All That Shimmers isn't Innocent
Title: All that shimmers isn’t innocent.
Author: Dolavine
Rating: NC17 / Mature
Word count: 11,311
Pairing: Sam and Dean Winchester
Summary: While on a hunt Sam and Dean find a strange unidentified vial of shimmering dust, they set out to solve the mystery of how it’s involved in the case of several dead men. Their research turns into a lustful display of abandoned desire and realized yearning.
Artist: selecasharp
Art Link: All that Shimmers
Notes:> Thank you to the spn_reversebang Mods for this round. Thanks to selecasharp for being an awesome artist and beta and friend. I hope you all enjoy this fic and awesome art.
AO3: All That Shimmers Is not Innocent
They haven’t had a case in over two weeks; therefore, Sam and Dean have been holing up in the Lake View Motel, where incidentally there is no lake and thus no view of a lake. They’ve had lots of lazy days, which means lots of pent-up anxiety while waiting for their next case.
Sam’s doing his daily perusal of the internet’s top stories while Dean polishes off the last of the six-pack and finishes up the cold pizza from dinner last night. Suddenly Sam looks over at him. “I think I found something,” he pipes up, grabbing the laptop and heading toward Dean.
“Two-headed babies from Chernobyl again?” Dean quips as Sam settles in next to him on the sofa.
“No,” Sam says, disgusted, before turning the laptop towards Dean. “Three bizarre deaths by spontaneous combustion in Blairsville, Pennsylvania.”
Dean reads the article. “Demons?”
“Maybe.” Sam takes the laptop back. “Could be a witch too.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Dean’s off of the sofa and grabbing his duffel bag from the floor before Sam can even react. “Hit the road and check it out!” Dean sniffs a pair of jeans before stuffing them into his bag.
They pack up and check out in fifteen minutes flat.
Sam refuels the car while Dean hits the restrooms before they head out toward the open road. Sam’s done before Dean gets back, so he waits in the car for a few minutes until Dean opens the door and throws a brown bag at him before climbing in.
“Snacks,” he declares, grinning wide, and grabs the bag back. He pulls out a juice that he gives to Sam and a big bottle of Coke that he puts it in the cup holder before reaching inside again to take out two little plastic-wrapped packages. He hands one to Sam and sets the other on the seat next to himself.
Sam looks around with a confused expression, a sugary snack cake balanced on his palm. “For me?”
“Of course,” Dean says, pulling out a bag of chips and a bag of assorted candy.
“Dean?” Sam looks at it like it’s a foreign object. “Um…”
“Oh, you big health freak.” Dean yanks out a bag of veggie straws and takes back the cake. “I wouldn’t waste a good cream-filled dream cake on you.” He strokes the snack lovingly.
“Jerk,” Sam mutters, making a face at him before grabbing his veggie straws.
Dean opens one of the cakes, waving it at Sam. “Delicious golden dream cake…” He waggles his eyebrows as he pushes his tongue right into the cream-filled hole. “Mmmmmmm...” he moans lasciviously as he closes his lips around the yellow oval.
Sam bites his lower lip as he watches the seductive show. “Jesus, Dean, do you have to be such an ass about eating that sugar-and-preservative-laden baked good of death?” He tries to sound exasperated, even as his stomach flutters and his breath hitches in his chest as he continues to watch the shameless display.
“Mmmhumf,” Dean makes a confirming noise, his cheeks full. He’s making crude noises as he chews and swallows, his tongue slipping out to clean the cream that has oozed out from his full mouth.
“Aaaargh,” Sam groans and tries not to watch. But he can’t help it; his cock is twitching as he fantasizes about those lips working over his dick. “Whatever,” he mumbles and forces himself to concentrate on his own veggie straws as a distraction.
////////////
The next four hours are spent with classic rock, Dean munching potato chips, Sam researching the case, and one quick stop at a roadside attraction.
…Okay, it was actually the Bee Hive strip club.
“We’re here,” Dean announces as they roll off the exit ramp and into the middle of town. “Do you have an address for the crime scene?”
“I think we should hit the morgue first and examine what’s left of the bodies,” Sam says, searching for the address of the coroner’s office on his phone.
“FBI suits?” Dean flashes a big grin as he waggles his eyebrows.
“You like cosplay far too much.” Sam shakes his head, feigning disgust. “Yes, FBI suits.”
They pull into a Gas’n Sip and park. Dean pops the trunk and pulls out the suit bags, saying, “007 in a zip bag.” He shoves one of the bags at Sam with a wink.
They change in the restroom; Dean emerges from his stall first and is fixing his tie when Sam steps out of his stall. Dean looks Sam up and down, at the dark suit framing his brother and his undone tie hanging loosely around his neck. Sam puts a foot up on the sink to tie his shoe and Dean ogles Sam’s ass and how the trousers fit it so perfectly, the smooth rounded cheeks pressed snugly against the fabric.
“Sure you’re not stealing my cakes, Sammy? Because your slacks seem a bit tight around your ass,” he snickers. But he can’t stop watching, even as Sam rolls his eyes at him before switching legs.
“Stop paying so much attention to my ass, pervert.” Sam’s fighting the urge to wiggle his ass flirtatiously, secretly enjoying the fact that Dean’s showing such an interest in it.
“If you’re going to stick your sasquatch ass in my face, I can’t help but notice it,” Dean chuckles.
“Just help me fix my tie, asshole,” Sam laughs.
“You need to lean how to do this yourself.” Dean steps behind Sam, presses his chest flush to Sam’s back, and reaches up over Sam’s shoulders to take the tie in hand. He watches himself in the mirror as he makes the right moves and finishes off the knot. Dean’s cock is stirring at the soft shifting of their bodies as they are pressed together, and he wants to spin Sam around and kiss him hard on the mouth. His eyes meet Sam’s in the mirror.
