FIC: Trompe Le Monde (Et Mon Frére)
Title: Trompe Le Monde (Et Mon Frére)
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 5,020
Summary: Dean likes to pretend he doesn't know what's really going on. Sam might be a horny psychic exhibitionist freak. They also hunt a swamp-thing and some fireflies.
Thanks: This wouldn't exist without dark_reaction's inspiration, wonderful encouragement & beta. *many many hugs*
Trompe Le Monde (Et Mon Frére)
They're en route to Santee River, South Carolina when Dean realizes he's one more stolen glance and near-silent-long-suffering sigh away from madness.
The job isn't anything too daunting, a bunch of locals have recently been trading stories about some kind of swamp monster. People are claiming to have been attacked, chased out of the wetlands by it. Wouldn't normally ping on their radar, but things have been slow.
Sam's staring at the maps, memorizing unnecessary directions. It's busywork, it's bullshit and it can't just be Dean that feels it. That tension Sam exudes somehow travels through the air and Dean just breathes it in. Wishes he could just drive him off the road and screw all the anxiety right out of him. Leave him limp and boneless. Dean glances at Sam through the corner of his eye and winks. Sam coughs and looks out the window.
Dean has to half-smile, because just a look from him is enough to flip Sam's switches. And Sam could get him going too, with just a little-
Dean's eyes flutter shut, and then slide open again. His heart is racing.
"What are you doing, Sam?"
Sam picks his head up, "Uhh, nothing?"
"Sammy…" Dean gasps in and out, stares at Sam with half-lidded eyes, "Sammy what are you? Why do I feel so…?"
"Dean, watch the road. I don't know what you're talking about."
Dean keeps Sam's gaze, dreamy smile creeping on his face, "So fucking hot."
Sam's eyes bug out a little and he looks away. "Then open a window, and keep your eyes on the road, Dean!"
Dean rolls his head back and makes a sharp right, pulls over to the side and stops, takes the keys out. He starts panting hard.
"Dean!" Sam turns to him, starts shaking his shoulders. "Dean! What's going on with you?!"
"Sam… You're making me."
"Dean?" Sam's voice is small as he watches Dean turn to face him, grabs a hold of his neck. Palm flat against him, sensing the rush of his pulse, feeling him swallow nervously.
"It's like you're in my head, Sammy. I hear you telling me what you want. Making me so hot for you." Dean starts rubbing his thumb against Sam's skin and pulling them closer. Then rolls his eyes back and gasps. "God, Sam! Ugh, don't stop…"
"Dean…"
"It's your voice I hear-" Dean kisses him. Softly at first, nervous and apprehensive, getting harder and faster by the second. Sam's kissing him back now. He hears Sam unbuckle his seatbelt and then gets a lap full of Sammy. Dean smiles against his mouth, threads his fingers through his hair and makes a fist slowly. Just tugging gently at Sam's scalp.
Sam moans, he doesn't think for a moment, he just feels. He feels Dean beneath him, he feels his body moving into the touch, he feels his cock twitch and stir in his jeans, he feels Dean-
Stop.
Dean furrows his brow. "What just happened?"
Sam blinks a few times, swallows "Ummm…"
"Oh my God."
All the blood drains from Sam's face and he gets ready to bolt, there's a surge of adrenaline. He feels very small, all of a sudden.
"You put the whammy on me!"
"…I did what?" Sam says, shrinking back into his seat, trying to blend himself into the corner.
Dean laughs, "Look Sammy, I'm flattered and all, but you can't just go around and put the psychic porno-whammy on me…"
Sam's eyes widen, Dean can't possibly be implying, that he has some kind of whammy now? There's a part of Sam, that wants to believe him, wishes that it could be true and make everything easier…
But Sam didn't spend the formative years of his life at Dean's side without learning to tell when his brother's full of shit.
"Dean," Sam clears his throat, "I did not put a 'whammy' on you," he says with the straightest face possible. He will not let Dean see how flustered he made him.
"Sure Sam, I just spontaneously got all hot and bothered for you."
"Dean…"
He puts the keys back into the ignition and turns the radio up nice and loud. "Hey, it's all right, we don't have to talk about it. Just, don't do that while I'm driving, 'kay?"
Dean really is testing Sam, blowing it off like it's nothing. It feels like mockery and rejection all wrapped up in one package. "I didn't do anything, Dean." He says very clearly.
"Seriously Sam, I understand if you don't have total control yet, but just turn it down a little. We're on a job, y'know? Lives hanging in the balance, probably."
Sam crosses his arms. "I don't have 'whammy' powers, and even if I did I wouldn't use them on you." He pouts all the way there, feeling like a child. Dean's stupid pranks seem to draw that out in him.
Dean's tongue darts out to taste his lips, and he smiles.
***
The diner is kind of dingy on the outside, but there's actually a pretty decent paint job on the inside. White and pink and chrome finishes, like some theme 50's style diner. Waitresses who snap their gum and call you "hon ". Sam and Dean are interviewing the third witness, Sheila Underwood, a library clerk who was on a hike with her boyfriend when she claimed the creature attacked the both of them.
