't care that Sam was going to kill him. Slowly. "And I wasn't 'emulating' anything," he continued, making it sound like he was talking dirty to Sam, "I was saving my life. Which worked." He raised his hand slightly and pointed toward his chest. "You worry too much," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"'Worry too much'," Sam gasped, his own hands itching to do some harm. "I was-" but Sam couldn't finish his thought because Dean had sat up too and grabbed the back of his head, crushing their lips together. Dean tasted of wild water and smelled of wet leather and mud. Sam supposed he wasn't any different. He didn't care.
The kiss didn't last. It wasn't even that memorable, all clashing teeth and rough tongue and odd taste - certainly not comparable to the other kisses they'd shared - but Sam felt much calmer afterward.
He looked at Dean and, now that he was paying attention, he could see a glimpse of something in his brother's eyes. Ah. Realization dawned on Sam. So maybe Dean hadn't felt so certain that his new gods would protect him. And maybe he just wanted to take Sam's mind off what-ifs and scary thoughts and possibilities. And okay, it had worked.
Sam stood, hauling Dean to his feet with him. "I might be convinced to take your 'survival technique' lessons," he stated.
"Yeah?" Dean obviously knew something else was coming; he waited expectantly.
Sam didn't disappoint him. "One episode for a blowjob. Sounds fair to me."
And of course it was fair; any deal that involved a blowjob - given or received, they enjoyed both with a passion, for obvious reasons - was fair, but Sam knew there would be some negotiation, anyway. It was no fun otherwise.
"Not during, though," Dean countered, true to form. "Only after. Not negotiable." He sounded serious, and Sam was reminded that Dean never joked about pop culture.
He made a show of rolling his eyes. "Heaven forbid I prevent you from watching your damn show to satisfy my baser instincts."
"That would suck, yeah." From Dean's smirk, Sam knew that his brother was proud of the lame pun; he chose to ignore it.
Sam started walking, then. They had a long hike ahead of them. They needed to find a story to tell the rental agency. And then develop a new plan of action to find the assholes who had almost killed Dean, and send the sons of bitches back to hell. But right now, they weren't thinking about that. "So do we have a deal?" he asked, mind still on the blowjob issue.
As if there was any doubt, Sam thought, smiling to himself.
Dean took a long stride to join him and pretended to think about the question. "Guess it is fair, yeah," he conceded. "You sacrifice a bit of your time to watch the episode and I sacrifice a bit of my virtue for you."
Sam almost choked. "Virtue? God, you mean you have any left? Dude, are you sure you even had any to begin with?" He easily dodged Dean's punch and laughed again. It felt good after the scare he'd had.
"Dean, please? Try not to do that again, okay?"
"As if I did it on purpose, man!" Dean's indignant voice made Sam grin.
"Yeah, okay, but I think I'm way too young to die of a heart attack, okay?"
Dean's eyes softened and got a bit more serious; he bumped Sam's shoulder with his own. "I'll try, sure. Let's just say we're both way too young - and in my case, way too pretty - to die, and let's try to work on that, all right?"
"Works for me," Sam agreed easily.
3.
"I'm not a fucking kid, Dean!" A tiny part of Sam's mind was telling him that behaving this way certainly wasn't helping his case, but he was so furious at his brother that he just told that little voice to shut the hell up, he had a business to take care of.
"Newsflash, you're sixteen, you are a fucking kid," Dean said in that no-nonsense way of his that never failed to add fuel to Sam's anger.
"You made your first kill when you were my age!" Sam snapped. "I saved your sorry ass not a week ago. You asshole, you popped your cherry at sixteen. And I'm supposed to believe that kind of BS? Sixteen is old enough to make my own decisions. I'm staying here. You go hunting without me this time."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Read my lips, man; you're coming with me. Dad asked for the both of us."
"I don't care what Dad said! I'm telling you I want to stay here. I'm staying."
"No, you're not." Dean's calm voice made Sam want to strangle him. Anything to hear it break.
"Think you can make me?" Sam asked defiantly. "I've grown quite a bit the past months, in case you haven't noticed." His bravado wasn't faked. He was well aware of the fact that he was nowhere close to being as strong as either his father or brother - yet - but he was getting taller and taller with each new month, getting taller than both of them, it seemed, and the training he'd received all his life had certainly given him some muscles that he wouldn't've had if he'd been an average sixteen-year-old. He was sick of always being told what to do and when to do it, and he was tired of always moving, always abandoning all his comforts.
Dean's chuckle sounded rather dangerous and, for a second, Sam thought he might regret his little show of machismo, after all. "Just because you're bit taller than I am now doesn't make you the bigger man, Sammy."
"You fucking asshole!" Sam snarled, but his shoulders slumped a little. Somehow, he felt like he'd already lost.
"Look." Dean stopped the flow of insults before Sam could take his next breath. "You think I don't know why you want to stay? You think your buddy Neil was so fucking discreet?" A pause. "Or maybe that I'm too stupid to know what's going on?"
"What? No!" Sam denied immediately.
"So you want to stay and join that little party Neil and his sister are gonna throw, is that it?" Dean didn't wait for a confirmation; he obviously didn't need one. "You want to dodge your duty to have some fun? You're right, Sammy, it totally makes me see you as a responsible adult."
Sam's face heated slightly at the comment, and it only increased his anger. So he didn't want to hunt and wanted to stay and have fun with his friends, so what? It wasn't as if he did anything like that very often. Not as if he didn't work his ass off in school and risk his life on every hunting trip Dad dragged them to on a regular basis. So he wanted to relax a little in the middle of normal kids with normal lives, big fucking deal!
"Don't look at me like that, dude. If the situation was different I'd be behind you, but you know I can't let you stay for that."
"For what?" Sam snapped. "You think I'm gonna spend a night fucking and drinking? I'm not! I'm not like that." He paused, then added viciously, "And going out to suck strangers' dicks isn't my style either, more like yours."
Dean's lips pressed in a thin line. "Personal attacks now, huh? I'd say it's a low blow if I didn't know better, right, Sam? Jealous much?"
Sam flinched. Talk about low blow! He glared at his brother. "You prefer sucking complete strangers, or getting it up the ass from guys you'll never meet again, and I should be happy about it? Fuck you!" His body was vibrating with anger. He stepped toward Dean, not really knowing what he expected to do.
Dean didn't step back, didn't move. Just kept staring at him. "Well, that's the problem, isn't it, Sam?"
"Don't!" He hadn't meant to sound so distressed, but he was unable to hide the sudden feeling of dejection.
It did have an impact on Dean, though. "Sammy," he said, his voice considerably more gentle, his hands raised almost in supplication, "we talked about this."
"Right," Sam snorted, turning his back on his brother. "You told me I wasn't ready and you just gave up."
"You're sixteen," Dean repeated.
"Stop throwing that in my face," Sam hissed.
Sam heard Dean sigh behind his back and he swore he could feel his brother bite his lower lip as if weighing his next move. Dean's next words weren't what Sam wanted to hear... even if they were true.
"You avoided me for a whole week after I jerked you off." His tone held no accusation, only a matter-of-fact observation.
Sam winced when he remembered that night, and the week that had followed. It wasn't even that long ago. Dean's voice indicated he wasn't blaming Sam, but it sounded pained. Sam wondered whether the hurt would reflect on Dean's face if he turned and looked at him. "Sorry."
"No need to apologize. I'm just trying to show you. You're not ready for this." He sighed with frustration. "Turn around, man. Look at me."
Sam did so, reluctantly. "I am ready, Dean."
"You think you are." Sam wished that Dean at least sounded like a condescending asshole, but it wasn't even the case. The situation upset Dean too, Sam realized; he was refusing to cave in because he wanted what was best for Sam. Never mind what was best for Dean, and never mind that they both wanted each other so much. It was always the same story with Dean, Sam thought; his big brother had to be all noble and sacrificing.
Sure, it had been... a bit scary, a bit unsettling, but Sam didn't care. He didn't.
"We're brothers, Sam," Dean continued. "This is so fucking complicated. And so fucked up there're no words for it, okay?" He shook his head, looking like the words hurt him as much as they did Sam. He opened his arms. "Your first time shouldn't be like this."
