The Monsters that Kill the Nightmares - Part III: May
May
“I need it, Sammy. I need it bad.” Dean’s voice was desperate as he begged Sam for permission. He needed to kill something, break something, slice something open and Sam wouldn’t let him. Sam had to be in control and make Dean be on his best behavior. He was shaking like an addict aching for a hit, because, well, he was.
“No you don’t,” Sam deadpanned, frame sprawled out on the motel bed that was just about too small for him. He was flipping through the channels absentmindedly, not registering what was appearing on the screen. He knew how Dean felt though. It had been too long since they had their fun, since they made a girl scream for her life, since they got to watch the light’s leave her eyes. Outside, he was calm and collected, inside his brain was aching for a kill just as badly as Dean. Dean got off on the killing, but Sam got off on watching Dean. He was just trying to keep both of them safe, because they were the hunted now and one of them needed to be accountable for them.
“Please, Sammy, I - I need to. I need to.” Dean was fidgeting now, rocking back and forth on the chair, clasping his hands in front of him to keep them from reaching out and scratching, tearing, breaking.
Sam finally looked away from the TV long enough to look at Dean. “Come here, Dean, I want to try something.”
“This isn’t funny, Sam, I don’t wanna ‘try something.’”
“Dean, get over here.” His voice was low, laced with need, want, and sex as he sat up, reaching out to Dean who was slowly walking towards him. “You still have that knife in your boot?”
“Of course,” breathed Dean. If this was going where he thought it was going…
Sam crawled into his lap as Dean sat on the end of the bed. “Do you trust me, big brother?” was whispered into his ear before Sam trailed his hand down Dean’s leg, fingers wrapping around the handle of the small blade. He dragged the edge along Dean’s leg, teasing the skin below the denim, mouthed sealed on Dean’s neck, sucking a dark bruise there, marking Dean as his.
“Always,” Dean hissed out before the blade nicked his side. There was a silent moment as Dean reveled in the pain, before he was flipping Sam over, wresting the blade from him and pinning him to the mattress. He tossed the blade across the room carelessly, not really caring where it landed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you I wanted to try something.” Sam had that glint in his eye, the one that said this could be the answer to all their problems and more. The one that said ‘trust me, Dean, this’ll be fun. The one he got when he had a girl on his arm that he knew would please his big brother. Dean hated that look. It was too cocky, meant Sam was too sure of himself. Sam knew what it did to Dean. Turned Dean inside out, made him drop his guard, and gave Sam the upper hand.
Dean loved that look.
Dean ripped Sam’s shirts off, fabric coming away a trashed mess. He didn’t care that it meant Sam would make him replace it later. “What made you think that was okay? Huh?” He’s angry now, caught off guard by Sam’s ‘experiment,’ hands digging into Sam’s chest where he’s pinning him to the bed beneath them.
“Thought you’d like it. I was gonna let you do it too. We need something, Dean. We can’t keep going like this, begging and pleading. ‘please let me go kill something, Sammy, last time I promise.’ You don’t believe that and neither do I. This is the solution. We tear into each other. It’s what we’ve been doing anyway. Tell me you don’t like the image of me pinned beneath you, high off sex and blood. Cause it’s the blood that’s key right? The thing that’s gets us all worked up. Never felt right, having those whores spill their guts on us, I know you felt it too. Wasn’t our blood, shouldn’t have been touching it. But we did, and now we’re all kinds of bad-dirty-wrong and we don’t know what to do with ourselves. This. This is what we do, Dean. Come on, tear into me, I wanna feel that blade in my skin, feel your mouth on me.”
Sam writhed on the bed, body as desperate as his voice was, goading Dean into it. Dean was so hard he couldn’t think; too busy picturing exactly what Sam had painted with his words. Yeah, he wanted that. Wanted his Sammy, spread beneath him, marks that Dean put on him more permanent than the bruises and hickeys they’d been getting away with. Oh. Dean wanted it.
He tore off Sam’s pants frantically searching them for a blade or a key, something sharp he could use to do exactly that with. Dean remembered the discarded blade from earlier. He dove across the room, catching sight of a glint of silver, the ugly lighting of the motel room reflected back at him.
“Alright, Sammy, you wanted this, you’re getting it.” Dean’s clothes dropped to the floor before he slunk up the bed to where Sam had moved, meeting Sam’s lips with his. “You’ll tell me to stop if it gets to be too much, right?”
Sam just wrapped his fingers around the hand Dean had clasped over the handle of the blade and buried the other one in Dean’s hair. “I won’t need to.”
They were a mess of long limbs and abandon after that. Dean making small slices in Sam’s arms, his legs, and the soft patch of skin where hip met torso. Sam screaming at Dean to keep going, ’don’t stop don’t stop, it’s okay Dean, I needed this.’ Dean obeying Sam’s every order like it was the word of god, making each dip and slice into Sam’s skin one of pleasure for both of them, always tracing the cut with his tongue, trying to easy the sting of the blade, until Sam’s had enough and demands that he has a turn, pulling Dean up to kiss him, lick the red from his brother’s mouth, tasting himself on his brother’s tongue in a whole new way. “Need you in me, Dean. Need it now.” Dean sank into his little brother as the blade was slicing down his side, Sam almost brutal with the blade, Dean setting a punishing rhythm. Sam sank the knife in deeper, drags the cut longer, and Dean feels like he’s gonna combust, the pain and pleasure too much. He came harder than he thought possible and he almost felt bad he didn’t even try to get Sam off until he realized that the warm pool of liquid sandwiched between him and Sam wasn’t just blood.
Dean didn’t know it could be like that, wasn’t sure he wants to go back to how it was before, now.
Maybe Sammy’s ideas weren’t so bad after all.