"Horrible beady little eyes, smelled like death all over, and a little like cabbage. It-it-it just came at us! Snarling and howling! Kevin's still upset, he won't talk about it. Hasn't come out of his house since it happened."
Sam leans forward and gives her a sympathetic little smile. Dean rolls his eyes and sits back in his seat, drops his arms to his sides.
"Do you know where exactly you were in the swamps? When it happened?"
Sheila rolls her head to the side, trying to recall the location, when Sam feels the weight of Dean's hand settle on his jeans, right above his groin. He gives Dean a stunned look. Dean mutters under his breath, "Stop it, Sam."
Sam really is torn between being furious and aghast, but before he can smack him away, Dean's hand starts moving. Sam's mouth drops. Dean is not doing this to him, while they're interviewing a goddamn witness!
"Really not the time Sam," Dean says quietly, looking at the ceiling. Sam loses it.
"Exactly! So will you stop it, Dean!?" Sam says louder than he intends. Sheila narrows her eyes.
"I'm… sorry?" Sam covers his mouth with his hand while Dean pastes a nice big fake smile on. His hand squeezes Sam through the denim.
"Nevermind him, he gets flashbacks sometimes, post-traumatic stress disorder. He'll snap out of it." Dean gives her a toothy smile and she nods slowly. Sam squeezes his hand against his face.
Dean presses harder, with the heel of his hand, getting just perfect friction against the denim, perfect heat, perfect everything. Sam is going to kill him. But after he's done. He might actually kill Dean if he stops too soon, like in the car.
"You were saying, about the creature?" Dean's focused completely on her, nevermind the fact that his right hand obviously has another agenda under the table.
She goes on, but Sam really doesn't hear anything she's saying. Dean's fingers are starting to play with his zipper, and he has to keep his mouth clamped, make it look like he's just resting his chin in his hand.
Dean coughs loudly, and unzips Sam's fly in one fell swoop. Oh yeah, he's done for. Dean's hand is warm , Sam can feel it through the cloth. It makes it real, makes Sam start moving his hips just slightly into Dean's grasp as he starts stroking him harder.
Sam elbows his napkin into his lap when she's not looking. Dean's mouth twitches, repressing a small chuckle.
"And yeah, that's pretty much it. I think that's all I can remember." Sheila starts to get out of the booth.
"Wait!" Dean stops her, smiles and starts moving his hand faster. "There's, uh, a few more things we'd like to ask, routine stuff for the uh-" Dean blanks on the cover story.
"Newspaper." Sam says through his gritted teeth.
"Newspaper! Article we're writing. Yeah, uh, how long did you say you lived here?"
"Oh! About 3 years this November."
"Yeah, that's, that's good. Uhhhh, you like it?" Dean's stretching. While she gives her noncommittal answer he mumbles to Sam, "Will you stop it already?"
Sam makes a nasty sound under his breath. Something between a groan and a growl.
"I can't stop until you're done, idiot." Dean says through the fake smile gives Sheila. He misses the seeing the homicidal twinkle in Sam's eyes, his brother has to bring both hands to his mouth to keep from screaming.
"…but for a town that's 70% water, it's pretty cool." Sheila trails off. "Are we done yet?"
"That's what I'd like to know." Dean remarks quietly.
"Excuse me?"
"I said… room to grow. Do you think you have room to grow. Like, y'know, have a family? Settle down?"
Sheila gives him a funny look. "Um, yeah I think I'm gonna go now."
Sam pounds his fist on the table then, bites hard on the inside of his mouth so he doesn't shout. Dean's hand makes a hasty retreat to his side of the booth.
Dean smiles, "Nice meeting you." And he flips a wave with his freed hand, hoping she won't notice the wetness.
Sam watches her leave before he zips himself up and pats his crotch dry as best he can with the napkin. Then turns to stare directly at Dean, fire in his eyes.
Dean looks up from his coffee. "Hey, it's not my fault you're some horny psychic exhibitionist freak."
***
Sam must be going insane. Because he's actually starting to wonder if it is him.
He sits cross-legged on the motel bed. Stares at Dean wolfing down a chicken sandwich and smacking his lips.
Get me a glass of water. He thinks at him. Get me water Dean. Stand up and get me a glass of water, three ice cubes. Get me a glass of water. Water. Water. Water…
Dean sits back in his chair, scoots back and stands up. Sam's stomach twists in knots and he presses his lips together. WATER! WATER! WATER! His mind races and repeats the word so much it starts to lose meaning.
Dean returns from the kitchenette with a beer, and Sam sighs, audibly. Dean crooks his eyebrow at him.
"You are such a horrible liar. I can't believe you-"
"It isn't me, Sammy."
"Yeah right. It's me. I'm subconsciously putting some sex-whammy on you."
Dean shrugs and drinks his beer. Smacks his lips and turns to Sam. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. Speaking of which, we hitting the swamp tonight or what?"
Sam lies back on the headboard, reaches over for his laptop. "Yeah, but most of the sightings were at twilight, I think we should go there before sunset, see what's going on. Most of the locals should be gone by then."
Dean looks out of the window as a grin spreads across his face, "Yeah, and maybe we can bring a jar and catch us some fireflies."