“There, done.” He pats Sam on the shoulders and backs away.
“Thanks.” Sam adjusts the knot, smiling at Dean in the mirror. He had loved how firm and hot Dean’s body had felt against his back, how his arms had wrapped around him in a loose hug, so much that he couldn’t help the way his body had reacted. He’s fighting off the start of an erection.
Calm down, Sam, he tells himself, and follows Dean to the car.
////////////
At the morgue, Dean climbs out of the Impala, rushes around to get in front of Sam, and opens the door. “I’ll take the lead,” he says, going in ahead of Sam.
“Fine.” Sam takes one giant step around Dean, shouldering ahead of him. “Anything you say, man.” He smirks as he keeps Dean from getting ahead.
“Hey, bitch, stop crowding me.” Dean’s trying with no luck to get in the front.
Sam steps up to the morgue attendant and flashes his fake I.D. “Agent Jake,” he points at Dean who is standing behind him, “and Agent Isles.”
“What can I do for you, agents?” The attendant yawns, barely glancing at the badges.
“We’re investigating the three deaths that happened this week.” Sam slides the I.D. back into his pocket as Dean takes a step forward.
“We’d like to see the bodies,” Dean adds, practically pushing Sam to the side.
“Ah yeah.” The attendant nods and leads them back to the autopsy room. “Not much left of them, more like remains instead of bodies,” he mumbles, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “Need any help?”
“We’ll take it from here,” Dean says, closing the door behind them.
Sam takes the roster from the wall beside the door and opens the first cooler door. “Marks, Charles,” he reads, and moves the sheet to expose an arm, a leg, a hand, and a foot.
“Holy shit,” Dean exclaims as he grimaces. “Outside of a bombing, I’ve never seen parts so mangled.”
Sam pulls on a pair of latex gloves and examines the remains. “No, I think this was spontaneous combustion, the ends look singed, see?” He opens the second drawer and pulls back the sheet. “And this is all that’s left of William Tucker.” There is just one leg, with the boot still on. Sam points at the ragged stump near where the knee should be. “Look, again with the singed flesh.”
“Nice hiking boot, what a shame.” Dean pokes at it with a pencil.
Sam opens the last drawer and pulls back the sheet to reveal two thighs. “Says here that this is a John Doe. No discernable marks for identification.” Sam picks up one of the thighs and looks at it. It’s still oozing, slightly. “Pretty gruesome stuff.”
“You like playing the coroner too much, dude.” Dean gives a disgusted look as he glances over the body parts. “I guess the attendant was right, no bodies here.”
“Don’t be jealous,” Sam says, closing the drawer.
“I’m not jealous.” Dean heads towards the desk and the filing cabinets beyond, then looks back over his shoulder and smirks before finishing, “You can play with all the dead bodies you want, I don’t care.”
“Let’s just look through their personal effects, Dean.” Sam goes to the closet and searches through it for a minute, then pulls out three boxes and sets them on the desk. “Wanna help find something that connects them, other than the fact that they’re dead?”
Dean sits on the edge of the desk, pulls a box towards himself, and starts to rifle through it. “Hey, one more hole punched and this dude gets a free giant banana split at DQ.” He lifts his eyebrow and shoves the punch card into his pocket. Sam gives him a dirty look. “What? He’s never going to use it.”
“Stealing from the dead,” Sam grumbles.
“Hey, better than what we usually do, steal from the living, Mister Barnaby.”
“You know I hate that too.” Sam finds an empty vial in one of the boxes. “Hmmm, this might be interesting.” He shows it to Dean and then puts it into his pocket. He continues digging through the box and finds a suspicious business card, stuffed loosely in a half-burnt wallet, then lays it on the desk. Nothing else seems out of place. “You got anything?”
“Maybe.” Dean finds a business card too; he looks at the one Sam put down, comparing. They’re for the same business. “Hey, look in the other box.” He holds out the second business card to show Sam. “Check for another one. There might be another vial too.”
Sam quickly goes through the third box and finds the same card but no more vials. He holds it up. “Bingo.”
“Looking for love, wondering about your future? Zelda can help! Certified Wiccan spells, potions, and palm readings. CONTROL YOUR FUTURE! By appointment, 724-555-4761. 175 ½ Main Street“
“Let’s check this bitch, I mean witch, out.” Dean shoves all three cards into his pocket and hops off the desk. “I’m pretty sure this smells like a witch thing to me. I mean, what are the odds that all the stiffs would have the same business card?”
////////////
Sam finds the shop by using his phone’s GPS, but when they pull up in front of it, it looks like it’s been closed down, and not just for the day. The front doors are locked and chained together, and when they look in the big store front windows they find they’re shuttered.
They slip around the building and try the back door, which swings open immediately when Sam turns the knob.
Dean waggles his eyebrows. “Damn, chastity belt on the front door but the back door’s open for action...” He nods his head and gives Sam a cheeky grin, like he just told the best dirty joke ever.
“Riiiight.” Sam rolls his eyes and steps inside.
Luckily, the electricity’s still on. Dean switches lights on as they go, figuring that if they couldn’t see in, no one would notice the lights from outside.
The stock room is sparse, just a few things scattered here and there, so they move on into the store itself. “Looks like Zelda bugged out of here pretty quick,” Dean says, hitting the button on the cash register, which flies open. He runs his finger through the empty money slots and clicks his tongue. “Yep, bugged out fast, all right.”
