Fate - completed.
Fate
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: M/M Relationship, AU, Mention of Abuse of a Minor
Synopsis: Lord Samual Winchester is a gentleman of the 1750's English ton. He meets a charming whore called Dean, and his life becomes...complicated.
This was originally posted in 13 parts, but I have done it in less here... all 22,991 words of it!
http://lady-krystal-79.livejournal.com/2424.html
http://lady-krystal-79.livejournal.com/2786.html
PART ELEVEN.
The week passed with civil hostility radiating from Dean and miserable morality from Sam. John left them to it, focusing instead on his own relationship with his eldest son. Dean accepted John’s overtures of affection with the same awkward embarrassment with which they were offered. Neither man was used to outward shows of emotions. They quickly fell into a routine of not looking too deeply into one another’s minds, and settled down into less obvious father and son contact.
The first time Dean had become animated since his disastrous conversation with Sam had been when John had led him down into the cellar of the house. It was here that he kept a veritable arsenal of all things dangerous to the supernatural. John had watched with delight as Dean reverently picked up and gazed upon the tools of their trade. What Sam had deemed ‘obsessive’, Dean viewed as ‘prudent’.
After that, the two had bonded over ‘war stories’. Sam had discovered, by overhearing, that a werewolf had killed the people who had taken Dean. A vague memory had stirred in Dean, and he had made a rush for the silver dagger one of the girls had stolen from one of their customers. When the creature had come at him, Dean had plunged the blade as deep into its chest as he could. Sam had shuddered; horrified anew by the life Dean had lived.
When Thomas and Matthew made good on their offer to visit, Sam was pitifully grateful for the company. However, there was the matter of Dean to be explained, and quickly, before they saw him for themselves. It was easier than he had expected to broach the subject. Thomas took one look at him and wanted to know what was wrong.
“Do you remember the man at Penelope’s?”
Matthew nodded and rolled his eyes. Thomas elbowed him and said, “Yes, of course.”
“And you know how people thought he had disappeared?” The other two nodded, frowning. “Well, he did not.” Sam blurted out. “I hired him…”
“Finally!” Matthew exclaimed.
“Pardon?” Sam was confused.
“What he means,” Thomas explained, “is that we knew you had gone back to see him. We wondered when you were going to tell us. After all, you moved the man in with you. So, it is more than sex, correct?”
Sam’s mouth fell open. “You know?!”
We are rather adept at recognising those like ourselves.” Matthew admitted, eyes twinkling.
“You…you are..?”
Thomas nodded solemnly. “We have kept it hidden for many reasons, not least of which is our friend Edward’s attitude, but we have been together since we were old enough to understand what we were doing.”
“So, now you know our secret. Is the gorgeous man here? Or have you spirited him away to some other secret location?” Matthew was grinning, and Sam was dazed by the current turn of events.
“He is my brother!” Sam blurted, and immediately wanted to take the words back.
“You so not have a brother.” Thomas looked at him like he had suddenly lost his mind. It probably did not help when Sam gave a mostly hysterical laugh.
“I do. The night my mother died, he was taken. Father was so struck by grief we never spoke of him. I never even knew his name.”
“So, you fell in love with your brother. Is that what you are telling us?” Even Matthew’s voice had turned careful now, gently seeking clarification.
“It is wrong, so wrong.” Sam whispered, hiding is face in his hands.
Thomas looked at Matthew, who shrugged, and then very carefully asked, “Why?”
Sam looked up. “Why what?”
“Why is it ‘so wrong’? We are condemned as an abomination because we love one another, but how can it be wrong if it is love? You could accept loving another man, why can you not accept loving your brother? He is still the man you fell in love with.”
Sam looked away, his eyes glittering. “Am I the only one that cannot accept this? Am I being foolish, holding to two different standards?”
“You are afraid.” Matthew told him, but not unkindly. “Love, however, is hard to come by. If it is true, hold onto it with all your might.”
“I have hurt Dean horribly.” Sam looked back to them, shame colouring his eyes.
“He loves you too, Sam. He will forgive you. It may not be immediate, but one day he will let it go.”
Sam smiled gratefully at his friends, but he was not so sure. Could Dean possibly forgive him? He had been cruel and stupid. Dean had every right to hate him. Please, Sam prayed, please let him forgive me.
PART TWELVE
Every night Thomas challenged Dean to a rematch at the pool table, and every night Dean walked away with this pockets full. John had been amused, and more than a little proud, with Dean’s skills. Sam might have been amused too, but these were the only times, apart from meals, that he saw Dean. Watching those slender, long-fingered hands handling a cue stick was obscene, and only reminded Sam how wonderful they had felt against his skin, in his hair, inside of him. He caught Matthew staring one night with an almost glazed look in his eyes and jealousy had flared, quick and hateful. It was little consolation that Matthew had barely been able to sit down at the breakfast table the next morning; such was the punishment Thomas had meted out. Dean had smirked. John had kept his silence while missing nothing.
It could not last, however. Thomas and Matthew left a week later, and Sam felt suddenly alone. He felt even worse when he saw that the relationship between Dean and his father was growing ever closer. It was not that Sam begrudged them their closeness - hell, they had earned whatever joy they found in this life - but it only made the lack of such closeness between himself and his family starker. It all came to a head one morning.
“Dean, have you ever hunted a vampire?”
John suddenly had Dean’s full attention. “I came across them from time to time, killed them if I could get close enough, but I have never actively hunted them down.”
With a satisfied smile, John told him, “Good. I want you to come hunting with me tomorrow.” Dean smiled with delight.
“I want to come too.” Sam blurted.
“No.” Dean’s voice was cold.
“No.” John was angry. “You have no skill in hunting.”
“You will get us all killed.” Dean backed him up.
Sam was suddenly, irrationally angry with them both. “You trained me until I was seventeen years old! Dean has next to no training, yet you would take him?”
“Dean has practical knowledge, which is worth far more than any amount of training, especially when the student had little interest in, and even less regard for, what he was being taught.” John answered him, clearly not impressed with this sudden sibling rivalry.
“You have been sheltered your whole life, protected and watched over by others. Do you honestly believe that you could take a stake and drive it into the heart of something that looks like a human being?” Dean was being practical, making Sam face what was required, but his eyes were cold, wanting to make Sam flinch and thus support their opinion of him.
It was hard, but Sam stayed firm. “If it is evil, I will kill it. I will not leave my family in danger.”
John sighed. For the first time in twenty years, he had his family - both of his boys - with him and willing to share in the hunt. Could he really keep Sam from coming along? Should he? This might be their last chance to become something other than estranged. “Very well, Sam. Come along. Do not say you were not warned.”
Sam would not forget. He could do this. He just needed to prove it to the other two. And then, maybe, his father would forgive him for walking away from his legacy. And maybe Dean would forgive him for…everything.
***
Things had gone well so far. The information John had received about the vampire’s nest proved to be accurate, and they had found it quickly. A quick reconnaissance by Dean - who had proved himself more than capable of flitting through the shadows like a wraith, silent and alert - told them that there were eight vampires in the nest; an acceptable number to be handled by the three of them. Not ideal, mind you, but do-able.