"Excuse me?"
Dean's eyes are twinkling now. "We never caught fireflies, Sammy. I think we're due. Can't be much harder then catching wood nymph spawn. Plus, fireflies don't bite."
Sam can't remember the last time they tried to catch something that didn't bite.
***
"Blech," Dean turns his nose up. "Swamp gas."
"It's actually a billabong, a kind of wetland that's just stagnant water. Usually formed when a river or creek changes direction. There's plenty of places for a lake monster to hide in that kind of deep water."
"Whatever, geekboy."
"Jerk."
"Bit- aw fuck! My boots are leaking. I hate wet socks." Dean sneers with discomfort.
Sam smiles and ducks his head. It's barely dusk, the insects are buzzing around the top of the water. Bats and birds swooping down to catch them. Dean's steps starts squishing alongside his, like a sponge.
"I hate this job." Dean tightens his grip on the empty mayonnaise jar, slings the shotgun in his other hand over his shoulder. "Not even any fireflies… Just goddamn mosquitoes, think I'm a goddamn buffet. Fucking hate this place."
"Hey," Sam looks up from his compass. "I think we should wait here. It's the point where most of the stories correlate."
Dean drops the jar on the ground, and flops down in the wet, green grass, Sam settles down next to him. They're just at the lip of the bog. The water in front of them moves slowly with the wind, ripples slightly and the green algae trembles.
"If you wanna get fireflies, maybe we could try someplace else, when we're done here?"
Dean mumbles and preoccupies himself with an ant on a blade of grass. Watches it climb up and try to hang on the tip, fall, and them climb back up again. Dean wonders why it doesn't just go back to the rest of the ants crawling on the ground. Dean picks it off, puts it on the ground and tries to scoot it off. The ant turns around and climbs another blade of grass. Dean furrows his brow.
"It's a fluke." Sam comments.
"Well, yeah I guess so." Dean responds.
"No, no I meant it's a lancet fluke that makes the ant do that. It has a brain parasite."
Dean furrows his brow and continues to try to set the ant on the right path.
Sam sighs and takes out his well-worn copy of Encyclopedia Cryptozooligica. Dean's obviously too perturbed by his wet socks to attempt any kind of sociable conversation. Sam turns to the section on water beasts and goes over them for the umpteenth time.
It's maybe an hour before something finally happens. The leaves rustle and a swarm of bats scatter from the area. Dean and Sam look at each other. Dean stands and picks up his shotgun, cocking it. "You smell that, Sam?"
Sam turns his nose, it's a bitter smell, like stewed vegetables and mud and wet dog all at once. Bubbles rise and pop the surface of the water, and brown head slowly rises through the churning foam. Dean steps back and aims, Sam latches onto his arm without thinking.
"Hold it…" Sam whispers, and the creature fully surfaces. It lumbers onto solid ground, splashing algae and muddy water everywhere.
It's about the size of a tapir, built with the same kind of stocky body, only covered in soft brown fur, like an otter. The snout isn't as pronounced, it's kind of sunk in and whiskery like a rodent's. A long tongue hangs from its mouth, dripping yellow slobber onto the ground. Instead of hooves or claws, it has sea lion-like back flippers, paw-like front legs. It puts it's nose to the ground and snuffles. Waddles a few steps to the right and slaps its thick, scaly tail on the ground.
Sam's flipping through his book like crazy, Dean looks up from his gun. "Sonavabitch, that is the ugliest fucking thing I've ever seen."
"Bunyip!" Sam exclaims.
"Fine, the ugliest fucking bunyip I've ever seen."
"Dean, it's a bunyip!"
"I got that Sammy, now how do I kill the sucker?"
"You don't, Dean. They're harmless, look!" Sam points at the creature as it pulls down a cattail, sits on its hind legs and munches on the reed. It starts purring.
"The locals must have been afraid of its appearance, not its actions! It says that the cries of a bunyip can be ear-piercing, but they only do that if they feel threatened."
"So what made it feel threatened?"
"Let's see: 'Docile and curious in nature,'" Sam reads directly from the book, "'-normally will not approach humans. But if startled by shrieks or sudden movements, will scream and chase the intruder to defend themselves and their chosen feeding grounds. Notable for their pungent odor, normally despised by local fauna.'"
"The bats taking off like that…" Dean says, pulls the safety on the gun and lowers it.
Sam smiles, "Heh, well this is a first! They usually aren't found outside of Australia."
Dean sneers, "Yeah, it kinda looks like the kid of a platypus that knocked up a kangaroo-fish."
Sam smiles and closes his book. "That's so funny, a bunyip. It's like the nicest thing in the world, doesn't hurt a fly and-"
Sam finds himself pushed down into the green grass with a whump!
Dean pins him down and sits on him.
"Sam, stop doing this." Sam hears Dean atop him, he sputters and tries to twist over.
"Dean! Get off!"
"Mmm. Wish I could. But you're the one calling the shots here, you damn horny psychic-"
"I am not doing this, Dean!" Sam interrupts, and finally succeeds in twisting onto his back, looks up at Dean, peeling off his overshirt. Then the white undershirt comes off next with a slow pull. Sam kind of loses himself in the muscles of Dean's stomach. The ridges and curves.
