Supernatural: Into the City of Woe [Part 2/2]
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PART TWO
Three demons toss a squirming Sam onto the bed unceremoniously and walk out, averting their eyes from Dean's. He watches the demons go until it's just Sam and him alone in his chamber. Sam turns over too quickly, trying to move up the bed as if that can save him.
He smiles. "Hello again."
Sam licks his lips, pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, like he's trying to hide his nakedness. "Hi."
"I thought I'd try a new method of persuasion," Dean says, drinking in the sight of Sam. There's no pretending the man isn't beautiful, or that Dean hasn't wanted this since the first time he saw Sam. Sex has, for the most part, not interested Dean much since he got to Hell. It's a lesser sin. No true malice in it, most of the time, and not worth the time and energy expended on it.
But that changed when Sam arrived. There's no telling why Dean has resisted taking this as long as he has, but there's a fire curling in him as he looks at Sam and knows it's a matter of moments.
Maybe once he gets this out of his system, he can wash himself clean of Sam altogether.
"Would you like to try asking me not to?" he asks as he climbs onto the bed, pinning Sam down with his mind as he advances. Spreading out all those long, long limbs so Sam can’t use them to cover up.
Dean isn't really expecting Sam to beg for mercy, as much as that would make his night. He's anticipating more of the same, Sam's stubborn acceptance of everything Dean throws at him, despite obvious disapproval.
What he isn't expecting is the relief that comes over Sam's face. The desire. Total submission to the point that the only struggle Sam puts up against Dean's mental grip on him is to try and open himself up more.
"Fuck, Dean, it's been so long," he says. "Please."
The words catch him so far off guard that Dean drops him. Lets go of his mental hold, sits back on his knees, and stares at Sam. "You…want…?"
"What, you thought you could force me?" he asks, laughing as his tongue works up the side of Dean's face and curls around his ear. "You wanted this to be torture? There's nothing you can take from me that isn't yours already, Dean. You used to know that."
"I did?" he asks, shaking as Sam's mouth works at him and-fuck. No. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. "I'll hurt you. I'm going to hurt you."
"I wish you would," Sam whispers, pushing the robe off of Dean's shoulders, and suddenly Dean feels vulnerable. It's not like he hadn't been planning to remove it. But he was going to do it himself.
Sam kisses Dean and Dean bites his lip with sharp teeth. Sam moans at that, drags Dean down on top of him as he says, "Please, please. Missed it so much. Dean, please."
Dean flips him over, puts him on all fours. In a submissive position. One where Dean doesn't have to look at him, or that disgusting way he has of staring at Dean like he's a godsend, or the terrifying rush of warmth that surges through him when he sees that expression on Sam's face.
He'll make Sam regret this. He'll make Sam hate him. He has to.
So he mounts Sam and shoves into him dry. It's uncomfortable for Dean, much too tight and unyielding, so he can't imagine how uncomfortable it is for Sam.
Under him, the gladiator gives a soft cry of pain and Dean shoves into him harder. "How's that, Sam? You like that."
"Yes," Sam replies through gritted teeth. He shifts so that he's holding himself up on his elbows and lets his head drop to the pillows. "Don't stop on my account."
Dean growls at the implication that he would, as if he was actually checking Sam's comfort, and becomes furious with himself that he had stopped, waited for Sam's response before pumping his hips again.
He shuts it out, fucking Sam furiously, knowing the punched out sounds Sam releases as Dean uses him, fucks him raw and dry and dirty, are not pleasure. They can't be.
"You want a little something to ease it," Dean asks teasingly, his tongue curling in Sam's ear the way Sam had done to him. But his tongue splits, two-pronged like a snake, making Sam hiss and squirm beneath him.
Sam is quiet for a long time, so Dean pushes into him roughly, and Sam whimpers, "Yes. Please. Anything."
Dean grins with all his sharp teeth and digs his claws into Sam's back, watching the blood bead up as he pulls his cock out. He smears his hand through it and jerks his dick as Sam lets out a pained sound.
"It'll be better now," Dean promises as he presses in, but Sam shakes his head.
"Blood dries too quickly," he says. "Not good for-"
"Well, you have plenty of blood in you," Dean replies. "We can keep it up for a while yet."
He lowers himself and keeps fucking into Sam, and now that there's some give, Sam gasps and pushes his hips up. Dean licks some of the blood on Sam's wide back and feels something spark through him at the taste.
"'s good," Sam says, wantonly grinding up into Dean. "So good. Missed you. God, I love you like this."
It's so sweet. So sweet to have Sam wanting him. The heart he doesn't have in his chest beats faster.
"No," Dean insists, biting into his neck for more blood and sucking at the wound hungrily. "No, stop it."
"Drink me," Sam says. "Fuck me. Whatever you want. Anything. I'm all yours, Dean. I'm all yours."
Dean feels his pleasure riding up on him without his permission, breaking over him when Sam moves in a way no one else has ever done, a way that makes a thousand orgasms he doesn't remember having spark in his memories. He shouts out Sam's name as he loses control of himself, thrusting blindly and roughly and Sam just takes it and takes it, panting loudly as Dean's seed fills him, making the slide of his cock finally easy inside of Sam.
He pulls away, withdraws his dick and turns Sam over, freezing his prisoner's hand before he can even think of touching himself for release. But Sam just looks up at him and his head falls back, and Dean watches Sam's cock as it comes, untouched and entirely neglected. This was supposed to hurt Sam. This was supposed to crush Sam. Sam's back is still bleeding into Dean's sheets and yet the man is staring up like he thinks he's in Heaven instead of the opposite.
For the first time in centuries, Dean feels his eyes slip, green instead of black filtering over them as he watches Sam curl up on the pillows, sated and adoring.
Sam's own eyes get soft and he reaches out, tracing Dean's cheek as he doesn't blink or take his gaze away from Dean's. "That's better," he says. "There's my Dean."
Dean sneers as he forces his eyes back under control. "When I fucked you-I bet it wasn't like that before."
Sam turns onto his side, laughing like Dean just told a good joke. "You think that was something?"
"I hurt you." Dean feels a crease form between his eyes. "I didn't hurt you before. You loved me."
"Some people are so stupid about love," Sam says, almost as if he's talking to a child. "You think it's something good and pure, you think love makes people act like heroes."
Sam sits up, propping his sliced open back against Dean's headboard, and Dean figures if he didn’t want Sam bleeding all over everything, he could have planned this better.
"Love makes us monsters, too," Sam says. "Makes us do terrible things. How do you think you turned into a demon?"
Dean holds out his arm, shows Sam the Mark on his forearm, and Sam huffs a laugh like it's an insignificant scratch. "You and I, Dean. On Earth. Yes, we loved each other very much. And we did the wickedest things because of it. Filthy things."
He wants to say Sam is lying, that he's only telling Dean this to make him wonder, but the way he looks up at Dean. The promises in that dirty smile. A shiver runs through him, and he does wish he could remember.
"You don't have the creativity. You don't have the passion." Sam shakes his head and pats Dean's cheek like he's sorry for him. "You couldn't begin to imagine the things you've done to me. This was nothing."
"I could remember if I wanted to," Dean snaps at him.
Sam traces the lines of the Mark and nods. "Yes. So why don't you?"
Dean hesitates and Sam laughs at him. It's a cruel enough sound that Dean's eye jump up to meet his.
"You're scared, that's why. You turned yourself into this. Let this stupid Mark take you over completely. You tore down Hell and built a new one, all to save yourself from remembering. Because it was easier this way wasn't it? Because you could be simple and nasty if there wasn't anything to remind you. You got rid of everything you are because remembering me made it too hard to be a monster."
"You think very highly of yourself," Dean replies, because he can't really rebut it. He doesn't know why he made himself forget. If he picks at it, the whole damn world may come tumbling down around them.
Sam presses his lips into a thin line and shrugs. "I never thought-of all the things I imagined I might see when I came down here, I never thought I would see Dean Winchester become a coward."
It's the name that catches him more than the insult, and he looks at Sam with a questioning gaze.
Sam doesn't offer another word, just sits there, staring at Dean and breathing. Dean likes the sound of it, the reassuring in and out of air in Sam's lungs. It scares him.
"Your blood," he says, changing the subject. "It doesn't taste like human blood. Not regular human blood anyway."
"It tastes like demon," Sam guesses, his voice much weaker than it was when he was hurling his insults at Dean. "I guess we share that now."
"Yes, but that's not what I meant. It tastes-it tastes pure."
"I confessed," Sam says. "Before I came here. My worst sins."
"You knew I would drink it," says Dean. "You thought you could cure me with your tainted blood?"
"It's your tainted blood, too," Sam answers. He sighs and looks away. "It's tainted, yes. But it's enough. I can cure you. If you drink, I can cure you."
"What if I drink you dry?" Dean asks jokingly. "Then I'll be saved and you'll be dead. How's that sound?"
"Worth it," Sam says without even stopping to think.
"What did you confess?" he asks, just because he's curious.
Sam does hesitate this time, but Dean can tell he's not lying when he finally decides to speak. "I let my brother become a demon. Best man there ever was. He did everything for me. Saved me so many times. He damned himself to save me."
"How?"
"He had a Mark just like this," Sam says, bringing Dean's forearm to his lips and kissing it softly. "It made him want to kill. It made him dark. It made him a demon. I saved him, but it was still there. And he fought it. For such a long time he fought it. He was the strongest man, my brother."
"Not so strong," Dean answers. "There's no point in fighting that kind of urge, Sam. It's good. Giving in feels good."
Voice trembling, Sam keeps talking. "He fought and he controlled it and then one day I-there were all these men. So many of them, I couldn't take them all at once. He saved me from them. He saved me but by the time he was done with them…"
Sam shudders, and Dean finishes the story for him. "It was too late."
His brother nods. "It was too late."
"No," Dean says, shaking his head and tearing his arm away from Sam's gentle touches. "This is who I am. This is who I have always been."
"It's not," Sam insists. "This isn't you. Dean. You’re my big brother. I need you back, please. I can tell a part of you wants to be that again. Giving in feels good, right?"
"Not to that," Dean answers.
He feels a sudden swell of anger rise in him. Things were simple for hundreds and hundreds of Hell years until Sam came along. Things were fucked up and fun and nothing interrupted that. And now there's this-this sick pull in Dean's chest as if he has a heart and Sam is breaking it. Things were good and what Sam wants him to remember is pain.
"This Mark makes me powerful. I'm a king. You won't save me like this." He smiles, a hundred fangs shaping as he lets Sam see his true face. "You know what, Sam? Let's make a trade."
He slices into his arm and holds it out. "I drank. Now you drink."
Sam looks at the offered limb with as much lust as he'd had for Dean an hour before. Like he wants to do what Dean is asking. But he shakes his head and pushes the offering away. "I can't do that."
"You can," Dean tells him, grabbing him by the hair and tugging him in. "And you will."
"I won't." Sam closes his eyes and Dean can tell he's holding his breath. Trying not to breathe it in. He wants this. Dean hadn't expected that. "I'll never stop."
Dean loosens his hold, running his hand through Sam's hair instead of pulling it. "You don't ever have to. You'll like it after a while. You'll grow to like it."
"I know," Sam licks his lip and looks up at Dean, his expression so desperate that it makes Dean want to give in.
It's that impulse that pushes him. "I didn't say you had a choice."
Dean is caught completely off guard when Sam lashes out at him, pushing him away with such force that he stumbles back and nearly falls off his bed. "I won't fucking drink it."
Furious, Dean catches him with his powers and shoves Sam down. "Aw, you hurt my feelings, Sam. I thought you promised not to strike me."