"Yeah, because fucking a stranger would be so much better." Sam's voice was mocking.
Dean didn't rise to the bait. "No need to make it sound like it's the only opportunity we'll ever get."
"Your first time was like that," Sam accused, though the words didn't hold any venom this time. They sounded more like a question.
"Yeah, it was," Dean agreed. "Somehow, I'd like for your first time to not be in a cheap motel room with a guy you first sucked on the bathroom floor of a sleazy bar. Is that so hard to understand?"
Sam felt anger coil inside him, as it always did when Dean mentioned that first time, that first guy. Not for his brother, but for that man who, he was absolutely sure, hadn't given a damn about the kid he was screwing.
"You'd be different," Sam finally said. Because he knew Dean would. It would be so completely different with him. Oh, sure, Sam certainly didn't have any objective proof, nothing for comparison, but he just knew the truth of it, deep inside him.
Dean stayed silent, biting his lower lip. Sam knew his brother wanted to say something but he was forbidding himself to do it. Sam's anger rose again.
"You know what I think?" he said, to break the silence and to hurt his brother like he himself was hurting. "I think there's another reason why you don't want us to be together. It's because you're a coward, Dean. You don't want to try because you're afraid I'll leave one day. Leave all of this, leave Dad - leave you. That's the reason why. Not your 'you're too young' and definitely not your 'we're brothers' shit."
Dean's face closed off and his whole demeanor changed. In the tense silence that followed his accusation, Sam realized he might actually have just received an answer he hadn't been expecting, might even have raised an issue he'd never really wanted to address. But it was too late to take it back now.
Without a word, Dean turned and left the cabin, leaving the door open to signal Sam that he was still waiting for him to follow. After a minute Sam did, feeling as if he had won a battle of sorts... But if he had, then why did the victory feel so hollow? And why did he hurt so much?
4.
Dean's hands in his hair were painful and Sam moaned in pleasure; the tight hold forced him to throw his head back, forced him to bare his throat for his brother. Sam shivered when he felt hungry lips trace a wet path along his neck, felt the sting of sharp teeth grazing his heated skin. His arms reached up to Dean's and he grabbed the wrists in a tight grip, turning the tables on his brother and forcing Dean to lay back on the bed, sprawled on his back. Sam readjusted himself, still straddling Dean's thighs; he tightened the hold around his brother's legs, his body heavy and hot and hard against Dean's.
Groaning when his cock slid against Dean's as he moved, Sam bent forward, forcing Dean's arms above his head, the long lines of his neck taut and inviting. It was his turn to map the skin with his mouth and tongue. His lips danced over the sweaty skin; he tasted Dean and it only made him want more.
He stretched a little and let his fingers stroke Dean's, intertwine with them for a moment. Then his hands ran over Dean's outstretched arms and he cupped the flushed face, meeting Dean's mouth roughly. Dean bit him and he bit back, and the room was filled with gasps and groans and heavy breathing.
"Dean," Sam rasped, eyes at half-mast, hair plastered on his forehead. He nuzzled Dean's face and moved above him, getting on his knees then lying against Dean so he had better leverage to push down. Dean immediately understood what Sam wanted and he roughly shoved up, his cock meeting Sam's with an intensity that had both of them biting their lips in pleasure.
"Fuck yeah," Dean breathed, hand still above his head and gripping the sheet as if it was all he could do not to grab Sam by the hair again. "Come on, Sammy, come on," he encouraged.
Sam didn't need any encouragement. He pushed down, matching Dean's strength with his own, and they fell into a harsh, punishing rhythm that made them feel like they were dying and flying and coming a hundred times. Rough pleasure coiled inside them, running in their veins, rushing through their bodies.
Sam could have stayed like that forever, grinding against Dean, their scents getting heavier as arousal grew even stronger, their moans and whimpers becoming louder in the room, but Dean apparently had other ideas.
With a gasp, Sam found himself on his back and Dean above him, an almost identical reversal of position. 'Almost' because Dean was fumbling with the sheet and then coating Sam's cock with lube before he pushed a finger inside himself, his eyes never leaving Sam's face. Sam's hands found their way to the curve of Dean's hips before he even knew what he was doing. His fingers dug deep into the slicked skin and he couldn't stop his own hips from bucking against Dean's ass as the sight of his brother swiftly prepping himself aroused him almost beyond reason.
"God, Dean, don't make me wait," he was able to say.
"Couldn't if my life depended on it." Dean's voice was low and rough. He had an intense look of concentration on his face as he slowly sank onto Sam's cock.
Sam arched up, shoving up hard at the sensation of sliding inside his brother; his fingers dug even deeper into Dean's hips.
"So good, so fucking good," he breathed.
Dean bent low and kissed him roughly, tongue thrusting in and out in a mad dance, then he straightened up, hands splayed over Sam's chest, heavy and warm against his already overheated skin. They started a new rhythm, slow at first; Sam wanted them to extend the feeling for however long was possible before it became too much.
As hard as it was, Sam forced himself to keep his eyes open; he didn't want to miss the sight of Dean like that. Body taut and strong, straining as he moved up and down on the hard cock inside him, thighs trembling from the position and movements - and from the sheer ecstasy of it, Sam had no doubt. His head was thrown back and his eyes were heavy with pleasure, lips swollen and wet after biting and licking them. Dean's own fingers grazed over Sam's chest, leaving a red mark that only aroused Sam more and, God, how was it possible to feel so much pleasure!
His hands crept from Dean's hips to his chest, almost mimicking Dean's actions, then they followed a path over the collarbone to rest on Dean's neck. Dean's eyes widened suddenly and fixed on Sam. He gasped a little and moaned and, as if Sam had spoken to him and asked him to, he bent forward a little. Sam's hands followed the movement, wrapping more securely around the throat.
Fascinated by the sight, Sam caressed the skin under Dean's chin, traced the windpipe and cupped the side of his neck again. He applied some pressure, almost as an afterthought and Dean's intake of breath made him narrow his eyes. This was good... he did it again, pressed a little harder, not painfully, just insistently, and he shivered at the feel of the Adam's apple against his palm, the tendons, muscles... it was exhilarating.
Dean's rhythm was getting more frantic, working Sam's cock in the most delicious, sinful way and Sam groaned, his fingers clenching around the throat that much tighter. Even though it wasn't enough - not nearly enough - the novelty of it still pushed Dean over the edge and he came on Sam's chest, which seemed to be Sam's cue as well. He didn't even try to resist any longer; after thrusting roughly a couple of times, he followed Dean, chest heaving, body shivering. His fingers were trembling as well, but they hadn't left their position around Dean's throat. He could feel Dean swallow and breathe erratically, as if his hands were also an extension of his brother's body, and not just his cock that was, for the time being, still inside Dean. It felt addictive. He felt powerful.
5.
He was going to throw up, Sam was sure; he suddenly felt weak in the knees. He looked around them and regretted ever agreeing to this.
"No way. Absolutely no way in hell am I gonna do this, Dean. Forget it. Let's go back."
"Not that again," Dean groused. "I thought we'd agreed on this." He climbed out of the car then bent down, hand resting on the door, and looked at Sam. "We're not going back, man. Not after you made me drive all this time so that we could find a deserted place." He jerked his head behind him. "It's the desert. Can't get more deserted than this. Come on."
Sam didn't move. "I've changed my mind."
"You can't do that," Dean said, "it goes against the rules." He left the door open, no doubt so that it wouldn't feel like a furnace when they got back in, Sam thought.
Sam watched his brother as he walked around the front of the car to open the door on his side. Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Sam looked back. "Please, Dean. This is a very bad idea."
"Since when did that ever stop us?" Dean took a step back, motioning Sam to follow him.
"I'm serious! I'm not taking that risk, okay?"
"You're right, you're not. I am. And anyway, I don't think there's any risk of me being harmed." A slight pause. "Or killed."
"Dean, I swear if you joke about this, I'll kick your ass."
Dean sighed. "I'm taking this very seriously. You are the one bailing on me, Sammy. Get out of the fucking car, man."
Sam thought for a moment and realized that, short of wrestling with Dean and beating him into submission, he wouldn't get the keys of the Impala. Besides, nothing would change Dean's mind. Waiting in the car wouldn't achieve anything, either. And it was getting pretty stuffy in here.
