A Love Story
Title: A Love Story
Author: captainswank
Pairing: wincest
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~1,200
Summary: An experiment in Creepy. Dean comes back from hell a demon, and Sam needs that blood.
Warnings: Bloodplay, blood drinking, cut flesh, gore, death, incest.
It’s way past dark, time trudging tiredly through to morning, so the bar’s pretty empty. Not that it ever got that full in a town as small as this. Not that too many people stay out this late these days.
So Sam’s pretty aware of the newcomer in the room, the one that’s attracting everybody’s eyes and their energy. Sam puts his whiskey down and turns around slow, and he’s there.
Sam’s eyes are open real wide now, and even after everything he can’t suppress a shuddering breath. His face acts out shock and surprise and confusion as he stares at his brother. Reaches out to touch him, ‘cause he’s had this nightmare before.
To Sam’s eyes he looks pretty much the same as he ever did before the trip downstairs. Same old jeans, scuffed boots. Same swagger. Same fool’s gold smile for Sammy. Something about the eyes, though.
Hiya, Sammy. It’s like he doesn’t care he’s in the middle of a crowded room when the green flips to black. And then there’s a silence Dean has to smash, when Sam doesn’t move, when he keeps that shock upon his face. Scared, little bro? He says it nice and low in the stillness. Says it with a smile.
That’s when Sammy’s frightened little dog look melts right off, leaves a new face where a pair of sweet puppy eyes could never, ever exist. Of course Dean’s like this now, been down there long enough. Finally earned himself some shore leave from his time in the service of the pit, but he’s missed a thing or two since the last time he’s been topside. Sam’ll show him. Sam’ll show him what he missed.
Scared? Sam smiles. Scared. He rises from the barstool and the air begins to sizzle. Dean stands with his arms folded as the sound of a thousand black and massive buzzing flies fills the air, deafening, drowning out the screams of the men in the bar. The sound gets louder and the heat gets hotter and Sam’s eyes flip deep blood red as every man’s flesh turns to liquid and their eyes turn to seeping jelly.
Their bones burst into flame. And then it all ends at once and there is only Sam and Dean and the sick smell of rot. Dean raises an eyebrow.
Show-off.
And then they both smile for real and close the gap between them and they’re in each other’s arms, gripping desperately as thick blood drips from the table in the corner.
***
A motel, Sammy? Really? Dean half expected to be whisked away to some giant fortress of bone and blood, lashed together with human souls, bedecked with the skulls of flayed orphans. Or something equally badass. But when they disentangle themselves from their hug Dean looks up and it’s a shitty fuckin’ motel.
Just like old times they say, together.
They sit on Sam’s bed and he starts to explain, get this, just the basics, about his powers, about the demon blood, about how he carved a world with flame and hunger and now it’s just for them.
Dean doesn’t have to explain what happened to him while he was gone.
Demon blood, eh? Dean chuckles, looking down at himself. Sam’s been looking at him like he’s drowning all night and Dean just figured it was part of his charm. Not hungry are you, Sammy? It’s a joke, of course it’s a joke, and of course Sam’s hungry for Dean, has always been, just as hungry as Dean’s always been for him. They had to hide that before, obviously. That wasn’t allowed before but Sam has rebuilt the world and when has a demon cared for rules.
Dean peels off his jacket and gets right up in Sam’s lap and Sam can smell it, can hear it pumping fast through his brother’s veins. He presses his forehead against Sam’s and two pairs of eyes slip closed.
How ‘bout a snack? Dean smiles, never stops smiling, even when his head’s thrown back and a delighted groan of pleasure is forced out of him as a thick red streak seeps slow and steady through his t-shirt and across his chest. Sam looks down to see Dean rock hard against him, and then he’s grinning wide and stripping Dean’s tee off slowly, determined to take his time.
But then he sees his brother’s blood drip down from his the slice carved into his chest and over his nipple and he’s crazy for it, leaning his head forward to dip his tongue into the slit he’s made in Dean, lapping him up, sticky and so desperately sweet. He suckles his way down Dean’s chest, groaning and savouring the richness of his flavour, drinking him down, deep down, as much as he can get. Dean moans like a whore.
Fuck, Sammy. Sam looks up from his gorging and his lips are red, his teeth are red, his eyes are red. Dean’s are beautiful and black and then they close.
Now another cut is inching its way across Dean’s neck, and Dean gasps and writhes against him and next time Sam’ll make him beg for it. This time he just closes his lips around Dean’s neck and sucks, and Dean leans into it and lets Sam drink his fill. Though it seems like he could drink forever and Dean’s getting loose and fuzzy, finding it harder to keep his eyes open.
Calm down, dumbass, you’ll drink me dry. Sam laughs and Dean shudders and comes.
***
Dean, Sam moans. Something’s wrong.
Wrong? Dean asks. What could be wrong? Is it that I’ve got my little brother’s cock shoved up my ass? Or maybe it’s that it’s happening on top of a pile of steaming viscera? (“Viscera” was one of those words that came in real handy back in the pit.)
Sam laughs.
Was it the brotherfucking, or the chunks of meat that are the last remains of the school?
Sam thrusts into Dean again.
Was it the black eyes and the red eyes, the sky turned to pitch and the seas to boiling blood? What was it? What was it?
Sam stills inside his brother and snaps his fingers. Right.
Dean, we’re missing music.
And a chorus of the slate-gray screeching of a million mourning souls builds in the air until it hides Sam’s laughter, or maybe his sobs.
***
Curiously, nobody really talks about Lucifer anymore. Every angel and every demon has something else with which they concern themselves.
***
Bobby Singer doesn’t sleep a lot these days. He knows that when he does there’ll be one image that’ll burn like acid behind his eyelids.
Everything had been tried and Bobby, he figured he was the world’s last damn hope. Maybe if the boys saw him. Maybe.
Bobby came to them empty-handed and all that he left with was that one image. He’ll see it ‘til the day he dies, and god willing it’ll be some day soon, he’ll see the two of them silhouetted before the fire, the whole damn city on fire, Sam’s hair swept up in the scorched wind, Sam’s eyes burning, Dean there beside him, looking up at him. They’re hand in hand. And there’s nothing of the boys he once knew inside of them now, nothing except each other.