"Your blood drool attracts the flies", Supernatural, PG-13, Sam/Dean.
Title: Your blood drool attracts the flies
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 for mild gore and language.
Length: About 1340 words.
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, Samuel.
Spoilers: Season six through 6x05.
Summary: Dean felt like hell, and it wasn't because of some damn cure.
Notes: There isn't any explicit Wincest in the story, but there is mild bloodplay. Also on DW and AO3, and author's notes coming soon.
Your blood drool attracts the flies
Dean saw Sam, not as he was now, but as he'd been when Dean was turned. Standing apart, watching. Smirking.
Son of a...
He must've blacked out because when the memory cut off, Sam was holding him up and patting his chest.
"Let's see your mouth," Samuel said, crouching beside Sam.
Dean reached a limp arm up and pulled his lip back from his teeth.
Sam smiled. "You're clean."
He stared into the face of the man who looked like his brother, and he knew there was nothing he could say to make himself feel better. If anything, he'd only feel worse.
"Cure, my ass," he muttered.
Sam and Samuel lifted Dean to his feet, and he slumped to the nearest bed. He was out before he hit the pillow.
-
He could hear Sam's heart from across the room. Every great burger, every cold brew...it was nothing next to the smell. What he wouldn't have done for that smell.
He needed a distraction.
"Why aren't you freaked out?" he asked.
"Of course I am."
"Really? Because I can hear your heartbeat, and it's pretty damn steady." God, could he hear it. He could picture the blood pushing through his veins and arteries, how it would pool if he broke the skin, how it would look on his lips and tongue...
Dean jerked awake, gasping. Sam was asleep in the bed next to him. It took Dean a minute to orient. He hadn't been a vampire for days. Samuel had gone back to the compound, and Dean and Sam were on another job.
He watched Sam's chest rise and fall. He could imagine his heartbeat again, pulsing evenly. He could almost hear it.
Thud, thud, thud.
It's in your head, Dean thought. It was. But it didn't stop him from hearing it.
Dean rubbed his face and laid back down. He hurt all over, but for the first time in days, he didn't think it was the cure..
-
Thud, thud, thud.
Sam pushed his foot. "Get up. Got a lead."
Thud, thud, thud.
Dean winced and sat up. Light peeked through the still-closed curtains of the motel room, but his eyes smarted like he was hungover. He groaned.
"Hey, Sam."
"Yeah?" Sam moved over to the kitchen area. He was dressed and showered, and Dean could smell his soap from across the room.
Dean couldn't actually ask what he wanted, so he said, "How do we know it worked?"
"The cure?"
Normally, Dean would let his smartass answer. But he just wasn't in the mood. "What do you think?"
Sam sighed. "Dean, don't you think it'd be obvious if it didn't?"
"I..."
"Hang on." Sam walked over and pushed the curtains open. Dean's eyes stung, and he threw up a hand to block the light. "Do you feel like you've got a bad sunburn?"
"Hard to tell around my pounding head."
Sam rolled his eyes and sat on the end of Dean's bed. He pulled a knife out of a holder on his belt and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm. Dean jerked back.
"The hell--"
"Relax." Sam drew the blade lightly across his skin. He left a shallow cut behind, enough for blood to rise to the surface, but not enough to bleed everywhere. He extended his arm, and Dean pressed as far against the wall as he could. "Let me see your mouth."
Dean almost didn't hear him. It was like he'd never seen blood before. The way it pooled, how the red went with the pale flesh of Sam's inner arm...
"Dean. Your mouth?"
He bared his teeth, and Sam gave them a once-over. "You're fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive." Sam let his sleeve fall back down, and he wiped the knife on his shirt. "I know what's going on."
"You do."
"Sure. You're not the only one with a thing for blood."
Of all the things Sam could've said to Dean, he found the one thing that brought him back to the conversation. "Oh no. We're so not talking about that."
Sam's tone wasn't sympathetic. Neither was his face. If anything, he seemed mildly amused. "Demon blood was addictive. And I wanted it more than anything. I craved it."
Dean was very good at shoving crap memories out of his head, but his defenses were down, and the memory of Sam sucking on a demon's neck came rushing back. In the past, he'd never wanted to think about it again. But now...there was something about the way Sam pressed at the possessed woman, gulping and groaning with satisfaction. It didn't bring up the usual feelings. He wasn't sure what feelings it did bring up.
"Sam," Dean said roughly.
"All I'm saying is, it's okay. I don't think any less of you."
Sam got up and walked into the bathroom. Dean wasn't hearing the thumping noise anymore, but as he stared at the fugly bedspread over his legs, he knew the urge to taste Sam's blood was no less.
And he had no idea what the hell to do about it.