He let out a huge sigh and finally joined his brother. "God, I hate you."
"I know the feeling, dude. Now stop whining and get on with it."
'Get on with it'. So that's what you called trying to use your powers - that apparently were a direct line with the devil - to strangle your brother so that you could prove that, hey look, you could actually control them and, in fact, not really strangle your brother.
"Seriously, Dean," Sam said, glaring at him, "you've come up with some fucked up ideas through the years, but this one? Oh, this one takes the cake."
Dean beamed at him. "I try to do my best."
Sam watched as Dean cast a glance around them, as if he was trying to find the best way to do this. Sam had half a mind to tell him there was no 'best' way to do it - not even just a 'good' way - but he was pretty sure it'd be a waste of time.
Dean looked around him and then shrugged. "Okay, I guess we don't have that many options, anyway. So let's try to keep it simple."
"Yes," Sam said with all the enthusiasm of a man about to die, "let's."
Dean looked at him sharply. "Look, Sam, you need to believe in this a little more, okay? Or it's not going to work."
"And that would be a bad thing because?" Sam snapped.
But Dean ignored the angry retort. "Because ignorance leads to defeat, Sammy," he stated quietly.
That shut Sam up.
"Look, I know you're afraid." Dean ran a hand over his hair, resting it on the back of his neck for a moment while he seemed to be gathering his thoughts. "You have every right to be. And," he shrugged, "maybe I'm not that comfortable about the whole thing either."
"Oh, really?"
Dean glared at him. "Yeah. And that's why we have to do this." He pointed two fingers at Sam. "And it'll prove to you that you're the one in control."
"So you say."
"Come on, man. You're so transparent." Dean stepped closer, standing by his side. "You think it'll be like a drug? One fix and you can't do without? One fix and it'll change you? One fix and you'll be lost and you'll turn evil?" He rolled his eyes. "Stop being so dramatic."
This made Sam laugh, but he was far from being amused. "Yeah, of course, I'm being 'dramatic'! Those other Chosen Children, they all used their powers to kill, but I have nothing to fear because I'm a good guy and I say when enough is enough."
Dean patted him on his back. "That's the spirit!"
"God, you're impossible."
"And you're stalling. We don't have all day." Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder once. "Come on, Sammy."
Sam took a deep breath and tried to reason with himself. During the past few months, he'd felt his abilities rising closer and closer to the surface. It nagged at him; he didn't know how to describe the sensation. Most of the time it was like when you're looking for a certain word but can't find it. You know it's a word you're familiar with, but this time, it just doesn't want to come. It's maddening and only when it finally pops into your mind can you feel at peace. Except in his case, he sort of forbade himself from ever finding the right word, from touching that power with his mind.
On the other hand - and that was the argument that had convinced him to try - his abilities had saved his brother before. Being able to throw heavy stuff away from him by a sheer act of will could definitely come in handy again. That, or stopping someone from attacking them, or... well, the possibilities were endless, he had to admit. He just needed control over it. Still, did he have to try to, like, cut off Dean's air just to prove a point?
"Why can't I just try to move a piece of paper, again?"
"Because you've failed each time we've tried that," Dean countered without missing a beat. "That and everything else," he added. "I think you just need to focus on something different."
"And that something has to be you."
"Yeah."
Sam silently watched as Dean stepped toward the Impala.
"It's like sparring, man," Dean said, "like all those times Dad made us fight against each other to learn what to do and what to avoid. What's the big deal?"
"What's the big deal?" Sam couldn't believe his ears. How Dean could be so... so cavalier about the whole thing was beyond him; the guy was insane. "What's the big deal?" he repeated. "You're asking me to strangle you with my mind!"
"Yeah, so?"
"So?" Were they even speaking the same language?
"Seriously," Dean said, casually leaning back against the hood of the Impala, "it is just another form of sparring. And you'll stop before I lose consciousness, anyway."
"Right. It's like sparring with a deadly weapon over which you have no control whatsoever! It's totally the same thing." Sam's voice was filled with sarcasm. "Give me a break." Okay, he'd changed his mind. "I'm not doing it." And you can't make me, he barely stopped himself from adding.
But Dean, obviously a hundred percent attuned to Sam, acted as if he'd heard the words, anyway. Sam thought it was uncanny.
"God, Sammy, talk about a blast from the past. Feels like you're sixteen all over again. Fighting every fucking step of the way, huh?" He made a show of shivering. "Makes me want strangle myself with my own hands."
Sam shook his head, unable to hide his smile. "You're damned annoying."
"I've been told once or twice, I have to say." And Sam actually laughed at that; Dean's thoughtful tone was too much.
"So," Dean said, back to business. He straightened up and took a step away from the car. "You ready to lay a Darth Vader on me?"
Sam sighed and decided it was better to admit defeat; Dean wouldn't leave him alone. The jerk was actually rubbing his hands, eyes sparkling with what Sam could only describe as unhealthy and wicked interest.
"You're sick, you know that?"
"I fuck my own brother, remember?"
"I give up; you're hopeless."
Dean chuckled a bit and then got serious. He raised his hands in apology. "Sorry, Sammy. Come on, I trust you, okay? It's like putting a whammy on someone, is all. It is a weapon, one we need to be able to control." He approached Sam again, stopped in front of him. He had an intense look on his face. "Use the power, don't let it use you. Easy concept, right?"
"Easy to say, maybe," Sam said softly.
"You're smart and dedicated; you won't have any trouble."
"So you say." But Dean's confidence was boosting his, a little. "Okay, we can try, I guess."
But Dean shook his head and pointed a finger at Sam. "Do or do not. There is no try."
Sam's mouth twitched in a little grin. "I walked into that one, didn't I?"
"You sure did," Dean smirked. He turned and headed back to the Impala. Then he hopped on the hood and sat comfortably Indian-style. Sam supposed Dean getting close to his car was the equivalent of his brother taking his blankie with him while Sam was trying not to kill him with his mind. The thought was either endearing or scary. Or maybe a little bit of both.
"Come on, dude!" Dean jerked his head in his direction. "Just focus, all right?"
"On killing you?"
"On not killing me."
"Might be more difficult that way," Sam answered, but he was already trying to 'find his center' or something. He let his mind wander a little, then gathered it around him and tried to blank everything else, tried to forget about the world surrounding him. Except for Dean. Dean was the center of it all, he had to focus on his brother for it to work. For Sam to remember that he was in control, that he couldn't hurt Dean as long as he didn't want to. That he wouldn't hurt anybody as long as he refused to be used as a pawn.
"You jerk," he heard Dean say, but his voice came from afar.
It was a little like being in a dream; things felt real, but not. Loud, but muted. The hot wind caressed his face and arms and the touch felt alive. It was like looking at the world through a mirror - everything was familiar, but still different.
Dean, though, he could see clearly. Like a lighthouse, a beacon in the dark, he called to Sam.
This time was different, he could feel it. This time, it was as if he could find his way through his mind and contact that little part of himself that made him stand apart from the rest of the world. He touched it with his thoughts - tentatively at first - but then got bolder. It didn't hurt, didn't make him feel any different than before. It just... was.
Then he thought of Dean, and what he wanted, so Sam pictured his brother's throat - the long lines of his neck, the tendons, his Adam's apple, the soft skin - and he pressed a little. He heard a gasp coming from the direction of the car and he almost lost his concentration. But a part of him knew Dean wouldn't be satisfied with that tiny success so he worked to keep the connection. Even though his brother was sitting about six feet from him, Sam swore he could feel him all over his body, inside his mind. Trying for a more concrete picture, he imagined his hands around Dean's throat. The hands wrapped themselves around that vulnerable area, and he tightened his hold.
He could feel every single reaction Dean's body was going through, could feel the shivering, the heart racing faster, the temperature changing, the blood racing through the veins. But Dean didn't feel fear; he was just trying to stay calm, and he was waiting. Sam could feel that too.
The pressure tightened once more, a little more aggressively now, and Sam decided enough was enough. He backed down completely. It was as if a switch had been turned off; Sam all but heard the soft click when it did. The force of it pushed him backward and he stumbled, though he didn't fall. He looked at Dean with wide eyes, his chest heaving.