“They aren’t going to leave the money, Dean.” Sam opens up cupboards and looks over the shelves. He finds one remaining box in a closet in the corner and takes it down to find that, besides a lot of crumpled tissue paper, the only thing inside is one small vial, full of something that looks shimmery. Sam takes the one from the morgue out of his pocket and matches them up; they are exactly the same. “Hey, Dean,” he calls as he goes back toward the counter again.
Dean’s looking through a box he found on the floor under the counter. He chuckles as he pulls out a long pink feather and waves it in Sam’s direction. “Hey, look, sex feathers!” He smirks and lifts an eyebrow. “You like to be tickled, Sammy boy?”
“None of your business, asshole,” Sam scowls at him. “Look what I found.” He holds up the two vials: one empty, one full.
“So what is it?” Dean takes the full one from his hand and examines it. “It’s unmarked.”
“Don’t know, box wasn’t marked either. I’ll try and research it when we get to a motel,” Sam takes it back and puts both vials in his pocket again. He takes one last look around the mostly-empty store. “I’m pretty sure we’ve found all the leads Zelda left behind.”
////////////
They stop at a bar and grill to get a bite to eat and to change back into their comfortable civilian clothes. Dean orders a bacon cheeseburger and fries and spends the meal moaning obscenely over it, while Sam tries to ignore him and focus on his own Greek salad.
“Really?” Sam asks when Dean grabs the dessert menu.
“Look, Sammy, a Twinkie Sundae, your favorite! Know how much you love that cream-filled goodness.” Dean holds up the menu and licks his lips libidinously at him.
Sam’s eyes are transfixed on Dean’s mouth, his pulse racing and his respiration audibly faster. He swallows hard and grabs dinner menu so that Dean doesn’t catch him. “Oh look, kale chips! Lemon balsamic, your favorite,” he retorts, shoving it Dean’s face.
Later, when they get in the car, Dean shrugs at Sam and says, “You made me do it,” as Sam wipes at gooey strands of cherry pie in his hair with a napkin.
Sam gives him the finger. Dean snickers and flips the radio on.
“-cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise-“
Dean gives a devilish grin, points at Sam struggling to clean his hair, and belts out along with the song, “Tastes so good make a grown man cry, sweet cherry piiiiie!”
Sam stares at him with a baffled expression as his brother finishes slaughtering the lyrics. “I’m not licking your beater,” he says finally, smirking as he tosses the napkin out the window.
They head back to a motel they saw as they were driving into town earlier, The Huntingdon Inn, near the exit ramp. Dean checks them in while Sam gets the gear and duffel bags out of the trunk.
“Old-fashioned keys, see?” Dean waves the spare key in Sam’s face.
“As opposed to what we normally have?” Sam takes the key and grumbles at Dean. “Thirty-four dollars a night and pay-for-use wifi pretty much ensures no electronic keys. I just hope they have decent water pressure. Jerk.”
“Hey, it could be the lap of luxury in there.” Dean puts the key in the slot and turns it.
The door opens to expose three rusty beige walls and one of cheap panel board, stained shag carpet, and two twin beds, a desk and chair, a TV, a tiny dresser, and a mini-fridge, all jammed into the small room.
“Not too bad,” Dean says, dropping his duffel bag on the floor.
“If you’re into confined spaces.” Sam sets the laptop on the desk and his duffel on the bed closest to it.
“Hey, we sleep in Baby, this is spacious.” Dean drops a pile of books onto a bed and flops onto it after them.
“Yeah, well, while you lounge in the spacious quarters, I’m going to take a shower.” Sam empties out his pockets, setting the full vial carefully on the desk next to the laptop. The empty one he tucks into his duffel, just in case they’ll need it later. “When I’m done, I’ll research whatever this is. You get started with the books, okay?”
“Sure, sure.” Dean’s already flipping through the channels on the television and barely listening to his brother.
The bathroom is the size of a closet, so Sam leaves the door half-open so he won’t feel like he’ll smother in the steam. He turns on the water, letting it get hot while he strips down, then squeezes into the tiny shower stall. The showerhead is even with his eyes, so he has to stoop down just to get his head wet.
“This is going to be fun,” he mutters, and gets to work washing cherry pie out of his hair.
////////////
The sound of rushing water suddenly ceasing catches Dean’s attention. Looking up, he sees the open bathroom door, a soft cloud of steam spilling through it. He leans over a bit to look inside, just making out the soft shadow of his brother’s tall-lean body moving in the tight stall. The steam fills the tiny room, so when Sam steps out of the shower, Dean can’t see him clearly.
He squints and cautiously moves his head, trying to find a clear line of sight through the opening. Dean’s heart is fluttering; he’s biting his lip, his cock tingling with mild arousal as he tries so hard to catch just a glimpse of Sam’s naked body. His hand absently rubs at his hardening dick and in the back of his mind he knows that this is all kinds of wrong. But he doesn’t care; right now he just doesn’t want to get caught, or Sam might never speak to him again.
The sound of the towel flapping and Sam’s soft sighs as he dries every inch of that body built for sex have Dean’s complete attention. He’s fully hard now, his palm pressing against the sensitive head as he watches the peep show his brother is unwittingly giving him. He’s breathing heavily now; he wants to come, but just as he’s letting himself fall into the fantasy that he’s building, Sam’s voice comes out of the bathroom as the door swings completely open.
“Damn, nothing like showering in a shoebox.” Sam steps out in only a towel, wet tendrils of hair clinging to his long neck.
Dean jumps, pulling his hand back and abandoning his throbbing erection. “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat as he tries to sound uninterested. The remote is still clutched in his left hand, and the heat of his desire still blazes across his right palm as he refuses to look up at his brother strutting around with only a towel slung around his hipbones.