They waited until the sun was at its zenith - a vampire’s most vulnerable hour - and then made their move. Sam watched the way his father and brother moved in synchronised steps, like they had done this together a hundred times before. It only served to make Sam feel like a graceless giant, but he still followed them, as silently as he could.
The nest was inside a boarded up roadside tavern. Once it had been a popular stop for travellers, but it had stood derelict for as long as anyone could remember. Recently, however, there had been odd comings and goings, followed by disappearances and deaths, which had reached the ears of passing hunters. This was John’s territory, though, and vampires were his specialty, so the task of checking it out had fallen to him.
Dean had supplied them with the layout of the two-storey building. It had mostly been gutted by the fire that had put it out of business. The ground floor was a large empty space, although the vampires had found some passable furniture and were draped over them in various attitudes of sleep. To the right of the doorway was the staircase that had led to the second floor but now had no purpose, as the second floor was mostly gone, collapsed in the flames.
The three Winchesters fanned out around the room, armed and ready to strike. John and Dean each held a lethally sharp stake. Sam was armed with a crossbow, the other tow having pressed it on him. He was ashamed to admit to himself that he was glad that he would not have to be involved in the close-quarters, intimate act of stabbing the vampires.
John made the first move, raising the stake high, and then bringing it down with all his strength, plunging it straight into the heart of the vampire nearest him. The creature died without a chance to even make a sound. Not even a second later, Dean’s stake struck just as true, and another vampire was gone. They were down to six - two each - which was much better odds.
The next target John chose was a woman, but unlike the first, she managed to scream before her unholy life ended. The others stirred immediately, assessing the situation quickly and then turning to attack. One launched himself at Sam, and Sam raised the crossbow, pulling the trigger quickly. The force of the weapon nearly drove the wooden shaft right through the vampire, and Sam realised he would have to be careful not to let a stray bolt hit his father or Dean.
Meanwhile, Dean decided that the best defence was a vicious offensive. In perfect control of his body, Dean moved in to take on the nearest vampire, a female who may have been pretty had her distended fangs not been stained with the blood of a recent kill. She moved swiftly, but so did Dean and, before she could think to dodge it, his second stake drove into her chest.
John was working on his third adversary, a cagey male that was not stupid enough to rush in and get himself killed. So it was with a surprised hiss that he died, another bolt from the crossbow taking him from the back. John nodded his thanks to Sam and went after the second last vampire, which had wisely decided to run away.
The last vampire, and older, more distinguished-looking male, had proved himself smarter than the rest of his kiss. He had launched himself onto Dean’s back. In this position it was impossible for Dean to get the right angle to use his stake. Neither could Sam use his crossbow, as a shot at the vampire would possibly lodge itself in Dean. The vampire was taking full advantage, trying to bury its fangs into the side of Dean’s throat. If it succeeded, it would tear his throat out, so Dean had his hands full trying to hold that mouth away from his flesh.
Sam danced around them, looking for any mistake, any opening, so he could get a shot off, but his fear for Dean’s life kept his finger from the trigger. Dean caught Sam’s eye and growled, “Sam! Crossbow. Now!”
In the instant that Dean let go of the creature’s head, Sam passed the crossbow into his hands. The vampire bit into Dean’s neck and, with a hiss, Dean pointed the crossbow back over his shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bolt did not kill the creature, but it had the desired effect. As the bolt entered its head, the vampire screeched, letting go of Dean’s neck and falling back onto the floor. Dean did not hesitate for a moment, but spun around and drove another stake into the creature’s heart with all his weight driving the blow.
Staggering back, Dean reached for his neck, but Sam was already there, brushing his hand aside and assessing the damage himself. Upon seeing that the wound was superficial, Sam dragged Dean into his arms with a sigh, almost crushing the smaller man in his relief. Taking a small step back, Sam cupped Dean’s face in his hands and captured those perfect lips with his own. Dean struggled for a moment, trying to push away, but Sam persevered and finally Dean relaxed, allowing Sam the entrance he so desperately sought.
Long moments later, Sam pulled back and whispered while staring into Dean’s green, green gaze, “What were you thinking? What were you thinking? That thing could have killed you! I could have lost you, Dean. I could have lost you.”
“I did not think that it would matter.” Dean told him flatly.
“Silly fool.” Sam said fondly. “Of course it matters. It matters very much. I love you, Dean.”
“Do not say that.” Dean hissed, hurt blossoming in his eyes.
“I will, Dean. I will say it over and over. I will say it until you believe me. And I will say it until you forgive me for being so stupid. I love you, Dean. I will always love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you in every way possible just how much I love you.”
Dean looked at him, his gaze uncertain, that fear of being hurt so deeply again shimmering at the edges. “Nothing has changed, Sam. I am still your brother.”
“You are right, Dean, nothing has changed. I loved you before, and I love you now. I have simply had time to realise how foolish I was to expect that we could ever feel differently about one another. Please, Dean, give me another chance. Please forgive me.”
Sam still held Dean’s face, so he could not turn away, he could not hide the flood of emotions filling his eyes. “There is nothing to forgive, Sammy. You have my heart - have had it since you sat beside my bed, protecting me while I slept - and there is no way I can keep it from you now.”
“Well, that is only fair, since you have held mine from the moment that we met.” Sam smiled. “I am sure you are being far too easy on me, but I am glad we are moving on.”
“What point is there in holding this grudge? It would only keep us apart, and alone, for longer.”
Sam lowered his mouth to Dean’s once again, humbled by the pure heart his lover possessed. This time the heat was banked, and a soothing, healing warmth passed between them. Back and forth, they passed silent apologies and forgiveness, promises and devotions. Everything they needed to say to one another was pressed into open mouths with gentle tongues. When they pulled apart, sighing for breath, Sam leaned his forehead against Dean’s and remained silent.
It was at this point that John returned from chasing his last vampire. He gave them a moment, a smirk teasing at the edges of his mouth. He was proud of both of his boys; the strong men they had become, and the love they had dared to find together. Still, he had a duty as a father. “Now, now you two. That is enough of that. You can tend to one another when we get home.”
“Yes sir.” Dean replied with a smile and without moving.
“Yes Father.” Sam answered, echoing Dean’s smile and finally letting him go.
The three Winchesters left the derelict building behind them. For the first time in their lives their family was, in fact, a family. And finally, finally they had all found the place where they belonged; together.
PART THIRTEEN
Sam managed to keep his eyes elsewhere on the ride home, although Dean’s grace in the saddle was like everything else about him; perfect in Sam’s eyes. And he managed to keep his hands to himself throughout the meal - breakfast by the time they had arrived home - although that probably had more to do with the fact that Dean was on the other side of the table and their father present. Finally, John announced, “Well, I am off to bed. I suggest you two do likewise.” The twinkle of mirth in his eyes suggested he knew exactly what his sons would be doing as soon as they were alone. “Hawkins, do me a favour and send Malachi from wherever he might be skulking, will you?”
“Yes, sir.” Hawkins rolled his eyes, and then turned towards the door that lead to the kitchen. “Malachi? Did you hear?”
