Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me) Chapter 6
Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Especially Not You)
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Wincest, perceived non-con, perceived somnophilia, angst
Summary: Dean is back and Ruby is dead. But where do they go from here?
For a long moment Sam just clings to his brother, relief that they aren't completely broken sweeping through him. He craves Dean’s touch after the distance between them, needs the familiar reassurance of being wrapped in Dean’s arms after the soul-crushing fear that he’d never see him again. And if the way Dean is holding onto him means anything, Dean needs that reassurance just as badly.
But ‘no chick flick moments’ is still the rule they live by, and there’s too much to be done for Sam to argue when Dean sighs and pushes Sam back gently. Sam wants to protest, but he knows Dean’s right--he’s covered in blood, there’s a dead body on the floor, and he kinda doubts that Ruby drove Dean here so they’re going to need to find the car at some point. But he can’t quite bring himself to walk away, not when Dean is smiling tentatively at him from mere inches away. Not when Dean’s hands are on Sam’s hips and Dean’s lips are soft and pink and right there.
It’s the taste of blood, foul and lingering in his mouth and throat, that keeps Sam from closing that distance. He’s never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss Dean, but the thought of doing so with Ruby’s blood still coating his mouth makes Sam slightly ill. He steps back instead, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from touching Dean the way he wants to. He can’t right now. Not until he’s clean.
Dean flushes when Sam steps away, rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s embarrassed. “Why don’t you go shower, Sammy. Get cleaned up. And I’ll take care of this.” He scowls down at the body on the carpet, and Sam’s pretty sure he’d like to kick it.
“Yeah, I should do that.” Sam hesitates, hoping he doesn’t sound as pathetic and needy to Dean as he does to himself. “You’ll still be here when I get out?”
Dean looks at him steadily, not quite smiling. “I’m not going anywhere without you,” he says quietly, forcefully. “We’re gonna figure this out together. Now go.” Dean turns away pointedly and starts stripping the comforter and sheets off one of the beds, tossing them on the floor near Ruby but out of the congealing blood.
Sam stays where he is for a few moments, happy just to be able to watch his brother openly. But the blood drying thick and tacky on his skin and the promise of what might be to come drags him back to what needs to be done. Smiling slightly, he pulls a bottle of Tylenol out of his duffle before stepping into the bathroom, suddenly aware that his head is still throbbing from the aftermath of what he’d done to Ruby.
But when the door closes behind him and Sam catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the guilt and horror of what he’s done crashes over him again. He grabs his toothbrush with an unsteady hand, scrubbing the taste of Ruby’s blood from his mouth. He follows it up with mouthwash, then brushes again, convinced he can still taste sulphurous, rotting meat on his tongue. He only stops when his gums are bleeding fresh copper into his mouth and throws away the toothbrush he’d used, faintly sickened by the frothy red swirls in the sink as he washes them away. He strips off his bloody clothes, unable to bear the touch of them on his skin any longer. They get tossed in the corner to be burned later, then he turns on the shower, swallowing a handful of little white pills and stepping into the shower even before the water warms.
The water sluices over him, pooling red then pink then clear around his feet as he watches. He doesn’t want to think about what he did, but the memories won’t leave--the taste of her blood, the feeling of power and rage and vicious triumph. It's impossible not to imagine Ruby’s blood moving inside him, carving out new spaces for evil to live. Impossible not to remember how good it felt to finally be able to strike a genuine blow against their enemies. Impossible not to wonder if the answer he’s been looking for has been right here in front of him all along. Sam shakes his head, stomach roiling at the thought of doing it again. He can’t. He won’t.
It’s not til Dean bangs on the door, demanding to know what’re you doing in there Sam did you drown what he’s doing that Sam reluctantly turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He still doesn’t feel clean, but at this point he’s not sure that will ever happen. He dries off quickly, haphazardly, and wraps the threadbare towel around his waist before stepping out into the cool motel room.
But things are different now. He hadn’t considered, yet, just how very different until he sees Dean’s face. Surprise, desire, want--the heat in Dean’s eyes sets off an answering warmth in Sam, drawing him closer. Sam’s eyes catch on Dean’s parted lips, and the overwhelming urge to kiss him is back, along with a hint of jealousy--Dean knows what Sam tastes like, in the most intimate ways, and Sam wants to know the same about Dean. He takes another slow step toward Dean, giving him time to turn away, but Dean just watches him with wide eyes. It takes a moment for Sam to realize that Dean’s tracking a drop of water as it rolls down his chest and soaks into the worn thin towel wrapped around his waist. It hits him hard, that Dean is letting himself look, that he’s not turning away from what’s between them, and Sam doesn’t hesitate again. He steps right into Dean’s space, not quite pressed against him, forcing Dean to look up. A thrill runs through him, hot and possessive, as Dean seems to realize it too, eyes widening slightly as he realizes just how far he has to look. His tongue slips out cat quick over his lower lip, eyes going dark as he meets Sam’s eyes.
