SPN Fic: The Sting (Robo!Sam/Dean), nc-17
Title: The Sting
Author: june
Characters/Pairing: Robo!Sam/Dean
Rating: nc-17
Word count: ~4,000
Warnings: DUB-CON.[Spoiler (click to open)]Except, not really. But kind of. Also, bareback, prostate milking, forced orgasms, dry orgasms, and bondage. Yikes.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not even a little bit.
Summary: In order to keep Dean from putting Sam's soul back, Sam just has to make his body uninhabitable. Having sex with his brother should do the trick. A re-imagining of Appointment in Samarra.
Notes: Okay! So, normally I stay well clear of dub-con and non-con because I love consent! But this prompt from the spnkink_meme called to me and let me twist the trope around into something that fit with my kinks and squicks. And this is kinky! Probably the kinkiest thing I've written, since Girl!Sam/Dean period!sex. Thus, I am both proud and nervous posting this!
Dean woke up tied to a table. He woke up with a splitting headache. He woke up with a couch cushion underneath his hips. He woke up with no clothes on.
Maybe he should have led with that.
Glancing around the room, Dean wasn't surprised to find that he didn't recognize it. No natural light filtered in from anywhere; there was just the glare of an exposed overhead bulb and a desk lamp in the corner--where Sam sat meticulously measuring ingredients for what looked to be some heavy spellwork.
"You're up," Sam said without turning around.
"I'm horizontal, actually," Dean grumbled back, his voice rough. Clearing his throat, he tried for a bit more of an authoritative tone. "You wanna tell me what I'm doin' tied to a table?"
"In a sec. Gotta finish this before we start. So just, uh, hold on."
Dean's eyebrows rose and he smiled tiredly up at the ceiling. "Apologies. Take your time."
They were definitely in a basement, the basement of someone's house, rather than a business. He was actually on an old pool table, he realized. That was felt under his bare back. His ass was propped up on the edge and his legs were... yes, they were chained together at the ankle. They hung off the end of the table, and the awkward position was killing his back, so he tried to curl up onto the table. But his arms were tied so tightly he didn't have enough room to roll onto his side.
"I would have done this face down, but if the spell's gonna work, I guess we have to be looking at each other. I gave you a pillow so the edge of the table doesn't dig into your back."
"Yeah, it's clear my comfort is really what you're after." Dean craned his neck to see Sam stand up from the work bench and turn to face him holding a clay bowl full of something liquidy and red. "So, this is...."
Sam blinked at him, surprised. "This? This is to keep you from putting my soul back. I thought you'd have figured that out."
Rolling his eyes, Dean let his head fall back on the table. "Yeah, well I wanted to hear you say it."
"I've gotta spoil this body, make it uninhabitable. Incest does the trick, as it turns out. Guess souls don't like brother-fucking, which is a little prudish if you ask me."
"No offense, Sam, but no one in their right mind would ask you."
Sam set the clay bowl down between Dean's arm and his body, the edge just touching his ribs. It was cold as ice and he shied away from it by reflex. "What is that?"
At the foot of the table, Sam was stripping out of his clothes with crisp efficient movements. "That is to seal the soul out. You get some, too."
Dean figured if he had to he could get his legs around Sam's throat and choke him until he passed out, but his hands would still be tied and Sam would wake up eventually and then he'd be pissed. Really, any physical violence Dean could manage from this position, short of killing his brother, would only lead to more trouble. His hands were really fucking well tied.
"Oh yeah? Why am I so lucky?"
"Well, you're the one who wants to put it back in, so the spell spoils you, too. Incest is a big no-no, I guess."
"What do you mean, 'spoils?"' He clenched his hands into fists, his fingers cold from the ropes cutting off his circulation. "Am I gonna lose my soul, too?"
"Not sure, actually," Sam said, scooping some of the stuff out of the bowl and painting it down his own chest in a glaringly red line. "But if you do, consider it a favor. You'll be much better off."
Sam looked down at his chest as he shaped the red goo into sigils over his heart, down his breastbone, at the base of his throat, and across his stomach. When he was done, he leaned over the table and did the same for Dean, fingers steady and confident as they covered his skin in icy red.
"You don't seem angry," Sam finally said, meeting Dean's eyes for only a moment before he returned his concentration to Dean's throat. "I thought you'd be angry."
Dean huffed a laugh and shrugged the best he could, given how tightly his arms were tied. "Nah, it'd probably be better if I didn't care so much about you. I mean, what the hell, right? Make us better partners, I bet."
Sam gave him a hard disbelieving look and Dean returned it. "I'm tired'a mourning you, Sam," he finally said. "Tired'a caring so damn much about everything you do. So if you wanna cut your soul off and you can cut mine out in the process, I'm not gonna stop you."
Sam hesitated another second. "Do you think this spell is more or less likely to work if the fucking is consensual? Because I feel like you probably shouldn't be too into it, you know?"
Dean laughed in spite of himself and said, "Sam, trust me when I say, I would give just about anything to not have you nail my ass to this table for the reasons your about to."
Sam grinned his ugly not-Sam grin and slapped Dean's hip, leaving a smudged handprint. "That's what I like to hear. Oh, and don't worry, I'm clean. I'm not gonna give you anything. You're good, too, right? Haven't seen you get laid since Lisa."