“I heard.” Malachi -a long time friend of John’s who seemed to live, for the most part, in the Winchester home - came through the door. He was a lean, well-toned man about six years John’s junior. His black hair was thick and wavy, the ends licking at his shoulders, and his blue eyes were the colour of the wild sea. His mouth, which had a somewhat cruel slant to it, was currently twitched into a small smirk. “And I do not skulk.”
“Of course you do. Now, are you coming?” John smiled.
Dean’s eyes, however, had narrowed. “Is everyone in this place a hunter?”
“What?” Sam gave him a quizzical smile.
Hawkins laughed. “I told you, John. The boy knows a hunter a mile away.”
John laughed. “No, Dean. Just everyone in this room. That is it, I swear. I am surprised you have not met Malachi before now.”
“I am more than able to make myself scarce when necessary. I thought you might need some time with your son.” Malachi raised an eyebrow, challenging John to refute his logic. John shook his head and clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder, silent gratitude.
Sam was still processing his father’s statement, and his eyes widened. “Hawkins? You too? All this time and you never once thought to mention that you were a hunter?”
“Did you honestly believe your father would leave you unprotected? I have long been the guardian of the Winchester heirs. I only failed in my duty once, rushing in to help John battle the flames instead of looking after Dean and yourself.” Hawkins saw the surprise in Dean’s eyes. “Yes, I was there too, and that regret will stay with me all my days, but seeing you all reunited is a balm to my soul.”
“Hunter and unapologetic, hopeless sentimentalist.” Malachi noted wryly.
“Well, someone has to balance out your depressing cynicism.” Hawkins retorted. “What John ever saw in a man like you I will never know.”
Heading off a long-standing argument between his two closest friends, John squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand and interjected, “He has other skills of which I have need, and I have need of them right now.” Not allowing Malachi a chance to argue, John pulled him from the room.
Although Sam had had his suspicions about his father, it was still a surprise to have those suspicions confirmed. “Father and Malachi? They are…”
“For nearly ten years now.” Hawkins shook his head, but there was warmth in his voice.
Dean looked at Sam. “We really need to work on that naïve streak, Sam. People are not always what they seem, and you need to learn to read them better.”
“I read you when no one else could.” Sam said indignantly.
Smiling indulgently, Dean asked, “Is that right, Sammy? You can read me that well, can you? Then tell me, what is it I need right now?”
Sam blushed at the sultry smile he received, but gamely replied, “I think you need to come upstairs with me and work on all that excess excitement from the hunt.”
Hawkins muttered something that sounded vaguely like, ‘Like father, like sons’. He then took himself out of the room and left the younger Winchesters to their banter.
Dean’s smile only grew more wicked. “And how, exactly, would we best do that, do you think?”
“Exactly?” Sam cocked his head in questioning. “Well, I had not considered the specifics. How would you suggest we proceed?”
“Suddenly, Dean stood up out of his seat and stalked - yes, Sam thought, that was the perfect way to describe how his brother moved - over to Sam. Leaning down, Dean growled in his ear, “I suggest you take me up to your room, lay me down, open me up, and bury yourself as deep inside of me as you can in as short a time frame as possible.”
Sam’s body shuddered and went hot at the very idea. “Is that right?” He echoed Dean’s words back to him in a whisper.
“Mmmhmmm.” Dean hummed. “I think we need quick, and hard, and satisfying. And then…” His voice ghosted out. “And then we can concentrate on the slow, and gentle, and…loving.”
Sam loved that Dean was, under his world-weary façade, seeking love and acceptance as much as he himself was, perhaps even more so. More than anything else, though, Sam loved that he was allowed to see these glimpses of the vulnerability in his brother. “That sounds…perfect.”
Dean held out his hand and Sam took it, letting the smaller man pull him to his feet. They said no more to one another as they made their way through the house, nor when Dean lead them into his room and locked the door behind them with a quiet snick. Like it had been a signal, Sam spun Dean around and pressed him against the door. Without hesitation Dean lifted his face towards Sam, asking for a kiss and, without delay, Sam acquiesced. It was only a moment before Sam was devouring Dean’s mouth while rapidly stripping the clothes from the eager body against him. Dean let Sam lead, until the last of his clothes fell away, and then he was pushing Sam backwards, their momentum not slowing his ability to undo buttons and untie knots one little bit. Sam stood naked by the time they had reached the bed.
Dean, who had not forgotten the plan, crawled onto the bed and sent Sam a seductive ‘come-hither’ over his shoulder. Sam did not need a second invitation. He knelt up behind Dean, pressing their bodies close. It had been too long for both of them, and their matching groans were evident of this fact. Dean placed a vial in Sam’s hand, and he briefly wondered where Dean had hidden it until this point, but then he was more concerned with getting it open and coating his fingers with the contents. It took but a second, and then he was pressing one finger into Dean’s welcoming body. Dean took it with ease and immediately demanded another. Sam complied, twisting and scissoring them until Dean was writhing back onto them. Finally, Sam added a third finger, and Dean panted, “Enough, Sammy. Please, I need you inside of me.”
And who was Sam to deny such beautiful begging? He slipped his fingers free, coated his fully aroused member in more of the oil, and then he started to press into his brother’s trembling body. Sam would have gone slow, giving Dean time to adjust to his girth, but Dean had not been joking about hard and fast. He pushed back against Sam until Sam lay fully sheathed within him, making them both cry out in shocked pleasure.
Sam pulled back and plunged in once more, establishing a rhythm for both of them, keeping his thrusts firm while alternating the speed and angle at his whim. In no time Dean was begging for still more. “Sammy…oh god…kneel down behind me…”
It took a moment for the words to sink in, but then Sam quickly moved as he had been told, thinking that he had somehow hurt Dean. When he sat back on his heels, however, Dean moved back with him, seating himself over Sam’s lap. Sam felt Dean’s body give just that little bit more in this new position, and he slipped impossibly deeper into that quivering, heated flesh. Dean arched back, keening, his body shuddering. Sam put his arms around the smaller man, not sure whether to move or not. Dean decided for him, writhing his body, undulating over Sam. Sam gasped, the new stimulation driving him closer to completion. Of their own accord, his hips jerked up. “Oh god, Dean…”
Dean moaned. “Yes, Sam, please…”
Sam jerked up again, his climax ripped from him by his brother’s decadent body and seductive voice. He was not alone, however. Dean clamped down upon him, gasping out his own hoarse cry as his body, too, gave in to sensation.
Sam found himself holding up not only his own lethargic body, but also Dean’s boneless weight. Nuzzling behind the other man’s ear, he murmured, “Are you alright?”
“Yes, Sammy. I am very alright.”
“Oh, good. Do you think we could lay down now?”
Laughter more felt than heard shimmered through Dean, and Sam moaned as his body tried to respond to the gentle stimulation. Dean laughed louder this time, but he eased off of Sam and collapsed face down onto the bed. Sam unfolded himself and lay beside his brother. It felt wrong, though, to lay so close to Dean and not be touching him, so he rolled onto his back and tentatively asked, “Dean? Would you come lay with me?”