That’s all the invitation Sam needs.
For an instant--an eternity--Dean doesn’t kiss Sam back. Then, just as Sam thinks he’s ruined everything, Dean melts against him, one hand tangling in Sam’s damply curling hair as he tugs Sam more firmly into the kiss. It’s slow and easy, just a gentle press of lips that could almost be chaste. Sam licks over the seam of Dean’s lips, not above begging, and Dean opens for him with a soft moan, suddenly eager. The sound burns through Sam, his hunger taking on a sudden, heated life of it’s own. He cups Dean’s face with one hand, stroking greedily over his cheek before sliding down to burrow under layers of cotton and flannel and find soft warm skin. Dean moans again, presses into Sam, his mouth opening wider as Sam licks his way in again and again. Sam drags Dean closer until he can feel the thick line of Dean’s cock against his own, hot and hard even through his jeans. Dean shudders against him, one hand tight in Sam’s hair, the other at the small of his back like a brand against Sam’s bare skin as they move against each other, chasing the maddening, not quite enough friction until Sam finally has to pull back, gasping. Dean doesn’t relinquish his hold on Sam, just leans into him so that every breath is like a feather light touch against Sam’s kiss-swollen lips, every flutter of his eyelashes a butterfly kiss on Sam’s cheek. Sam closes his eyes and just breathes Dean in as he tries to calm his racing heart.
It's Dean who breaks the silence. “I don't want to die,” he whispers into the scant space between them. “I don't want to die and I don't want to go to Hell.” He shivers, and Sam pulls him closer instinctively, needing the comfort just as much as Dean.
“Then we'll save you,” Sam whispers back, a secret, a prayer. He remembers how he felt with Ruby's blood rushing through him, the exhilaration and rage and triumph of defeating her. Only if I have to, he tells himself grimly. “Whatever it takes, Dean,” he promises softly. He can’t hide the darkness in his words and his voice, steady and determined. “We'll save you, whatever it takes.”
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Wincest, perceived non-con, perceived somnophilia, angst
Summary: Dean is back and Ruby is dead. But where do they go from here?
For a long moment Sam just clings to his brother, relief that they aren't completely broken sweeping through him. He craves Dean’s touch after the distance between them, needs the familiar reassurance of being wrapped in Dean’s arms after the soul-crushing fear that he’d never see him again. And if the way Dean is holding onto him means anything, Dean needs that reassurance just as badly.
But ‘no chick flick moments’ is still the rule they live by, and there’s too much to be done for Sam to argue when Dean sighs and pushes Sam back gently. Sam wants to protest, but he knows Dean’s right--he’s covered in blood, there’s a dead body on the floor, and he kinda doubts that Ruby drove Dean here so they’re going to need to find the car at some point. But he can’t quite bring himself to walk away, not when Dean is smiling tentatively at him from mere inches away. Not when Dean’s hands are on Sam’s hips and Dean’s lips are soft and pink and right there.
It’s the taste of blood, foul and lingering in his mouth and throat, that keeps Sam from closing that distance. He’s never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss Dean, but the thought of doing so with Ruby’s blood still coating his mouth makes Sam slightly ill. He steps back instead, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from touching Dean the way he wants to. He can’t right now. Not until he’s clean.
Dean flushes when Sam steps away, rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s embarrassed. “Why don’t you go shower, Sammy. Get cleaned up. And I’ll take care of this.” He scowls down at the body on the carpet, and Sam’s pretty sure he’d like to kick it.
“Yeah, I should do that.” Sam hesitates, hoping he doesn’t sound as pathetic and needy to Dean as he does to himself. “You’ll still be here when I get out?”
Dean looks at him steadily, not quite smiling. “I’m not going anywhere without you,” he says quietly, forcefully. “We’re gonna figure this out together. Now go.” Dean turns away pointedly and starts stripping the comforter and sheets off one of the beds, tossing them on the floor near Ruby but out of the congealing blood.
Sam stays where he is for a few moments, happy just to be able to watch his brother openly. But the blood drying thick and tacky on his skin and the promise of what might be to come drags him back to what needs to be done. Smiling slightly, he pulls a bottle of Tylenol out of his duffle before stepping into the bathroom, suddenly aware that his head is still throbbing from the aftermath of what he’d done to Ruby.