"Fuck," was all Sam could say. He swallowed, trying to find his composure; he felt as if he'd run a marathon. Nothing existed except the body sitting on the car, still and silent.
He rushed toward Dean. "Are you okay?"
Dean looked calm. Not freaked in the slightest. He was breathing harder than usual, but nothing worrying. Sam sighed in relief. He reached a hand to Dean's throat and caressed the skin there. There was no sign of any damage; no bruises, no marks of any kind. Of course. He'd known there would be nothing to find, but he couldn't not touch.
Dean raised a hand and covered Sam's with it. "I'm okay, Sammy." His voice was a bit rough, but he did sound okay.
"God, I can't believe I did it!"
"Never doubted it," Dean said quietly.
There were so many things Sam wanted to say right now, but he didn't know where to start. So he contented himself with something simple: his mouth met his brother's in a relieved kiss.
"You drive me crazy, Dean," Sam breathed against his lips.
"But I was right. You can control this. You didn't hurt me. You stopped and you didn't hurt me." Dean's gaze was intense. "What did it feel like?"
Sam licked his lips. "Like I was one with the world."
"Nice feeling."
"Yeah." Sam bent his head and rested his forehead against Dean's. He closed his eyes. "And you were the center of it."
Fin
And now I'm pretty knackered so even though I'm dying to read the flist - haven't checked it since last night omg! - I think I might just put a DVD on and let it lulled myself to sleep :-)
Title: Four Times Sam Wanted to Strangle Dean (And One That He Didn't)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 8.000+
Summary: Well, just what the title said.
Warnings: Okay so since it can be a squick for some people, at one point there is talk - nothing happens on screen - of underaged sex. Sixteen, if it makes a difference.
Author Notes: #2 is dedicated to
greedy_dancer and sockich.Big thanks to
sockich for the cheerleading and to enigel and starwatcher307 for the precious help *kisses*1.
After a quick shower they headed for the Allen's, where they were throwing a little party to welcome the new inhabitants of the neighborhood, and where he and Dean were supposed to gather information... or maybe just food; Sam wasn't certain which. Sam smiled; Dean had been complaining about 'suburb hell' since they set foot in town. To Sam he sounded like a broken record, but it was still funny, so he let him ramble about the evilness of it all. Even if it was basically the same story all the time.
"And seriously, doesn't all that political correctness freak you out? They're just a bunch of hypocrites," Dean said, scanning the neighborhood with an air of distaste on his face.
Sam shook his head. "Maybe they're not hypocrites at all. Maybe they're just trying to be friendly and welcoming."
"Well, there's such a thing as 'too' friendly, then. Scary." He shivered dramatically, making Sam chuckle.
"You're just whining because they assumed we were together." A pause. "Again."
"Yeah, what about - no wait, we're here." Dean waved toward the house on their left.
Sam would have to wait for his answer, then. Too bad; he was looking forward to it. They went straight to the garden in the backyard, as they'd been told to, following the sound of voices and laughter. They made fast work of introducing themselves to their hosts, while Sam marveled at the self-restraint that Dean exercised. Then they split up to ask questions among the other guests, see if they could find anything of interest.
After a while they found their way to each other again. Sam had to admit that the whole thing had been a waste of time, but Dean just shrugged it off. It happened.
"So anyway, how many times does it make?" Dean asked out of the blue, as if their conversation had never been interrupted.
Sam did a rapid mental count. "Three?"
Dean shook his head. "Four. Four times. What is it with us, anyway? Do we give off gay vibes or something?"
"I told you, you're a bit butch."
Dean rolled his eyes. "As if that explains anything. I mean, okay, so demons sometimes take you for a girl, and yeah, that's understandable." He easily dodged the swat Sam aimed at him. "But it doesn't really explain the whole 'you want a king size bed, of course?' thing."
"You mean 'queen'?" Sam chimed in. "And hey, you're usually jonesing for a king size bed. Let's just not mention a vibrating one," Sam said, mock-shivering.
"Don't tell me you didn't like what happened the last time we used that bed, dude!"
Sam's eyes glazed over at the thought. Yeah, so maybe Dean's sick habit had some redeeming qualities. Not that he was going to give Dean the satisfaction of admitting it. He chose to remain silent.
Beside him, he watched as Dean's eyes lit up; Sam turned his head to see what had attracted his brother's attention. Ah, a buffet, of course. They both headed toward the long table.
"Plus," Dean said, apparently enjoying the topic, "that's not even the point, anyway." He grabbed a handful of appetizers with a happy look on his face.
"Of course not." Sam followed his brother's lead and rolled his eyes when Dean all but stuffed himself with the hors d'oeuvres. What a pig. Of course, the variety was a welcome change from their customary fast food downed in a succession of motel rooms. "So anyway, does it bother you?"
Dean swallowed, and licked his lips as if he wanted to savor the taste till the very end. Sam felt his temperature rise a notch. Which was kinda bad; this was definitely not the moment.
"Bother me?" Dean asked, bringing Sam back to Earth.
Sam's eyes flickered to the people around them. "That they think we're an item."
"We are an item," Dean said matter-of-factly. And now he was licking the tip of his fingers. With a completely innocent look on his face. The bastard.
"You know what I mean."
"Sure, I'm just waiting for you to say it." Dean smiled one of his 'special' smiles - the one that had many, many interpretations. In this case, Sam knew perfectly well Dean's only goal was to rile him up. That kind of smile usually made Sam want to kick Dean's ass. Or, well, do other things to said ass. Hard.
Maybe later, then.
Sam decided to give Dean what he wanted. "Does it bother you that they think we're a couple?" he finally asked, emphasizing the last word.
"Nah." Dean shrugged, engulfing some more tiny sausages. "It just intrigues me, you know? I mean, what, is there some tattoo on our foreheads saying 'we like cocks' or something?"
Sam made a quiet, strangled little sound. That was pure Dean, saying outrageous things in the vicinity of people who, no doubt, thought that anything other than the missionary position between a man and a woman had been invented by the devil. He cast a quick glance around him and smiled awkwardly, hoping Dean hadn't been as loud as he thought.
Naturally, his embarrassment seemed to fuel Dean's amusement. Sam should have known.
"Why, are you embarrassed?" Dean affected a hurt look. "Are you ashamed of me, Sam, is that it? Are you ashamed of us?"
This time, there was no mistaking that the lovely couple in matching outfits gave them extra leeway when they walked past. Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean in warning.
He would have had better results if he'd shaken a red flag in front of a bull.
Dean chuckled evilly and reached for a bottle of beer. "Really, I don't care if they think we're doing the horizontal tango." A slow smile appeared on his face, a slow, dirty smile. Dean hadn't finished playing with him; Sam didn't need any special abilities to recognize his mischievous mood.
"I mean, hey," Dean lowered his voice a little, his gaze never leaving Sam's, "why would I mind if people think we're doing the nasty together, dancing between the sheets -"
Sam's eyes widened in alarm. Dean knew an insane number of euphemisms for sex, from the most hilarious, passing by the grossest, all the way to the dirtiest. It was as if the guy had memorized the whole thesaurus when it came to sex and the many, many ways to talk about it. If Dean chose to play only with the humorous terms, this could be fun, yeah, but if he chose to up the ante and go with the dirty ones, then Sam was going to have a hard time with it. No pun intended.
And from the look on Dean's face, he was warming up to his subject.
"Don't you dare, man," Sam growled. This had to stop now.
Dean hid his grin behind the top of his beer. Then, his eyes still on Sam, he lifted it to his mouth. First he licked the rim, then tilted his head slightly and took a sip, his thumb caressing the bottle in a move that proved to be quite hypnotic.
Sam groaned at the sight; his brother was all but going down on the fucking bottle.
"I can't take you anywhere, Dean," he rasped, trying to sound stern and miserably failing. He also realized - only too late - his poor choice of words.
"Oh but you're so wrong, dude," Dean drawled. "I'd say you can take me anywhere you want." He put the bottle down on the buffet table beside him and invaded Sam's personal space. It wasn't suspicious; it looked like two brothers talking quietly about personal stuff, not... not talking dirty to each other. At least, Sam didn't think so. God, they needed to get out of here. But Dean was obviously not ready to leave yet.