"Said I wouldn't hurt Dean," Sam replies, and Dean can see that there are tears trying to leak from his eyes, but the angle Dean's powers have him stuck at make them pool instead. "You're not Dean. He would never ask-"
"Sweetheart, I'm not asking." Dean curls his body around Sam's, propping his brother up against his chest like a rag doll, still frozen in his grasp, but at an angle where his mouth is near Dean's bleeding wound. The salt in Sam's tears burns his flesh when they begin to fall, and the sensation makes his cock start to thicken again.
"Don't make me," Sam pleads, his voice smaller than Dean has ever heard it, because that's all he can manage while trapped in Dean's clutch. "My brother would hate me."
Dean laughs and forces Sam's mouth to his broken skin. "Your brother is dead."
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They do the whole song and dance again the next night. Sam by his side during the day, face hardened against Dean's torture. Sam in his bed at night, lips red from drinking Dean in.
They take their fill. Night after night they tangle, flesh and blood all slapping together and something both sweet and bitter coming out of the chaos. Sam doesn't fight the drug Dean feeds him, not after the first few times. And his sanctified blood doesn’t taste like poison on Dean's lips for long, either.
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Dean is running his fingers through Sam's hair, watching heatedly as his brother sucks on a fresh cut on his thigh, when a knock at the door disturbs him.
Sam tries to pull away and sit up, but Dean forces him back down as he calls, "Come in."
Jezebel enters, her black eyes stopping immediately on Sam and narrowing. "Oh. He's here."
"That's no way to greet your king," Dean says, giving her a reprimanding look.
"I apologize, my lord," she says, bowing her head. "May I speak to you in private?"
"What's more private than my bedchamber when I'm nearly naked and I've got a mouth on my thigh?" Dean asks with a laugh.
The demon frowns, again fixing her gaze on Sam. "As in, without him here."
"You don't trust Sam?" Dean pets his brother reassuringly as he licks at a stray drop of blood and mouths along the hot skin of Dean's inner leg. Truth be told, this conversation is tedious, and Dean could really stand to get back to where his and Sam's activities were leading.
"Trust is for the weak," she replies, softening the insult by adding, "you taught me that, highness."
Dean glowers because-well, it's true. Dean did believe that. He does believe that. It's just…this is Sam, and there are different rules for Sam.
"Say what you came here to say," he demands. "I have better things to get to."
"Better things like him?" she says with a sneer. She draws herself to her greatest height, feet clicking together, body strung tight but her stance defiant nonetheless. "He makes you weak, your grace, and he's not as loyal to you as you are to him. I came here to tell you that he's been-"
Dean feels a sharp rush in his thigh, like his blood is all being sucked out of him at once, and suddenly her voice is stopped. Jezebel clutches her throat, a confused look on her face that quickly turns to terror as she raises her head. Sam sits up in bed next to Dean, wiping blood off on the back of his forearm, and smiles at Dean with red-stained teeth.
"Can I kill her?" he asks sweetly. "It's been so long since I killed."
"No, no," Dean says, laughing gently. "Not her. We'll call someone else in for you to play with."
He leans in for a kiss, and Sam grants it, his hold on Jezebel not faltering even as he lets Dean distract him.
Dean is duly impressed. "I didn't know you had powers," he says, tugging on a strand of Sam's hair. "What are you, little brother?"
"Just that," Sam answers. He flinches, the scrunched look on his face making it obvious that holding Jezebel is beginning to take more effort than it did at first. "The powers come from the blood."
"So you have had it before?" Dean asks.
Sam nods.
"Jezebel is no newly minted demon," Dean tells him. "Her power is old. You must be very strong to be holding her."
Sam brings a hand up to his forehead and says, "Strong enough," through gritted teeth.
"Let's make a deal," says Dean, reaching out to touch Sam's thigh. "Let Jezebel go. Tell me about your powers. And I'll bring you demons you can drink dry, as many as you want. All the blood in Hell is yours, Sammy."
"I only want your blood," Sam insists, and that turns Dean on so much he accepts it. But then Sam's hand curls into a fist and he turns to look at Jezebel, who is clearly trying to cry out in pain. Her eyes are fixed on Dean, pleading. "And hers."
"Why her?" he asks.
"You like her," Sam replies, and Dean shrugs as he nods. His brother's voice gets dark, low and dangerous, and it's like music to Dean's ears, "I don't like sharing."
That gets Dean's already needy dick hard in moments, and he bites his bottom lip as he grins at his brother. "She's all yours, Sam."
Sam immediately kills her, the effort it takes exhausting him, but Dean doesn't need Sam to be in prime condition to get pleasure out of him. He fucks his brother rough and hungry and doesn't stop to wonder until Sam has drifted to sleep at his side if maybe he should have waited for Jezebel to say what she came to say before letting Sam waste her.
_______________________________________________________________
This fight has lasted two hours. Dean is tired of it, so he can't begin to imagine how tired Sam, who has been bleeding and dodging, carrying heavy armor, giving and receiving hits, must be.
It's not a fair fight. Nothing is against Sam. The manticore he's up against is an embarrassment of a monster. It became clear early on that Sam was going to kick its ass, so it's spent most of the fight in the air, hovering out of Sam's reach, making the gladiator chase it in circles and only lowering itself to get in a quick swipe when the attack is easy.
"Almost makes you want to intervene, doesn't it?" the demon at his side, some minor foot soldier whose name Dean has not bothered to learn, asks. "Use your powers to ground the damn thing?"
Dean invited him to sit at his side, just as he has a different demon every day since Jezebel fell. None of them have filled her shoes, and this one is just as dull as the rest. Dean would admit he misses her if Sam hadn't looked so pretty tearing her down.
The question upsets him, and he realizes why as soon as he looks at Sam again, swinging his sword ineffectually at the creature.
He's been in Dean's bed every night for the last month. He's been drinking, or so Dean believed. If he's strong enough to kill Jezebel, if he was truly Lucifer's vessel as Sam insisted he was, then why is some manticore flying around unchecked? This fight should have been a joke to Sam. If Sam has been drinking, he could ground this beast and end the combat without even lifting his sword.
Dean realizes that he-Emperor and Knight of Hell-has been played. Made a fool by a human soul.
He flicks out his wrist in annoyance and the demon at his side flies forward, tumbling down into the arena. If the fall doesn't kill him, the manticore, now turning its attention from Sam to the easy meal, will.
"Call off the fight," Dean tells his nearest servant. "And have Sam brought to me immediately."
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Dean doesn't wait for the demons who escort Sam in to leave the room before slapping his brother, sending Sam halfway across the room with the force of the blow.
He's not doing it to show off this time, couldn't care less what the demons think of him. He's too angry to wait. Sam's betrayal hurt him, and that frail human emotion upsets him more than the lie or the fact that his best lieutenant is dead.
Sam's blood has apparently had more effect than Dean realized. And his has had none at all on Sam.
"You maggot," Dean growls, watching for the door to close before admitting his folly. "You tricked me. You thought you could get away with that, did you?"
"I did get away with it," Sam replies, holding his fingers to his swollen eye as he looks up at Dean with-hatred. Hatred in his eyes. Dean can't bear to see it. "What? You stupid bastard, did you think you had a monopoly on lying? You think I don't know how to manipulate just because I'm not a demon?"
Dean smashes his fists against a nearby pillar, the material crumbling upon impact. "I trusted you."
"Yes." Sam stands, holding himself with such dignity that even the bruise rising on his face doesn't make Dean feel more in control. "I told you exactly what I came here to do, and yet you trusted me. I wonder if it's because a part of you wants me to win, or if you're just that stupid."
Dean crosses the room, grabbing Sam by the fabric of his black robes and pushing him against the wall. "How dare you?"
Sam smiles. "I'd like to believe it's the first thing, but having gotten to know you a little, I'm thinking it's probably the second."
He rears back to punch Sam, but Sam catches his wrist, turning it and shoving Dean so he hits the wall instead. He pushes his entire body up against Dean's back as he holds him, and Dean feels a guilty spark of arousal.
His brother's lips graze the shell of his ear as he says, cold and clear, "I'm about done letting you slap me around now, Dean."
Dean pushes Sam away with his mind, and if Sam had been drinking like he should have, maybe he would be able to block it. Things being as they are, he tumbles back, tripping onto the floor, where Dean makes sure he stays. He almost looks like he's bowing, stuck on his hands and knees like that.
Much better.
"Know your place," Dean tells him. "You think just because I've let you have a little freedom lately it means you're my superior? You're nothing."
"Call me what you want," Sam says. "You don't matter to me. Your opinion of me is worthless. You're just something standing in the way. And I am getting my brother back."
"How?" Dean replies in a teasing tone. "With your soiled blood? Huh? All that evil you put into yourself willingly before I ever came along, and you think you're going to pull me out? I don't want to be saved, Sam, and if I did, it wouldn't be you. I could drink every drop of you, confession or not, I'd probably come out worse than I started."
"That's not true," Sam replies, but his voice is lacking all the conviction it had a few minutes ago.
Dean kneels in front of him and forces his brother to look up at him. "How were you doing it?"
"Wasn't really drinking," Sam admits. "Got enough on my mouth, but I spit it out. The hellhounds probably cleaned up the evidence."
He remembers the rush he felt as Sam mouthed at him the night he killed Jezebel, just before he stopped her from talking. "Jezebel figured you out. She was going to tell me you were doing this."
Sam shrugs. "She needed to go regardless. Too loyal to you. Too smart. She saw too much. I would have preferred not to have had to kill her like that, but she had to go."
"I should have kept her and let you die instead." Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean raises an eyebrow. "What's that expression about?"
"You were never going to let me die. You never will."
"You're pretty sure of that, are you?"
"Yes." Sam smiles, just a tiny turn to his lips, but self-assured in a way that annoys Dean. "You've got this thing about letting me die. Honestly, I've found it as inconvenient on occasion as you do, but there it is."
"I'll turn you into something useful, then. Something loyal. I'll twist your little soul better than I did my own."
"Not if I save you, you won't."
Dean huffs a laugh. "You're a stubborn bastard."
"A family trait," Sam answers fondly. "Everything I am I learned from my big brother."
"Not this," Dean says, and he brings his bloody knuckles up to Sam's face so Sam can smell them. Sam flinches, but Dean sees the way his body tightens up, even as his lips thin and he turns his face away. "You may not have swallowed, but I know you wanted to. You dream about this blood every night, don't you? Your brother knew that. Knew you never really stopped being a freak. He hated you for that, and he always would. I could love you for it."
"It doesn't matter if the craving is still there," Sam replies. "I fought it. I've been fighting it for so long. You won't convince me my brother doesn't love me. You can't make me give him up."
"And yet you want to convince me," Dean hesitates, not wanting to show his weakness so plainly, but all of Sam's human blood is rushing through him, making him so soft. And Sam's every word has a worse effect on him than the anger he's let himself show: he feels sadness, rejection. "You said you killed her because you were jealous. Wasn't that even a little bit true?"
"No," Sam replies. His voice is simple and direct. He's not lying, not even a little bit. "I don't want you. You're just something standing in my way. I want-"
"Your brother," Dean interrupts. "So I've heard."
Sam steps forward, wrapping his hand around Dean's face and turning him until they're facing each other. He leans in and gives Dean a gentle kiss, something Dean has never felt in his life. Not that he can recall, anyway. "If you want me to love you, there's an easier way. Let yourself remember who you are, Dean. Be my big brother again."
"I have an easy way that suits me better," Dean says, ripping Sam's tunic so that his chest is exposed. He traces the tattoo, once a sigil to keep demons out, but broken now. Useless. "Looks like someone got you all ready for me."
He watches horrified realization dawn on his brother's face as he calls for a servant to come into the room. Sam shakes his head no, but Dean is already smoking his way into Sam's mouth.
One more way to be inside of his brother, and he can't believe he didn't think of this before. He watches his own empty body drop to the floor at Sam's feet through hazel eyes, and changes them to his preferred black.
"My lord?" the servant asks, looking from Dean's crumpled meatsuit to Sam's.