"Yeah," Dean answered. "Yeah, I'm clean as a whistle. Ready to be spoiled."
"And I've got... " Leaning out of view, Sam came back with an enormous bottle of lubricant and plunked it on the table.
"Good to see you've thought this through." Dean's voice got a little tighter without him meaning for it to and he forced down the panic bubbling up in his chest.
"Butt-fucking without lube is just bad form, Dean. Someone as uptight about their heterosexuality as you--"
"Could you just wash that red shit off your fingers first?" Dean interrupted, rapidly losing patience and nerve. "Even if this ends with me minus a soul, no one wants an infection from demonic face paint."
Straightening, Sam looked down at him with an odd half-smile. He exhaled a short laugh. "I see why he likes you. I hope you're not too different after this. I mean... I won't care if you are, but it'd still be kind of a bummer. Objectively."
Clamping down on the hysterical noise that wanted to claw out of his throat, Dean swallowed hard and said, "We gotta work on your pillow talk, dude."
He heard Sam walk across the room, then the rush of a utility sink and the sound of Sam working soap between his fingers. Eventually the water shut off and Sam was back at the table, freezing cold wet fingers gripping Dean's legs and pushing them up without preamble.
"Fucking christ," Dean gasped, his entire body shrinking away from his brother. But Sam was ruthless, ducking under Dean's chained ankles so that he stood snugly between Dean's legs. Sam bent him up so his heels rested against Sam's shoulders and his ass was spread wide open. There was the snap of the bottle cap, then Sam's cold dripping fingers pressed into him and started to work him open--clinical and blank as an exam. Dean grunted at the blunt intrusion and closed his eyes.
Sam's fingers weren't warming up, and it felt very strange to have them stay cold inside him, prodding and pushing.
"Look at me, Dean," Sam said, his voice flat and commanding. "You have to look at me for this to work."
"Why, 'cause otherwise I'm gonna forget you're the one doin' it?"
"I think so," Sam answered, and Dean's eyes snapped open. "I think you have to acknowledge it, know it's me. No pretending."
"Yeah, well, we're not fucking yet, so just gimme a minute, all right?" Dean shut his eyes again and this time Sam let him. He took slow deep breaths until the tension in his body released and his skin tingled with oxygenated blood. He tried as best he could to focus inward, to collect everything he was feeling into a concentrated clean knot of emotion. He couldn't afford to be messy; they only had the one shot at this.
When Sam's fingers slid out and were replaced with the heavy weight of his dick, Dean couldn't keep himself from trying to squirm away, tension winding back through him as his heart began to pound in earnest. But Sam just gripped his legs and shoved the rest of the way in. All the air left Dean's lungs in a rush at the feel of being pried apart, but he couldn't seem to draw any back in. It didn't hurt, exactly, not in the way that Dean experienced pain, but the invasion was uncomfortable and impossible to ignore.
"Look at me, Dean," Sam said between his teeth and Dean obeyed, eyes locking with his brother's. Sam's hips worked in perfectly even strokes, made soft slapping sounds against Dean's ass that echoed strangely with the basement acoustics. At least he'd used plenty of lube, Dean thought, even as he continued to feel absolutely nothing but a cold heavy weight splitting him open.
Sam kept up the brutal pace without making a sound and without breaking a sweat. He didn't seem to be enjoying himself, either, given how much Dean knew he liked sex with women. A frown of concentration gave him a narrow pinched look. And eventually Dean felt Sam start to go soft. He changed the rhythm, rolling his hips at different angles, but Dean could tell he was losing his erection.
"This not doin' it for you?" he asked, voice mocking.
"Shut up," Sam said, breaths coming quicker as he tried to keep it up.
"You wanna know what I think?"
"Not really."
"I bet I have to like it. I bet you have to make me like it."
Sam's hips stilled and his palm slid idly down Dean's thigh as he considered this. "Yeah?"
"Yeah--you've gotta look at me, too. Acknowledge me. No pretending." He felt a kind of spiteful satisfaction echoing Sam's words back to him. Though of course Sam didn't seem phased.
Nodding absently, Sam watched his own hand as it smoothed across Dean's torso and brushed against his soft dick. Then he flipped his hand over and ran the backs of his knuckles up and down the inside of Dean's thigh. "I have to get you off?"
"You can try," Dean smirked.
When that not-Sam smile twisted his mouth up at one corner, Dean almost sagged in relief--before Sam dripped more lubricant onto his fingers and grabbed Dean's cock like he owned it.
Sam's big callused palm worked him over with swift cruel strokes until Dean felt the blood begin to pool in his groin, until he felt his own breaths kick-start. "That better?" Sam asked, and his voice sounded mean. Dean nodded but couldn't seem to put any words together to make a complete thought. "If you've gotta like this, I'm gonna make you hate it."
Dean ground his teeth together and then jerked when Sam pulled out and shoved his fingers back in. Only easing up a fraction on Dean's dick, he twisted and scissored until Dean felt a firm nudge against his prostate. Suddenly finding himself a full participant in the proceedings, Dean tried to arch on the table, but could only push against Sam's shoulders. He did that, hips lifting and stuttering as Sam found that spot again and again, triangulated, and then stayed there. He didn't let go of Dean's dick for a second and Dean felt like everything was about to fly apart.