Dean stalls, puts a finger on Sam's mouth. "When did you get so gorgeous, Sammy?"
"Dean-" Sam whispers. And Dean leans in to kiss him, lock fingers in his hair. Presses him into the dewy-wet earth. Smelling the sweet grass, the forest trees, even the swamp stench seems to dissipate. Sam finds his hands reaching up to Dean's stomach, rubbing back and forth. The muscles are taut but there's a softness, a give to them. Sam runs his hands higher, to Dean's chest and ghosts over his nipples. Dean moans into Sam's mouth and sits up.
The universe seems to iris in on them, feeling mutual erections digging into each other. Dean's on top of Sam, fingers in his hair lingering, though he's pulled back from the kiss. Sam is glassy eyed, dazed, but gives the slightest nod of his head.
Dean sees it, and drops his head to his chest, and Sam swells up inside. With lust, with desire, with fear and panic and-
"Don't. Move." Dean says.
Sam's still swimming in imaginary oceans of his mind and answers, "Huh?"
Dean tightens his grip on Sam. "It's. Watching. Us." He says, eyes darting to the space over Sam's head.
Sam's eyes widen and he finally picks up on the ruddy smell approaching, feels the grass shake a little as the creature wanders closer.
It appraises Dean first, sniffs him and tastes the air around his head with its slobbery tongue. Nudges Dean's shoulder with its muzzle, before moving down Dean's arm, sniffling. Ends up leaning over Sam, panting and huffing and sniffing his face. Sam stays perfectly still, other then scrunching up his eyes to avoid spittle falling down into them.
The creature makes an excited sound, and gives the side of Sam's face a long, happy lick. Only his tongue is much, much longer then they imagined and it manages to slobber all over Sam's face and hair. Dean snorts. The bunyip sits at Sam's side, like an obedient pet.
Sam's face is covered in yellowish bunyip spittle. It's in his hair, making it stick up at angles. Dean realizes that sounds aren't going to startle it, or he just loses control. Dean laughs and climbs off of him.
"Sorry Sammy, all the psychic whammy in the world isn't gonna make me touch that." He reaches over for his discarded t-shirt, "You need a shower first."
Sam groans, "I hate you."
"See you at the car," Dean says slinging his jacket over his shoulder. The bunyip looks down at Sam and coos.
Sam scowls at Dean in the distance, but stands up, trying to wipe the spit off of his face with his sleeve. He makes a vain attempt at washing up in the water, but just gets more slimy in the process.
Sam steels himself, and starts to walk back to the car. The bunyip trots alongside him, skipping and waddling like an oversized skunk. Sam spares it a kind scratch on the head, which it happily accepts. It disappears once he's out of the swamplands, probably sinking back down into the murky waters it calls home.
Dean's in the Impala when he gets there, and has nicely thought to put a towel on the backseat.
"You are not sitting up front until you clean off that pond scum, Uri Geller. You might drip on the dash."
"Stop calling me that," Sam spits out bitterly, but takes a place in the backseat anyway.
Dean laughs quietly and starts the car. "Okay, Kreskin."
"Dean!"
"What?"
"It isn't funny anymore."
Dean dials the radio up nice and loud and Sam stares out of the window. Watching the lines on the highway blend together into one long racing stripe, flying alongside him.
He doesn't hear Dean mutter, "Wasn't trying to be funny in the first place."
***
Dean's already walked into the room, but Sam's still at the doorway, wringing his hands. He lets out a loud breath. Dean turns and crooks an eye at him.
"I'm going to take a shower." He announces.
"Okay." Dean answers.
"So. I'll be in the shower."
Dean's expression doesn't change.
"Naked. In the shower. Where I'll be."
Dean rolls his eyes and sits down on the foot of his bed, starts unlacing his boots. Sam turns and stalks into the bathroom, slams the door shut and presses his forehead against it.
"Idiot." Sam says and bangs his head once against the door. He turns and begins shucking off the muddy-spit laden clothes. Kicks them to one side on the floor, and turns on the water. He waits for it to get nice and hot, then steps in and just lets it rain down on his head. Turning around to let it hit his back, his constantly sore shoulders. Sam closes his eyes, and reaches down to grab his cock.
Before he can touch it, the door slides open and Dean steps into the shower stall, still wearing a white t-shirt and half-buttoned jeans and grabs his face. Kisses him hard and pushes him against the cold tiled wall.
"You're so obvious, Sam. C'mon."
Sam's tired of pretending to be shocked, Dean's getting soaked and he can see his nipples through the flimsy white t-shirt. His dick twitches.
"If you're here…" Sam trails off and closes his eyes tight, tries to make his words make sense. He shakes his head and opens them to look back at Dean.
Dean is soaking wet, bulge in his pants tightening the denim, dark and heavy. Shirt clinging to his skin, visible to Sam now. The outlines of his muscles, his face-
God his face. Beautiful full mouth, he can still taste Dean's bottom lip on his tongue from earlier. He just wants to bite that wet, hot mouth. Nip and tongue his way past white teeth and swallow his lips up. Fuck, his hair is spiky and wet, dripping water down the lines of his face, drawing Sam to his stubble-laden jaw, his half-lidded eyes.