Dean smiles and pulls the man closer, and he can feel Sam struggling to regain control as he draws the demon in and slices through his throat with one claw.
The fighting stops once his lips are on the wound, once he himself is drawing all the blood in this vessel into his brother's big, beautiful body, and he can feel the relief and comfort that it brings as Sam sinks into the bliss.
"I like it in this body, Sam," Dean says out loud as he lets the drained demon drop onto the floor next to his own meatsuit. "I wanna take it for a spin."
And by the time he's spread out on the bed, undressed himself and run his hand over Sam's huge chest, there's so much lust running through him that he can't tell what's his and what's Sam's.
But he can feel his brother screaming YES, YES YES inside his mind as he wraps a hand around Sam's big cock and begins to jerk them both to orgasm.
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Like any good addict, all it took to fix Sam was a little push. With all that blood pulsing inside of him, with an endless supply of demons to feed on and Dean at his side to encourage him, Sam never stood a chance.
They have to do it the hard way for a few days, Dean possessing Sam and making damn sure he gets his fill. But by the time it's been a week of regular feeding, Sam is the one twitchy and needy throughout the day, pawing at Dean's clothes to get him naked and open a new wound as soon as they reach Dean's bedchamber.
He put up a good fight, poor thing, but the King of Hell knows how to get what he wants. And all he's ever wanted, Dean realizes now, is Sam in his arms, just like this.
"I like it when you breathe," he says idly, staring up at the ceiling. They've both been sated, taken their share of blood and orgasms, and now Sam is resting his head on Dean's chest, tracing symbols on the skin. "Why do I like that so much?"
"Because I'm alive," Sam explains. "You like that I'm alive."
"Mmm," Dean replies, thinking over Sam's theory. "I don't usually take a shine to living things."
"Let me have more," Sam replies, a little one-track minded when they get like this.
Dean laughs and smiles down at him. "You just had some."
"Still hungry," Sam says. "Went without it so long. Please, Dean. Please. Let me taste you. I miss you."
"Of course, baby, of course," Dean tells him, pushing a soothing hand through Sam's hair and cutting into his own chest so Sam can raise himself up, attach his mouth and suckle like Dean is a mother and Sam his hungry, little treasure. "You can have as much as you want."
Sam watches him as he feeds, his eyes getting darker by the moment. Not black, not yet. But Dean has dreams about it. Someday soon, he knows.
His brother rubs against him as he feeds, cock hard on Dean's leg.
"Want me to fuck you?" Dean offers, slipping his hand between Sam's mouth and his own skin so he can turn Sam and make him look up at him. Sam chases his thumb, sucking blood off of it as he nods. "Would you like that? Big brother fucking you while you take my blood."
"Please," Sam begs, such a precious sound when he's like this. "Fuck me."
"Anything you want," Dean tells him, turning them over so that Sam's on his back.
Sam looks up at him, red smeared all over the bottom half of his face, and it would make Dean laugh if he wasn't so turned on. "I want to fight again."
"Yeah?" Dean asks. "You miss killing, huh? Nothing hotter in Hell than watching you kill."
Sam whimpers. "Yes. I want it. Please."
"Tired of sitting at my side?" Dean laughs. "I get bored too, you know. I wish I could be down there killing."
"I'll do it for you," Sam promises. "Let me kill for you, Dean."
"Tomorrow," he promises. "I'll put you back in the arena tomorrow."
"Not people," Sam says.
Dean shakes his head, happy to ease Sam into his darkness if that's what it takes. He can kill souls when he's fully demon. For now, the bloodlust is enough. Besides… "You're wasted on human souls," Dean tells him. "You'll fight something worthy of you."
Sam grins and Dean can't fucking take his eyes off that red mouth. So he changes his mind. Instead of fucking Sam, he shoves his brother's face down and feeds his cock between those painted lips. Sam groans with the same ecstasy when he swallows Dean's come as when he's taking in Dean's blood.
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It's clear from the beginning of the fight that Sam is finally on board with using his powers. Dean has him up against five hellhounds, but the mutts never make it to tearing him apart.
He turns them. His powers are so strong from Dean's nourishment that Sam is able to reverse the order, and the senators who sent them after Sam, who have been the hounds' masters all their lives, become the target instead.
When they're done killing their owners, they curl up at Sam's feet, and Sam lovingly tears the bones off the dead demons and tosses them to the hounds to chew on.
A month ago, something like that would have turned Sam's stomach. Now, he's thrilling in it. He raises his hand in victory and finds Dean's eyes, and even up high on his throne, he can see his brother's eyes are oil slick black, just like his own.
_______________________________________________________________
A few hours later, Dean is hovering over Sam's body, dick shoved deep inside as he watches his brother's eyes, hoping to catch another glimpse of black.
His hands are tight around Sam's long neck and he's wondering how good it would feel to snap it. Of course, it would be a shame to kill Sam. He can only do it once, after all, and he knows it would be addicting. If only there was a way to kill him again and again, then Dean would know paradise.
Without warning, Dean feels his own neck snap instead. He's a demon-a broken neck is more foreplay than anything. But Sam is no demon, even if he knows how to use his powers better than some. There's nothing in Hell or on Earth left that's strong enough to use their powers on Dean. Dean is the last Knight.
He shivers, letting his body crack back into place and coming into Sam as he does so. Then he asks, "How?"
Sam smiles darkly, blinking his eyes shut very slowly. When he opens them again, they're a pale yellow color that makes Dean flinch.
"Be careful what you make of me, Dean," Sam says. Then they switch back to hazel, and Sam shakes his head like he's coming out of a spell.
He smiles confusedly at Dean's alarmed expression and asks, "What's wrong?" and Dean realizes that wasn't his brother he just caught a glimpse of.
It's a sign of wasted potential, Dean decides. Sam with all that power flowing through him, not using it for anything except to fuck Dean. He needs a good fight or ten, he needs blood on his big, beautiful hands. The hellhounds were fun, but Sam is a born killer, and Dean has been keeping him from his calling, too selfish to share his terror with the rest of the damned world.
So he throws his gladiator back into the arena, a day of full combat against one titan after another. By the seventh and last fight, it's clear that Sam is running low on juice.
He's about to become a chewing toy for Dean's favorite Cyclops. Sam has a sword this time and proper armor to boot. He doesn't need those things, not with his natural talents, but he was a good boy last night, drank all his demon blood without putting up a fuss, so Dean felt like rewarding him.
There's blood pouring from Sam's nose, and his brother spends more of this fight clutching at his head, trying to keep his powers from wavering, than he does focusing on the behemoth stomping around in the arena with him. Dean honestly expects him to use the sword-it would be an easier and more painless way out.
But Sam is dead set on killing the Cyclops with his mind. Dean smiles into his wine glass, liking to think that his baby brother is trying to impress him.
Sam stands in the center now, tall and sure of himself, and Dean can feel the power sparking his every nerve ending. He's a stunning creature when he's like this. Thirsty for blood, both Dean's and his opponent's, and if Dean has been indulging as well, if he feels just a little more human because of the blood Sam's poured into him, it’s no longer something he's ashamed of.
Love is his cruelest discovery to date, and Sam is magnificent.
The cyclops swings his wide arms, and at twice Sam's size, his hits hardly register. Sam holds out his hands to trap the thing, then curls each of them into fists and pulls down, the monster clutching at its head and following his movements as it crumbles to its knees. Sam is shaking from the effort, but he keeps focused and the cyclops can't last forever.
He dies after a long cry of pain, scratching at the sand floor until his fingers are bloody stubs. Dean's brother just smirks at his victim. He comes out victorious with nothing more than a bloody nose.
As he raises his arm in victory, Sam looks like an emperor claiming his kingdom. Proud and strong and ruthless, all the qualities Dean ever dreamed of, and Sam is so, so perfect. He could be a leader more powerful, more wicked, more deserving of respect than anything Dean could offer.
This is his kingdom, it's true, and Dean had no plans of sharing. There was no one strong enough to deserve his respect, let alone his obedience. Crowley was a cockroach, a crossroads demon with delusions of grandeur. Dean was twelve times the demon his would-be master was.
But Sam is superior when he gives in to his powers like this, and that's all that matters here. He was made to hold terrible strength, a cathedral to house a dark god who was still not enough to overcome his vessel. This is a master worth serving-and Knights like Dean, they were made to serve.
He'll gladly bow to the monster he's made. Together, they'll rule: the king and his knight.
_______________________________________________________________
"You were astounding today," Dean declares as he enters his bedchamber. "The way that chimera whimpered when you hardly even blinked at it. What I would have given to have seen your face up close, Sam."
Dean can see his brother curled up on his bed, but he doesn't say a word. Sam's shoulders are shaking, and Dean can hear a soft noise, but he doesn't understand it until he reaches the bed and turns Sam over.
"Sam?" he asks, brushing his finger over Sam's cheeks. The tears steam up and burn on his hand, but Dean doesn't pay attention to the pain, doesn't feel the pleasure Sam crying used to make him feel. "Are you okay?"
"No," Sam replies, shaking his head wildly. "No, no, no, no."
Dean tries to brush his hair away where it's stuck to Sam's face, and that makes him hiss. He realizes Sam is covered in sweat, that salt causing him to steam up as well, and shuts his mouth on a reassuring smile. It's clear what's happening here.
"Oh, it's okay," he promises, shushing Sam's hysteria. "It's okay, Sam. You used up all your blood, that's all. You're strung out. I can give you more. You'll be fine soon."
"I won't," he answers, his eyes still wild. He claws at Dean and then pulls his hands away, making a pained face. "I want it. So bad. I want it."
"That's good," Dean tells him. "I want you to want it."
"Brother," Sam replies, another tear streaking down his cheek, and Dean feels his eyebrows drawing together. He'd noticed the steam before, but he'd thought it was only coming from his skin. Sam is reacting to the salt, too. "Look what I've become."
"You drained yourself with those fights," Dean answers. "It was too much. We won't do that again."
"Did it on purpose," Sam admits, tearing at his hair. "Thought I could clean myself. Thought I could be clean."
Dean shakes his head, looking at Sam like a disappointed parent. "Why on earth would you want to be clean?"
"My brother hated me like this."
"I'm your brother," Dean reminds him, and he remembers the words Sam spoke at their first meeting, the ones that had enraged him so much. "And I love you no matter what. Like this. When you're powerful. Even when you're good, I love you."
"You're not him," Sam hides his face behind his hands. "You killed him. And now you've killed me, too."
"What are you talking about? You're fine," Dean says. "You just need more blood."
"I'll never stop now," Sam babbles. "Never stop. And you were right. I can't save you. I can't save you. You always saved me and I'll be here like this forever. I went too far. I let it go too far." Sam loses focus and starts rocking in Dean's arms. "Just a little, I said. I'll only drink what I need and then I'll stop, but I'm just so..."
Sam's words die as he stops to stare at one of the scars he left on Dean's chest. It'll be healed by tomorrow, but for now, Sam is looking at it like it's a steak. "I'm so hungry. So hungry. I just wanted to save my brother."
Dean is ashamed of himself, but he can't stand to see Sam so upset. So he strokes his brother's cheek and gently asks, "What can I do for you?"
Sam's eyes light up as he searches Dean's expression, and he smiles, but it's wobbly, something between desperate hope and utter abjection. He whispers, "Did you know you look just like my brother?"
Dean's eyes slide to green, and Sam sobs loudly as he reaches out to touch his cheek. "Let me pretend. Just this once, please. Let me pretend I can still get him back."
He leans in and kisses Dean tenderly, and Dean can't help that it makes his heart beat just a little faster. "Whatever you want."
All of the neediness Sam has been displaying in his lust for Dean's blood gets transferred into this kiss, and he doesn't break it as he pushes Dean down. Dean sinks back on the pillows, weighed into the mattress as Sam climbs on him.