Sam grabs a flannel, a t-shirt worn so thin it’s practically see-through, and a pair of clean jeans from his duffel. On the desk, the full vial catches his eye. He sets his clothes down, then picks it up and holds it up to the light. “Damn, I wish there had been some kind of markings on the box to let me know what this is,” he murmurs. He grabs his phone and takes a quick picture of the vial to send to the laptop, then sits down in the desk chair. “Maybe, just maybe, I can get a hit on the recognition app.”
“Maybe,” Dean says, trying not to look at Sam’s half-naked body perched on the computer chair, the bare skin of his inner thigh peeking out from under the white cotton towel barely covering him.
Sam sets up the app and sends the picture over. “Now the waiting game.” He opens up some other pages on herbs and spices that are used in spells and throws Dean a book he brought in from the trunk. “Here, see if there are any spells in here that might cause spontaneous combustion and if they use a dust or fine-ground powder.”
“Fine.” Dean looks at the book Sam tossed him, a thick hardcover book with silver lettering. It’s even thicker than any of the books from the assorted pile that he’d brought in. “Looks like this might take a while, better get comfy.” He sheds his flannel shirt like a second skin and kicks off his boots, then cracks his toes against the stiff-matted shag carpeting. “Ahhhh, comfort.” He slides up on the bed and leans against the headboard to relax while he does the seemingly endless task of researching.
Sam doesn’t even look, otherwise occupied as he looks at page after page and site after site of Wiccan spells and potions. He finally glances over at Dean, who now has his nose buried in the book, his eyes focused intensely, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he worries it and then licks over the red bitten swollen area repeatedly. Sam stares, his throat getting thick as he tries to swallow against the dryness. He licks his lips as he mimics Dean’s motions, thinking about what they might taste like, what Dean’s mouth might feel like against his, and he feels his cock growing with the fantasy.
When Dean looks up, Sam feels like cowering under the desk. He quickly pushes the towel down between his legs in a meager attempt to hide his growing erection. “Find anything yet?” he manages to croak out. His eyes rove over Dean’s thick bulging biceps before scanning over to his chest and landing on those full muscular pecs with their perky hard nipples pushing through his brother’s tight black cotton tee. He swallows again, this time a bit more audibly than before.
“I’ll let you know when I do.” Dean looks back down at his book and engulfs himself in the words, trying to fill his brain with boring research and not thoughts of ripping Sam’s towel away and jerking him off.
“Okay…” Sam says shakily and then takes a deep breath while shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
It’s silent for a while, neither looking up from his perspective research tools, both trying so hard to not move out of the zone, until Sam feels a slight chill caressing his bare back and realizes how naked he really is now that his erection has gone down.
“I think I’m gonna get dressed,” he announces as he grabs his clothes off of the desk, steps back into the closet of a bathroom, and shuts the door completely this time.
Dean slams the book he’s been reading closed and stretches. He goes over to the mini-fridge and takes out a beer that he’d stashed in there from the cooler. He pops the top and takes a long swig, then flops down in the desk chair to look over Sam’s research pages.
That’s when he sees the vial.
The tiny, approximately two-inch vial containing a shimmering golden-copper dust. It’s calling to him; he can’t take his eyes off of it. He picks it up and moves it around in the light; it glitters as it catches the soft yellow rays of the lamp bulb. He can almost hear it beckoning him to open it and examine it further.
Dean doesn’t feel like he should or could fight it; his fingers twist the tiny cork, loosening it slightly. He looks at the bathroom door like a bad kid getting into something he shouldn’t. Finding it still closed, he continues opening it up.
The cork pops free, and Dean carefully lifts it out. He tilts the glass, looking at the shimmering grains of dust swirling inside, and without thinking about it, he dips his pinky finger in. He checks the bathroom door again to make sure he won’t get caught before cautiously sniffing the golden dust gilding his little digit; it paints his left nostril, making him sneeze and, as a side effect, blow the grains into the air.
Sam steps out of the bathroom at that exact moment and sees Dean with the open vial. “Dude, what the hell?” He rushes forward to stop him, unknowingly breathing in some of the shimmery cloud.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Samantha, it doesn’t smell like anything and doesn’t seem to be lethal. I’m still breathing.” Dean swipes his finger over his thigh and then puts the cork back into the small glass lip.
“Seriously, Dean, you shouldn’t be putting your fingers into random stuff. I mean what if it’s cursed, what if it mutates you or…” Sam tries to think of what would be the worst thing that could happen to Dean, “…it makes you impotent?” He grins slightly when Dean’s eyes go wide.
“Shut up, it won’t make me impotent.” He chuckles half-heartedly and touches his crotch as he makes a cautious face.
“You don’t know what it will do. This could be the very thing that killed those men and we have no clue what the hell it is yet.” Sam grabs the vial from Dean and buries it in his duffel bag next to the empty one. “Now leave it alone until we figure out what it is, okay?”
“Okay,” Dean says and then whispers under his breath, “bossy.”
“Now get out of my chair.” Sam grabs the back and tilts the chair forward, prompting Dean to get up before he ends up on the floor.
“Okay, okay,” Dean grunts, silently mouthing bossy as he grabs his beer and heads back to his bed and the pile of books on it.
Sam settles down at the laptop again and starts to type; he looks at his fingers and sees that the tips are shimmering as he moves them. He lifts them off of the keyboard and examines them even closer. As he’d thought, they’re covered in the soft golden dust. “Shit,” he mutters.
“Find something?” Dean looks up from the two books he’s trying to decide between.
“Yeah,” Sam holds up his hand. “You infected me with that stuff.”
“Oh stop, you’ll be fine. I’m fine.” Dean looks at the tint still on his pinky finger and streaked across his thigh.