Dean lifted his head and looked at Sam with half-dazed eyes. He smiled, heart-breakingly sweet, and shifted across until he was half lying on top of Sam, his head resting on the pillow of Sam’s chest. Sam sighed, content, and pulled him closer as they both settled into sleep.
***
They woke at some time in the afternoon, warm, comfortable and drowsy. Sam, finally able to take everything he wanted with both eyes wide open, found Dean’s mouth and sank into its depths. He took his time discovering all its delights, tasting everything that was Dean in its recesses. Dean simply opened up and gave Sam whatever he sought.
Sam’s exploration eventually continued, his mouth moving so he could gently graze his teeth along Dean’s stubbled jaw, making Dean shiver. Moving lower, Sam nibbled down Dean’s throat and, finding the strong, steady pulse there, bit down. Dean made a sound Sam had never heard before and could not classify, but it was a sound of pleasure if you judged by the look on Dean’s face. So Sam did it again, and again, making his way down Dean’s body, worshipping the warm, smooth flesh and leaving his mark upon it.
When he nuzzled against Dean’s hardening member, Sam found the scent there stronger and warmer, pure Dean, and he knew he never find another scent he liked more. He licked up the firm shaft, wanting to taste, and Dean made a choked sound in his throat. So it was with a wide smile that Sam sucked the bulbous head into his mouth, surprised by the bitter saltiness, but quickly adjusting to the flavour as just another part of Dean. He remembered the way Dean had taken him in his mouth, swallowing him down into his throat, so he tried it. Opening is mouth wider, he sucked more of the firm column inside, but as he tried to swallow more he gagged, forcing him to pull off completely and draw breath.
Dean reached down and pulled Sam back up his body until he could press his lips gently to Sam’s. He whispered, “I shall teach you, Sammy. It takes practice. Kiss me again?” Sam did so, reassured by Dean’s gentle words and complete lack of criticism. Dean licked into his mouth, tongue rough and slick at once. He pulled back, humming his pleasure. “I can taste myself in your mouth.”
Sam wondered if it was normal to react to those words by going blindingly, shockingly hard. Dean did not seem to be complaining, though, when Sam’s now aching shaft bumped against his own. No, Dean smiled and told Sam to keep kissing him. Sam did so. He would have broken off when he felt Dean’s hand wrap around the both of them, a hot, slick tunnel for them to glide through as they rubbed against one another, but Dean’s mouth chased after his, keeping them pressed together. Sam whimpered into Dean’s mouth instead, and Dean gave him more of that humming approval. Sam reached down and added his hand, making Dean grunt and shudder while Sam himself gave an embarrassing whine.
That was how their climax took them; pressed together, wrapped up in one another, mouths still latched together, stealing and giving breath between them. That was also how they slipped into sleep again, their lips slowly falling apart and their bodies as closely wound together as was physically possible.
***
The next time they woke it was to the sound of a firm knock on the door. One of the maids called out, “Milord? Milord, your father bade me tell you that the evening meal is to be served in twenty minutes. Milord, are you awake?”
Dean looked at Sam wide-eyed and hissed as lowly as possible, “How does she know you are in my room?”
Sam could not help the ghost of laughter that escaped his lips. “I believe she is addressing you…Milord.”
Dean looked momentarily confused before understanding dawned in his eyes. He was a Winchester. The eldest Winchester son. The family heir. And a Lord. Sam wanted to laugh again at the slowly growing horror in his brother’s eyes, but wisely refrained. Dean gathered his wits enough to answer the maid, “Ah, yes. I will be right down. And, ah, I will let Lord Samuel know myself.”
“Yes, Milord.” She sounded a little confused herself, but did not question the new Master.
Dean turned to Sam. “I do not…cannot… I know nothing about nobility, Sam.”
“You are the most noble person I know.” Sam told him sincerely.
Dean’s eyes melted with warmth, but he stuck to his point. “You know what I mean, Sam. I might know how to play to their needs, but I do not know how to exist among them.”
Sam gave him a sad smile. “There is little difference, I fear. Most of the ton are out to use you in any way they can simply for their own amusement and advancement.” A fond glint lit Sam’s eyes as he said, “You would lead them a merry dance. I can see it now.”
Dean shook his head, but he was smiling. “Incorrigible young thing. You are no help at all.”
“None.” Sam admitted happily and jumped out of bed. “We should get dressed. I am starving.”
“Of course you are.”
***
The only change at the dining table from that morning was the addition of Malachi. He sat beside Dean, and John and Sam watched with amusement as they eyed each other warily. They eventually settled as the meal was served, but all four men were silent as they ate. Dean was the first to finish, sitting back with a small portion of food remaining on his plate - Sam still did not think that Dean ate enough.
The serving girl quickly stepped over to collect the dishes. “Milord? May I clear these for you?”
Dean stiffened in his seat, and it did not go unnoticed. “Yes. Thank you.”
After that all was silence once more, Dean moodily sipping at his wine and Malachi watching him like one would a cornered animal. When they had finally all finished, and all the dishes cleared away, they were left alone, and John took matters into hand. “Dean, it has come to my attention that you are not entirely comfortable with your new position.” Malachi snorted at the understatement, but John ignored him. Sam glared at him. Malachi smirked. Dean was another matter.
“I am sorry. I will learn…”
“Nonsense.” John cut off his son’s fearful words. “I would not want it either, given a choice, and that is what I wanted to say. I think we do have a choice here.” He smiled as Dean and Sam’s concentration sharpened on him. “This estate has been self-sufficient for years, running with little to no input from me.”
“I do not see how that changes anything.” Sam interrupted.
“It changes everything. I do not need to be here. None of us need to be here. We can pack up what we need and simply leave. Leave the estate, leave England.”
“Where would we go?” Sam wanted to know.
“The colonies.” John replied. “When we get there, no one need know who John Winchester is, nor that Sam and Dean Winchester are anything more than my two sons. We can live in total freedom and concentrate on the hunt.”
Dean looked like he was afraid to hope. “Please, do not do this because of me.”
“It is for all of us.” John assured him. “We must all agree to it.”
Dean looked to Sam, who smiled widely. “Yes. I agree.”
“So do I.” Malachi piped up. At John’s surprised look, the other man added, “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”
“It is not your eyes I am interested in having on me.” John leered. Malachi rolled his eyes and Dean laughed, low and true.
Sam shook his head. “Oh god, this is what it will always be like, is it not?”
“It will certainly never be dull.” Dean agreed.
Sam had a sudden thought. “What about Hawkins?”
“I will be staying here.” He answered from the doorway. “I shall keep my eye on things here and maintain a base of communications for the other hunters.”
John nodded his solemn thanks and then gave them all his best smile. “Well, then, gentlemen, that is that.”
***
That night Dean Winchester curled into his brother’s warmth and wondered what he had done to deserve a second chance at life. He had a family. He had someone who loved him despite everything he had done, everything he had been, and who was worth the risk of opening his heart to. He had his own self-respect and, with it, inner peace. For the first time in his life, Dean closed his eyes content. As he drifted off, Sam’s arms tightened around him, holding him safe and protected, reassuring himself that Dean was actually still there. Dean slipped into sleep, a sleep without the demons that had once haunted him, with a smile on his face.