"If you're here, then you know what I want, Dean." Sam rasps out. "You heard me calling to you, telling you what I need. Do it now."
Dean almost smiles for a moment, but instead nods and bows his head. Drops to his knees and grabs Sam's cock in his hands. There's water everywhere, so it's wet and smooth and Dean pumps him a few times, before finally taking him into his mouth.
And the water beats down, like white noise Sam concentrates on. Tries to ignore the voice in his head flipping out, telling him that it's Dean's mouth. It's Dean's sweet mouth wrapping around him. It's Dean making that sound in the back of his throat. That hot little pornographic slurp, that moan, those hands reaching up to lay against his thighs.
He listens to the water fall, steady pit-a-pat rhythm, but soon there's a cacophony of sound. It starts with his heart pounding, his breath catching, and then he's groaning and sucking in air. Twisting and placing a hand on the back of Dean's head. Just to touch the wet hair, feel Dean moving back and forth against him. Symphony of sex and water pouring down and blood rushing to his groin.
It's wet and warm and real. He comes into Dean's mouth. Dean digs his fingers into Sam's thighs, swallows around him. Lets him fall out of his open mouth.
Dean is panting. Still holding onto Sam's legs, his grip goes from tight to trembling. Sam can see the lust in his eyes, his own hardness straining against wet, heavy denim.
Sam reaches over to turn off the water, and then slowly moves Dean's head up, to face him. He nods his head to the bathroom door.
"You know what I want next, right?"
"Y-yeah."
Sam steps out of the shower and walks, naked, to the beds. Dean trails behind him, wet feet slapping against the floor. Plodding slowly.
Sam turns around, and Dean's there, head tilted to one side, staring at his body, watching small rivers drip onto the floor. Dean peels his shirt off first, letting it slap against the floor. Sam reaches to undo the rest of his button-fly. Then he yanks the jeans down, they cling to Dean still, and finally Sam gets them around his ankles. The boxer-briefs are the last thing to go, also wet and cold. Dean shivers as Sam draws them down his legs. And he steps out of the clothing pile carefully.
Dean's cock is standing ready, big and red. His head is still tilted to the right, and Sam has to repress a laugh, because they both are at the same angle. Dean sees him smile.
"Sam…"
"Dean?"
Dean bites his lower lip, pulls it into his mouth slightly. "I think you want me to-"
"Yes." Sam lowers himself onto the bed, Dean follows, pushes him down on his back. The sheets are getting damp and wet, Dean's skin is cold and clammy.
Sam wishes he swiped a towel before he left the bathroom, so he could wrap Dean up and pat him dry. Instead he improvises, grabs the discarded duvet cover off the floor and throws it over Dean, tenting them inside a halo of floral patterns.
"Don't want you to get cold."
"Sammy…" Sam shifts and wiggles, finally has the right angle to grab Dean's cock and pump it. Dean hisses.
"C'mon Dean. I'm putting the horny psychic whammy on you. Do something about it."
Dean just stares at Sam. Finally Sam seems to get through to him, whether it's from stroking him or finally playing his game.
"If... I," Dean swallows. "Say something, if you don't want it."
"I want it. I'm telling you I want it. I've been telling you forever. You're finally listening."
Dean plunders Sam's mouth with his own, finally. Kisses him with all the fervor of earlier. All the enthusiasm. All the wanting.
Sam lifts his hips up, allows Dean to pull his legs up around his waist.
The angle isn't great, and Dean has to stop and fumble around until he finally produces some lube from under the bed. (How it got there, Sam doesn't need to know). Sam's still a little wet from the shower, though now it's mixing with sweat and Dean reaches into him with slick fingers.
Sam just holds Dean's shoulders, like they're everything. Focuses on the muscles there, holds himself together as much as he can. Dean moves deeper and Sam looks at his collarbone. His neck, the tiny nick of a knife on his left. The sliver of a scar, pale pink against the skin. Dean's still wet, droplets running down the lines of his body. Sam concentrates on the water, on the lines of water and the skin-
Dean's letting his fingers slide out of Sam, steadying his cock at the entrance. Sam snaps to, his concentration turning to Dean. Their eyes lock.
In that moment, there's a pause. There's a chance for Sam to call him out. To admit that this is a genuine want. No more games, no tricks, no lies or sublimation. No simply looking the other way. This is the point of disclosure.
Sam stares at Dean, hard look in his eyes and whispers, "I'm not the one doing this, am I Dean?"
Dean's head drops, he places a kiss to Sam's collarbone and nuzzles the juncture of his neck.
"Dean, you didn't-"
Dean sighs into his skin.
"You didn't need an, an excuse for this."
"… thought it would be easier…"
"What was that?"
"On you. Thought it would be easier for you if you could pretend-" Dean loses his thought and looks away. Finally understanding how ridiculous it all sounds out loud. It was a stupid plan, it could have gone so, horribly wrong so easily. He could have fucked them both up, for good. Dean squeezes his face, tight at the thought.