Forcing himself to take a few deep breaths, Dean returned to that one solid space inside himself, that knot of focused emotion. He closed his eyes and held onto it even as his body tightened and tightened and prepared for release.
"You ever had anyone do this for you, Dean?" Sam asked and Dean's calm was instantly derailed again. "Lisa ever milk you dry? Bet she liked to watch you lose it."
Dean bit his tongue and didn't answer, which only made Sam grin and work him harder. Sam's long fingers stroked him inside and out until Dean felt the last shreds of calm and control scatter. The sensation of having to piss washed through him in a terrifying wave and then orgasm crackled after, forcing his head back, a shouted curse punching out of him. It almost felt like he was pissing, but when he managed to look, it was just spunk coating his brother's fist--a steady stream of it. His shout trailed into a moan that he couldn't stop any more than he could stop what was happening to him. Sam's fingers pushed and rubbed and Dean hadn't ever felt this helpless. He felt like his insides were melting and dribbling out into his brother's hands.
It didn't stop. None of it did. Sam kept up the pressure until Dean's voice broke, until he felt wrung out and abused. And it didn't stop then, either. He could feel Sam's dick bumping up against him, fully hard again, but Sam wouldn't stop touching him.
Dean was breathing so quickly he'd gone a little light-headed, his lips and fingers tingling. There was a cooling mess on his stomach and the sigils painted on his chest had finally warmed to body temperature, though Dean hadn't noticed when--or when Sam's fingers stopped feeling like ice on his skin.
"You gonna fuck me, yet?" he managed to gasp out, but Sam only shook his head. Dean was relieved to see he looked at least a little frayed around the edges--a flush staining his chest and neck. "No?"
"No," Sam finally grunted. "M'gonna make you...." He trailed off and abruptly bent down to nuzzle and mouth at Dean's dick. His fingers stayed where they were inside him, but then Sam's mouth was on him, sucking and swallowing his soft prick like he was parched. He sucked and swallowed until it wasn't soft anymore. Sam made soft humming noises that traveled up Dean's spine and settled in that calm space Dean was somehow fighting his way back to. Dean held onto those sounds and he held onto Sam's flushed skin and he held onto himself.
He held on until he couldn't again. Sam sucked him off and fucked him with his fingers until Dean was back riding the edge of the precipice, pleasure cutting through him so sharply it was close to pain.
Pulling off, Sam gripped Dean in his fist again and brought him the rest of the way over. "Look at me," he said, voice rough. "Look at us." Dean managed to open his eyes as he shuddered into his second orgasm, eyes dropping to the angry red head of his dick as a few drops of pale fluid spilled out. After the first one, he didn't think there could be anything left to wring out of him, but as he twitched and jerked through it, Sam managed to find reserves Dean didn't know he had. He groaned as that bizarre need to piss flared ahead of a final long blurt of spunk, the pressure from Sam's fingers agonizing.
"Shit. Shit, Sam, I can't--" Head lolling on the table, Dean stared at the floorboards overhead and tried not to pass out.
Finally slipping his fingers out, Sam looked up at Dean with red-rimmed wild eyes. Dean had only a second to suck in a quick breath before Sam surged up onto the table and pushed back inside him. His dick was huge and hot, and so were his hands, and so were the sigils painted onto Dean's skin.
This is it, he thought. This is it. It's now.
Sam bent him in half to get at his mouth, tongue and teeth demanding entrance. Dean opened up and let Sam kiss him, let Sam grab at his face and hair. He let Sam beat at his body like a storm until the friction was too much and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. "More," he croaked, "we need more...."
He felt Sam nod against his throat and back off with a grunt of apology. A miracle in itself. When he dumped what had to be half the bottle of lubricant over himself and Dean, Dean almost laughed. A smile flickered across Sam's face and Dean thought, I know you.
When Sam slid back inside, the noise was sloppy and loud, as was the sound that came out of Sam's mouth. He groaned low and unsteady, biting at Dean's jaw and thrusting in a haphazard wild rhythm. Between them, the sigils started to burn, burn and burn until they felt like a brand. Sam cried out in pain and Dean said through clenched teeth, "Let me touch you, Sammy. Wanna touch you--please."
Nodding, Sam leaned up over Dean's head and grabbed something from the top of the table. A moment later the sound of a blade biting into wood freed Dean's right hand, then his left. The knife clattered on the floor and Dean rolled his shoulders in relief, lifting his arms to cradle Sam's face. Sam looked at him with wide disbelieving eyes. "What did you do?" he asked. He pulled Dean up to straddle his lap, huge arms holding Dean close as his hips rolled up, lifting his brother almost to his knees.
Dean shook his head, looked down at where their bodies were joined. "Think you can make me come again?" he asked, pushing one of Sam's hands down to his half-hard dick.
In a daze, Sam nodded, circled his thumb and first two fingers in a loose hold. When he started to jerk Dean off again, Dean held back a whine of discomfort, retreating one last time inward to the place where everything was quiet and there was only one thing in three worlds--in Heaven, Hell, and on Earth--that mattered.
I'm here, he thought. I'm here, Sam. I'm right here.
Sam surged up into him and cried out again. Dean could feel the heat of the sigils burning into his brother's skin and when he opened his eyes, they were glowing, sinking in. Looking down at his own chest, the same thing was happening to him, sealing the deal.
"Dean, I'm--"
"Come on, Sammy. You can do it, come on."