"You could bend me over that bench over there," he said softly, head jerking in the direction of the unsuspecting bench. Sam's eyes flickered to it and he was assaulted by the kind of visual you weren't supposed to have in public... much less that kind of public, "...and fuck me hard and fast. I'm going commando, so you'd only have to push my jeans down. I'd be ready for you. You'd unzip your pants, take your cock out and just do it. Fuck my ass and make me come, just like that."
"Dean," Sam said, already a bit breathless. He was suddenly reminded that it'd been some time since they'd had sex. He was definitely primed for it. And God, he loved Dean's voice, loved the way his brother could turn him on so much without even touching him.
"Or," Dean continued, "I'd push you down over there, on that table. Looks solid enough for what I have in mind. I'd make you scream my name, my cock buried deep. Wonder what they'd think if they saw how well you beg for it."
"Then again, maybe you'd want my mouth? I'd drop on my knees, right here, in the middle of all these nice, decent people." Dean's voice was like velvet in Sam's mind. "I'd open your pants and deep-throat you in front of everyone. I'd let you cup the back of my head and pick the rhythm. I know you'd like to really get at it, wouldn't you, Sammy? You'd fuck my mouth roughly, you'd use me hard." He dropped his voice even lower. "And I'd love it."
Sam didn't know how he managed not to attract the attention of those aforementioned nice, decent people; he felt as if anyone around them could see how much he just wanted to moan his brother's name and fuck him blind, right here, right now.
He felt an almost irresistible need to rock his hips against Dean; anything to release some of the tension. Sam swallowed hard and stared at his brother. He was happy to see that Dean wasn't completely unaffected by his little display; the green eyes looked darker, as they always did when Dean was aroused.
Sam bent forward, also keeping his voice low. Sure, he had no intention of taking the risk of anyone hearing him, but he also didn't want to break the mood. "You are," he said slowly, trying to compose himself, "the most infuriating man on Earth, Dean. But payback is a bitch, dude. You're going to let me cool off a little, then we're going back to our room and I'm gonna take care of you. Starting with putting that mouth of yours to good work."
Dean bit his lips at that. "Fuck, yeah." His voice was raspy, which only made Sam hotter.
"You need to shut your mouth, man. For now." Sam reached around Dean and grabbed the bottle he'd abandoned earlier. He drank a generous gulp, then groaned softly. "I can't believe you did that. And here, of all places."
Dean just smiled.
"Fuck. I am going to make you pay later. I'm gonna make you scream my name."
Dean's smile got wider. "Then we'll see who makes the other scream the loudest."
2.
"Dean!" Sam had no idea whether he'd screamed the name or just breathed it; it seemed that the air around him had suddenly ran out of oxygen. Before he even realized what he was doing, he'd jumped over the fence and started racing in the direction of where he'd seen Dean disappear. He ran as fast as he could, and then even faster; a dim part of his mind was aware that fear always made you push your limits.
All the way to the lake, his frantic mind tried to come up with the necessary intel. How deep was the water? Was it freezing? How long could someone hold their breath while underwater? Had Dean been even conscious when the rented car had slowly sunk?
His run seemed to last a lifetime. He was moving in slow-motion; there was no other explanation as to why the fucking lake wasn't getting nearer. He would never get there in time. Would never find the strength to open the door. Wouldn't be able to break it. And break it with what, his fucking shoe?
Dean was gonna die. He was going to suffocate and then his lungs would fill with water and - God,, he just needed to stop panicking. He had to keep his head straight. Run. Not think of anything, just run and it would be okay.
When he finally made it to the edge of the lake, he dived in and swam as if his life - Dean's - depended on it. Same difference. He opened his eyes and cursed inwardly as he realized he couldn't really see anything. His clothes were getting heavier, soaked as they were, but he just ignored the weight, simply stroked that much harder with his feet and hands. Where the fuck was the car? It couldn't be that far, it had to be somewhere close , he was sure of it.
After a while, his lungs felt as if they were going to explode, so he caved in to the demands of his body and surfaced, head and back arched. He didn't waste time, just took a deep, deep breath before he went under again, determined not to let panic cloud his mind. Dean was somewhere in there... Dean was okay. It hadn't been that long since the car had been run off the road, had it? Sam had no doubt that it was just his mind playing games with him, distorting the reality, making him believe it'd been longer than it really was.
He just needed to keep his cool and pay attention and - there! A shape that didn't belong here gave him hope again. He couldn't see anything clearly from this distance, so he simply swam in the direction of what he knew had to be the car, and almost had a heart attack when a body suddenly appeared from out of nowhere in front of him and all but collided into him. He felt a hand clumsily touch his chest, then blindly find its way to his collar and grab him there. Sam felt himself being pushed upward, and the hand only let him go when Sam took the hint and swam toward the surface.
As soon as he was in open air again, he took what felt like the biggest breath of his life and then blinked stupidly at Dean, who was doing the same in front of him. Gasping and breathing hard, they didn't say a word, just kicked their legs to keep floating.
"Are you," Sam started after a time, coughing, "okay? Are you okay, Dean?"
"Peachy, dude." And damn if Dean didn't sound peachy, indeed. His breathing was still nowhere near close to normal, but he sounded more... excited than freaked out. "What a rush, Sammy!" Without another word, he swam up to the bank, calm as you pleased.
Sam had nothing to do but follow him, so he did just that. He joined his brother on the bank and sprawled back on the grass, his eyes fixed on Dean's face.
"You look..." Sam tried to find the right word, "energized, man."
Dean didn't reply, just kept breathing, as if it was the best thing in the world. Which, yeah, it was.
"Did you see God or something?" Sam asked out of the blue, going for a reaction - something, anything. His brother's behavior was unnerving him.
Dean laughed and shook his head to get rid of the water in his hair, like a damn dog. Sam supposed it didn't have the same effect when he did it, with his long strands, but it was still a good imitation. Sam considered telling Dean about it, but he was interrupted by the excited voice.
"God? If I saw a god, it had to be the god of science, man. Or two gods, if you want. Wanna know their names?"
"What?" Sam wondered if maybe Dean really had stayed underwater for too long.
"Adam and Jamie! They fucking saved my life, Sam."
"What?" Maybe it was Sam who had stayed too long without breathing properly; he certainly didn't understand a word that came out of Dean's mouth.
"Survival technique, dude. I couldn't open the door during the first window of opportunity so I just waited till the whole car filled with water and then bam! The door opened like a charm!" Dean chuckled then let himself fall on his back, turning his head to the side so he could smile at Sam. "It's official; I'll make you watch that damn show even if I have to sit on you. Might save your life one day, see?"
Sam slowly sat up and then towered over Dean. "I thought you were gonna die in there, I was out of my mind and you were, what, emulating those Mythhunters guys?"
"Mythbusters," Dean corrected easily, as if he didn't care that Sam was going to kill him. Slowly. "And I wasn't 'emulating' anything," he continued, making it sound like he was talking dirty to Sam, "I was saving my life. Which worked." He raised his hand slightly and pointed toward his chest. "You worry too much," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"'Worry too much'," Sam gasped, his own hands itching to do some harm. "I was-" but Sam couldn't finish his thought because Dean had sat up too and grabbed the back of his head, crushing their lips together. Dean tasted of wild water and smelled of wet leather and mud. Sam supposed he wasn't any different. He didn't care.
The kiss didn't last. It wasn't even that memorable, all clashing teeth and rough tongue and odd taste - certainly not comparable to the other kisses they'd shared - but Sam felt much calmer afterward.
He looked at Dean and, now that he was paying attention, he could see a glimpse of something in his brother's eyes. Ah. Realization dawned on Sam. So maybe Dean hadn't felt so certain that his new gods would protect him. And maybe he just wanted to take Sam's mind off what-ifs and scary thoughts and possibilities. And okay, it had worked.
Sam stood, hauling Dean to his feet with him. "I might be convinced to take your 'survival technique' lessons," he stated.
"Yeah?" Dean obviously knew something else was coming; he waited expectantly.
Sam didn't disappoint him. "One episode for a blowjob. Sounds fair to me."
And of course it was fair; any deal that involved a blowjob - given or received, they enjoyed both with a passion, for obvious reasons - was fair, but Sam knew there would be some negotiation, anyway. It was no fun otherwise.