“For now,” Sam says exasperatedly. “Let’s just find out what it is before whatever might happen, happens.”
part 2
Author: Dolavine
Rating: NC17 / Mature
Word count: 11,311
Pairing: Sam and Dean Winchester
Summary: While on a hunt Sam and Dean find a strange unidentified vial of shimmering dust, they set out to solve the mystery of how it’s involved in the case of several dead men. Their research turns into a lustful display of abandoned desire and realized yearning.
Artist: selecasharp
Art Link: All that Shimmers
Notes:> Thank you to the spn_reversebang Mods for this round. Thanks to selecasharp for being an awesome artist and beta and friend. I hope you all enjoy this fic and awesome art.
AO3: All That Shimmers Is not Innocent
They haven’t had a case in over two weeks; therefore, Sam and Dean have been holing up in the Lake View Motel, where incidentally there is no lake and thus no view of a lake. They’ve had lots of lazy days, which means lots of pent-up anxiety while waiting for their next case.
Sam’s doing his daily perusal of the internet’s top stories while Dean polishes off the last of the six-pack and finishes up the cold pizza from dinner last night. Suddenly Sam looks over at him. “I think I found something,” he pipes up, grabbing the laptop and heading toward Dean.
“Two-headed babies from Chernobyl again?” Dean quips as Sam settles in next to him on the sofa.
“No,” Sam says, disgusted, before turning the laptop towards Dean. “Three bizarre deaths by spontaneous combustion in Blairsville, Pennsylvania.”
Dean reads the article. “Demons?”
“Maybe.” Sam takes the laptop back. “Could be a witch too.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Dean’s off of the sofa and grabbing his duffel bag from the floor before Sam can even react. “Hit the road and check it out!” Dean sniffs a pair of jeans before stuffing them into his bag.
They pack up and check out in fifteen minutes flat.
Sam refuels the car while Dean hits the restrooms before they head out toward the open road. Sam’s done before Dean gets back, so he waits in the car for a few minutes until Dean opens the door and throws a brown bag at him before climbing in.
“Snacks,” he declares, grinning wide, and grabs the bag back. He pulls out a juice that he gives to Sam and a big bottle of Coke that he puts it in the cup holder before reaching inside again to take out two little plastic-wrapped packages. He hands one to Sam and sets the other on the seat next to himself.
Sam looks around with a confused expression, a sugary snack cake balanced on his palm. “For me?”
“Of course,” Dean says, pulling out a bag of chips and a bag of assorted candy.
“Dean?” Sam looks at it like it’s a foreign object. “Um…”
“Oh, you big health freak.” Dean yanks out a bag of veggie straws and takes back the cake. “I wouldn’t waste a good cream-filled dream cake on you.” He strokes the snack lovingly.
“Jerk,” Sam mutters, making a face at him before grabbing his veggie straws.
Dean opens one of the cakes, waving it at Sam. “Delicious golden dream cake…” He waggles his eyebrows as he pushes his tongue right into the cream-filled hole. “Mmmmmmm...” he moans lasciviously as he closes his lips around the yellow oval.
Sam bites his lower lip as he watches the seductive show. “Jesus, Dean, do you have to be such an ass about eating that sugar-and-preservative-laden baked good of death?” He tries to sound exasperated, even as his stomach flutters and his breath hitches in his chest as he continues to watch the shameless display.
“Mmmhumf,” Dean makes a confirming noise, his cheeks full. He’s making crude noises as he chews and swallows, his tongue slipping out to clean the cream that has oozed out from his full mouth.
“Aaaargh,” Sam groans and tries not to watch. But he can’t help it; his cock is twitching as he fantasizes about those lips working over his dick. “Whatever,” he mumbles and forces himself to concentrate on his own veggie straws as a distraction.
////////////
The next four hours are spent with classic rock, Dean munching potato chips, Sam researching the case, and one quick stop at a roadside attraction.
…Okay, it was actually the Bee Hive strip club.
“We’re here,” Dean announces as they roll off the exit ramp and into the middle of town. “Do you have an address for the crime scene?”
“I think we should hit the morgue first and examine what’s left of the bodies,” Sam says, searching for the address of the coroner’s office on his phone.
“FBI suits?” Dean flashes a big grin as he waggles his eyebrows.
“You like cosplay far too much.” Sam shakes his head, feigning disgust. “Yes, FBI suits.”
They pull into a Gas’n Sip and park. Dean pops the trunk and pulls out the suit bags, saying, “007 in a zip bag.” He shoves one of the bags at Sam with a wink.
They change in the restroom; Dean emerges from his stall first and is fixing his tie when Sam steps out of his stall. Dean looks Sam up and down, at the dark suit framing his brother and his undone tie hanging loosely around his neck. Sam puts a foot up on the sink to tie his shoe and Dean ogles Sam’s ass and how the trousers fit it so perfectly, the smooth rounded cheeks pressed snugly against the fabric.
“Sure you’re not stealing my cakes, Sammy? Because your slacks seem a bit tight around your ass,” he snickers. But he can’t stop watching, even as Sam rolls his eyes at him before switching legs.
“Stop paying so much attention to my ass, pervert.” Sam’s fighting the urge to wiggle his ass flirtatiously, secretly enjoying the fact that Dean’s showing such an interest in it.
“If you’re going to stick your sasquatch ass in my face, I can’t help but notice it,” Dean chuckles.
“Just help me fix my tie, asshole,” Sam laughs.
“You need to lean how to do this yourself.” Dean steps behind Sam, presses his chest flush to Sam’s back, and reaches up over Sam’s shoulders to take the tie in hand. He watches himself in the mirror as he makes the right moves and finishes off the knot. Dean’s cock is stirring at the soft shifting of their bodies as they are pressed together, and he wants to spin Sam around and kiss him hard on the mouth. His eyes meet Sam’s in the mirror.