"It was." Sam realizes. "It's harder to tell you how much I need you inside me right now. How much I want this. How good I think we could be. It's harder to face you, to let you know that. It's easier to play your game. It's easier to lie to you, and myself." Sam swallows.
"Nothing worth having is easy, Dean."
Dean pushes into Sam in one fluid motion. "Fuck, yeah." He smiles.
They move under the covers, surrounded by floral patterns. Wet and sweaty, liquid movements. Spilling and raining down on each other.
***
Dean's sleeping on his left side, facing away from Sam, and snoring. He's gone and done for, no longer responding to Sam's post-coital questions or pleas for further messing around. Sam rubs his eyes and stares at his beautiful naked back. He's so sleepy, drifting in and out of consciousness.
Somewhere in the corner of his mind, a small petulant voice says: Hold me.
Dean turns over and wraps his arms around Sam.
Fin.
***
* Lancet flukes.
* Video: Daniel Dennett on Ants & Memes. Yay TED.COM!
This is all the result of the following conversation with regards to Sam using his powers for sex:
memphis86: I'd love something where Dean takes advantage and is just faking
memphis86: "Sam, stop using your powers to make me horny!"
memphis86: "Stop making me take off my clothes and get into bed with you!"
dark_reaction: heee
memphis86: "I'M NOT DOING THAT"
dark_reaction: WRITE IT
memphis86: "Shut up and turn over"
memphis86: I MIGHT
dark_reaction: WELL GOOD
memphis86: :D
And then I decided to throw in a MoTW for good measure. I actually saw this awesome exhibit on mythical creatures at the AMNH a while ago and remembered bunyips from that.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 5,020
Summary: Dean likes to pretend he doesn't know what's really going on. Sam might be a horny psychic exhibitionist freak. They also hunt a swamp-thing and some fireflies.
Thanks: This wouldn't exist without dark_reaction's inspiration, wonderful encouragement & beta. *many many hugs*
Trompe Le Monde (Et Mon Frére)
They're en route to Santee River, South Carolina when Dean realizes he's one more stolen glance and near-silent-long-suffering sigh away from madness.
The job isn't anything too daunting, a bunch of locals have recently been trading stories about some kind of swamp monster. People are claiming to have been attacked, chased out of the wetlands by it. Wouldn't normally ping on their radar, but things have been slow.
Sam's staring at the maps, memorizing unnecessary directions. It's busywork, it's bullshit and it can't just be Dean that feels it. That tension Sam exudes somehow travels through the air and Dean just breathes it in. Wishes he could just drive him off the road and screw all the anxiety right out of him. Leave him limp and boneless. Dean glances at Sam through the corner of his eye and winks. Sam coughs and looks out the window.
Dean has to half-smile, because just a look from him is enough to flip Sam's switches. And Sam could get him going too, with just a little-
Dean's eyes flutter shut, and then slide open again. His heart is racing.
"What are you doing, Sam?"
Sam picks his head up, "Uhh, nothing?"
"Sammy…" Dean gasps in and out, stares at Sam with half-lidded eyes, "Sammy what are you? Why do I feel so…?"
"Dean, watch the road. I don't know what you're talking about."
Dean keeps Sam's gaze, dreamy smile creeping on his face, "So fucking hot."
Sam's eyes bug out a little and he looks away. "Then open a window, and keep your eyes on the road, Dean!"
Dean rolls his head back and makes a sharp right, pulls over to the side and stops, takes the keys out. He starts panting hard.
"Dean!" Sam turns to him, starts shaking his shoulders. "Dean! What's going on with you?!"
"Sam… You're making me."
"Dean?" Sam's voice is small as he watches Dean turn to face him, grabs a hold of his neck. Palm flat against him, sensing the rush of his pulse, feeling him swallow nervously.
"It's like you're in my head, Sammy. I hear you telling me what you want. Making me so hot for you." Dean starts rubbing his thumb against Sam's skin and pulling them closer. Then rolls his eyes back and gasps. "God, Sam! Ugh, don't stop…"
"Dean…"
"It's your voice I hear-" Dean kisses him. Softly at first, nervous and apprehensive, getting harder and faster by the second. Sam's kissing him back now. He hears Sam unbuckle his seatbelt and then gets a lap full of Sammy. Dean smiles against his mouth, threads his fingers through his hair and makes a fist slowly. Just tugging gently at Sam's scalp.
Sam moans, he doesn't think for a moment, he just feels. He feels Dean beneath him, he feels his body moving into the touch, he feels his cock twitch and stir in his jeans, he feels Dean-
Stop.
Dean furrows his brow. "What just happened?"
Sam blinks a few times, swallows "Ummm…"
"Oh my God."
All the blood drains from Sam's face and he gets ready to bolt, there's a surge of adrenaline. He feels very small, all of a sudden.
"You put the whammy on me!"
"…I did what?" Sam says, shrinking back into his seat, trying to blend himself into the corner.
Dean laughs, "Look Sammy, I'm flattered and all, but you can't just go around and put the psychic porno-whammy on me…"
Sam's eyes widen, Dean can't possibly be implying, that he has some kind of whammy now? There's a part of Sam, that wants to believe him, wishes that it could be true and make everything easier…
But Sam didn't spend the formative years of his life at Dean's side without learning to tell when his brother's full of shit.