"Not during, though," Dean countered, true to form. "Only after. Not negotiable." He sounded serious, and Sam was reminded that Dean never joked about pop culture.
He made a show of rolling his eyes. "Heaven forbid I prevent you from watching your damn show to satisfy my baser instincts."
"That would suck, yeah." From Dean's smirk, Sam knew that his brother was proud of the lame pun; he chose to ignore it.
Sam started walking, then. They had a long hike ahead of them. They needed to find a story to tell the rental agency. And then develop a new plan of action to find the assholes who had almost killed Dean, and send the sons of bitches back to hell. But right now, they weren't thinking about that. "So do we have a deal?" he asked, mind still on the blowjob issue.
As if there was any doubt, Sam thought, smiling to himself.
Dean took a long stride to join him and pretended to think about the question. "Guess it is fair, yeah," he conceded. "You sacrifice a bit of your time to watch the episode and I sacrifice a bit of my virtue for you."
Sam almost choked. "Virtue? God, you mean you have any left? Dude, are you sure you even had any to begin with?" He easily dodged Dean's punch and laughed again. It felt good after the scare he'd had.
"Dean, please? Try not to do that again, okay?"
"As if I did it on purpose, man!" Dean's indignant voice made Sam grin.
"Yeah, okay, but I think I'm way too young to die of a heart attack, okay?"
Dean's eyes softened and got a bit more serious; he bumped Sam's shoulder with his own. "I'll try, sure. Let's just say we're both way too young - and in my case, way too pretty - to die, and let's try to work on that, all right?"
"Works for me," Sam agreed easily.
3.
"I'm not a fucking kid, Dean!" A tiny part of Sam's mind was telling him that behaving this way certainly wasn't helping his case, but he was so furious at his brother that he just told that little voice to shut the hell up, he had a business to take care of.
"Newsflash, you're sixteen, you are a fucking kid," Dean said in that no-nonsense way of his that never failed to add fuel to Sam's anger.
"You made your first kill when you were my age!" Sam snapped. "I saved your sorry ass not a week ago. You asshole, you popped your cherry at sixteen. And I'm supposed to believe that kind of BS? Sixteen is old enough to make my own decisions. I'm staying here. You go hunting without me this time."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Read my lips, man; you're coming with me. Dad asked for the both of us."
"I don't care what Dad said! I'm telling you I want to stay here. I'm staying."
"No, you're not." Dean's calm voice made Sam want to strangle him. Anything to hear it break.
"Think you can make me?" Sam asked defiantly. "I've grown quite a bit the past months, in case you haven't noticed." His bravado wasn't faked. He was well aware of the fact that he was nowhere close to being as strong as either his father or brother - yet - but he was getting taller and taller with each new month, getting taller than both of them, it seemed, and the training he'd received all his life had certainly given him some muscles that he wouldn't've had if he'd been an average sixteen-year-old. He was sick of always being told what to do and when to do it, and he was tired of always moving, always abandoning all his comforts.
Dean's chuckle sounded rather dangerous and, for a second, Sam thought he might regret his little show of machismo, after all. "Just because you're bit taller than I am now doesn't make you the bigger man, Sammy."
"You fucking asshole!" Sam snarled, but his shoulders slumped a little. Somehow, he felt like he'd already lost.
"Look." Dean stopped the flow of insults before Sam could take his next breath. "You think I don't know why you want to stay? You think your buddy Neil was so fucking discreet?" A pause. "Or maybe that I'm too stupid to know what's going on?"
"What? No!" Sam denied immediately.
"So you want to stay and join that little party Neil and his sister are gonna throw, is that it?" Dean didn't wait for a confirmation; he obviously didn't need one. "You want to dodge your duty to have some fun? You're right, Sammy, it totally makes me see you as a responsible adult."
Sam's face heated slightly at the comment, and it only increased his anger. So he didn't want to hunt and wanted to stay and have fun with his friends, so what? It wasn't as if he did anything like that very often. Not as if he didn't work his ass off in school and risk his life on every hunting trip Dad dragged them to on a regular basis. So he wanted to relax a little in the middle of normal kids with normal lives, big fucking deal!
"Don't look at me like that, dude. If the situation was different I'd be behind you, but you know I can't let you stay for that."
"For what?" Sam snapped. "You think I'm gonna spend a night fucking and drinking? I'm not! I'm not like that." He paused, then added viciously, "And going out to suck strangers' dicks isn't my style either, more like yours."
Dean's lips pressed in a thin line. "Personal attacks now, huh? I'd say it's a low blow if I didn't know better, right, Sam? Jealous much?"
Sam flinched. Talk about low blow! He glared at his brother. "You prefer sucking complete strangers, or getting it up the ass from guys you'll never meet again, and I should be happy about it? Fuck you!" His body was vibrating with anger. He stepped toward Dean, not really knowing what he expected to do.
Dean didn't step back, didn't move. Just kept staring at him. "Well, that's the problem, isn't it, Sam?"
"Don't!" He hadn't meant to sound so distressed, but he was unable to hide the sudden feeling of dejection.
It did have an impact on Dean, though. "Sammy," he said, his voice considerably more gentle, his hands raised almost in supplication, "we talked about this."
"Right," Sam snorted, turning his back on his brother. "You told me I wasn't ready and you just gave up."
"You're sixteen," Dean repeated.
"Stop throwing that in my face," Sam hissed.
Sam heard Dean sigh behind his back and he swore he could feel his brother bite his lower lip as if weighing his next move. Dean's next words weren't what Sam wanted to hear... even if they were true.
"You avoided me for a whole week after I jerked you off." His tone held no accusation, only a matter-of-fact observation.
Sam winced when he remembered that night, and the week that had followed. It wasn't even that long ago. Dean's voice indicated he wasn't blaming Sam, but it sounded pained. Sam wondered whether the hurt would reflect on Dean's face if he turned and looked at him. "Sorry."
"No need to apologize. I'm just trying to show you. You're not ready for this." He sighed with frustration. "Turn around, man. Look at me."
Sam did so, reluctantly. "I am ready, Dean."
"You think you are." Sam wished that Dean at least sounded like a condescending asshole, but it wasn't even the case. The situation upset Dean too, Sam realized; he was refusing to cave in because he wanted what was best for Sam. Never mind what was best for Dean, and never mind that they both wanted each other so much. It was always the same story with Dean, Sam thought; his big brother had to be all noble and sacrificing.
Sure, it had been... a bit scary, a bit unsettling, but Sam didn't care. He didn't.
"We're brothers, Sam," Dean continued. "This is so fucking complicated. And so fucked up there're no words for it, okay?" He shook his head, looking like the words hurt him as much as they did Sam. He opened his arms. "Your first time shouldn't be like this."
"Yeah, because fucking a stranger would be so much better." Sam's voice was mocking.
Dean didn't rise to the bait. "No need to make it sound like it's the only opportunity we'll ever get."
"Your first time was like that," Sam accused, though the words didn't hold any venom this time. They sounded more like a question.
"Yeah, it was," Dean agreed. "Somehow, I'd like for your first time to not be in a cheap motel room with a guy you first sucked on the bathroom floor of a sleazy bar. Is that so hard to understand?"
Sam felt anger coil inside him, as it always did when Dean mentioned that first time, that first guy. Not for his brother, but for that man who, he was absolutely sure, hadn't given a damn about the kid he was screwing.
"You'd be different," Sam finally said. Because he knew Dean would. It would be so completely different with him. Oh, sure, Sam certainly didn't have any objective proof, nothing for comparison, but he just knew the truth of it, deep inside him.
Dean stayed silent, biting his lower lip. Sam knew his brother wanted to say something but he was forbidding himself to do it. Sam's anger rose again.
"You know what I think?" he said, to break the silence and to hurt his brother like he himself was hurting. "I think there's another reason why you don't want us to be together. It's because you're a coward, Dean. You don't want to try because you're afraid I'll leave one day. Leave all of this, leave Dad - leave you. That's the reason why. Not your 'you're too young' and definitely not your 'we're brothers' shit."