He's never had Sam on top like this. No one has ever had him vulnerable like this, not in this lifetime, at least, and a part of him wishes he knew if it were true for his other life, the one he shared with Sam.
Dean never thought he could like letting someone else call the shots.
They're still kissing as they untie each other's robes, hands working greedily but not violently, and it's that absence of malevolent intent that makes this so terrifying to Dean. Still, it's how he knows Sam wants him to do this, how his brother would do it, and he tries not to wonder what it says that falling into this act isn't unpleasant to him.
When Sam's lips finally leave his, it's only to press kisses down his jaw, over his shoulder, as if Sam loves every inch of him and wants Dean to feel adored. And Dean hates him as much for making him learn those emotions as he does for the fact that he knows Sam is pretending he's someone else, and none of this sweet affection is really for him.
Sam reaches out to the nightstand and takes the oil, pouring it into his palm. Dean's legs shift open to make room for him before Sam even turns back, and he feels his cheeks heat with shame at how easy he's making this.
"So pretty when you blush, Dean," Sam teases. He brings the warm oil to Dean's body, the tip of one finger breaching him and stretching him before another joins it in moments.
Dean shifts at the sensation, unperturbed by the slight discomfort it causes at first. This is Hell; it's the pleasure that's unusual, or at least pleasure that comes from Sam pushing into him instead of him tearing it from Sam.
His brother murmurs something about making sure he's ready, how much he loves the way Dean opens up for him, but Dean shuts the words out. Tries so hard not to hear the tone, either, reverent and gentle, and none of the things Dean is supposed to want.
He wants it so bad, and he wants to beg Sam to mean it, to talk to him instead of some lost brother Sam is only pretending he is. But he keeps his lips pressed tightly together instead, doesn't let a single plea or sound of pleasure escape him.
Not even when Sam is three fingers deep and he twists them, finding a spot in Dean that lights him up so bright every fire in hell seems like nothing but a spark next to it.
"What's wrong?" Sam asks, cupping Dean's face and turning it toward him. "Doesn't it feel good, Dean? You always liked this so much."
Dean can’t exactly explain that feeling good is the whole problem. Not when it's Sam's brother who is supposed to be here and he's just an impostor wearing the right face.
Sam leans down for a kiss, and as soon as Dean opens his mouth to accept it, his fight is lost. Sam wrings deep moans and soft sounds of pleasure out of him, his cock hard and desperate for attention before Sam is even done prepping him.
"More," he demands, and Sam laughs as he takes his fingers away.
"Yeah, okay," Sam answers. "I've got more for you."
Dean watches with a hunger that's new to him as Sam slicks his cock up, as he brings it to Dean's body, pausing to meet Dean's eyes with a silent question. He nods, and Sam sinks in, his dick huge and intrusive, but Dean's body is so wet and stretched and relaxed, so well-prepared that Sam's thick cock is able to slide all the way in with hardly any resistance.
He waits for the fucking to begin, for his gladiator to begin to thrust and take with violence and power, just the way Dean has always done to him. But when Sam moves, it's slow. Deliberate. He doesn't want to think the word, but there's no other way to describe the rhythm of Sam's hips as they roll into Dean.
Tender. This isn't fucking; Sam is making love to him.
"Is it good?" Sam asks, smiling like a happy boy as he rolls his cock into a spot that makes Dean's eyes flutter shut, makes all his breath leave him in one satisfied rush. "Dean, tell me it's good."
Dean shakes his head, turning his face away from Sam's. This is too much. Too much and Dean can't admit it. He looks back on the last few months and wonders when he let things go this far.
Sam's big hand cradles his cheek, urging him to meet his brother's eyes, and he tries to go black, or show teeth, tries to spit or say something nasty. He can't pull up any of that cruelty when he looks into Sam's expression.
All he can do is nod, reaching out to hold Sam's hips so they're just that tiny bit closer where Sam has pushed inside of him, as if that's the only place they're touching. As if every inch of their skin isn't the same, their blood the same. Sam has been taking Dean over drop by drop for months, Dean realizes. He's been losing himself to this for a long, long time.
Most of him can't remember why he fought it.
"Sam," he says, hand ghosting over Sam's chest, tracing the broken tattoo, ashamed of what he's done because of it. "Sam, I-"
"Thirsty?" Sam asks.
Dean nods. Even with how big he is, even with how good Sam is fucking him, Dean just wants more. More of Sam inside of him. He wants Sam to possess him, make it so his body can hardly contain them both.
"You can drink," Sam offers sweetly.
Dean shakes his head. "I don't want to hurt you."
The words are foreign on his lips, and he doesn’t know he's about to say them until they're out, so he has no chance to stop them.
"Go on," Sam says, baring his neck as he keeps his even thrusts punching into Dean, lighting Dean up. "Go on, I want you to."
His lips graze Sam's shoulder, kissing the skin there before he sinks his teeth in, breaking it open. The blood begins to pool in seconds, and Dean tries to restrain himself from taking too much, but then Sam gives a cry of delight, his well-controlled hips suddenly losing their pace and shoving hard into Dean with the force of his pleasure.
Somehow, even that manages to be kind instead of cruel.
He has no notion of how long it's been-it feels like centuries, like Sam has managed to drag this on for centuries-before Sam finally wraps a hand around Dean's hard cock and starts to jerk him just right. He pulls his mouth off Sam's shoulder to gasp, and Sam kisses him.
"Missed you like this, Dean," Sam whispers. "Fucking love you like this."
Dean can hardly hold out against that. He feels an orgasm beginning in him, not fast and explosive like all the others he's had, but building, a long time on the horizon before finally his cock begins to come, thick strings of white and Sam just keeps working and working him.
He feels so good, his mind is almost blank from pleasure. He isn't thinking as a name breaks over his lips.
"Sammy." The word burns in his mouth the way Christo would, and Dean realizes in a moment of horror that it's because it's sacred to him. Holy.
He's too far gone to remember to keep his defenses up. All the walls that have been holding him together begin to creak and crumble under the weight of that word, and Dean doesn't get much of a chance to admire the way his saying it makes Sam lose himself, coming hard into Dean.
Everything is flooding back. All the memories he dammed up, with good reason, all of them are assaulting him at once. Sam smiling at him with gaped teeth as he runs around a cheap motel room in his makeshift garbage raincoat. Sam dead in his arms, their bodies kneeling in mud. Alive again, all thanks to Dean. Losing him to Lucifer, getting him back, the shirt he was wearing the night Dean pulled him from a fire in Palo Alto.
It upsets him. It all upsets him so much, and he remembers the last time this happened, too. When he was a demon and Sam was trying to save him, the way he'd tried to keep his distance from this hold Sam has on him, and how Sam wouldn't leave well-enough alone then, either.
He remembers trying to kill Sam, the single-minded conviction that if he can just get his brother out of his conscious he'll be free to enjoy his damnation. This word, Sammy, how he'd repeated it so many times as he'd chased Sam, trying in vain to wear it out, make it cheap on his lips so the sting of love and sanctity would go away. It didn't work then and it won't work now.
"I'll kill you," he says, reaching up to wrap two hands around Sam's neck and pressing hard against Sam's windpipe. "I'll kill you before I'll let you do this to me."
Sam just reaches up, takes each of Dean's hands in one of his own and pries them away as easily as if they were a child's. Dean isn't putting up any real resistance. He feels almost like he wants to cry.
"No," he says. "No, please, it was easy. It was so easy."
"Dean," Sam whispers, kissing him. "Dean, come back to me. Come back to me."
"I can't," he answers, and this time he knows it's true. Even if he wants to. Fuck it, Dean can admit it. He wants to be Sam's brother, anything to make Sam smile.
He can't, not with this Mark on his arm. He can never cleanse himself of it, can only disappoint Sam, failing time and time again to live up to Sam's faith in him, unable to restrain himself from the urge to kill. That's why he forgot Sam; this is why he had to make himself forget. Because forgetting was easier than remembering he failed, would always fail.
Sam smiles, taking his arm. "You can. I have a way."
Dean's eyes widen in shock. "You can get rid of the Mark?"
His brother nods, and Dean shakes his head. "Even Cain said there was no way. He tried for centuries."
"He didn't have me," Sam replies, smiling as he touches Dean's face gently. "Give it to me, Dean."
The idea makes his blood run cold. Damn his brother to this instead of himself. "Never."
"You don't understand," Sam tells him. "Cain couldn't get rid of the Mark because it was his sin. It was his damnation. It's not yours."
"Then why am I in Hell, Sam?" Dean asks. "Why was I a demon? You cured me once before, you think I won't be one again? I'm a lost cause."
"You didn't kill your brother," Sam says, and Dean is about to ask what that matters, but Sam continues, "You can fix his sin. He'd already killed the only person who could save him, because he didn't trust his brother, he gave up on him. You never gave up on me, and I'm here."
"You're saying all Cain had to do was give the Mark to Abel?" Dean asks, almost on the verge of laughing. "That's a pretty stupid Catch-22."
"Not for us, it isn't."
Dean frowns, the darkness of the Mark still having enough of a hold to make him say, "You're trying to trick me. You just want the Mark for yourself."
"Don't really need it," Sam says, looking away, ashamed. "If I wanted that kind of power, you know I could have much more of it without the Mark."
"You're sure this will work?"
Sam looks him dead in the eye. "Do you trust me?"
Dean nods, and Sam takes his forearm the way Cain had. "Give me the Mark, Dean. Let's fix this so you can be my brother again."
There's a faint tugging under his skin, as if the Mark is trying to slip over to Sam. Dean doesn't fight it, watches his and his brother's veins light up as it transfers, but when everything is said and done, Sam pulls his arm away, as scar free as Dean now is.
He hears himself gasp, and then Sam's hand is on his face, bringing him into a kiss.
"Sammy," he whispers, pulling away, suddenly realizing he doesn't deserve this. Not Sam's love or salvation or forgiveness. "The things I've done."
Sam takes his hand, and Dean realizes Sam is shaking. He's been shaking this whole time, and Dean just got used to it, let it get lost in everything else. "I know, Dean. I feel the same way."
"The demon blood," he says, scrubbing his other hand over his mouth. "I did this to you."
"Not all of it," Sam replies. "I gave in. I still want it. I'll still want it until I die. But I'm not giving up, and neither are you."
"But I-"
"Doesn't matter." Sam smiles at him. "We'll get past it. Together."
Dean nods, but then he laughs. "Hey, not for nothing, but did this plan of yours have an exit strategy? Because we're smack in the middle of Hell, and I doubt I'll be able to fool them that I'm still a demon for very long."
"Well, we could leave the way I came. Learned it from that coyote all those years ago, remember? Portal through Purgatory."
"Right," Dean says. "Let's get going, then."
"Or," Sam replies, and the smirk he gives Dean makes Dean's heart pick up, beating wildly. Sam's about to have a really stupid idea, he can tell. He fucking loves this kid. "Or we could try to set some of the things we've done right."
"I'm listening," Dean replies.
"That Devil's Gate in Wyoming. You can unlock it, can't you? I mean, you're still the emperor."
"That'll let more demons out than souls," Dean reasons.
"Not if you have them release the souls first. Not if we stand at the entrance, fight as many demons as we can until there's more than we can handle, and then we make a break and shut it behind us. Some of the souls might even rebel, fight the demons off to buy the rest of them a little more time. We won't get everyone out, but we'll save a lot of people."
"That's idiotic," Dean says. "Suicide."
"What's gonna happen, we die? We go to Hell?" Sam grins.
Dean muses on it for a few moments. It's a solid Winchester plan. Headstrong and ballsy, and fucked if he doesn't like it.
"You and me against all the demons in Hell, huh Sammy?" Sam nods, and Dean smiles. "I've been looking for an even fight."
The End.