"Dean," Sam clears his throat, "I did not put a 'whammy' on you," he says with the straightest face possible. He will not let Dean see how flustered he made him.
"Sure Sam, I just spontaneously got all hot and bothered for you."
"Dean…"
He puts the keys back into the ignition and turns the radio up nice and loud. "Hey, it's all right, we don't have to talk about it. Just, don't do that while I'm driving, 'kay?"
Dean really is testing Sam, blowing it off like it's nothing. It feels like mockery and rejection all wrapped up in one package. "I didn't do anything, Dean." He says very clearly.
"Seriously Sam, I understand if you don't have total control yet, but just turn it down a little. We're on a job, y'know? Lives hanging in the balance, probably."
Sam crosses his arms. "I don't have 'whammy' powers, and even if I did I wouldn't use them on you." He pouts all the way there, feeling like a child. Dean's stupid pranks seem to draw that out in him.
Dean's tongue darts out to taste his lips, and he smiles.
***
The diner is kind of dingy on the outside, but there's actually a pretty decent paint job on the inside. White and pink and chrome finishes, like some theme 50's style diner. Waitresses who snap their gum and call you "hon ". Sam and Dean are interviewing the third witness, Sheila Underwood, a library clerk who was on a hike with her boyfriend when she claimed the creature attacked the both of them.
"Horrible beady little eyes, smelled like death all over, and a little like cabbage. It-it-it just came at us! Snarling and howling! Kevin's still upset, he won't talk about it. Hasn't come out of his house since it happened."
Sam leans forward and gives her a sympathetic little smile. Dean rolls his eyes and sits back in his seat, drops his arms to his sides.
"Do you know where exactly you were in the swamps? When it happened?"
Sheila rolls her head to the side, trying to recall the location, when Sam feels the weight of Dean's hand settle on his jeans, right above his groin. He gives Dean a stunned look. Dean mutters under his breath, "Stop it, Sam."
Sam really is torn between being furious and aghast, but before he can smack him away, Dean's hand starts moving. Sam's mouth drops. Dean is not doing this to him, while they're interviewing a goddamn witness!
"Really not the time Sam," Dean says quietly, looking at the ceiling. Sam loses it.
"Exactly! So will you stop it, Dean!?" Sam says louder than he intends. Sheila narrows her eyes.
"I'm… sorry?" Sam covers his mouth with his hand while Dean pastes a nice big fake smile on. His hand squeezes Sam through the denim.
"Nevermind him, he gets flashbacks sometimes, post-traumatic stress disorder. He'll snap out of it." Dean gives her a toothy smile and she nods slowly. Sam squeezes his hand against his face.
Dean presses harder, with the heel of his hand, getting just perfect friction against the denim, perfect heat, perfect everything. Sam is going to kill him. But after he's done. He might actually kill Dean if he stops too soon, like in the car.
"You were saying, about the creature?" Dean's focused completely on her, nevermind the fact that his right hand obviously has another agenda under the table.
She goes on, but Sam really doesn't hear anything she's saying. Dean's fingers are starting to play with his zipper, and he has to keep his mouth clamped, make it look like he's just resting his chin in his hand.
Dean coughs loudly, and unzips Sam's fly in one fell swoop. Oh yeah, he's done for. Dean's hand is warm , Sam can feel it through the cloth. It makes it real, makes Sam start moving his hips just slightly into Dean's grasp as he starts stroking him harder.
Sam elbows his napkin into his lap when she's not looking. Dean's mouth twitches, repressing a small chuckle.
"And yeah, that's pretty much it. I think that's all I can remember." Sheila starts to get out of the booth.
"Wait!" Dean stops her, smiles and starts moving his hand faster. "There's, uh, a few more things we'd like to ask, routine stuff for the uh-" Dean blanks on the cover story.
"Newspaper." Sam says through his gritted teeth.
"Newspaper! Article we're writing. Yeah, uh, how long did you say you lived here?"
"Oh! About 3 years this November."
"Yeah, that's, that's good. Uhhhh, you like it?" Dean's stretching. While she gives her noncommittal answer he mumbles to Sam, "Will you stop it already?"
Sam makes a nasty sound under his breath. Something between a groan and a growl.
"I can't stop until you're done, idiot." Dean says through the fake smile gives Sheila. He misses the seeing the homicidal twinkle in Sam's eyes, his brother has to bring both hands to his mouth to keep from screaming.
"…but for a town that's 70% water, it's pretty cool." Sheila trails off. "Are we done yet?"
"That's what I'd like to know." Dean remarks quietly.
"Excuse me?"
"I said… room to grow. Do you think you have room to grow. Like, y'know, have a family? Settle down?"
Sheila gives him a funny look. "Um, yeah I think I'm gonna go now."
Sam pounds his fist on the table then, bites hard on the inside of his mouth so he doesn't shout. Dean's hand makes a hasty retreat to his side of the booth.
Dean smiles, "Nice meeting you." And he flips a wave with his freed hand, hoping she won't notice the wetness.