"I can feel--it burns, Dean. It hurts."
"I know. I know it does. Just--"
Trying to distract him, he circled Sam's fingers with his own. He stroked himself until he was right there again, until he felt like he could burst right into flames. Sam pressed his forehead to Dean's, looked down at their joined hands. "Can you? Can you--again?"
"Yeah--keep. Keep--fuck." Ducking his head, he curled his shoulders against his third orgasm, a dry hitching shudder that burned and forced a small desperate sound out of him.
Sam groaned and released him to wrap both arms around Dean's middle and fuck up into him with a few final hard thrusts. "Fuck, Dean. Dean."
Hands shaking so bad he could barely control them, Dean held onto his brother as his whole body tensed and his hips stuttered up. Sam let out a strangled shout, pain and pleasure mingled together, though it mostly sounded like pain to Dean.
In the silence that followed, Dean pulled Sam closer and tucked his little brother's head down against his shoulder. Sam's breath came in ragged sobs, his broad back shaking with them. "What did you do?" he asked again.
Not wanting to say, wanting to guard the truth, Dean tried to keep it in, but the words fell out anyway. "That spell wasn't to seal out your soul."
"What was it?" Sam's voice was ragged, exhausted.
"It was a curse," Dean said, tipping back far enough to see that the sigils had already scarred--soft pink ridges across their skin. "I, uh--all I had to do was curse you with a soul and a... a friend could march right down to the Cage and get it."
"Huh," Sam answered, his breathing and heart rate settling. Blinking a few times, he ran his fingers along the sigils carved into Dean's stomach, dipped down to touch the mess sticking in his pubes.
"Huh," Dean echoed. "So, uh, how're you feelin', anyway? Everything good?" He felt stupid and slow, fucked to within an inch of his life.
Sam's gaze turned inward for a moment before he shrugged. "Fine. Not really all that different--just, more. Maybe."
"Really? No--no Hell memories? The Cage?"
Shaking his head, Sam shrugged again. "No, there's nothing different about my memories; it was just this gradual... like, filling up. But, thanks. I feel--I feel better."
A thread of fear and borderline panic wound its way up Dean's spine as he looked for evidence of change in his brother. There had to be more that just...'more.' His soul would be shredded after over a century in Hell. There were risks to bringing it out; he might never recover from where he'd been. That was the whole reason why Dean had included himself in the curse, why they were both cursed with Sam's soul. But where was it?
"So... I guess you got to Balthazar before I did," Sam said. "The spell I got was the one you gave him."
"The one I gave him, actually," came a familiar voice from the basement stairs.
Both Sam and Dean turned to see who had walked in on them, and Sam angled himself toward Dean to try and give him some cover. Which was sweet considering, so far as Dean could tell, he still didn't have a soul. His sluggish brain was not getting past that. He couldn't even care that he and Sam were naked in front of Death-the oldest creature in the universe. But, he supposed, Death saw everyone naked at some point or other. Maybe everyone was always naked to Death.
"Angels don't deal in Soul curses," Death said, seemingly oblivious to Dean's post-sex internal rambling. "They're something of a specialty of mine, as it happens. And I got quite the bargain, this time. Two souls, one curse."
Sam touched the sigils scarring both of their throats. "You're cursed, too?" He looked Dean in the eye and Dean found that he couldn't look away. He could feel Sam's confusion, his baffled affection, his curiosity. He couldn't feel a soul anywhere. "Why would you do that, Dean?"
"Because you'll die without his help," Death answered. "You won't be able to function after what this soul has endured." With that, he opened the black bag he had at his elbow and blinding blue-white light flooded out, forcing both brothers to shield their eyes.
"Dean, I don't want that for you," Sam said, eyes turned away from the brightness of his soul. "I don't want it. The curse is for both of us-I can feel it." He touched Dean's chest, the tender scar tissue over his heart. "It's enough."
Dean covered Sam's hand with his own. "No, it's not," he answered. "All or nothing deal, I'm afraid."
"If I don't take the soul back, what happens?"
"Everything you feel now will trickle away until you are as you were--a malicious, dangerous shell of who you were meant to be," Death said. His eyes glazed over, as if he were looking at something they couldn't see. "There's work to be done, yet. And as you are, you're not fit to do it."
"Will we be okay?" Sam asked, not looking away from Dean. And this time Death seemed to take the hint that the question was not for him.
Dean searched his brother's face. Sam had been right-there was 'more' of him now. Dean had done his part, binding as much of Sam as he could remember into that curse and burning it into his skin. Sam's affection and trust were there. But it wasn't all of Sam and it wouldn't stay. There was still an emptiness in his eyes that only a soul could fill. "We'll be fine, Sammy."
Sam regarded him with an expression that Dean could only call 'skeptically trusting,' before he pressed his forehead to Dean's and let out a shaky laugh. "All right, then let's wrap this up. My dick is sliding out of your ass and I have to piss."
Dean made a face and then gave Death the go-ahead, signaling at Sam's back with the hand still holding him close. "There are parts of this you that I might miss," he confessed as Death came the rest of the way down the basement steps, moving like smoke instead of a man.
Sam was about to answer, a smile curling his mouth, when Death loomed behind him. The room glared blindingly bright and blisteringly hot. Sam's smile disappeared and his eyes caught fire. And then Dean felt the soul sink back in like acid.