PART TWO
Three demons toss a squirming Sam onto the bed unceremoniously and walk out, averting their eyes from Dean's. He watches the demons go until it's just Sam and him alone in his chamber. Sam turns over too quickly, trying to move up the bed as if that can save him.
He smiles. "Hello again."
Sam licks his lips, pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, like he's trying to hide his nakedness. "Hi."
"I thought I'd try a new method of persuasion," Dean says, drinking in the sight of Sam. There's no pretending the man isn't beautiful, or that Dean hasn't wanted this since the first time he saw Sam. Sex has, for the most part, not interested Dean much since he got to Hell. It's a lesser sin. No true malice in it, most of the time, and not worth the time and energy expended on it.
But that changed when Sam arrived. There's no telling why Dean has resisted taking this as long as he has, but there's a fire curling in him as he looks at Sam and knows it's a matter of moments.
Maybe once he gets this out of his system, he can wash himself clean of Sam altogether.
"Would you like to try asking me not to?" he asks as he climbs onto the bed, pinning Sam down with his mind as he advances. Spreading out all those long, long limbs so Sam can’t use them to cover up.
Dean isn't really expecting Sam to beg for mercy, as much as that would make his night. He's anticipating more of the same, Sam's stubborn acceptance of everything Dean throws at him, despite obvious disapproval.
What he isn't expecting is the relief that comes over Sam's face. The desire. Total submission to the point that the only struggle Sam puts up against Dean's mental grip on him is to try and open himself up more.
"Fuck, Dean, it's been so long," he says. "Please."
The words catch him so far off guard that Dean drops him. Lets go of his mental hold, sits back on his knees, and stares at Sam. "You…want…?"
"What, you thought you could force me?" he asks, laughing as his tongue works up the side of Dean's face and curls around his ear. "You wanted this to be torture? There's nothing you can take from me that isn't yours already, Dean. You used to know that."
"I did?" he asks, shaking as Sam's mouth works at him and-fuck. No. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. "I'll hurt you. I'm going to hurt you."
"I wish you would," Sam whispers, pushing the robe off of Dean's shoulders, and suddenly Dean feels vulnerable. It's not like he hadn't been planning to remove it. But he was going to do it himself.
Sam kisses Dean and Dean bites his lip with sharp teeth. Sam moans at that, drags Dean down on top of him as he says, "Please, please. Missed it so much. Dean, please."
Dean flips him over, puts him on all fours. In a submissive position. One where Dean doesn't have to look at him, or that disgusting way he has of staring at Dean like he's a godsend, or the terrifying rush of warmth that surges through him when he sees that expression on Sam's face.
He'll make Sam regret this. He'll make Sam hate him. He has to.
So he mounts Sam and shoves into him dry. It's uncomfortable for Dean, much too tight and unyielding, so he can't imagine how uncomfortable it is for Sam.
Under him, the gladiator gives a soft cry of pain and Dean shoves into him harder. "How's that, Sam? You like that."
"Yes," Sam replies through gritted teeth. He shifts so that he's holding himself up on his elbows and lets his head drop to the pillows. "Don't stop on my account."
Dean growls at the implication that he would, as if he was actually checking Sam's comfort, and becomes furious with himself that he had stopped, waited for Sam's response before pumping his hips again.
He shuts it out, fucking Sam furiously, knowing the punched out sounds Sam releases as Dean uses him, fucks him raw and dry and dirty, are not pleasure. They can't be.
"You want a little something to ease it," Dean asks teasingly, his tongue curling in Sam's ear the way Sam had done to him. But his tongue splits, two-pronged like a snake, making Sam hiss and squirm beneath him.
Sam is quiet for a long time, so Dean pushes into him roughly, and Sam whimpers, "Yes. Please. Anything."
Dean grins with all his sharp teeth and digs his claws into Sam's back, watching the blood bead up as he pulls his cock out. He smears his hand through it and jerks his dick as Sam lets out a pained sound.
"It'll be better now," Dean promises as he presses in, but Sam shakes his head.
"Blood dries too quickly," he says. "Not good for-"
"Well, you have plenty of blood in you," Dean replies. "We can keep it up for a while yet."
He lowers himself and keeps fucking into Sam, and now that there's some give, Sam gasps and pushes his hips up. Dean licks some of the blood on Sam's wide back and feels something spark through him at the taste.
"'s good," Sam says, wantonly grinding up into Dean. "So good. Missed you. God, I love you like this."
It's so sweet. So sweet to have Sam wanting him. The heart he doesn't have in his chest beats faster.
"No," Dean insists, biting into his neck for more blood and sucking at the wound hungrily. "No, stop it."
"Drink me," Sam says. "Fuck me. Whatever you want. Anything. I'm all yours, Dean. I'm all yours."
Dean feels his pleasure riding up on him without his permission, breaking over him when Sam moves in a way no one else has ever done, a way that makes a thousand orgasms he doesn't remember having spark in his memories. He shouts out Sam's name as he loses control of himself, thrusting blindly and roughly and Sam just takes it and takes it, panting loudly as Dean's seed fills him, making the slide of his cock finally easy inside of Sam.
He pulls away, withdraws his dick and turns Sam over, freezing his prisoner's hand before he can even think of touching himself for release. But Sam just looks up at him and his head falls back, and Dean watches Sam's cock as it comes, untouched and entirely neglected. This was supposed to hurt Sam. This was supposed to crush Sam. Sam's back is still bleeding into Dean's sheets and yet the man is staring up like he thinks he's in Heaven instead of the opposite.
For the first time in centuries, Dean feels his eyes slip, green instead of black filtering over them as he watches Sam curl up on the pillows, sated and adoring.
Sam's own eyes get soft and he reaches out, tracing Dean's cheek as he doesn't blink or take his gaze away from Dean's. "That's better," he says. "There's my Dean."
Dean sneers as he forces his eyes back under control. "When I fucked you-I bet it wasn't like that before."
Sam turns onto his side, laughing like Dean just told a good joke. "You think that was something?"
"I hurt you." Dean feels a crease form between his eyes. "I didn't hurt you before. You loved me."
"Some people are so stupid about love," Sam says, almost as if he's talking to a child. "You think it's something good and pure, you think love makes people act like heroes."
Sam sits up, propping his sliced open back against Dean's headboard, and Dean figures if he didn’t want Sam bleeding all over everything, he could have planned this better.
"Love makes us monsters, too," Sam says. "Makes us do terrible things. How do you think you turned into a demon?"
Dean holds out his arm, shows Sam the Mark on his forearm, and Sam huffs a laugh like it's an insignificant scratch. "You and I, Dean. On Earth. Yes, we loved each other very much. And we did the wickedest things because of it. Filthy things."
He wants to say Sam is lying, that he's only telling Dean this to make him wonder, but the way he looks up at Dean. The promises in that dirty smile. A shiver runs through him, and he does wish he could remember.
"You don't have the creativity. You don't have the passion." Sam shakes his head and pats Dean's cheek like he's sorry for him. "You couldn't begin to imagine the things you've done to me. This was nothing."
"I could remember if I wanted to," Dean snaps at him.
Sam traces the lines of the Mark and nods. "Yes. So why don't you?"
Dean hesitates and Sam laughs at him. It's a cruel enough sound that Dean's eye jump up to meet his.
"You're scared, that's why. You turned yourself into this. Let this stupid Mark take you over completely. You tore down Hell and built a new one, all to save yourself from remembering. Because it was easier this way wasn't it? Because you could be simple and nasty if there wasn't anything to remind you. You got rid of everything you are because remembering me made it too hard to be a monster."
"You think very highly of yourself," Dean replies, because he can't really rebut it. He doesn't know why he made himself forget. If he picks at it, the whole damn world may come tumbling down around them.
Sam presses his lips into a thin line and shrugs. "I never thought-of all the things I imagined I might see when I came down here, I never thought I would see Dean Winchester become a coward."
It's the name that catches him more than the insult, and he looks at Sam with a questioning gaze.
Sam doesn't offer another word, just sits there, staring at Dean and breathing. Dean likes the sound of it, the reassuring in and out of air in Sam's lungs. It scares him.
"Your blood," he says, changing the subject. "It doesn't taste like human blood. Not regular human blood anyway."
"It tastes like demon," Sam guesses, his voice much weaker than it was when he was hurling his insults at Dean. "I guess we share that now."
"Yes, but that's not what I meant. It tastes-it tastes pure."
"I confessed," Sam says. "Before I came here. My worst sins."
"You knew I would drink it," says Dean. "You thought you could cure me with your tainted blood?"
"It's your tainted blood, too," Sam answers. He sighs and looks away. "It's tainted, yes. But it's enough. I can cure you. If you drink, I can cure you."
"What if I drink you dry?" Dean asks jokingly. "Then I'll be saved and you'll be dead. How's that sound?"
"Worth it," Sam says without even stopping to think.
"What did you confess?" he asks, just because he's curious.
Sam does hesitate this time, but Dean can tell he's not lying when he finally decides to speak. "I let my brother become a demon. Best man there ever was. He did everything for me. Saved me so many times. He damned himself to save me."
"How?"
"He had a Mark just like this," Sam says, bringing Dean's forearm to his lips and kissing it softly. "It made him want to kill. It made him dark. It made him a demon. I saved him, but it was still there. And he fought it. For such a long time he fought it. He was the strongest man, my brother."
"Not so strong," Dean answers. "There's no point in fighting that kind of urge, Sam. It's good. Giving in feels good."
Voice trembling, Sam keeps talking. "He fought and he controlled it and then one day I-there were all these men. So many of them, I couldn't take them all at once. He saved me from them. He saved me but by the time he was done with them…"
Sam shudders, and Dean finishes the story for him. "It was too late."
His brother nods. "It was too late."
"No," Dean says, shaking his head and tearing his arm away from Sam's gentle touches. "This is who I am. This is who I have always been."
"It's not," Sam insists. "This isn't you. Dean. You’re my big brother. I need you back, please. I can tell a part of you wants to be that again. Giving in feels good, right?"
"Not to that," Dean answers.
He feels a sudden swell of anger rise in him. Things were simple for hundreds and hundreds of Hell years until Sam came along. Things were fucked up and fun and nothing interrupted that. And now there's this-this sick pull in Dean's chest as if he has a heart and Sam is breaking it. Things were good and what Sam wants him to remember is pain.
"This Mark makes me powerful. I'm a king. You won't save me like this." He smiles, a hundred fangs shaping as he lets Sam see his true face. "You know what, Sam? Let's make a trade."
He slices into his arm and holds it out. "I drank. Now you drink."
Sam looks at the offered limb with as much lust as he'd had for Dean an hour before. Like he wants to do what Dean is asking. But he shakes his head and pushes the offering away. "I can't do that."
"You can," Dean tells him, grabbing him by the hair and tugging him in. "And you will."
"I won't." Sam closes his eyes and Dean can tell he's holding his breath. Trying not to breathe it in. He wants this. Dean hadn't expected that. "I'll never stop."
Dean loosens his hold, running his hand through Sam's hair instead of pulling it. "You don't ever have to. You'll like it after a while. You'll grow to like it."
"I know," Sam licks his lip and looks up at Dean, his expression so desperate that it makes Dean want to give in.
It's that impulse that pushes him. "I didn't say you had a choice."
Dean is caught completely off guard when Sam lashes out at him, pushing him away with such force that he stumbles back and nearly falls off his bed. "I won't fucking drink it."
Furious, Dean catches him with his powers and shoves Sam down. "Aw, you hurt my feelings, Sam. I thought you promised not to strike me."
"Said I wouldn't hurt Dean," Sam replies, and Dean can see that there are tears trying to leak from his eyes, but the angle Dean's powers have him stuck at make them pool instead. "You're not Dean. He would never ask-"
"Sweetheart, I'm not asking." Dean curls his body around Sam's, propping his brother up against his chest like a rag doll, still frozen in his grasp, but at an angle where his mouth is near Dean's bleeding wound. The salt in Sam's tears burns his flesh when they begin to fall, and the sensation makes his cock start to thicken again.