-
The job was great. Dean still felt like hell warmed over, but there was something about research and tracking and killing that brought release. And when it came down to it, taking out the nest had been a return to form. Boris shouldn't have gotten the drop on him even with Sam on the sidelines, and taking out the fangs had been his...punishment? Reward? It was both. But he was back in the groove. He belonged.
Sam and Dean walked into their motel room again near dawn the next morning. Dean needed a couple hours' sleep, but he felt a lot better than yesterday.
Until he turned to Sam and saw blood streaming from a gash on his head.
"Jesus," Dean said.
He reached toward the wound, but Sam took it as a directional move. After watching the direction Dean moved his hand, Sam touched his forehead and checked his fingertips.
"I knew I hit something," Sam said. "I'll clean up and see if I need stitches."
But Dean kept reaching forward, until his own fingers were lightly brushing blood away from Sam's skin. He withdrew and found himself mesmerized by Sam's blood on his hand. And he'd thought it had looked good on Sam.
"Dean?"
"Why'd you do it, Sam?" Dean asked quietly. He looked up.
There it was again. That fake smile. "What?"
"I saw you. You watched as I got turned, and you didn't try to help."
Sam laughed. Dean didn't know why he bothered. "I don't know what--"
"Cut the crap."
Sam dropped the expression, and a calculating one replaced it. His eyes narrowed. "Why don't you try it, Dean?"
Dean's eyes dropped back to his hand. He ran his thumb over his blood-covered fingers.
"You'll always wonder," Sam said. "What you're missing. What it tastes like."
Dean shook his head slowly. "It's not safe. Your blood..."
"Is tainted? Maybe. But would you back off if even if you were sure it was?"
Dean drew his fingers to his face. He only hesitated a second before sucking his fingers into his mouth, licking every drop of Sam's blood off his fingers. It was still warm. Dean's eyelids fluttered shut, and he sighed quietly.
"There's more where that came from." Sam's breath tickled Dean's ear. "You can have as much as you want."
Dean wanted more. He could tell by the way he drew his teeth under the tops of his fingernails, drawing the last drops that had evaded him. But he didn't open his eyes, and he definitely didn't look at Sam. He took his hand out of his mouth.
"You should clean up," Dean said.
"Okay. But I can bleed anytime you want."
Dean only opened his eyes again when he heard the bathroom door close and the water run. He stared at his fingertips, reddened from sucking, and shivered.
The ache was gone.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 for mild gore and language.
Length: About 1340 words.
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, Samuel.
Spoilers: Season six through 6x05.
Summary: Dean felt like hell, and it wasn't because of some damn cure.
Notes: There isn't any explicit Wincest in the story, but there is mild bloodplay. Also on DW and AO3, and author's notes coming soon.
Your blood drool attracts the flies
Dean saw Sam, not as he was now, but as he'd been when Dean was turned. Standing apart, watching. Smirking.
Son of a...
He must've blacked out because when the memory cut off, Sam was holding him up and patting his chest.
"Let's see your mouth," Samuel said, crouching beside Sam.
Dean reached a limp arm up and pulled his lip back from his teeth.
Sam smiled. "You're clean."
He stared into the face of the man who looked like his brother, and he knew there was nothing he could say to make himself feel better. If anything, he'd only feel worse.
"Cure, my ass," he muttered.
Sam and Samuel lifted Dean to his feet, and he slumped to the nearest bed. He was out before he hit the pillow.
-
He could hear Sam's heart from across the room. Every great burger, every cold brew...it was nothing next to the smell. What he wouldn't have done for that smell.
He needed a distraction.
"Why aren't you freaked out?" he asked.
"Of course I am."
"Really? Because I can hear your heartbeat, and it's pretty damn steady." God, could he hear it. He could picture the blood pushing through his veins and arteries, how it would pool if he broke the skin, how it would look on his lips and tongue...
Dean jerked awake, gasping. Sam was asleep in the bed next to him. It took Dean a minute to orient. He hadn't been a vampire for days. Samuel had gone back to the compound, and Dean and Sam were on another job.
He watched Sam's chest rise and fall. He could imagine his heartbeat again, pulsing evenly. He could almost hear it.
Thud, thud, thud.
It's in your head, Dean thought. It was. But it didn't stop him from hearing it.
Dean rubbed his face and laid back down. He hurt all over, but for the first time in days, he didn't think it was the cure..
-
Thud, thud, thud.
Sam pushed his foot. "Get up. Got a lead."
Thud, thud, thud.
Dean winced and sat up. Light peeked through the still-closed curtains of the motel room, but his eyes smarted like he was hungover. He groaned.
"Hey, Sam."