THE END
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: M/M Relationship, AU, Mention of Abuse of a Minor
Synopsis: Lord Samual Winchester is a gentleman of the 1750's English ton. He meets a charming whore called Dean, and his life becomes...complicated.
This was originally posted in 13 parts, but I have done it in less here... all 22,991 words of it!
http://lady-krystal-79.livejournal.com/2424.html
http://lady-krystal-79.livejournal.com/2786.html
PART ELEVEN.
The week passed with civil hostility radiating from Dean and miserable morality from Sam. John left them to it, focusing instead on his own relationship with his eldest son. Dean accepted John’s overtures of affection with the same awkward embarrassment with which they were offered. Neither man was used to outward shows of emotions. They quickly fell into a routine of not looking too deeply into one another’s minds, and settled down into less obvious father and son contact.
The first time Dean had become animated since his disastrous conversation with Sam had been when John had led him down into the cellar of the house. It was here that he kept a veritable arsenal of all things dangerous to the supernatural. John had watched with delight as Dean reverently picked up and gazed upon the tools of their trade. What Sam had deemed ‘obsessive’, Dean viewed as ‘prudent’.
After that, the two had bonded over ‘war stories’. Sam had discovered, by overhearing, that a werewolf had killed the people who had taken Dean. A vague memory had stirred in Dean, and he had made a rush for the silver dagger one of the girls had stolen from one of their customers. When the creature had come at him, Dean had plunged the blade as deep into its chest as he could. Sam had shuddered; horrified anew by the life Dean had lived.
When Thomas and Matthew made good on their offer to visit, Sam was pitifully grateful for the company. However, there was the matter of Dean to be explained, and quickly, before they saw him for themselves. It was easier than he had expected to broach the subject. Thomas took one look at him and wanted to know what was wrong.
“Do you remember the man at Penelope’s?”
Matthew nodded and rolled his eyes. Thomas elbowed him and said, “Yes, of course.”
“And you know how people thought he had disappeared?” The other two nodded, frowning. “Well, he did not.” Sam blurted out. “I hired him…”
“Finally!” Matthew exclaimed.
“Pardon?” Sam was confused.
“What he means,” Thomas explained, “is that we knew you had gone back to see him. We wondered when you were going to tell us. After all, you moved the man in with you. So, it is more than sex, correct?”
Sam’s mouth fell open. “You know?!”
We are rather adept at recognising those like ourselves.” Matthew admitted, eyes twinkling.
“You…you are..?”
Thomas nodded solemnly. “We have kept it hidden for many reasons, not least of which is our friend Edward’s attitude, but we have been together since we were old enough to understand what we were doing.”
“So, now you know our secret. Is the gorgeous man here? Or have you spirited him away to some other secret location?” Matthew was grinning, and Sam was dazed by the current turn of events.
“He is my brother!” Sam blurted, and immediately wanted to take the words back.
“You so not have a brother.” Thomas looked at him like he had suddenly lost his mind. It probably did not help when Sam gave a mostly hysterical laugh.
“I do. The night my mother died, he was taken. Father was so struck by grief we never spoke of him. I never even knew his name.”
“So, you fell in love with your brother. Is that what you are telling us?” Even Matthew’s voice had turned careful now, gently seeking clarification.
“It is wrong, so wrong.” Sam whispered, hiding is face in his hands.
Thomas looked at Matthew, who shrugged, and then very carefully asked, “Why?”
Sam looked up. “Why what?”
“Why is it ‘so wrong’? We are condemned as an abomination because we love one another, but how can it be wrong if it is love? You could accept loving another man, why can you not accept loving your brother? He is still the man you fell in love with.”
Sam looked away, his eyes glittering. “Am I the only one that cannot accept this? Am I being foolish, holding to two different standards?”
“You are afraid.” Matthew told him, but not unkindly. “Love, however, is hard to come by. If it is true, hold onto it with all your might.”
“I have hurt Dean horribly.” Sam looked back to them, shame colouring his eyes.
“He loves you too, Sam. He will forgive you. It may not be immediate, but one day he will let it go.”
Sam smiled gratefully at his friends, but he was not so sure. Could Dean possibly forgive him? He had been cruel and stupid. Dean had every right to hate him. Please, Sam prayed, please let him forgive me.
PART TWELVE
Every night Thomas challenged Dean to a rematch at the pool table, and every night Dean walked away with this pockets full. John had been amused, and more than a little proud, with Dean’s skills. Sam might have been amused too, but these were the only times, apart from meals, that he saw Dean. Watching those slender, long-fingered hands handling a cue stick was obscene, and only reminded Sam how wonderful they had felt against his skin, in his hair, inside of him. He caught Matthew staring one night with an almost glazed look in his eyes and jealousy had flared, quick and hateful. It was little consolation that Matthew had barely been able to sit down at the breakfast table the next morning; such was the punishment Thomas had meted out. Dean had smirked. John had kept his silence while missing nothing.
It could not last, however. Thomas and Matthew left a week later, and Sam felt suddenly alone. He felt even worse when he saw that the relationship between Dean and his father was growing ever closer. It was not that Sam begrudged them their closeness - hell, they had earned whatever joy they found in this life - but it only made the lack of such closeness between himself and his family starker. It all came to a head one morning.
“Dean, have you ever hunted a vampire?”
John suddenly had Dean’s full attention. “I came across them from time to time, killed them if I could get close enough, but I have never actively hunted them down.”
With a satisfied smile, John told him, “Good. I want you to come hunting with me tomorrow.” Dean smiled with delight.
“I want to come too.” Sam blurted.
“No.” Dean’s voice was cold.
“No.” John was angry. “You have no skill in hunting.”
“You will get us all killed.” Dean backed him up.
Sam was suddenly, irrationally angry with them both. “You trained me until I was seventeen years old! Dean has next to no training, yet you would take him?”
“Dean has practical knowledge, which is worth far more than any amount of training, especially when the student had little interest in, and even less regard for, what he was being taught.” John answered him, clearly not impressed with this sudden sibling rivalry.
“You have been sheltered your whole life, protected and watched over by others. Do you honestly believe that you could take a stake and drive it into the heart of something that looks like a human being?” Dean was being practical, making Sam face what was required, but his eyes were cold, wanting to make Sam flinch and thus support their opinion of him.
It was hard, but Sam stayed firm. “If it is evil, I will kill it. I will not leave my family in danger.”
John sighed. For the first time in twenty years, he had his family - both of his boys - with him and willing to share in the hunt. Could he really keep Sam from coming along? Should he? This might be their last chance to become something other than estranged. “Very well, Sam. Come along. Do not say you were not warned.”
Sam would not forget. He could do this. He just needed to prove it to the other two. And then, maybe, his father would forgive him for walking away from his legacy. And maybe Dean would forgive him for…everything.
***
Things had gone well so far. The information John had received about the vampire’s nest proved to be accurate, and they had found it quickly. A quick reconnaissance by Dean - who had proved himself more than capable of flitting through the shadows like a wraith, silent and alert - told them that there were eight vampires in the nest; an acceptable number to be handled by the three of them. Not ideal, mind you, but do-able.