Dean's face closed off and his whole demeanor changed. In the tense silence that followed his accusation, Sam realized he might actually have just received an answer he hadn't been expecting, might even have raised an issue he'd never really wanted to address. But it was too late to take it back now.
Without a word, Dean turned and left the cabin, leaving the door open to signal Sam that he was still waiting for him to follow. After a minute Sam did, feeling as if he had won a battle of sorts... But if he had, then why did the victory feel so hollow? And why did he hurt so much?
4.
Dean's hands in his hair were painful and Sam moaned in pleasure; the tight hold forced him to throw his head back, forced him to bare his throat for his brother. Sam shivered when he felt hungry lips trace a wet path along his neck, felt the sting of sharp teeth grazing his heated skin. His arms reached up to Dean's and he grabbed the wrists in a tight grip, turning the tables on his brother and forcing Dean to lay back on the bed, sprawled on his back. Sam readjusted himself, still straddling Dean's thighs; he tightened the hold around his brother's legs, his body heavy and hot and hard against Dean's.
Groaning when his cock slid against Dean's as he moved, Sam bent forward, forcing Dean's arms above his head, the long lines of his neck taut and inviting. It was his turn to map the skin with his mouth and tongue. His lips danced over the sweaty skin; he tasted Dean and it only made him want more.
He stretched a little and let his fingers stroke Dean's, intertwine with them for a moment. Then his hands ran over Dean's outstretched arms and he cupped the flushed face, meeting Dean's mouth roughly. Dean bit him and he bit back, and the room was filled with gasps and groans and heavy breathing.
"Dean," Sam rasped, eyes at half-mast, hair plastered on his forehead. He nuzzled Dean's face and moved above him, getting on his knees then lying against Dean so he had better leverage to push down. Dean immediately understood what Sam wanted and he roughly shoved up, his cock meeting Sam's with an intensity that had both of them biting their lips in pleasure.
"Fuck yeah," Dean breathed, hand still above his head and gripping the sheet as if it was all he could do not to grab Sam by the hair again. "Come on, Sammy, come on," he encouraged.
Sam didn't need any encouragement. He pushed down, matching Dean's strength with his own, and they fell into a harsh, punishing rhythm that made them feel like they were dying and flying and coming a hundred times. Rough pleasure coiled inside them, running in their veins, rushing through their bodies.
Sam could have stayed like that forever, grinding against Dean, their scents getting heavier as arousal grew even stronger, their moans and whimpers becoming louder in the room, but Dean apparently had other ideas.
With a gasp, Sam found himself on his back and Dean above him, an almost identical reversal of position. 'Almost' because Dean was fumbling with the sheet and then coating Sam's cock with lube before he pushed a finger inside himself, his eyes never leaving Sam's face. Sam's hands found their way to the curve of Dean's hips before he even knew what he was doing. His fingers dug deep into the slicked skin and he couldn't stop his own hips from bucking against Dean's ass as the sight of his brother swiftly prepping himself aroused him almost beyond reason.
"God, Dean, don't make me wait," he was able to say.
"Couldn't if my life depended on it." Dean's voice was low and rough. He had an intense look of concentration on his face as he slowly sank onto Sam's cock.
Sam arched up, shoving up hard at the sensation of sliding inside his brother; his fingers dug even deeper into Dean's hips.
"So good, so fucking good," he breathed.
Dean bent low and kissed him roughly, tongue thrusting in and out in a mad dance, then he straightened up, hands splayed over Sam's chest, heavy and warm against his already overheated skin. They started a new rhythm, slow at first; Sam wanted them to extend the feeling for however long was possible before it became too much.
As hard as it was, Sam forced himself to keep his eyes open; he didn't want to miss the sight of Dean like that. Body taut and strong, straining as he moved up and down on the hard cock inside him, thighs trembling from the position and movements - and from the sheer ecstasy of it, Sam had no doubt. His head was thrown back and his eyes were heavy with pleasure, lips swollen and wet after biting and licking them. Dean's own fingers grazed over Sam's chest, leaving a red mark that only aroused Sam more and, God, how was it possible to feel so much pleasure!
His hands crept from Dean's hips to his chest, almost mimicking Dean's actions, then they followed a path over the collarbone to rest on Dean's neck. Dean's eyes widened suddenly and fixed on Sam. He gasped a little and moaned and, as if Sam had spoken to him and asked him to, he bent forward a little. Sam's hands followed the movement, wrapping more securely around the throat.
Fascinated by the sight, Sam caressed the skin under Dean's chin, traced the windpipe and cupped the side of his neck again. He applied some pressure, almost as an afterthought and Dean's intake of breath made him narrow his eyes. This was good... he did it again, pressed a little harder, not painfully, just insistently, and he shivered at the feel of the Adam's apple against his palm, the tendons, muscles... it was exhilarating.
Dean's rhythm was getting more frantic, working Sam's cock in the most delicious, sinful way and Sam groaned, his fingers clenching around the throat that much tighter. Even though it wasn't enough - not nearly enough - the novelty of it still pushed Dean over the edge and he came on Sam's chest, which seemed to be Sam's cue as well. He didn't even try to resist any longer; after thrusting roughly a couple of times, he followed Dean, chest heaving, body shivering. His fingers were trembling as well, but they hadn't left their position around Dean's throat. He could feel Dean swallow and breathe erratically, as if his hands were also an extension of his brother's body, and not just his cock that was, for the time being, still inside Dean. It felt addictive. He felt powerful.
5.
He was going to throw up, Sam was sure; he suddenly felt weak in the knees. He looked around them and regretted ever agreeing to this.
"No way. Absolutely no way in hell am I gonna do this, Dean. Forget it. Let's go back."
"Not that again," Dean groused. "I thought we'd agreed on this." He climbed out of the car then bent down, hand resting on the door, and looked at Sam. "We're not going back, man. Not after you made me drive all this time so that we could find a deserted place." He jerked his head behind him. "It's the desert. Can't get more deserted than this. Come on."
Sam didn't move. "I've changed my mind."
"You can't do that," Dean said, "it goes against the rules." He left the door open, no doubt so that it wouldn't feel like a furnace when they got back in, Sam thought.
Sam watched his brother as he walked around the front of the car to open the door on his side. Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Sam looked back. "Please, Dean. This is a very bad idea."
"Since when did that ever stop us?" Dean took a step back, motioning Sam to follow him.
"I'm serious! I'm not taking that risk, okay?"
"You're right, you're not. I am. And anyway, I don't think there's any risk of me being harmed." A slight pause. "Or killed."
"Dean, I swear if you joke about this, I'll kick your ass."
Dean sighed. "I'm taking this very seriously. You are the one bailing on me, Sammy. Get out of the fucking car, man."
Sam thought for a moment and realized that, short of wrestling with Dean and beating him into submission, he wouldn't get the keys of the Impala. Besides, nothing would change Dean's mind. Waiting in the car wouldn't achieve anything, either. And it was getting pretty stuffy in here.
He let out a huge sigh and finally joined his brother. "God, I hate you."
"I know the feeling, dude. Now stop whining and get on with it."
'Get on with it'. So that's what you called trying to use your powers - that apparently were a direct line with the devil - to strangle your brother so that you could prove that, hey look, you could actually control them and, in fact, not really strangle your brother.
"Seriously, Dean," Sam said, glaring at him, "you've come up with some fucked up ideas through the years, but this one? Oh, this one takes the cake."
Dean beamed at him. "I try to do my best."
Sam watched as Dean cast a glance around them, as if he was trying to find the best way to do this. Sam had half a mind to tell him there was no 'best' way to do it - not even just a 'good' way - but he was pretty sure it'd be a waste of time.
Dean looked around him and then shrugged. "Okay, I guess we don't have that many options, anyway. So let's try to keep it simple."
"Yes," Sam said with all the enthusiasm of a man about to die, "let's."
Dean looked at him sharply. "Look, Sam, you need to believe in this a little more, okay? Or it's not going to work."
"And that would be a bad thing because?" Sam snapped.
But Dean ignored the angry retort. "Because ignorance leads to defeat, Sammy," he stated quietly.
That shut Sam up.
"Look, I know you're afraid." Dean ran a hand over his hair, resting it on the back of his neck for a moment while he seemed to be gathering his thoughts. "You have every right to be. And," he shrugged, "maybe I'm not that comfortable about the whole thing either."