End.
Author: june
Characters/Pairing: Robo!Sam/Dean
Rating: nc-17
Word count: ~4,000
Warnings: DUB-CON.[Spoiler (click to open)]Except, not really. But kind of. Also, bareback, prostate milking, forced orgasms, dry orgasms, and bondage. Yikes.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not even a little bit.
Summary: In order to keep Dean from putting Sam's soul back, Sam just has to make his body uninhabitable. Having sex with his brother should do the trick. A re-imagining of Appointment in Samarra.
Notes: Okay! So, normally I stay well clear of dub-con and non-con because I love consent! But this prompt from the spnkink_meme called to me and let me twist the trope around into something that fit with my kinks and squicks. And this is kinky! Probably the kinkiest thing I've written, since Girl!Sam/Dean period!sex. Thus, I am both proud and nervous posting this!
Dean woke up tied to a table. He woke up with a splitting headache. He woke up with a couch cushion underneath his hips. He woke up with no clothes on.
Maybe he should have led with that.
Glancing around the room, Dean wasn't surprised to find that he didn't recognize it. No natural light filtered in from anywhere; there was just the glare of an exposed overhead bulb and a desk lamp in the corner--where Sam sat meticulously measuring ingredients for what looked to be some heavy spellwork.
"You're up," Sam said without turning around.
"I'm horizontal, actually," Dean grumbled back, his voice rough. Clearing his throat, he tried for a bit more of an authoritative tone. "You wanna tell me what I'm doin' tied to a table?"
"In a sec. Gotta finish this before we start. So just, uh, hold on."
Dean's eyebrows rose and he smiled tiredly up at the ceiling. "Apologies. Take your time."
They were definitely in a basement, the basement of someone's house, rather than a business. He was actually on an old pool table, he realized. That was felt under his bare back. His ass was propped up on the edge and his legs were... yes, they were chained together at the ankle. They hung off the end of the table, and the awkward position was killing his back, so he tried to curl up onto the table. But his arms were tied so tightly he didn't have enough room to roll onto his side.
"I would have done this face down, but if the spell's gonna work, I guess we have to be looking at each other. I gave you a pillow so the edge of the table doesn't dig into your back."
"Yeah, it's clear my comfort is really what you're after." Dean craned his neck to see Sam stand up from the work bench and turn to face him holding a clay bowl full of something liquidy and red. "So, this is...."
Sam blinked at him, surprised. "This? This is to keep you from putting my soul back. I thought you'd have figured that out."
Rolling his eyes, Dean let his head fall back on the table. "Yeah, well I wanted to hear you say it."
"I've gotta spoil this body, make it uninhabitable. Incest does the trick, as it turns out. Guess souls don't like brother-fucking, which is a little prudish if you ask me."
"No offense, Sam, but no one in their right mind would ask you."
Sam set the clay bowl down between Dean's arm and his body, the edge just touching his ribs. It was cold as ice and he shied away from it by reflex. "What is that?"
At the foot of the table, Sam was stripping out of his clothes with crisp efficient movements. "That is to seal the soul out. You get some, too."
Dean figured if he had to he could get his legs around Sam's throat and choke him until he passed out, but his hands would still be tied and Sam would wake up eventually and then he'd be pissed. Really, any physical violence Dean could manage from this position, short of killing his brother, would only lead to more trouble. His hands were really fucking well tied.
"Oh yeah? Why am I so lucky?"
"Well, you're the one who wants to put it back in, so the spell spoils you, too. Incest is a big no-no, I guess."
"What do you mean, 'spoils?"' He clenched his hands into fists, his fingers cold from the ropes cutting off his circulation. "Am I gonna lose my soul, too?"
"Not sure, actually," Sam said, scooping some of the stuff out of the bowl and painting it down his own chest in a glaringly red line. "But if you do, consider it a favor. You'll be much better off."
Sam looked down at his chest as he shaped the red goo into sigils over his heart, down his breastbone, at the base of his throat, and across his stomach. When he was done, he leaned over the table and did the same for Dean, fingers steady and confident as they covered his skin in icy red.
"You don't seem angry," Sam finally said, meeting Dean's eyes for only a moment before he returned his concentration to Dean's throat. "I thought you'd be angry."
Dean huffed a laugh and shrugged the best he could, given how tightly his arms were tied. "Nah, it'd probably be better if I didn't care so much about you. I mean, what the hell, right? Make us better partners, I bet."
Sam gave him a hard disbelieving look and Dean returned it. "I'm tired'a mourning you, Sam," he finally said. "Tired'a caring so damn much about everything you do. So if you wanna cut your soul off and you can cut mine out in the process, I'm not gonna stop you."
Sam hesitated another second. "Do you think this spell is more or less likely to work if the fucking is consensual? Because I feel like you probably shouldn't be too into it, you know?"
Dean laughed in spite of himself and said, "Sam, trust me when I say, I would give just about anything to not have you nail my ass to this table for the reasons your about to."
Sam grinned his ugly not-Sam grin and slapped Dean's hip, leaving a smudged handprint. "That's what I like to hear. Oh, and don't worry, I'm clean. I'm not gonna give you anything. You're good, too, right? Haven't seen you get laid since Lisa."
"Yeah," Dean answered. "Yeah, I'm clean as a whistle. Ready to be spoiled."