They waited until the sun was at its zenith - a vampire’s most vulnerable hour - and then made their move. Sam watched the way his father and brother moved in synchronised steps, like they had done this together a hundred times before. It only served to make Sam feel like a graceless giant, but he still followed them, as silently as he could.
The nest was inside a boarded up roadside tavern. Once it had been a popular stop for travellers, but it had stood derelict for as long as anyone could remember. Recently, however, there had been odd comings and goings, followed by disappearances and deaths, which had reached the ears of passing hunters. This was John’s territory, though, and vampires were his specialty, so the task of checking it out had fallen to him.
Dean had supplied them with the layout of the two-storey building. It had mostly been gutted by the fire that had put it out of business. The ground floor was a large empty space, although the vampires had found some passable furniture and were draped over them in various attitudes of sleep. To the right of the doorway was the staircase that had led to the second floor but now had no purpose, as the second floor was mostly gone, collapsed in the flames.
The three Winchesters fanned out around the room, armed and ready to strike. John and Dean each held a lethally sharp stake. Sam was armed with a crossbow, the other tow having pressed it on him. He was ashamed to admit to himself that he was glad that he would not have to be involved in the close-quarters, intimate act of stabbing the vampires.
John made the first move, raising the stake high, and then bringing it down with all his strength, plunging it straight into the heart of the vampire nearest him. The creature died without a chance to even make a sound. Not even a second later, Dean’s stake struck just as true, and another vampire was gone. They were down to six - two each - which was much better odds.
The next target John chose was a woman, but unlike the first, she managed to scream before her unholy life ended. The others stirred immediately, assessing the situation quickly and then turning to attack. One launched himself at Sam, and Sam raised the crossbow, pulling the trigger quickly. The force of the weapon nearly drove the wooden shaft right through the vampire, and Sam realised he would have to be careful not to let a stray bolt hit his father or Dean.
Meanwhile, Dean decided that the best defence was a vicious offensive. In perfect control of his body, Dean moved in to take on the nearest vampire, a female who may have been pretty had her distended fangs not been stained with the blood of a recent kill. She moved swiftly, but so did Dean and, before she could think to dodge it, his second stake drove into her chest.
John was working on his third adversary, a cagey male that was not stupid enough to rush in and get himself killed. So it was with a surprised hiss that he died, another bolt from the crossbow taking him from the back. John nodded his thanks to Sam and went after the second last vampire, which had wisely decided to run away.
The last vampire, and older, more distinguished-looking male, had proved himself smarter than the rest of his kiss. He had launched himself onto Dean’s back. In this position it was impossible for Dean to get the right angle to use his stake. Neither could Sam use his crossbow, as a shot at the vampire would possibly lodge itself in Dean. The vampire was taking full advantage, trying to bury its fangs into the side of Dean’s throat. If it succeeded, it would tear his throat out, so Dean had his hands full trying to hold that mouth away from his flesh.
Sam danced around them, looking for any mistake, any opening, so he could get a shot off, but his fear for Dean’s life kept his finger from the trigger. Dean caught Sam’s eye and growled, “Sam! Crossbow. Now!”
In the instant that Dean let go of the creature’s head, Sam passed the crossbow into his hands. The vampire bit into Dean’s neck and, with a hiss, Dean pointed the crossbow back over his shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bolt did not kill the creature, but it had the desired effect. As the bolt entered its head, the vampire screeched, letting go of Dean’s neck and falling back onto the floor. Dean did not hesitate for a moment, but spun around and drove another stake into the creature’s heart with all his weight driving the blow.
Staggering back, Dean reached for his neck, but Sam was already there, brushing his hand aside and assessing the damage himself. Upon seeing that the wound was superficial, Sam dragged Dean into his arms with a sigh, almost crushing the smaller man in his relief. Taking a small step back, Sam cupped Dean’s face in his hands and captured those perfect lips with his own. Dean struggled for a moment, trying to push away, but Sam persevered and finally Dean relaxed, allowing Sam the entrance he so desperately sought.
Long moments later, Sam pulled back and whispered while staring into Dean’s green, green gaze, “What were you thinking? What were you thinking? That thing could have killed you! I could have lost you, Dean. I could have lost you.”
“I did not think that it would matter.” Dean told him flatly.
“Silly fool.” Sam said fondly. “Of course it matters. It matters very much. I love you, Dean.”
“Do not say that.” Dean hissed, hurt blossoming in his eyes.
“I will, Dean. I will say it over and over. I will say it until you believe me. And I will say it until you forgive me for being so stupid. I love you, Dean. I will always love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you in every way possible just how much I love you.”
Dean looked at him, his gaze uncertain, that fear of being hurt so deeply again shimmering at the edges. “Nothing has changed, Sam. I am still your brother.”
“You are right, Dean, nothing has changed. I loved you before, and I love you now. I have simply had time to realise how foolish I was to expect that we could ever feel differently about one another. Please, Dean, give me another chance. Please forgive me.”
Sam still held Dean’s face, so he could not turn away, he could not hide the flood of emotions filling his eyes. “There is nothing to forgive, Sammy. You have my heart - have had it since you sat beside my bed, protecting me while I slept - and there is no way I can keep it from you now.”
“Well, that is only fair, since you have held mine from the moment that we met.” Sam smiled. “I am sure you are being far too easy on me, but I am glad we are moving on.”
“What point is there in holding this grudge? It would only keep us apart, and alone, for longer.”
Sam lowered his mouth to Dean’s once again, humbled by the pure heart his lover possessed. This time the heat was banked, and a soothing, healing warmth passed between them. Back and forth, they passed silent apologies and forgiveness, promises and devotions. Everything they needed to say to one another was pressed into open mouths with gentle tongues. When they pulled apart, sighing for breath, Sam leaned his forehead against Dean’s and remained silent.
It was at this point that John returned from chasing his last vampire. He gave them a moment, a smirk teasing at the edges of his mouth. He was proud of both of his boys; the strong men they had become, and the love they had dared to find together. Still, he had a duty as a father. “Now, now you two. That is enough of that. You can tend to one another when we get home.”
“Yes sir.” Dean replied with a smile and without moving.
“Yes Father.” Sam answered, echoing Dean’s smile and finally letting him go.
The three Winchesters left the derelict building behind them. For the first time in their lives their family was, in fact, a family. And finally, finally they had all found the place where they belonged; together.
PART THIRTEEN
Sam managed to keep his eyes elsewhere on the ride home, although Dean’s grace in the saddle was like everything else about him; perfect in Sam’s eyes. And he managed to keep his hands to himself throughout the meal - breakfast by the time they had arrived home - although that probably had more to do with the fact that Dean was on the other side of the table and their father present. Finally, John announced, “Well, I am off to bed. I suggest you two do likewise.” The twinkle of mirth in his eyes suggested he knew exactly what his sons would be doing as soon as they were alone. “Hawkins, do me a favour and send Malachi from wherever he might be skulking, will you?”
“Yes, sir.” Hawkins rolled his eyes, and then turned towards the door that lead to the kitchen. “Malachi? Did you hear?”