"Oh, really?"
Dean glared at him. "Yeah. And that's why we have to do this." He pointed two fingers at Sam. "And it'll prove to you that you're the one in control."
"So you say."
"Come on, man. You're so transparent." Dean stepped closer, standing by his side. "You think it'll be like a drug? One fix and you can't do without? One fix and it'll change you? One fix and you'll be lost and you'll turn evil?" He rolled his eyes. "Stop being so dramatic."
This made Sam laugh, but he was far from being amused. "Yeah, of course, I'm being 'dramatic'! Those other Chosen Children, they all used their powers to kill, but I have nothing to fear because I'm a good guy and I say when enough is enough."
Dean patted him on his back. "That's the spirit!"
"God, you're impossible."
"And you're stalling. We don't have all day." Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder once. "Come on, Sammy."
Sam took a deep breath and tried to reason with himself. During the past few months, he'd felt his abilities rising closer and closer to the surface. It nagged at him; he didn't know how to describe the sensation. Most of the time it was like when you're looking for a certain word but can't find it. You know it's a word you're familiar with, but this time, it just doesn't want to come. It's maddening and only when it finally pops into your mind can you feel at peace. Except in his case, he sort of forbade himself from ever finding the right word, from touching that power with his mind.
On the other hand - and that was the argument that had convinced him to try - his abilities had saved his brother before. Being able to throw heavy stuff away from him by a sheer act of will could definitely come in handy again. That, or stopping someone from attacking them, or... well, the possibilities were endless, he had to admit. He just needed control over it. Still, did he have to try to, like, cut off Dean's air just to prove a point?
"Why can't I just try to move a piece of paper, again?"
"Because you've failed each time we've tried that," Dean countered without missing a beat. "That and everything else," he added. "I think you just need to focus on something different."
"And that something has to be you."
"Yeah."
Sam silently watched as Dean stepped toward the Impala.
"It's like sparring, man," Dean said, "like all those times Dad made us fight against each other to learn what to do and what to avoid. What's the big deal?"
"What's the big deal?" Sam couldn't believe his ears. How Dean could be so... so cavalier about the whole thing was beyond him; the guy was insane. "What's the big deal?" he repeated. "You're asking me to strangle you with my mind!"
"Yeah, so?"
"So?" Were they even speaking the same language?
"Seriously," Dean said, casually leaning back against the hood of the Impala, "it is just another form of sparring. And you'll stop before I lose consciousness, anyway."
"Right. It's like sparring with a deadly weapon over which you have no control whatsoever! It's totally the same thing." Sam's voice was filled with sarcasm. "Give me a break." Okay, he'd changed his mind. "I'm not doing it." And you can't make me, he barely stopped himself from adding.
But Dean, obviously a hundred percent attuned to Sam, acted as if he'd heard the words, anyway. Sam thought it was uncanny.
"God, Sammy, talk about a blast from the past. Feels like you're sixteen all over again. Fighting every fucking step of the way, huh?" He made a show of shivering. "Makes me want strangle myself with my own hands."
Sam shook his head, unable to hide his smile. "You're damned annoying."
"I've been told once or twice, I have to say." And Sam actually laughed at that; Dean's thoughtful tone was too much.
"So," Dean said, back to business. He straightened up and took a step away from the car. "You ready to lay a Darth Vader on me?"
Sam sighed and decided it was better to admit defeat; Dean wouldn't leave him alone. The jerk was actually rubbing his hands, eyes sparkling with what Sam could only describe as unhealthy and wicked interest.
"You're sick, you know that?"
"I fuck my own brother, remember?"
"I give up; you're hopeless."
Dean chuckled a bit and then got serious. He raised his hands in apology. "Sorry, Sammy. Come on, I trust you, okay? It's like putting a whammy on someone, is all. It is a weapon, one we need to be able to control." He approached Sam again, stopped in front of him. He had an intense look on his face. "Use the power, don't let it use you. Easy concept, right?"
"Easy to say, maybe," Sam said softly.
"You're smart and dedicated; you won't have any trouble."
"So you say." But Dean's confidence was boosting his, a little. "Okay, we can try, I guess."
But Dean shook his head and pointed a finger at Sam. "Do or do not. There is no try."
Sam's mouth twitched in a little grin. "I walked into that one, didn't I?"
"You sure did," Dean smirked. He turned and headed back to the Impala. Then he hopped on the hood and sat comfortably Indian-style. Sam supposed Dean getting close to his car was the equivalent of his brother taking his blankie with him while Sam was trying not to kill him with his mind. The thought was either endearing or scary. Or maybe a little bit of both.
"Come on, dude!" Dean jerked his head in his direction. "Just focus, all right?"
"On killing you?"
"On not killing me."
"Might be more difficult that way," Sam answered, but he was already trying to 'find his center' or something. He let his mind wander a little, then gathered it around him and tried to blank everything else, tried to forget about the world surrounding him. Except for Dean. Dean was the center of it all, he had to focus on his brother for it to work. For Sam to remember that he was in control, that he couldn't hurt Dean as long as he didn't want to. That he wouldn't hurt anybody as long as he refused to be used as a pawn.
"You jerk," he heard Dean say, but his voice came from afar.
It was a little like being in a dream; things felt real, but not. Loud, but muted. The hot wind caressed his face and arms and the touch felt alive. It was like looking at the world through a mirror - everything was familiar, but still different.
Dean, though, he could see clearly. Like a lighthouse, a beacon in the dark, he called to Sam.
This time was different, he could feel it. This time, it was as if he could find his way through his mind and contact that little part of himself that made him stand apart from the rest of the world. He touched it with his thoughts - tentatively at first - but then got bolder. It didn't hurt, didn't make him feel any different than before. It just... was.
Then he thought of Dean, and what he wanted, so Sam pictured his brother's throat - the long lines of his neck, the tendons, his Adam's apple, the soft skin - and he pressed a little. He heard a gasp coming from the direction of the car and he almost lost his concentration. But a part of him knew Dean wouldn't be satisfied with that tiny success so he worked to keep the connection. Even though his brother was sitting about six feet from him, Sam swore he could feel him all over his body, inside his mind. Trying for a more concrete picture, he imagined his hands around Dean's throat. The hands wrapped themselves around that vulnerable area, and he tightened his hold.
He could feel every single reaction Dean's body was going through, could feel the shivering, the heart racing faster, the temperature changing, the blood racing through the veins. But Dean didn't feel fear; he was just trying to stay calm, and he was waiting. Sam could feel that too.
The pressure tightened once more, a little more aggressively now, and Sam decided enough was enough. He backed down completely. It was as if a switch had been turned off; Sam all but heard the soft click when it did. The force of it pushed him backward and he stumbled, though he didn't fall. He looked at Dean with wide eyes, his chest heaving.
"Fuck," was all Sam could say. He swallowed, trying to find his composure; he felt as if he'd run a marathon. Nothing existed except the body sitting on the car, still and silent.
He rushed toward Dean. "Are you okay?"
Dean looked calm. Not freaked in the slightest. He was breathing harder than usual, but nothing worrying. Sam sighed in relief. He reached a hand to Dean's throat and caressed the skin there. There was no sign of any damage; no bruises, no marks of any kind. Of course. He'd known there would be nothing to find, but he couldn't not touch.
Dean raised a hand and covered Sam's with it. "I'm okay, Sammy." His voice was a bit rough, but he did sound okay.
"God, I can't believe I did it!"
"Never doubted it," Dean said quietly.
There were so many things Sam wanted to say right now, but he didn't know where to start. So he contented himself with something simple: his mouth met his brother's in a relieved kiss.
"You drive me crazy, Dean," Sam breathed against his lips.
"But I was right. You can control this. You didn't hurt me. You stopped and you didn't hurt me." Dean's gaze was intense. "What did it feel like?"
Sam licked his lips. "Like I was one with the world."
"Nice feeling."
"Yeah." Sam bent his head and rested his forehead against Dean's. He closed his eyes. "And you were the center of it."
Fin
And now I'm pretty knackered so even though I'm dying to read the flist - haven't checked it since last night omg! - I think I might just put a DVD on and let it lulled myself to sleep :-)