But when the door closes behind him and Sam catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the guilt and horror of what he’s done crashes over him again. He grabs his toothbrush with an unsteady hand, scrubbing the taste of Ruby’s blood from his mouth. He follows it up with mouthwash, then brushes again, convinced he can still taste sulphurous, rotting meat on his tongue. He only stops when his gums are bleeding fresh copper into his mouth and throws away the toothbrush he’d used, faintly sickened by the frothy red swirls in the sink as he washes them away. He strips off his bloody clothes, unable to bear the touch of them on his skin any longer. They get tossed in the corner to be burned later, then he turns on the shower, swallowing a handful of little white pills and stepping into the shower even before the water warms.
The water sluices over him, pooling red then pink then clear around his feet as he watches. He doesn’t want to think about what he did, but the memories won’t leave--the taste of her blood, the feeling of power and rage and vicious triumph. It's impossible not to imagine Ruby’s blood moving inside him, carving out new spaces for evil to live. Impossible not to remember how good it felt to finally be able to strike a genuine blow against their enemies. Impossible not to wonder if the answer he’s been looking for has been right here in front of him all along. Sam shakes his head, stomach roiling at the thought of doing it again. He can’t. He won’t.
It’s not til Dean bangs on the door, demanding to know what’re you doing in there Sam did you drown what he’s doing that Sam reluctantly turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He still doesn’t feel clean, but at this point he’s not sure that will ever happen. He dries off quickly, haphazardly, and wraps the threadbare towel around his waist before stepping out into the cool motel room.
But things are different now. He hadn’t considered, yet, just how very different until he sees Dean’s face. Surprise, desire, want--the heat in Dean’s eyes sets off an answering warmth in Sam, drawing him closer. Sam’s eyes catch on Dean’s parted lips, and the overwhelming urge to kiss him is back, along with a hint of jealousy--Dean knows what Sam tastes like, in the most intimate ways, and Sam wants to know the same about Dean. He takes another slow step toward Dean, giving him time to turn away, but Dean just watches him with wide eyes. It takes a moment for Sam to realize that Dean’s tracking a drop of water as it rolls down his chest and soaks into the worn thin towel wrapped around his waist. It hits him hard, that Dean is letting himself look, that he’s not turning away from what’s between them, and Sam doesn’t hesitate again. He steps right into Dean’s space, not quite pressed against him, forcing Dean to look up. A thrill runs through him, hot and possessive, as Dean seems to realize it too, eyes widening slightly as he realizes just how far he has to look. His tongue slips out cat quick over his lower lip, eyes going dark as he meets Sam’s eyes.
That’s all the invitation Sam needs.
For an instant--an eternity--Dean doesn’t kiss Sam back. Then, just as Sam thinks he’s ruined everything, Dean melts against him, one hand tangling in Sam’s damply curling hair as he tugs Sam more firmly into the kiss. It’s slow and easy, just a gentle press of lips that could almost be chaste. Sam licks over the seam of Dean’s lips, not above begging, and Dean opens for him with a soft moan, suddenly eager. The sound burns through Sam, his hunger taking on a sudden, heated life of it’s own. He cups Dean’s face with one hand, stroking greedily over his cheek before sliding down to burrow under layers of cotton and flannel and find soft warm skin. Dean moans again, presses into Sam, his mouth opening wider as Sam licks his way in again and again. Sam drags Dean closer until he can feel the thick line of Dean’s cock against his own, hot and hard even through his jeans. Dean shudders against him, one hand tight in Sam’s hair, the other at the small of his back like a brand against Sam’s bare skin as they move against each other, chasing the maddening, not quite enough friction until Sam finally has to pull back, gasping. Dean doesn’t relinquish his hold on Sam, just leans into him so that every breath is like a feather light touch against Sam’s kiss-swollen lips, every flutter of his eyelashes a butterfly kiss on Sam’s cheek. Sam closes his eyes and just breathes Dean in as he tries to calm his racing heart.
It's Dean who breaks the silence. “I don't want to die,” he whispers into the scant space between them. “I don't want to die and I don't want to go to Hell.” He shivers, and Sam pulls him closer instinctively, needing the comfort just as much as Dean.
“Then we'll save you,” Sam whispers back, a secret, a prayer. He remembers how he felt with Ruby's blood rushing through him, the exhilaration and rage and triumph of defeating her. Only if I have to, he tells himself grimly. “Whatever it takes, Dean,” he promises softly. He can’t hide the darkness in his words and his voice, steady and determined. “We'll save you, whatever it takes.”