"Don't make me," Sam pleads, his voice smaller than Dean has ever heard it, because that's all he can manage while trapped in Dean's clutch. "My brother would hate me."
Dean laughs and forces Sam's mouth to his broken skin. "Your brother is dead."
_______________________________________________________________
They do the whole song and dance again the next night. Sam by his side during the day, face hardened against Dean's torture. Sam in his bed at night, lips red from drinking Dean in.
They take their fill. Night after night they tangle, flesh and blood all slapping together and something both sweet and bitter coming out of the chaos. Sam doesn't fight the drug Dean feeds him, not after the first few times. And his sanctified blood doesn’t taste like poison on Dean's lips for long, either.
_______________________________________________________________
Dean is running his fingers through Sam's hair, watching heatedly as his brother sucks on a fresh cut on his thigh, when a knock at the door disturbs him.
Sam tries to pull away and sit up, but Dean forces him back down as he calls, "Come in."
Jezebel enters, her black eyes stopping immediately on Sam and narrowing. "Oh. He's here."
"That's no way to greet your king," Dean says, giving her a reprimanding look.
"I apologize, my lord," she says, bowing her head. "May I speak to you in private?"
"What's more private than my bedchamber when I'm nearly naked and I've got a mouth on my thigh?" Dean asks with a laugh.
The demon frowns, again fixing her gaze on Sam. "As in, without him here."
"You don't trust Sam?" Dean pets his brother reassuringly as he licks at a stray drop of blood and mouths along the hot skin of Dean's inner leg. Truth be told, this conversation is tedious, and Dean could really stand to get back to where his and Sam's activities were leading.
"Trust is for the weak," she replies, softening the insult by adding, "you taught me that, highness."
Dean glowers because-well, it's true. Dean did believe that. He does believe that. It's just…this is Sam, and there are different rules for Sam.
"Say what you came here to say," he demands. "I have better things to get to."
"Better things like him?" she says with a sneer. She draws herself to her greatest height, feet clicking together, body strung tight but her stance defiant nonetheless. "He makes you weak, your grace, and he's not as loyal to you as you are to him. I came here to tell you that he's been-"
Dean feels a sharp rush in his thigh, like his blood is all being sucked out of him at once, and suddenly her voice is stopped. Jezebel clutches her throat, a confused look on her face that quickly turns to terror as she raises her head. Sam sits up in bed next to Dean, wiping blood off on the back of his forearm, and smiles at Dean with red-stained teeth.
"Can I kill her?" he asks sweetly. "It's been so long since I killed."
"No, no," Dean says, laughing gently. "Not her. We'll call someone else in for you to play with."
He leans in for a kiss, and Sam grants it, his hold on Jezebel not faltering even as he lets Dean distract him.
Dean is duly impressed. "I didn't know you had powers," he says, tugging on a strand of Sam's hair. "What are you, little brother?"
"Just that," Sam answers. He flinches, the scrunched look on his face making it obvious that holding Jezebel is beginning to take more effort than it did at first. "The powers come from the blood."
"So you have had it before?" Dean asks.
Sam nods.
"Jezebel is no newly minted demon," Dean tells him. "Her power is old. You must be very strong to be holding her."
Sam brings a hand up to his forehead and says, "Strong enough," through gritted teeth.
"Let's make a deal," says Dean, reaching out to touch Sam's thigh. "Let Jezebel go. Tell me about your powers. And I'll bring you demons you can drink dry, as many as you want. All the blood in Hell is yours, Sammy."
"I only want your blood," Sam insists, and that turns Dean on so much he accepts it. But then Sam's hand curls into a fist and he turns to look at Jezebel, who is clearly trying to cry out in pain. Her eyes are fixed on Dean, pleading. "And hers."
"Why her?" he asks.
"You like her," Sam replies, and Dean shrugs as he nods. His brother's voice gets dark, low and dangerous, and it's like music to Dean's ears, "I don't like sharing."
That gets Dean's already needy dick hard in moments, and he bites his bottom lip as he grins at his brother. "She's all yours, Sam."
Sam immediately kills her, the effort it takes exhausting him, but Dean doesn't need Sam to be in prime condition to get pleasure out of him. He fucks his brother rough and hungry and doesn't stop to wonder until Sam has drifted to sleep at his side if maybe he should have waited for Jezebel to say what she came to say before letting Sam waste her.
_______________________________________________________________
This fight has lasted two hours. Dean is tired of it, so he can't begin to imagine how tired Sam, who has been bleeding and dodging, carrying heavy armor, giving and receiving hits, must be.
It's not a fair fight. Nothing is against Sam. The manticore he's up against is an embarrassment of a monster. It became clear early on that Sam was going to kick its ass, so it's spent most of the fight in the air, hovering out of Sam's reach, making the gladiator chase it in circles and only lowering itself to get in a quick swipe when the attack is easy.
"Almost makes you want to intervene, doesn't it?" the demon at his side, some minor foot soldier whose name Dean has not bothered to learn, asks. "Use your powers to ground the damn thing?"
Dean invited him to sit at his side, just as he has a different demon every day since Jezebel fell. None of them have filled her shoes, and this one is just as dull as the rest. Dean would admit he misses her if Sam hadn't looked so pretty tearing her down.
The question upsets him, and he realizes why as soon as he looks at Sam again, swinging his sword ineffectually at the creature.
He's been in Dean's bed every night for the last month. He's been drinking, or so Dean believed. If he's strong enough to kill Jezebel, if he was truly Lucifer's vessel as Sam insisted he was, then why is some manticore flying around unchecked? This fight should have been a joke to Sam. If Sam has been drinking, he could ground this beast and end the combat without even lifting his sword.
Dean realizes that he-Emperor and Knight of Hell-has been played. Made a fool by a human soul.
He flicks out his wrist in annoyance and the demon at his side flies forward, tumbling down into the arena. If the fall doesn't kill him, the manticore, now turning its attention from Sam to the easy meal, will.
"Call off the fight," Dean tells his nearest servant. "And have Sam brought to me immediately."
_______________________________________________________________
Dean doesn't wait for the demons who escort Sam in to leave the room before slapping his brother, sending Sam halfway across the room with the force of the blow.
He's not doing it to show off this time, couldn't care less what the demons think of him. He's too angry to wait. Sam's betrayal hurt him, and that frail human emotion upsets him more than the lie or the fact that his best lieutenant is dead.
Sam's blood has apparently had more effect than Dean realized. And his has had none at all on Sam.
"You maggot," Dean growls, watching for the door to close before admitting his folly. "You tricked me. You thought you could get away with that, did you?"
"I did get away with it," Sam replies, holding his fingers to his swollen eye as he looks up at Dean with-hatred. Hatred in his eyes. Dean can't bear to see it. "What? You stupid bastard, did you think you had a monopoly on lying? You think I don't know how to manipulate just because I'm not a demon?"
Dean smashes his fists against a nearby pillar, the material crumbling upon impact. "I trusted you."
"Yes." Sam stands, holding himself with such dignity that even the bruise rising on his face doesn't make Dean feel more in control. "I told you exactly what I came here to do, and yet you trusted me. I wonder if it's because a part of you wants me to win, or if you're just that stupid."
Dean crosses the room, grabbing Sam by the fabric of his black robes and pushing him against the wall. "How dare you?"
Sam smiles. "I'd like to believe it's the first thing, but having gotten to know you a little, I'm thinking it's probably the second."
He rears back to punch Sam, but Sam catches his wrist, turning it and shoving Dean so he hits the wall instead. He pushes his entire body up against Dean's back as he holds him, and Dean feels a guilty spark of arousal.
His brother's lips graze the shell of his ear as he says, cold and clear, "I'm about done letting you slap me around now, Dean."
Dean pushes Sam away with his mind, and if Sam had been drinking like he should have, maybe he would be able to block it. Things being as they are, he tumbles back, tripping onto the floor, where Dean makes sure he stays. He almost looks like he's bowing, stuck on his hands and knees like that.
Much better.
"Know your place," Dean tells him. "You think just because I've let you have a little freedom lately it means you're my superior? You're nothing."
"Call me what you want," Sam says. "You don't matter to me. Your opinion of me is worthless. You're just something standing in the way. And I am getting my brother back."
"How?" Dean replies in a teasing tone. "With your soiled blood? Huh? All that evil you put into yourself willingly before I ever came along, and you think you're going to pull me out? I don't want to be saved, Sam, and if I did, it wouldn't be you. I could drink every drop of you, confession or not, I'd probably come out worse than I started."
"That's not true," Sam replies, but his voice is lacking all the conviction it had a few minutes ago.
Dean kneels in front of him and forces his brother to look up at him. "How were you doing it?"
"Wasn't really drinking," Sam admits. "Got enough on my mouth, but I spit it out. The hellhounds probably cleaned up the evidence."
He remembers the rush he felt as Sam mouthed at him the night he killed Jezebel, just before he stopped her from talking. "Jezebel figured you out. She was going to tell me you were doing this."
Sam shrugs. "She needed to go regardless. Too loyal to you. Too smart. She saw too much. I would have preferred not to have had to kill her like that, but she had to go."
"I should have kept her and let you die instead." Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean raises an eyebrow. "What's that expression about?"
"You were never going to let me die. You never will."
"You're pretty sure of that, are you?"
"Yes." Sam smiles, just a tiny turn to his lips, but self-assured in a way that annoys Dean. "You've got this thing about letting me die. Honestly, I've found it as inconvenient on occasion as you do, but there it is."
"I'll turn you into something useful, then. Something loyal. I'll twist your little soul better than I did my own."
"Not if I save you, you won't."
Dean huffs a laugh. "You're a stubborn bastard."
"A family trait," Sam answers fondly. "Everything I am I learned from my big brother."
"Not this," Dean says, and he brings his bloody knuckles up to Sam's face so Sam can smell them. Sam flinches, but Dean sees the way his body tightens up, even as his lips thin and he turns his face away. "You may not have swallowed, but I know you wanted to. You dream about this blood every night, don't you? Your brother knew that. Knew you never really stopped being a freak. He hated you for that, and he always would. I could love you for it."
"It doesn't matter if the craving is still there," Sam replies. "I fought it. I've been fighting it for so long. You won't convince me my brother doesn't love me. You can't make me give him up."
"And yet you want to convince me," Dean hesitates, not wanting to show his weakness so plainly, but all of Sam's human blood is rushing through him, making him so soft. And Sam's every word has a worse effect on him than the anger he's let himself show: he feels sadness, rejection. "You said you killed her because you were jealous. Wasn't that even a little bit true?"
"No," Sam replies. His voice is simple and direct. He's not lying, not even a little bit. "I don't want you. You're just something standing in my way. I want-"
"Your brother," Dean interrupts. "So I've heard."
Sam steps forward, wrapping his hand around Dean's face and turning him until they're facing each other. He leans in and gives Dean a gentle kiss, something Dean has never felt in his life. Not that he can recall, anyway. "If you want me to love you, there's an easier way. Let yourself remember who you are, Dean. Be my big brother again."
"I have an easy way that suits me better," Dean says, ripping Sam's tunic so that his chest is exposed. He traces the tattoo, once a sigil to keep demons out, but broken now. Useless. "Looks like someone got you all ready for me."
He watches horrified realization dawn on his brother's face as he calls for a servant to come into the room. Sam shakes his head no, but Dean is already smoking his way into Sam's mouth.
One more way to be inside of his brother, and he can't believe he didn't think of this before. He watches his own empty body drop to the floor at Sam's feet through hazel eyes, and changes them to his preferred black.
"My lord?" the servant asks, looking from Dean's crumpled meatsuit to Sam's.