"And I've got... " Leaning out of view, Sam came back with an enormous bottle of lubricant and plunked it on the table.
"Good to see you've thought this through." Dean's voice got a little tighter without him meaning for it to and he forced down the panic bubbling up in his chest.
"Butt-fucking without lube is just bad form, Dean. Someone as uptight about their heterosexuality as you--"
"Could you just wash that red shit off your fingers first?" Dean interrupted, rapidly losing patience and nerve. "Even if this ends with me minus a soul, no one wants an infection from demonic face paint."
Straightening, Sam looked down at him with an odd half-smile. He exhaled a short laugh. "I see why he likes you. I hope you're not too different after this. I mean... I won't care if you are, but it'd still be kind of a bummer. Objectively."
Clamping down on the hysterical noise that wanted to claw out of his throat, Dean swallowed hard and said, "We gotta work on your pillow talk, dude."
He heard Sam walk across the room, then the rush of a utility sink and the sound of Sam working soap between his fingers. Eventually the water shut off and Sam was back at the table, freezing cold wet fingers gripping Dean's legs and pushing them up without preamble.
"Fucking christ," Dean gasped, his entire body shrinking away from his brother. But Sam was ruthless, ducking under Dean's chained ankles so that he stood snugly between Dean's legs. Sam bent him up so his heels rested against Sam's shoulders and his ass was spread wide open. There was the snap of the bottle cap, then Sam's cold dripping fingers pressed into him and started to work him open--clinical and blank as an exam. Dean grunted at the blunt intrusion and closed his eyes.
Sam's fingers weren't warming up, and it felt very strange to have them stay cold inside him, prodding and pushing.
"Look at me, Dean," Sam said, his voice flat and commanding. "You have to look at me for this to work."
"Why, 'cause otherwise I'm gonna forget you're the one doin' it?"
"I think so," Sam answered, and Dean's eyes snapped open. "I think you have to acknowledge it, know it's me. No pretending."
"Yeah, well, we're not fucking yet, so just gimme a minute, all right?" Dean shut his eyes again and this time Sam let him. He took slow deep breaths until the tension in his body released and his skin tingled with oxygenated blood. He tried as best he could to focus inward, to collect everything he was feeling into a concentrated clean knot of emotion. He couldn't afford to be messy; they only had the one shot at this.
When Sam's fingers slid out and were replaced with the heavy weight of his dick, Dean couldn't keep himself from trying to squirm away, tension winding back through him as his heart began to pound in earnest. But Sam just gripped his legs and shoved the rest of the way in. All the air left Dean's lungs in a rush at the feel of being pried apart, but he couldn't seem to draw any back in. It didn't hurt, exactly, not in the way that Dean experienced pain, but the invasion was uncomfortable and impossible to ignore.
"Look at me, Dean," Sam said between his teeth and Dean obeyed, eyes locking with his brother's. Sam's hips worked in perfectly even strokes, made soft slapping sounds against Dean's ass that echoed strangely with the basement acoustics. At least he'd used plenty of lube, Dean thought, even as he continued to feel absolutely nothing but a cold heavy weight splitting him open.
Sam kept up the brutal pace without making a sound and without breaking a sweat. He didn't seem to be enjoying himself, either, given how much Dean knew he liked sex with women. A frown of concentration gave him a narrow pinched look. And eventually Dean felt Sam start to go soft. He changed the rhythm, rolling his hips at different angles, but Dean could tell he was losing his erection.
"This not doin' it for you?" he asked, voice mocking.
"Shut up," Sam said, breaths coming quicker as he tried to keep it up.
"You wanna know what I think?"
"Not really."
"I bet I have to like it. I bet you have to make me like it."
Sam's hips stilled and his palm slid idly down Dean's thigh as he considered this. "Yeah?"
"Yeah--you've gotta look at me, too. Acknowledge me. No pretending." He felt a kind of spiteful satisfaction echoing Sam's words back to him. Though of course Sam didn't seem phased.
Nodding absently, Sam watched his own hand as it smoothed across Dean's torso and brushed against his soft dick. Then he flipped his hand over and ran the backs of his knuckles up and down the inside of Dean's thigh. "I have to get you off?"
"You can try," Dean smirked.
When that not-Sam smile twisted his mouth up at one corner, Dean almost sagged in relief--before Sam dripped more lubricant onto his fingers and grabbed Dean's cock like he owned it.
Sam's big callused palm worked him over with swift cruel strokes until Dean felt the blood begin to pool in his groin, until he felt his own breaths kick-start. "That better?" Sam asked, and his voice sounded mean. Dean nodded but couldn't seem to put any words together to make a complete thought. "If you've gotta like this, I'm gonna make you hate it."
Dean ground his teeth together and then jerked when Sam pulled out and shoved his fingers back in. Only easing up a fraction on Dean's dick, he twisted and scissored until Dean felt a firm nudge against his prostate. Suddenly finding himself a full participant in the proceedings, Dean tried to arch on the table, but could only push against Sam's shoulders. He did that, hips lifting and stuttering as Sam found that spot again and again, triangulated, and then stayed there. He didn't let go of Dean's dick for a second and Dean felt like everything was about to fly apart.
Forcing himself to take a few deep breaths, Dean returned to that one solid space inside himself, that knot of focused emotion. He closed his eyes and held onto it even as his body tightened and tightened and prepared for release.