"Yeah?" Sam moved over to the kitchen area. He was dressed and showered, and Dean could smell his soap from across the room.
Dean couldn't actually ask what he wanted, so he said, "How do we know it worked?"
"The cure?"
Normally, Dean would let his smartass answer. But he just wasn't in the mood. "What do you think?"
Sam sighed. "Dean, don't you think it'd be obvious if it didn't?"
"I..."
"Hang on." Sam walked over and pushed the curtains open. Dean's eyes stung, and he threw up a hand to block the light. "Do you feel like you've got a bad sunburn?"
"Hard to tell around my pounding head."
Sam rolled his eyes and sat on the end of Dean's bed. He pulled a knife out of a holder on his belt and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm. Dean jerked back.
"The hell--"
"Relax." Sam drew the blade lightly across his skin. He left a shallow cut behind, enough for blood to rise to the surface, but not enough to bleed everywhere. He extended his arm, and Dean pressed as far against the wall as he could. "Let me see your mouth."
Dean almost didn't hear him. It was like he'd never seen blood before. The way it pooled, how the red went with the pale flesh of Sam's inner arm...
"Dean. Your mouth?"
He bared his teeth, and Sam gave them a once-over. "You're fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive." Sam let his sleeve fall back down, and he wiped the knife on his shirt. "I know what's going on."
"You do."
"Sure. You're not the only one with a thing for blood."
Of all the things Sam could've said to Dean, he found the one thing that brought him back to the conversation. "Oh no. We're so not talking about that."
Sam's tone wasn't sympathetic. Neither was his face. If anything, he seemed mildly amused. "Demon blood was addictive. And I wanted it more than anything. I craved it."
Dean was very good at shoving crap memories out of his head, but his defenses were down, and the memory of Sam sucking on a demon's neck came rushing back. In the past, he'd never wanted to think about it again. But now...there was something about the way Sam pressed at the possessed woman, gulping and groaning with satisfaction. It didn't bring up the usual feelings. He wasn't sure what feelings it did bring up.
"Sam," Dean said roughly.
"All I'm saying is, it's okay. I don't think any less of you."
Sam got up and walked into the bathroom. Dean wasn't hearing the thumping noise anymore, but as he stared at the fugly bedspread over his legs, he knew the urge to taste Sam's blood was no less.
And he had no idea what the hell to do about it.
-
The job was great. Dean still felt like hell warmed over, but there was something about research and tracking and killing that brought release. And when it came down to it, taking out the nest had been a return to form. Boris shouldn't have gotten the drop on him even with Sam on the sidelines, and taking out the fangs had been his...punishment? Reward? It was both. But he was back in the groove. He belonged.
Sam and Dean walked into their motel room again near dawn the next morning. Dean needed a couple hours' sleep, but he felt a lot better than yesterday.
Until he turned to Sam and saw blood streaming from a gash on his head.
"Jesus," Dean said.
He reached toward the wound, but Sam took it as a directional move. After watching the direction Dean moved his hand, Sam touched his forehead and checked his fingertips.
"I knew I hit something," Sam said. "I'll clean up and see if I need stitches."
But Dean kept reaching forward, until his own fingers were lightly brushing blood away from Sam's skin. He withdrew and found himself mesmerized by Sam's blood on his hand. And he'd thought it had looked good on Sam.
"Dean?"
"Why'd you do it, Sam?" Dean asked quietly. He looked up.
There it was again. That fake smile. "What?"
"I saw you. You watched as I got turned, and you didn't try to help."
Sam laughed. Dean didn't know why he bothered. "I don't know what--"
"Cut the crap."
Sam dropped the expression, and a calculating one replaced it. His eyes narrowed. "Why don't you try it, Dean?"
Dean's eyes dropped back to his hand. He ran his thumb over his blood-covered fingers.
"You'll always wonder," Sam said. "What you're missing. What it tastes like."
Dean shook his head slowly. "It's not safe. Your blood..."
"Is tainted? Maybe. But would you back off if even if you were sure it was?"
Dean drew his fingers to his face. He only hesitated a second before sucking his fingers into his mouth, licking every drop of Sam's blood off his fingers. It was still warm. Dean's eyelids fluttered shut, and he sighed quietly.
"There's more where that came from." Sam's breath tickled Dean's ear. "You can have as much as you want."
Dean wanted more. He could tell by the way he drew his teeth under the tops of his fingernails, drawing the last drops that had evaded him. But he didn't open his eyes, and he definitely didn't look at Sam. He took his hand out of his mouth.
"You should clean up," Dean said.
"Okay. But I can bleed anytime you want."
Dean only opened his eyes again when he heard the bathroom door close and the water run. He stared at his fingertips, reddened from sucking, and shivered.
The ache was gone.