“There, done.” He pats Sam on the shoulders and backs away.
“Thanks.” Sam adjusts the knot, smiling at Dean in the mirror. He had loved how firm and hot Dean’s body had felt against his back, how his arms had wrapped around him in a loose hug, so much that he couldn’t help the way his body had reacted. He’s fighting off the start of an erection.
Calm down, Sam, he tells himself, and follows Dean to the car.
////////////
At the morgue, Dean climbs out of the Impala, rushes around to get in front of Sam, and opens the door. “I’ll take the lead,” he says, going in ahead of Sam.
“Fine.” Sam takes one giant step around Dean, shouldering ahead of him. “Anything you say, man.” He smirks as he keeps Dean from getting ahead.
“Hey, bitch, stop crowding me.” Dean’s trying with no luck to get in the front.
Sam steps up to the morgue attendant and flashes his fake I.D. “Agent Jake,” he points at Dean who is standing behind him, “and Agent Isles.”
“What can I do for you, agents?” The attendant yawns, barely glancing at the badges.
“We’re investigating the three deaths that happened this week.” Sam slides the I.D. back into his pocket as Dean takes a step forward.
“We’d like to see the bodies,” Dean adds, practically pushing Sam to the side.
“Ah yeah.” The attendant nods and leads them back to the autopsy room. “Not much left of them, more like remains instead of bodies,” he mumbles, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “Need any help?”
“We’ll take it from here,” Dean says, closing the door behind them.
Sam takes the roster from the wall beside the door and opens the first cooler door. “Marks, Charles,” he reads, and moves the sheet to expose an arm, a leg, a hand, and a foot.
“Holy shit,” Dean exclaims as he grimaces. “Outside of a bombing, I’ve never seen parts so mangled.”
Sam pulls on a pair of latex gloves and examines the remains. “No, I think this was spontaneous combustion, the ends look singed, see?” He opens the second drawer and pulls back the sheet. “And this is all that’s left of William Tucker.” There is just one leg, with the boot still on. Sam points at the ragged stump near where the knee should be. “Look, again with the singed flesh.”
“Nice hiking boot, what a shame.” Dean pokes at it with a pencil.
Sam opens the last drawer and pulls back the sheet to reveal two thighs. “Says here that this is a John Doe. No discernable marks for identification.” Sam picks up one of the thighs and looks at it. It’s still oozing, slightly. “Pretty gruesome stuff.”
“You like playing the coroner too much, dude.” Dean gives a disgusted look as he glances over the body parts. “I guess the attendant was right, no bodies here.”
“Don’t be jealous,” Sam says, closing the drawer.
“I’m not jealous.” Dean heads towards the desk and the filing cabinets beyond, then looks back over his shoulder and smirks before finishing, “You can play with all the dead bodies you want, I don’t care.”
“Let’s just look through their personal effects, Dean.” Sam goes to the closet and searches through it for a minute, then pulls out three boxes and sets them on the desk. “Wanna help find something that connects them, other than the fact that they’re dead?”
Dean sits on the edge of the desk, pulls a box towards himself, and starts to rifle through it. “Hey, one more hole punched and this dude gets a free giant banana split at DQ.” He lifts his eyebrow and shoves the punch card into his pocket. Sam gives him a dirty look. “What? He’s never going to use it.”
“Stealing from the dead,” Sam grumbles.
“Hey, better than what we usually do, steal from the living, Mister Barnaby.”
“You know I hate that too.” Sam finds an empty vial in one of the boxes. “Hmmm, this might be interesting.” He shows it to Dean and then puts it into his pocket. He continues digging through the box and finds a suspicious business card, stuffed loosely in a half-burnt wallet, then lays it on the desk. Nothing else seems out of place. “You got anything?”
“Maybe.” Dean finds a business card too; he looks at the one Sam put down, comparing. They’re for the same business. “Hey, look in the other box.” He holds out the second business card to show Sam. “Check for another one. There might be another vial too.”
Sam quickly goes through the third box and finds the same card but no more vials. He holds it up. “Bingo.”
“Looking for love, wondering about your future? Zelda can help! Certified Wiccan spells, potions, and palm readings. CONTROL YOUR FUTURE! By appointment, 724-555-4761. 175 ½ Main Street“
“Let’s check this bitch, I mean witch, out.” Dean shoves all three cards into his pocket and hops off the desk. “I’m pretty sure this smells like a witch thing to me. I mean, what are the odds that all the stiffs would have the same business card?”
////////////
Sam finds the shop by using his phone’s GPS, but when they pull up in front of it, it looks like it’s been closed down, and not just for the day. The front doors are locked and chained together, and when they look in the big store front windows they find they’re shuttered.
They slip around the building and try the back door, which swings open immediately when Sam turns the knob.
Dean waggles his eyebrows. “Damn, chastity belt on the front door but the back door’s open for action...” He nods his head and gives Sam a cheeky grin, like he just told the best dirty joke ever.
“Riiiight.” Sam rolls his eyes and steps inside.
Luckily, the electricity’s still on. Dean switches lights on as they go, figuring that if they couldn’t see in, no one would notice the lights from outside.
The stock room is sparse, just a few things scattered here and there, so they move on into the store itself. “Looks like Zelda bugged out of here pretty quick,” Dean says, hitting the button on the cash register, which flies open. He runs his finger through the empty money slots and clicks his tongue. “Yep, bugged out fast, all right.”