“I heard.” Malachi -a long time friend of John’s who seemed to live, for the most part, in the Winchester home - came through the door. He was a lean, well-toned man about six years John’s junior. His black hair was thick and wavy, the ends licking at his shoulders, and his blue eyes were the colour of the wild sea. His mouth, which had a somewhat cruel slant to it, was currently twitched into a small smirk. “And I do not skulk.”
“Of course you do. Now, are you coming?” John smiled.
Dean’s eyes, however, had narrowed. “Is everyone in this place a hunter?”
“What?” Sam gave him a quizzical smile.
Hawkins laughed. “I told you, John. The boy knows a hunter a mile away.”
John laughed. “No, Dean. Just everyone in this room. That is it, I swear. I am surprised you have not met Malachi before now.”
“I am more than able to make myself scarce when necessary. I thought you might need some time with your son.” Malachi raised an eyebrow, challenging John to refute his logic. John shook his head and clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder, silent gratitude.
Sam was still processing his father’s statement, and his eyes widened. “Hawkins? You too? All this time and you never once thought to mention that you were a hunter?”
“Did you honestly believe your father would leave you unprotected? I have long been the guardian of the Winchester heirs. I only failed in my duty once, rushing in to help John battle the flames instead of looking after Dean and yourself.” Hawkins saw the surprise in Dean’s eyes. “Yes, I was there too, and that regret will stay with me all my days, but seeing you all reunited is a balm to my soul.”
“Hunter and unapologetic, hopeless sentimentalist.” Malachi noted wryly.
“Well, someone has to balance out your depressing cynicism.” Hawkins retorted. “What John ever saw in a man like you I will never know.”
Heading off a long-standing argument between his two closest friends, John squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand and interjected, “He has other skills of which I have need, and I have need of them right now.” Not allowing Malachi a chance to argue, John pulled him from the room.
Although Sam had had his suspicions about his father, it was still a surprise to have those suspicions confirmed. “Father and Malachi? They are…”
“For nearly ten years now.” Hawkins shook his head, but there was warmth in his voice.
Dean looked at Sam. “We really need to work on that naïve streak, Sam. People are not always what they seem, and you need to learn to read them better.”
“I read you when no one else could.” Sam said indignantly.
Smiling indulgently, Dean asked, “Is that right, Sammy? You can read me that well, can you? Then tell me, what is it I need right now?”
Sam blushed at the sultry smile he received, but gamely replied, “I think you need to come upstairs with me and work on all that excess excitement from the hunt.”
Hawkins muttered something that sounded vaguely like, ‘Like father, like sons’. He then took himself out of the room and left the younger Winchesters to their banter.
Dean’s smile only grew more wicked. “And how, exactly, would we best do that, do you think?”
“Exactly?” Sam cocked his head in questioning. “Well, I had not considered the specifics. How would you suggest we proceed?”
“Suddenly, Dean stood up out of his seat and stalked - yes, Sam thought, that was the perfect way to describe how his brother moved - over to Sam. Leaning down, Dean growled in his ear, “I suggest you take me up to your room, lay me down, open me up, and bury yourself as deep inside of me as you can in as short a time frame as possible.”
Sam’s body shuddered and went hot at the very idea. “Is that right?” He echoed Dean’s words back to him in a whisper.
“Mmmhmmm.” Dean hummed. “I think we need quick, and hard, and satisfying. And then…” His voice ghosted out. “And then we can concentrate on the slow, and gentle, and…loving.”
Sam loved that Dean was, under his world-weary façade, seeking love and acceptance as much as he himself was, perhaps even more so. More than anything else, though, Sam loved that he was allowed to see these glimpses of the vulnerability in his brother. “That sounds…perfect.”
Dean held out his hand and Sam took it, letting the smaller man pull him to his feet. They said no more to one another as they made their way through the house, nor when Dean lead them into his room and locked the door behind them with a quiet snick. Like it had been a signal, Sam spun Dean around and pressed him against the door. Without hesitation Dean lifted his face towards Sam, asking for a kiss and, without delay, Sam acquiesced. It was only a moment before Sam was devouring Dean’s mouth while rapidly stripping the clothes from the eager body against him. Dean let Sam lead, until the last of his clothes fell away, and then he was pushing Sam backwards, their momentum not slowing his ability to undo buttons and untie knots one little bit. Sam stood naked by the time they had reached the bed.
Dean, who had not forgotten the plan, crawled onto the bed and sent Sam a seductive ‘come-hither’ over his shoulder. Sam did not need a second invitation. He knelt up behind Dean, pressing their bodies close. It had been too long for both of them, and their matching groans were evident of this fact. Dean placed a vial in Sam’s hand, and he briefly wondered where Dean had hidden it until this point, but then he was more concerned with getting it open and coating his fingers with the contents. It took but a second, and then he was pressing one finger into Dean’s welcoming body. Dean took it with ease and immediately demanded another. Sam complied, twisting and scissoring them until Dean was writhing back onto them. Finally, Sam added a third finger, and Dean panted, “Enough, Sammy. Please, I need you inside of me.”
And who was Sam to deny such beautiful begging? He slipped his fingers free, coated his fully aroused member in more of the oil, and then he started to press into his brother’s trembling body. Sam would have gone slow, giving Dean time to adjust to his girth, but Dean had not been joking about hard and fast. He pushed back against Sam until Sam lay fully sheathed within him, making them both cry out in shocked pleasure.
Sam pulled back and plunged in once more, establishing a rhythm for both of them, keeping his thrusts firm while alternating the speed and angle at his whim. In no time Dean was begging for still more. “Sammy…oh god…kneel down behind me…”
It took a moment for the words to sink in, but then Sam quickly moved as he had been told, thinking that he had somehow hurt Dean. When he sat back on his heels, however, Dean moved back with him, seating himself over Sam’s lap. Sam felt Dean’s body give just that little bit more in this new position, and he slipped impossibly deeper into that quivering, heated flesh. Dean arched back, keening, his body shuddering. Sam put his arms around the smaller man, not sure whether to move or not. Dean decided for him, writhing his body, undulating over Sam. Sam gasped, the new stimulation driving him closer to completion. Of their own accord, his hips jerked up. “Oh god, Dean…”
Dean moaned. “Yes, Sam, please…”
Sam jerked up again, his climax ripped from him by his brother’s decadent body and seductive voice. He was not alone, however. Dean clamped down upon him, gasping out his own hoarse cry as his body, too, gave in to sensation.
Sam found himself holding up not only his own lethargic body, but also Dean’s boneless weight. Nuzzling behind the other man’s ear, he murmured, “Are you alright?”
“Yes, Sammy. I am very alright.”
“Oh, good. Do you think we could lay down now?”
Laughter more felt than heard shimmered through Dean, and Sam moaned as his body tried to respond to the gentle stimulation. Dean laughed louder this time, but he eased off of Sam and collapsed face down onto the bed. Sam unfolded himself and lay beside his brother. It felt wrong, though, to lay so close to Dean and not be touching him, so he rolled onto his back and tentatively asked, “Dean? Would you come lay with me?”