"You ever had anyone do this for you, Dean?" Sam asked and Dean's calm was instantly derailed again. "Lisa ever milk you dry? Bet she liked to watch you lose it."
Dean bit his tongue and didn't answer, which only made Sam grin and work him harder. Sam's long fingers stroked him inside and out until Dean felt the last shreds of calm and control scatter. The sensation of having to piss washed through him in a terrifying wave and then orgasm crackled after, forcing his head back, a shouted curse punching out of him. It almost felt like he was pissing, but when he managed to look, it was just spunk coating his brother's fist--a steady stream of it. His shout trailed into a moan that he couldn't stop any more than he could stop what was happening to him. Sam's fingers pushed and rubbed and Dean hadn't ever felt this helpless. He felt like his insides were melting and dribbling out into his brother's hands.
It didn't stop. None of it did. Sam kept up the pressure until Dean's voice broke, until he felt wrung out and abused. And it didn't stop then, either. He could feel Sam's dick bumping up against him, fully hard again, but Sam wouldn't stop touching him.
Dean was breathing so quickly he'd gone a little light-headed, his lips and fingers tingling. There was a cooling mess on his stomach and the sigils painted on his chest had finally warmed to body temperature, though Dean hadn't noticed when--or when Sam's fingers stopped feeling like ice on his skin.
"You gonna fuck me, yet?" he managed to gasp out, but Sam only shook his head. Dean was relieved to see he looked at least a little frayed around the edges--a flush staining his chest and neck. "No?"
"No," Sam finally grunted. "M'gonna make you...." He trailed off and abruptly bent down to nuzzle and mouth at Dean's dick. His fingers stayed where they were inside him, but then Sam's mouth was on him, sucking and swallowing his soft prick like he was parched. He sucked and swallowed until it wasn't soft anymore. Sam made soft humming noises that traveled up Dean's spine and settled in that calm space Dean was somehow fighting his way back to. Dean held onto those sounds and he held onto Sam's flushed skin and he held onto himself.
He held on until he couldn't again. Sam sucked him off and fucked him with his fingers until Dean was back riding the edge of the precipice, pleasure cutting through him so sharply it was close to pain.
Pulling off, Sam gripped Dean in his fist again and brought him the rest of the way over. "Look at me," he said, voice rough. "Look at us." Dean managed to open his eyes as he shuddered into his second orgasm, eyes dropping to the angry red head of his dick as a few drops of pale fluid spilled out. After the first one, he didn't think there could be anything left to wring out of him, but as he twitched and jerked through it, Sam managed to find reserves Dean didn't know he had. He groaned as that bizarre need to piss flared ahead of a final long blurt of spunk, the pressure from Sam's fingers agonizing.
"Shit. Shit, Sam, I can't--" Head lolling on the table, Dean stared at the floorboards overhead and tried not to pass out.
Finally slipping his fingers out, Sam looked up at Dean with red-rimmed wild eyes. Dean had only a second to suck in a quick breath before Sam surged up onto the table and pushed back inside him. His dick was huge and hot, and so were his hands, and so were the sigils painted onto Dean's skin.
This is it, he thought. This is it. It's now.
Sam bent him in half to get at his mouth, tongue and teeth demanding entrance. Dean opened up and let Sam kiss him, let Sam grab at his face and hair. He let Sam beat at his body like a storm until the friction was too much and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. "More," he croaked, "we need more...."
He felt Sam nod against his throat and back off with a grunt of apology. A miracle in itself. When he dumped what had to be half the bottle of lubricant over himself and Dean, Dean almost laughed. A smile flickered across Sam's face and Dean thought, I know you.
When Sam slid back inside, the noise was sloppy and loud, as was the sound that came out of Sam's mouth. He groaned low and unsteady, biting at Dean's jaw and thrusting in a haphazard wild rhythm. Between them, the sigils started to burn, burn and burn until they felt like a brand. Sam cried out in pain and Dean said through clenched teeth, "Let me touch you, Sammy. Wanna touch you--please."
Nodding, Sam leaned up over Dean's head and grabbed something from the top of the table. A moment later the sound of a blade biting into wood freed Dean's right hand, then his left. The knife clattered on the floor and Dean rolled his shoulders in relief, lifting his arms to cradle Sam's face. Sam looked at him with wide disbelieving eyes. "What did you do?" he asked. He pulled Dean up to straddle his lap, huge arms holding Dean close as his hips rolled up, lifting his brother almost to his knees.
Dean shook his head, looked down at where their bodies were joined. "Think you can make me come again?" he asked, pushing one of Sam's hands down to his half-hard dick.
In a daze, Sam nodded, circled his thumb and first two fingers in a loose hold. When he started to jerk Dean off again, Dean held back a whine of discomfort, retreating one last time inward to the place where everything was quiet and there was only one thing in three worlds--in Heaven, Hell, and on Earth--that mattered.
I'm here, he thought. I'm here, Sam. I'm right here.
Sam surged up into him and cried out again. Dean could feel the heat of the sigils burning into his brother's skin and when he opened his eyes, they were glowing, sinking in. Looking down at his own chest, the same thing was happening to him, sealing the deal.
"Dean, I'm--"
"Come on, Sammy. You can do it, come on."