“They aren’t going to leave the money, Dean.” Sam opens up cupboards and looks over the shelves. He finds one remaining box in a closet in the corner and takes it down to find that, besides a lot of crumpled tissue paper, the only thing inside is one small vial, full of something that looks shimmery. Sam takes the one from the morgue out of his pocket and matches them up; they are exactly the same. “Hey, Dean,” he calls as he goes back toward the counter again.
Dean’s looking through a box he found on the floor under the counter. He chuckles as he pulls out a long pink feather and waves it in Sam’s direction. “Hey, look, sex feathers!” He smirks and lifts an eyebrow. “You like to be tickled, Sammy boy?”
“None of your business, asshole,” Sam scowls at him. “Look what I found.” He holds up the two vials: one empty, one full.
“So what is it?” Dean takes the full one from his hand and examines it. “It’s unmarked.”
“Don’t know, box wasn’t marked either. I’ll try and research it when we get to a motel,” Sam takes it back and puts both vials in his pocket again. He takes one last look around the mostly-empty store. “I’m pretty sure we’ve found all the leads Zelda left behind.”
////////////
They stop at a bar and grill to get a bite to eat and to change back into their comfortable civilian clothes. Dean orders a bacon cheeseburger and fries and spends the meal moaning obscenely over it, while Sam tries to ignore him and focus on his own Greek salad.
“Really?” Sam asks when Dean grabs the dessert menu.
“Look, Sammy, a Twinkie Sundae, your favorite! Know how much you love that cream-filled goodness.” Dean holds up the menu and licks his lips libidinously at him.
Sam’s eyes are transfixed on Dean’s mouth, his pulse racing and his respiration audibly faster. He swallows hard and grabs dinner menu so that Dean doesn’t catch him. “Oh look, kale chips! Lemon balsamic, your favorite,” he retorts, shoving it Dean’s face.
Later, when they get in the car, Dean shrugs at Sam and says, “You made me do it,” as Sam wipes at gooey strands of cherry pie in his hair with a napkin.
Sam gives him the finger. Dean snickers and flips the radio on.
“-cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise-“
Dean gives a devilish grin, points at Sam struggling to clean his hair, and belts out along with the song, “Tastes so good make a grown man cry, sweet cherry piiiiie!”
Sam stares at him with a baffled expression as his brother finishes slaughtering the lyrics. “I’m not licking your beater,” he says finally, smirking as he tosses the napkin out the window.
They head back to a motel they saw as they were driving into town earlier, The Huntingdon Inn, near the exit ramp. Dean checks them in while Sam gets the gear and duffel bags out of the trunk.
“Old-fashioned keys, see?” Dean waves the spare key in Sam’s face.
“As opposed to what we normally have?” Sam takes the key and grumbles at Dean. “Thirty-four dollars a night and pay-for-use wifi pretty much ensures no electronic keys. I just hope they have decent water pressure. Jerk.”
“Hey, it could be the lap of luxury in there.” Dean puts the key in the slot and turns it.
The door opens to expose three rusty beige walls and one of cheap panel board, stained shag carpet, and two twin beds, a desk and chair, a TV, a tiny dresser, and a mini-fridge, all jammed into the small room.
“Not too bad,” Dean says, dropping his duffel bag on the floor.
“If you’re into confined spaces.” Sam sets the laptop on the desk and his duffel on the bed closest to it.
“Hey, we sleep in Baby, this is spacious.” Dean drops a pile of books onto a bed and flops onto it after them.
“Yeah, well, while you lounge in the spacious quarters, I’m going to take a shower.” Sam empties out his pockets, setting the full vial carefully on the desk next to the laptop. The empty one he tucks into his duffel, just in case they’ll need it later. “When I’m done, I’ll research whatever this is. You get started with the books, okay?”
“Sure, sure.” Dean’s already flipping through the channels on the television and barely listening to his brother.
The bathroom is the size of a closet, so Sam leaves the door half-open so he won’t feel like he’ll smother in the steam. He turns on the water, letting it get hot while he strips down, then squeezes into the tiny shower stall. The showerhead is even with his eyes, so he has to stoop down just to get his head wet.
“This is going to be fun,” he mutters, and gets to work washing cherry pie out of his hair.
////////////
The sound of rushing water suddenly ceasing catches Dean’s attention. Looking up, he sees the open bathroom door, a soft cloud of steam spilling through it. He leans over a bit to look inside, just making out the soft shadow of his brother’s tall-lean body moving in the tight stall. The steam fills the tiny room, so when Sam steps out of the shower, Dean can’t see him clearly.
He squints and cautiously moves his head, trying to find a clear line of sight through the opening. Dean’s heart is fluttering; he’s biting his lip, his cock tingling with mild arousal as he tries so hard to catch just a glimpse of Sam’s naked body. His hand absently rubs at his hardening dick and in the back of his mind he knows that this is all kinds of wrong. But he doesn’t care; right now he just doesn’t want to get caught, or Sam might never speak to him again.
The sound of the towel flapping and Sam’s soft sighs as he dries every inch of that body built for sex have Dean’s complete attention. He’s fully hard now, his palm pressing against the sensitive head as he watches the peep show his brother is unwittingly giving him. He’s breathing heavily now; he wants to come, but just as he’s letting himself fall into the fantasy that he’s building, Sam’s voice comes out of the bathroom as the door swings completely open.
“Damn, nothing like showering in a shoebox.” Sam steps out in only a towel, wet tendrils of hair clinging to his long neck.
Dean jumps, pulling his hand back and abandoning his throbbing erection. “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat as he tries to sound uninterested. The remote is still clutched in his left hand, and the heat of his desire still blazes across his right palm as he refuses to look up at his brother strutting around with only a towel slung around his hipbones.