Dean lifted his head and looked at Sam with half-dazed eyes. He smiled, heart-breakingly sweet, and shifted across until he was half lying on top of Sam, his head resting on the pillow of Sam’s chest. Sam sighed, content, and pulled him closer as they both settled into sleep.
***
They woke at some time in the afternoon, warm, comfortable and drowsy. Sam, finally able to take everything he wanted with both eyes wide open, found Dean’s mouth and sank into its depths. He took his time discovering all its delights, tasting everything that was Dean in its recesses. Dean simply opened up and gave Sam whatever he sought.
Sam’s exploration eventually continued, his mouth moving so he could gently graze his teeth along Dean’s stubbled jaw, making Dean shiver. Moving lower, Sam nibbled down Dean’s throat and, finding the strong, steady pulse there, bit down. Dean made a sound Sam had never heard before and could not classify, but it was a sound of pleasure if you judged by the look on Dean’s face. So Sam did it again, and again, making his way down Dean’s body, worshipping the warm, smooth flesh and leaving his mark upon it.
When he nuzzled against Dean’s hardening member, Sam found the scent there stronger and warmer, pure Dean, and he knew he never find another scent he liked more. He licked up the firm shaft, wanting to taste, and Dean made a choked sound in his throat. So it was with a wide smile that Sam sucked the bulbous head into his mouth, surprised by the bitter saltiness, but quickly adjusting to the flavour as just another part of Dean. He remembered the way Dean had taken him in his mouth, swallowing him down into his throat, so he tried it. Opening is mouth wider, he sucked more of the firm column inside, but as he tried to swallow more he gagged, forcing him to pull off completely and draw breath.
Dean reached down and pulled Sam back up his body until he could press his lips gently to Sam’s. He whispered, “I shall teach you, Sammy. It takes practice. Kiss me again?” Sam did so, reassured by Dean’s gentle words and complete lack of criticism. Dean licked into his mouth, tongue rough and slick at once. He pulled back, humming his pleasure. “I can taste myself in your mouth.”
Sam wondered if it was normal to react to those words by going blindingly, shockingly hard. Dean did not seem to be complaining, though, when Sam’s now aching shaft bumped against his own. No, Dean smiled and told Sam to keep kissing him. Sam did so. He would have broken off when he felt Dean’s hand wrap around the both of them, a hot, slick tunnel for them to glide through as they rubbed against one another, but Dean’s mouth chased after his, keeping them pressed together. Sam whimpered into Dean’s mouth instead, and Dean gave him more of that humming approval. Sam reached down and added his hand, making Dean grunt and shudder while Sam himself gave an embarrassing whine.
That was how their climax took them; pressed together, wrapped up in one another, mouths still latched together, stealing and giving breath between them. That was also how they slipped into sleep again, their lips slowly falling apart and their bodies as closely wound together as was physically possible.
***
The next time they woke it was to the sound of a firm knock on the door. One of the maids called out, “Milord? Milord, your father bade me tell you that the evening meal is to be served in twenty minutes. Milord, are you awake?”
Dean looked at Sam wide-eyed and hissed as lowly as possible, “How does she know you are in my room?”
Sam could not help the ghost of laughter that escaped his lips. “I believe she is addressing you…Milord.”
Dean looked momentarily confused before understanding dawned in his eyes. He was a Winchester. The eldest Winchester son. The family heir. And a Lord. Sam wanted to laugh again at the slowly growing horror in his brother’s eyes, but wisely refrained. Dean gathered his wits enough to answer the maid, “Ah, yes. I will be right down. And, ah, I will let Lord Samuel know myself.”
“Yes, Milord.” She sounded a little confused herself, but did not question the new Master.
Dean turned to Sam. “I do not…cannot… I know nothing about nobility, Sam.”
“You are the most noble person I know.” Sam told him sincerely.
Dean’s eyes melted with warmth, but he stuck to his point. “You know what I mean, Sam. I might know how to play to their needs, but I do not know how to exist among them.”
Sam gave him a sad smile. “There is little difference, I fear. Most of the ton are out to use you in any way they can simply for their own amusement and advancement.” A fond glint lit Sam’s eyes as he said, “You would lead them a merry dance. I can see it now.”
Dean shook his head, but he was smiling. “Incorrigible young thing. You are no help at all.”
“None.” Sam admitted happily and jumped out of bed. “We should get dressed. I am starving.”
“Of course you are.”
***
The only change at the dining table from that morning was the addition of Malachi. He sat beside Dean, and John and Sam watched with amusement as they eyed each other warily. They eventually settled as the meal was served, but all four men were silent as they ate. Dean was the first to finish, sitting back with a small portion of food remaining on his plate - Sam still did not think that Dean ate enough.
The serving girl quickly stepped over to collect the dishes. “Milord? May I clear these for you?”
Dean stiffened in his seat, and it did not go unnoticed. “Yes. Thank you.”
After that all was silence once more, Dean moodily sipping at his wine and Malachi watching him like one would a cornered animal. When they had finally all finished, and all the dishes cleared away, they were left alone, and John took matters into hand. “Dean, it has come to my attention that you are not entirely comfortable with your new position.” Malachi snorted at the understatement, but John ignored him. Sam glared at him. Malachi smirked. Dean was another matter.
“I am sorry. I will learn…”
“Nonsense.” John cut off his son’s fearful words. “I would not want it either, given a choice, and that is what I wanted to say. I think we do have a choice here.” He smiled as Dean and Sam’s concentration sharpened on him. “This estate has been self-sufficient for years, running with little to no input from me.”
“I do not see how that changes anything.” Sam interrupted.
“It changes everything. I do not need to be here. None of us need to be here. We can pack up what we need and simply leave. Leave the estate, leave England.”
“Where would we go?” Sam wanted to know.
“The colonies.” John replied. “When we get there, no one need know who John Winchester is, nor that Sam and Dean Winchester are anything more than my two sons. We can live in total freedom and concentrate on the hunt.”
Dean looked like he was afraid to hope. “Please, do not do this because of me.”
“It is for all of us.” John assured him. “We must all agree to it.”
Dean looked to Sam, who smiled widely. “Yes. I agree.”
“So do I.” Malachi piped up. At John’s surprised look, the other man added, “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”
“It is not your eyes I am interested in having on me.” John leered. Malachi rolled his eyes and Dean laughed, low and true.
Sam shook his head. “Oh god, this is what it will always be like, is it not?”
“It will certainly never be dull.” Dean agreed.
Sam had a sudden thought. “What about Hawkins?”
“I will be staying here.” He answered from the doorway. “I shall keep my eye on things here and maintain a base of communications for the other hunters.”
John nodded his solemn thanks and then gave them all his best smile. “Well, then, gentlemen, that is that.”
***
That night Dean Winchester curled into his brother’s warmth and wondered what he had done to deserve a second chance at life. He had a family. He had someone who loved him despite everything he had done, everything he had been, and who was worth the risk of opening his heart to. He had his own self-respect and, with it, inner peace. For the first time in his life, Dean closed his eyes content. As he drifted off, Sam’s arms tightened around him, holding him safe and protected, reassuring himself that Dean was actually still there. Dean slipped into sleep, a sleep without the demons that had once haunted him, with a smile on his face.
THE END