"I can feel--it burns, Dean. It hurts."
"I know. I know it does. Just--"
Trying to distract him, he circled Sam's fingers with his own. He stroked himself until he was right there again, until he felt like he could burst right into flames. Sam pressed his forehead to Dean's, looked down at their joined hands. "Can you? Can you--again?"
"Yeah--keep. Keep--fuck." Ducking his head, he curled his shoulders against his third orgasm, a dry hitching shudder that burned and forced a small desperate sound out of him.
Sam groaned and released him to wrap both arms around Dean's middle and fuck up into him with a few final hard thrusts. "Fuck, Dean. Dean."
Hands shaking so bad he could barely control them, Dean held onto his brother as his whole body tensed and his hips stuttered up. Sam let out a strangled shout, pain and pleasure mingled together, though it mostly sounded like pain to Dean.
In the silence that followed, Dean pulled Sam closer and tucked his little brother's head down against his shoulder. Sam's breath came in ragged sobs, his broad back shaking with them. "What did you do?" he asked again.
Not wanting to say, wanting to guard the truth, Dean tried to keep it in, but the words fell out anyway. "That spell wasn't to seal out your soul."
"What was it?" Sam's voice was ragged, exhausted.
"It was a curse," Dean said, tipping back far enough to see that the sigils had already scarred--soft pink ridges across their skin. "I, uh--all I had to do was curse you with a soul and a... a friend could march right down to the Cage and get it."
"Huh," Sam answered, his breathing and heart rate settling. Blinking a few times, he ran his fingers along the sigils carved into Dean's stomach, dipped down to touch the mess sticking in his pubes.
"Huh," Dean echoed. "So, uh, how're you feelin', anyway? Everything good?" He felt stupid and slow, fucked to within an inch of his life.
Sam's gaze turned inward for a moment before he shrugged. "Fine. Not really all that different--just, more. Maybe."
"Really? No--no Hell memories? The Cage?"
Shaking his head, Sam shrugged again. "No, there's nothing different about my memories; it was just this gradual... like, filling up. But, thanks. I feel--I feel better."
A thread of fear and borderline panic wound its way up Dean's spine as he looked for evidence of change in his brother. There had to be more that just...'more.' His soul would be shredded after over a century in Hell. There were risks to bringing it out; he might never recover from where he'd been. That was the whole reason why Dean had included himself in the curse, why they were both cursed with Sam's soul. But where was it?
"So... I guess you got to Balthazar before I did," Sam said. "The spell I got was the one you gave him."
"The one I gave him, actually," came a familiar voice from the basement stairs.
Both Sam and Dean turned to see who had walked in on them, and Sam angled himself toward Dean to try and give him some cover. Which was sweet considering, so far as Dean could tell, he still didn't have a soul. His sluggish brain was not getting past that. He couldn't even care that he and Sam were naked in front of Death-the oldest creature in the universe. But, he supposed, Death saw everyone naked at some point or other. Maybe everyone was always naked to Death.
"Angels don't deal in Soul curses," Death said, seemingly oblivious to Dean's post-sex internal rambling. "They're something of a specialty of mine, as it happens. And I got quite the bargain, this time. Two souls, one curse."
Sam touched the sigils scarring both of their throats. "You're cursed, too?" He looked Dean in the eye and Dean found that he couldn't look away. He could feel Sam's confusion, his baffled affection, his curiosity. He couldn't feel a soul anywhere. "Why would you do that, Dean?"
"Because you'll die without his help," Death answered. "You won't be able to function after what this soul has endured." With that, he opened the black bag he had at his elbow and blinding blue-white light flooded out, forcing both brothers to shield their eyes.
"Dean, I don't want that for you," Sam said, eyes turned away from the brightness of his soul. "I don't want it. The curse is for both of us-I can feel it." He touched Dean's chest, the tender scar tissue over his heart. "It's enough."
Dean covered Sam's hand with his own. "No, it's not," he answered. "All or nothing deal, I'm afraid."
"If I don't take the soul back, what happens?"
"Everything you feel now will trickle away until you are as you were--a malicious, dangerous shell of who you were meant to be," Death said. His eyes glazed over, as if he were looking at something they couldn't see. "There's work to be done, yet. And as you are, you're not fit to do it."
"Will we be okay?" Sam asked, not looking away from Dean. And this time Death seemed to take the hint that the question was not for him.
Dean searched his brother's face. Sam had been right-there was 'more' of him now. Dean had done his part, binding as much of Sam as he could remember into that curse and burning it into his skin. Sam's affection and trust were there. But it wasn't all of Sam and it wouldn't stay. There was still an emptiness in his eyes that only a soul could fill. "We'll be fine, Sammy."
Sam regarded him with an expression that Dean could only call 'skeptically trusting,' before he pressed his forehead to Dean's and let out a shaky laugh. "All right, then let's wrap this up. My dick is sliding out of your ass and I have to piss."
Dean made a face and then gave Death the go-ahead, signaling at Sam's back with the hand still holding him close. "There are parts of this you that I might miss," he confessed as Death came the rest of the way down the basement steps, moving like smoke instead of a man.
Sam was about to answer, a smile curling his mouth, when Death loomed behind him. The room glared blindingly bright and blisteringly hot. Sam's smile disappeared and his eyes caught fire. And then Dean felt the soul sink back in like acid.
End.