Sam grabs a flannel, a t-shirt worn so thin it’s practically see-through, and a pair of clean jeans from his duffel. On the desk, the full vial catches his eye. He sets his clothes down, then picks it up and holds it up to the light. “Damn, I wish there had been some kind of markings on the box to let me know what this is,” he murmurs. He grabs his phone and takes a quick picture of the vial to send to the laptop, then sits down in the desk chair. “Maybe, just maybe, I can get a hit on the recognition app.”
“Maybe,” Dean says, trying not to look at Sam’s half-naked body perched on the computer chair, the bare skin of his inner thigh peeking out from under the white cotton towel barely covering him.
Sam sets up the app and sends the picture over. “Now the waiting game.” He opens up some other pages on herbs and spices that are used in spells and throws Dean a book he brought in from the trunk. “Here, see if there are any spells in here that might cause spontaneous combustion and if they use a dust or fine-ground powder.”
“Fine.” Dean looks at the book Sam tossed him, a thick hardcover book with silver lettering. It’s even thicker than any of the books from the assorted pile that he’d brought in. “Looks like this might take a while, better get comfy.” He sheds his flannel shirt like a second skin and kicks off his boots, then cracks his toes against the stiff-matted shag carpeting. “Ahhhh, comfort.” He slides up on the bed and leans against the headboard to relax while he does the seemingly endless task of researching.
Sam doesn’t even look, otherwise occupied as he looks at page after page and site after site of Wiccan spells and potions. He finally glances over at Dean, who now has his nose buried in the book, his eyes focused intensely, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he worries it and then licks over the red bitten swollen area repeatedly. Sam stares, his throat getting thick as he tries to swallow against the dryness. He licks his lips as he mimics Dean’s motions, thinking about what they might taste like, what Dean’s mouth might feel like against his, and he feels his cock growing with the fantasy.
When Dean looks up, Sam feels like cowering under the desk. He quickly pushes the towel down between his legs in a meager attempt to hide his growing erection. “Find anything yet?” he manages to croak out. His eyes rove over Dean’s thick bulging biceps before scanning over to his chest and landing on those full muscular pecs with their perky hard nipples pushing through his brother’s tight black cotton tee. He swallows again, this time a bit more audibly than before.
“I’ll let you know when I do.” Dean looks back down at his book and engulfs himself in the words, trying to fill his brain with boring research and not thoughts of ripping Sam’s towel away and jerking him off.
“Okay…” Sam says shakily and then takes a deep breath while shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
It’s silent for a while, neither looking up from his perspective research tools, both trying so hard to not move out of the zone, until Sam feels a slight chill caressing his bare back and realizes how naked he really is now that his erection has gone down.
“I think I’m gonna get dressed,” he announces as he grabs his clothes off of the desk, steps back into the closet of a bathroom, and shuts the door completely this time.
Dean slams the book he’s been reading closed and stretches. He goes over to the mini-fridge and takes out a beer that he’d stashed in there from the cooler. He pops the top and takes a long swig, then flops down in the desk chair to look over Sam’s research pages.
That’s when he sees the vial.
The tiny, approximately two-inch vial containing a shimmering golden-copper dust. It’s calling to him; he can’t take his eyes off of it. He picks it up and moves it around in the light; it glitters as it catches the soft yellow rays of the lamp bulb. He can almost hear it beckoning him to open it and examine it further.
Dean doesn’t feel like he should or could fight it; his fingers twist the tiny cork, loosening it slightly. He looks at the bathroom door like a bad kid getting into something he shouldn’t. Finding it still closed, he continues opening it up.
The cork pops free, and Dean carefully lifts it out. He tilts the glass, looking at the shimmering grains of dust swirling inside, and without thinking about it, he dips his pinky finger in. He checks the bathroom door again to make sure he won’t get caught before cautiously sniffing the golden dust gilding his little digit; it paints his left nostril, making him sneeze and, as a side effect, blow the grains into the air.
Sam steps out of the bathroom at that exact moment and sees Dean with the open vial. “Dude, what the hell?” He rushes forward to stop him, unknowingly breathing in some of the shimmery cloud.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Samantha, it doesn’t smell like anything and doesn’t seem to be lethal. I’m still breathing.” Dean swipes his finger over his thigh and then puts the cork back into the small glass lip.
“Seriously, Dean, you shouldn’t be putting your fingers into random stuff. I mean what if it’s cursed, what if it mutates you or…” Sam tries to think of what would be the worst thing that could happen to Dean, “…it makes you impotent?” He grins slightly when Dean’s eyes go wide.
“Shut up, it won’t make me impotent.” He chuckles half-heartedly and touches his crotch as he makes a cautious face.
“You don’t know what it will do. This could be the very thing that killed those men and we have no clue what the hell it is yet.” Sam grabs the vial from Dean and buries it in his duffel bag next to the empty one. “Now leave it alone until we figure out what it is, okay?”
“Okay,” Dean says and then whispers under his breath, “bossy.”
“Now get out of my chair.” Sam grabs the back and tilts the chair forward, prompting Dean to get up before he ends up on the floor.
“Okay, okay,” Dean grunts, silently mouthing bossy as he grabs his beer and heads back to his bed and the pile of books on it.
Sam settles down at the laptop again and starts to type; he looks at his fingers and sees that the tips are shimmering as he moves them. He lifts them off of the keyboard and examines them even closer. As he’d thought, they’re covered in the soft golden dust. “Shit,” he mutters.
“Find something?” Dean looks up from the two books he’s trying to decide between.
“Yeah,” Sam holds up his hand. “You infected me with that stuff.”
“Oh stop, you’ll be fine. I’m fine.” Dean looks at the tint still on his pinky finger and streaked across his thigh.
“For now,” Sam says exasperatedly. “Let’s just find out what it is before whatever might happen, happens.”
part 2