Dean smiles and pulls the man closer, and he can feel Sam struggling to regain control as he draws the demon in and slices through his throat with one claw.
The fighting stops once his lips are on the wound, once he himself is drawing all the blood in this vessel into his brother's big, beautiful body, and he can feel the relief and comfort that it brings as Sam sinks into the bliss.
"I like it in this body, Sam," Dean says out loud as he lets the drained demon drop onto the floor next to his own meatsuit. "I wanna take it for a spin."
And by the time he's spread out on the bed, undressed himself and run his hand over Sam's huge chest, there's so much lust running through him that he can't tell what's his and what's Sam's.
But he can feel his brother screaming YES, YES YES inside his mind as he wraps a hand around Sam's big cock and begins to jerk them both to orgasm.
_______________________________________________________________
Like any good addict, all it took to fix Sam was a little push. With all that blood pulsing inside of him, with an endless supply of demons to feed on and Dean at his side to encourage him, Sam never stood a chance.
They have to do it the hard way for a few days, Dean possessing Sam and making damn sure he gets his fill. But by the time it's been a week of regular feeding, Sam is the one twitchy and needy throughout the day, pawing at Dean's clothes to get him naked and open a new wound as soon as they reach Dean's bedchamber.
He put up a good fight, poor thing, but the King of Hell knows how to get what he wants. And all he's ever wanted, Dean realizes now, is Sam in his arms, just like this.
"I like it when you breathe," he says idly, staring up at the ceiling. They've both been sated, taken their share of blood and orgasms, and now Sam is resting his head on Dean's chest, tracing symbols on the skin. "Why do I like that so much?"
"Because I'm alive," Sam explains. "You like that I'm alive."
"Mmm," Dean replies, thinking over Sam's theory. "I don't usually take a shine to living things."
"Let me have more," Sam replies, a little one-track minded when they get like this.
Dean laughs and smiles down at him. "You just had some."
"Still hungry," Sam says. "Went without it so long. Please, Dean. Please. Let me taste you. I miss you."
"Of course, baby, of course," Dean tells him, pushing a soothing hand through Sam's hair and cutting into his own chest so Sam can raise himself up, attach his mouth and suckle like Dean is a mother and Sam his hungry, little treasure. "You can have as much as you want."
Sam watches him as he feeds, his eyes getting darker by the moment. Not black, not yet. But Dean has dreams about it. Someday soon, he knows.
His brother rubs against him as he feeds, cock hard on Dean's leg.
"Want me to fuck you?" Dean offers, slipping his hand between Sam's mouth and his own skin so he can turn Sam and make him look up at him. Sam chases his thumb, sucking blood off of it as he nods. "Would you like that? Big brother fucking you while you take my blood."
"Please," Sam begs, such a precious sound when he's like this. "Fuck me."
"Anything you want," Dean tells him, turning them over so that Sam's on his back.
Sam looks up at him, red smeared all over the bottom half of his face, and it would make Dean laugh if he wasn't so turned on. "I want to fight again."
"Yeah?" Dean asks. "You miss killing, huh? Nothing hotter in Hell than watching you kill."
Sam whimpers. "Yes. I want it. Please."
"Tired of sitting at my side?" Dean laughs. "I get bored too, you know. I wish I could be down there killing."
"I'll do it for you," Sam promises. "Let me kill for you, Dean."
"Tomorrow," he promises. "I'll put you back in the arena tomorrow."
"Not people," Sam says.
Dean shakes his head, happy to ease Sam into his darkness if that's what it takes. He can kill souls when he's fully demon. For now, the bloodlust is enough. Besides… "You're wasted on human souls," Dean tells him. "You'll fight something worthy of you."
Sam grins and Dean can't fucking take his eyes off that red mouth. So he changes his mind. Instead of fucking Sam, he shoves his brother's face down and feeds his cock between those painted lips. Sam groans with the same ecstasy when he swallows Dean's come as when he's taking in Dean's blood.
_______________________________________________________________
It's clear from the beginning of the fight that Sam is finally on board with using his powers. Dean has him up against five hellhounds, but the mutts never make it to tearing him apart.
He turns them. His powers are so strong from Dean's nourishment that Sam is able to reverse the order, and the senators who sent them after Sam, who have been the hounds' masters all their lives, become the target instead.
When they're done killing their owners, they curl up at Sam's feet, and Sam lovingly tears the bones off the dead demons and tosses them to the hounds to chew on.
A month ago, something like that would have turned Sam's stomach. Now, he's thrilling in it. He raises his hand in victory and finds Dean's eyes, and even up high on his throne, he can see his brother's eyes are oil slick black, just like his own.
_______________________________________________________________
A few hours later, Dean is hovering over Sam's body, dick shoved deep inside as he watches his brother's eyes, hoping to catch another glimpse of black.
His hands are tight around Sam's long neck and he's wondering how good it would feel to snap it. Of course, it would be a shame to kill Sam. He can only do it once, after all, and he knows it would be addicting. If only there was a way to kill him again and again, then Dean would know paradise.
Without warning, Dean feels his own neck snap instead. He's a demon-a broken neck is more foreplay than anything. But Sam is no demon, even if he knows how to use his powers better than some. There's nothing in Hell or on Earth left that's strong enough to use their powers on Dean. Dean is the last Knight.
He shivers, letting his body crack back into place and coming into Sam as he does so. Then he asks, "How?"
Sam smiles darkly, blinking his eyes shut very slowly. When he opens them again, they're a pale yellow color that makes Dean flinch.
"Be careful what you make of me, Dean," Sam says. Then they switch back to hazel, and Sam shakes his head like he's coming out of a spell.
He smiles confusedly at Dean's alarmed expression and asks, "What's wrong?" and Dean realizes that wasn't his brother he just caught a glimpse of.
It's a sign of wasted potential, Dean decides. Sam with all that power flowing through him, not using it for anything except to fuck Dean. He needs a good fight or ten, he needs blood on his big, beautiful hands. The hellhounds were fun, but Sam is a born killer, and Dean has been keeping him from his calling, too selfish to share his terror with the rest of the damned world.
So he throws his gladiator back into the arena, a day of full combat against one titan after another. By the seventh and last fight, it's clear that Sam is running low on juice.
He's about to become a chewing toy for Dean's favorite Cyclops. Sam has a sword this time and proper armor to boot. He doesn't need those things, not with his natural talents, but he was a good boy last night, drank all his demon blood without putting up a fuss, so Dean felt like rewarding him.
There's blood pouring from Sam's nose, and his brother spends more of this fight clutching at his head, trying to keep his powers from wavering, than he does focusing on the behemoth stomping around in the arena with him. Dean honestly expects him to use the sword-it would be an easier and more painless way out.
But Sam is dead set on killing the Cyclops with his mind. Dean smiles into his wine glass, liking to think that his baby brother is trying to impress him.
Sam stands in the center now, tall and sure of himself, and Dean can feel the power sparking his every nerve ending. He's a stunning creature when he's like this. Thirsty for blood, both Dean's and his opponent's, and if Dean has been indulging as well, if he feels just a little more human because of the blood Sam's poured into him, it’s no longer something he's ashamed of.
Love is his cruelest discovery to date, and Sam is magnificent.
The cyclops swings his wide arms, and at twice Sam's size, his hits hardly register. Sam holds out his hands to trap the thing, then curls each of them into fists and pulls down, the monster clutching at its head and following his movements as it crumbles to its knees. Sam is shaking from the effort, but he keeps focused and the cyclops can't last forever.
He dies after a long cry of pain, scratching at the sand floor until his fingers are bloody stubs. Dean's brother just smirks at his victim. He comes out victorious with nothing more than a bloody nose.
As he raises his arm in victory, Sam looks like an emperor claiming his kingdom. Proud and strong and ruthless, all the qualities Dean ever dreamed of, and Sam is so, so perfect. He could be a leader more powerful, more wicked, more deserving of respect than anything Dean could offer.
This is his kingdom, it's true, and Dean had no plans of sharing. There was no one strong enough to deserve his respect, let alone his obedience. Crowley was a cockroach, a crossroads demon with delusions of grandeur. Dean was twelve times the demon his would-be master was.
But Sam is superior when he gives in to his powers like this, and that's all that matters here. He was made to hold terrible strength, a cathedral to house a dark god who was still not enough to overcome his vessel. This is a master worth serving-and Knights like Dean, they were made to serve.
He'll gladly bow to the monster he's made. Together, they'll rule: the king and his knight.
_______________________________________________________________
"You were astounding today," Dean declares as he enters his bedchamber. "The way that chimera whimpered when you hardly even blinked at it. What I would have given to have seen your face up close, Sam."
Dean can see his brother curled up on his bed, but he doesn't say a word. Sam's shoulders are shaking, and Dean can hear a soft noise, but he doesn't understand it until he reaches the bed and turns Sam over.
"Sam?" he asks, brushing his finger over Sam's cheeks. The tears steam up and burn on his hand, but Dean doesn't pay attention to the pain, doesn't feel the pleasure Sam crying used to make him feel. "Are you okay?"
"No," Sam replies, shaking his head wildly. "No, no, no, no."
Dean tries to brush his hair away where it's stuck to Sam's face, and that makes him hiss. He realizes Sam is covered in sweat, that salt causing him to steam up as well, and shuts his mouth on a reassuring smile. It's clear what's happening here.
"Oh, it's okay," he promises, shushing Sam's hysteria. "It's okay, Sam. You used up all your blood, that's all. You're strung out. I can give you more. You'll be fine soon."
"I won't," he answers, his eyes still wild. He claws at Dean and then pulls his hands away, making a pained face. "I want it. So bad. I want it."
"That's good," Dean tells him. "I want you to want it."
"Brother," Sam replies, another tear streaking down his cheek, and Dean feels his eyebrows drawing together. He'd noticed the steam before, but he'd thought it was only coming from his skin. Sam is reacting to the salt, too. "Look what I've become."
"You drained yourself with those fights," Dean answers. "It was too much. We won't do that again."
"Did it on purpose," Sam admits, tearing at his hair. "Thought I could clean myself. Thought I could be clean."
Dean shakes his head, looking at Sam like a disappointed parent. "Why on earth would you want to be clean?"
"My brother hated me like this."
"I'm your brother," Dean reminds him, and he remembers the words Sam spoke at their first meeting, the ones that had enraged him so much. "And I love you no matter what. Like this. When you're powerful. Even when you're good, I love you."
"You're not him," Sam hides his face behind his hands. "You killed him. And now you've killed me, too."
"What are you talking about? You're fine," Dean says. "You just need more blood."
"I'll never stop now," Sam babbles. "Never stop. And you were right. I can't save you. I can't save you. You always saved me and I'll be here like this forever. I went too far. I let it go too far." Sam loses focus and starts rocking in Dean's arms. "Just a little, I said. I'll only drink what I need and then I'll stop, but I'm just so..."
Sam's words die as he stops to stare at one of the scars he left on Dean's chest. It'll be healed by tomorrow, but for now, Sam is looking at it like it's a steak. "I'm so hungry. So hungry. I just wanted to save my brother."
Dean is ashamed of himself, but he can't stand to see Sam so upset. So he strokes his brother's cheek and gently asks, "What can I do for you?"
Sam's eyes light up as he searches Dean's expression, and he smiles, but it's wobbly, something between desperate hope and utter abjection. He whispers, "Did you know you look just like my brother?"
Dean's eyes slide to green, and Sam sobs loudly as he reaches out to touch his cheek. "Let me pretend. Just this once, please. Let me pretend I can still get him back."
He leans in and kisses Dean tenderly, and Dean can't help that it makes his heart beat just a little faster. "Whatever you want."
All of the neediness Sam has been displaying in his lust for Dean's blood gets transferred into this kiss, and he doesn't break it as he pushes Dean down. Dean sinks back on the pillows, weighed into the mattress as Sam climbs on him.
He's never had Sam on top like this. No one has ever had him vulnerable like this, not in this lifetime, at least, and a part of him wishes he knew if it were true for his other life, the one he shared with Sam.
Dean never thought he could like letting someone else call the shots.
They're still kissing as they untie each other's robes, hands working greedily but not violently, and it's that absence of malevolent intent that makes this so terrifying to Dean. Still, it's how he knows Sam wants him to do this, how his brother would do it, and he tries not to wonder what it says that falling into this act isn't unpleasant to him.
When Sam's lips finally leave his, it's only to press kisses down his jaw, over his shoulder, as if Sam loves every inch of him and wants Dean to feel adored. And Dean hates him as much for making him learn those emotions as he does for the fact that he knows Sam is pretending he's someone else, and none of this sweet affection is really for him.
Sam reaches out to the nightstand and takes the oil, pouring it into his palm. Dean's legs shift open to make room for him before Sam even turns back, and he feels his cheeks heat with shame at how easy he's making this.
"So pretty when you blush, Dean," Sam teases. He brings the warm oil to Dean's body, the tip of one finger breaching him and stretching him before another joins it in moments.
Dean shifts at the sensation, unperturbed by the slight discomfort it causes at first. This is Hell; it's the pleasure that's unusual, or at least pleasure that comes from Sam pushing into him instead of him tearing it from Sam.
His brother murmurs something about making sure he's ready, how much he loves the way Dean opens up for him, but Dean shuts the words out. Tries so hard not to hear the tone, either, reverent and gentle, and none of the things Dean is supposed to want.
He wants it so bad, and he wants to beg Sam to mean it, to talk to him instead of some lost brother Sam is only pretending he is. But he keeps his lips pressed tightly together instead, doesn't let a single plea or sound of pleasure escape him.
Not even when Sam is three fingers deep and he twists them, finding a spot in Dean that lights him up so bright every fire in hell seems like nothing but a spark next to it.
"What's wrong?" Sam asks, cupping Dean's face and turning it toward him. "Doesn't it feel good, Dean? You always liked this so much."
Dean can’t exactly explain that feeling good is the whole problem. Not when it's Sam's brother who is supposed to be here and he's just an impostor wearing the right face.
Sam leans down for a kiss, and as soon as Dean opens his mouth to accept it, his fight is lost. Sam wrings deep moans and soft sounds of pleasure out of him, his cock hard and desperate for attention before Sam is even done prepping him.
"More," he demands, and Sam laughs as he takes his fingers away.
"Yeah, okay," Sam answers. "I've got more for you."
Dean watches with a hunger that's new to him as Sam slicks his cock up, as he brings it to Dean's body, pausing to meet Dean's eyes with a silent question. He nods, and Sam sinks in, his dick huge and intrusive, but Dean's body is so wet and stretched and relaxed, so well-prepared that Sam's thick cock is able to slide all the way in with hardly any resistance.
He waits for the fucking to begin, for his gladiator to begin to thrust and take with violence and power, just the way Dean has always done to him. But when Sam moves, it's slow. Deliberate. He doesn't want to think the word, but there's no other way to describe the rhythm of Sam's hips as they roll into Dean.
Tender. This isn't fucking; Sam is making love to him.
"Is it good?" Sam asks, smiling like a happy boy as he rolls his cock into a spot that makes Dean's eyes flutter shut, makes all his breath leave him in one satisfied rush. "Dean, tell me it's good."
Dean shakes his head, turning his face away from Sam's. This is too much. Too much and Dean can't admit it. He looks back on the last few months and wonders when he let things go this far.
Sam's big hand cradles his cheek, urging him to meet his brother's eyes, and he tries to go black, or show teeth, tries to spit or say something nasty. He can't pull up any of that cruelty when he looks into Sam's expression.
All he can do is nod, reaching out to hold Sam's hips so they're just that tiny bit closer where Sam has pushed inside of him, as if that's the only place they're touching. As if every inch of their skin isn't the same, their blood the same. Sam has been taking Dean over drop by drop for months, Dean realizes. He's been losing himself to this for a long, long time.
Most of him can't remember why he fought it.
"Sam," he says, hand ghosting over Sam's chest, tracing the broken tattoo, ashamed of what he's done because of it. "Sam, I-"
"Thirsty?" Sam asks.
Dean nods. Even with how big he is, even with how good Sam is fucking him, Dean just wants more. More of Sam inside of him. He wants Sam to possess him, make it so his body can hardly contain them both.
"You can drink," Sam offers sweetly.
Dean shakes his head. "I don't want to hurt you."
The words are foreign on his lips, and he doesn’t know he's about to say them until they're out, so he has no chance to stop them.
"Go on," Sam says, baring his neck as he keeps his even thrusts punching into Dean, lighting Dean up. "Go on, I want you to."
His lips graze Sam's shoulder, kissing the skin there before he sinks his teeth in, breaking it open. The blood begins to pool in seconds, and Dean tries to restrain himself from taking too much, but then Sam gives a cry of delight, his well-controlled hips suddenly losing their pace and shoving hard into Dean with the force of his pleasure.
Somehow, even that manages to be kind instead of cruel.
He has no notion of how long it's been-it feels like centuries, like Sam has managed to drag this on for centuries-before Sam finally wraps a hand around Dean's hard cock and starts to jerk him just right. He pulls his mouth off Sam's shoulder to gasp, and Sam kisses him.
"Missed you like this, Dean," Sam whispers. "Fucking love you like this."
Dean can hardly hold out against that. He feels an orgasm beginning in him, not fast and explosive like all the others he's had, but building, a long time on the horizon before finally his cock begins to come, thick strings of white and Sam just keeps working and working him.
He feels so good, his mind is almost blank from pleasure. He isn't thinking as a name breaks over his lips.
"Sammy." The word burns in his mouth the way Christo would, and Dean realizes in a moment of horror that it's because it's sacred to him. Holy.
He's too far gone to remember to keep his defenses up. All the walls that have been holding him together begin to creak and crumble under the weight of that word, and Dean doesn't get much of a chance to admire the way his saying it makes Sam lose himself, coming hard into Dean.
Everything is flooding back. All the memories he dammed up, with good reason, all of them are assaulting him at once. Sam smiling at him with gaped teeth as he runs around a cheap motel room in his makeshift garbage raincoat. Sam dead in his arms, their bodies kneeling in mud. Alive again, all thanks to Dean. Losing him to Lucifer, getting him back, the shirt he was wearing the night Dean pulled him from a fire in Palo Alto.
It upsets him. It all upsets him so much, and he remembers the last time this happened, too. When he was a demon and Sam was trying to save him, the way he'd tried to keep his distance from this hold Sam has on him, and how Sam wouldn't leave well-enough alone then, either.
He remembers trying to kill Sam, the single-minded conviction that if he can just get his brother out of his conscious he'll be free to enjoy his damnation. This word, Sammy, how he'd repeated it so many times as he'd chased Sam, trying in vain to wear it out, make it cheap on his lips so the sting of love and sanctity would go away. It didn't work then and it won't work now.
"I'll kill you," he says, reaching up to wrap two hands around Sam's neck and pressing hard against Sam's windpipe. "I'll kill you before I'll let you do this to me."
Sam just reaches up, takes each of Dean's hands in one of his own and pries them away as easily as if they were a child's. Dean isn't putting up any real resistance. He feels almost like he wants to cry.
"No," he says. "No, please, it was easy. It was so easy."
"Dean," Sam whispers, kissing him. "Dean, come back to me. Come back to me."
"I can't," he answers, and this time he knows it's true. Even if he wants to. Fuck it, Dean can admit it. He wants to be Sam's brother, anything to make Sam smile.
He can't, not with this Mark on his arm. He can never cleanse himself of it, can only disappoint Sam, failing time and time again to live up to Sam's faith in him, unable to restrain himself from the urge to kill. That's why he forgot Sam; this is why he had to make himself forget. Because forgetting was easier than remembering he failed, would always fail.
Sam smiles, taking his arm. "You can. I have a way."
Dean's eyes widen in shock. "You can get rid of the Mark?"
His brother nods, and Dean shakes his head. "Even Cain said there was no way. He tried for centuries."
"He didn't have me," Sam replies, smiling as he touches Dean's face gently. "Give it to me, Dean."
The idea makes his blood run cold. Damn his brother to this instead of himself. "Never."
"You don't understand," Sam tells him. "Cain couldn't get rid of the Mark because it was his sin. It was his damnation. It's not yours."
"Then why am I in Hell, Sam?" Dean asks. "Why was I a demon? You cured me once before, you think I won't be one again? I'm a lost cause."
"You didn't kill your brother," Sam says, and Dean is about to ask what that matters, but Sam continues, "You can fix his sin. He'd already killed the only person who could save him, because he didn't trust his brother, he gave up on him. You never gave up on me, and I'm here."
"You're saying all Cain had to do was give the Mark to Abel?" Dean asks, almost on the verge of laughing. "That's a pretty stupid Catch-22."
"Not for us, it isn't."
Dean frowns, the darkness of the Mark still having enough of a hold to make him say, "You're trying to trick me. You just want the Mark for yourself."
"Don't really need it," Sam says, looking away, ashamed. "If I wanted that kind of power, you know I could have much more of it without the Mark."
"You're sure this will work?"
Sam looks him dead in the eye. "Do you trust me?"
Dean nods, and Sam takes his forearm the way Cain had. "Give me the Mark, Dean. Let's fix this so you can be my brother again."
There's a faint tugging under his skin, as if the Mark is trying to slip over to Sam. Dean doesn't fight it, watches his and his brother's veins light up as it transfers, but when everything is said and done, Sam pulls his arm away, as scar free as Dean now is.
He hears himself gasp, and then Sam's hand is on his face, bringing him into a kiss.
"Sammy," he whispers, pulling away, suddenly realizing he doesn't deserve this. Not Sam's love or salvation or forgiveness. "The things I've done."
Sam takes his hand, and Dean realizes Sam is shaking. He's been shaking this whole time, and Dean just got used to it, let it get lost in everything else. "I know, Dean. I feel the same way."
"The demon blood," he says, scrubbing his other hand over his mouth. "I did this to you."
"Not all of it," Sam replies. "I gave in. I still want it. I'll still want it until I die. But I'm not giving up, and neither are you."
"But I-"
"Doesn't matter." Sam smiles at him. "We'll get past it. Together."
Dean nods, but then he laughs. "Hey, not for nothing, but did this plan of yours have an exit strategy? Because we're smack in the middle of Hell, and I doubt I'll be able to fool them that I'm still a demon for very long."
"Well, we could leave the way I came. Learned it from that coyote all those years ago, remember? Portal through Purgatory."
"Right," Dean says. "Let's get going, then."
"Or," Sam replies, and the smirk he gives Dean makes Dean's heart pick up, beating wildly. Sam's about to have a really stupid idea, he can tell. He fucking loves this kid. "Or we could try to set some of the things we've done right."
"I'm listening," Dean replies.
"That Devil's Gate in Wyoming. You can unlock it, can't you? I mean, you're still the emperor."
"That'll let more demons out than souls," Dean reasons.
"Not if you have them release the souls first. Not if we stand at the entrance, fight as many demons as we can until there's more than we can handle, and then we make a break and shut it behind us. Some of the souls might even rebel, fight the demons off to buy the rest of them a little more time. We won't get everyone out, but we'll save a lot of people."
"That's idiotic," Dean says. "Suicide."
"What's gonna happen, we die? We go to Hell?" Sam grins.
Dean muses on it for a few moments. It's a solid Winchester plan. Headstrong and ballsy, and fucked if he doesn't like it.
"You and me against all the demons in Hell, huh Sammy?" Sam nods, and Dean smiles. "I've been looking for an even fight."
The End.