Sam watches her leave before he zips himself up and pats his crotch dry as best he can with the napkin. Then turns to stare directly at Dean, fire in his eyes.
Dean looks up from his coffee. "Hey, it's not my fault you're some horny psychic exhibitionist freak."
***
Sam must be going insane. Because he's actually starting to wonder if it is him.
He sits cross-legged on the motel bed. Stares at Dean wolfing down a chicken sandwich and smacking his lips.
Get me a glass of water. He thinks at him. Get me water Dean. Stand up and get me a glass of water, three ice cubes. Get me a glass of water. Water. Water. Water…
Dean sits back in his chair, scoots back and stands up. Sam's stomach twists in knots and he presses his lips together. WATER! WATER! WATER! His mind races and repeats the word so much it starts to lose meaning.
Dean returns from the kitchenette with a beer, and Sam sighs, audibly. Dean crooks his eyebrow at him.
"You are such a horrible liar. I can't believe you-"
"It isn't me, Sammy."
"Yeah right. It's me. I'm subconsciously putting some sex-whammy on you."
Dean shrugs and drinks his beer. Smacks his lips and turns to Sam. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. Speaking of which, we hitting the swamp tonight or what?"
Sam lies back on the headboard, reaches over for his laptop. "Yeah, but most of the sightings were at twilight, I think we should go there before sunset, see what's going on. Most of the locals should be gone by then."
Dean looks out of the window as a grin spreads across his face, "Yeah, and maybe we can bring a jar and catch us some fireflies."
"Excuse me?"
Dean's eyes are twinkling now. "We never caught fireflies, Sammy. I think we're due. Can't be much harder then catching wood nymph spawn. Plus, fireflies don't bite."
Sam can't remember the last time they tried to catch something that didn't bite.
***
"Blech," Dean turns his nose up. "Swamp gas."
"It's actually a billabong, a kind of wetland that's just stagnant water. Usually formed when a river or creek changes direction. There's plenty of places for a lake monster to hide in that kind of deep water."
"Whatever, geekboy."
"Jerk."
"Bit- aw fuck! My boots are leaking. I hate wet socks." Dean sneers with discomfort.
Sam smiles and ducks his head. It's barely dusk, the insects are buzzing around the top of the water. Bats and birds swooping down to catch them. Dean's steps starts squishing alongside his, like a sponge.
"I hate this job." Dean tightens his grip on the empty mayonnaise jar, slings the shotgun in his other hand over his shoulder. "Not even any fireflies… Just goddamn mosquitoes, think I'm a goddamn buffet. Fucking hate this place."
"Hey," Sam looks up from his compass. "I think we should wait here. It's the point where most of the stories correlate."
Dean drops the jar on the ground, and flops down in the wet, green grass, Sam settles down next to him. They're just at the lip of the bog. The water in front of them moves slowly with the wind, ripples slightly and the green algae trembles.
"If you wanna get fireflies, maybe we could try someplace else, when we're done here?"
Dean mumbles and preoccupies himself with an ant on a blade of grass. Watches it climb up and try to hang on the tip, fall, and them climb back up again. Dean wonders why it doesn't just go back to the rest of the ants crawling on the ground. Dean picks it off, puts it on the ground and tries to scoot it off. The ant turns around and climbs another blade of grass. Dean furrows his brow.
"It's a fluke." Sam comments.
"Well, yeah I guess so." Dean responds.
"No, no I meant it's a lancet fluke that makes the ant do that. It has a brain parasite."
Dean furrows his brow and continues to try to set the ant on the right path.
Sam sighs and takes out his well-worn copy of Encyclopedia Cryptozooligica. Dean's obviously too perturbed by his wet socks to attempt any kind of sociable conversation. Sam turns to the section on water beasts and goes over them for the umpteenth time.
It's maybe an hour before something finally happens. The leaves rustle and a swarm of bats scatter from the area. Dean and Sam look at each other. Dean stands and picks up his shotgun, cocking it. "You smell that, Sam?"
Sam turns his nose, it's a bitter smell, like stewed vegetables and mud and wet dog all at once. Bubbles rise and pop the surface of the water, and brown head slowly rises through the churning foam. Dean steps back and aims, Sam latches onto his arm without thinking.
"Hold it…" Sam whispers, and the creature fully surfaces. It lumbers onto solid ground, splashing algae and muddy water everywhere.
It's about the size of a tapir, built with the same kind of stocky body, only covered in soft brown fur, like an otter. The snout isn't as pronounced, it's kind of sunk in and whiskery like a rodent's. A long tongue hangs from its mouth, dripping yellow slobber onto the ground. Instead of hooves or claws, it has sea lion-like back flippers, paw-like front legs. It puts it's nose to the ground and snuffles. Waddles a few steps to the right and slaps its thick, scaly tail on the ground.
Sam's flipping through his book like crazy, Dean looks up from his gun. "Sonavabitch, that is the ugliest fucking thing I've ever seen."
"Bunyip!" Sam exclaims.
"Fine, the ugliest fucking bunyip I've ever seen."
"Dean, it's a bunyip!"
"I got that Sammy, now how do I kill the sucker?"
"You don't, Dean. They're harmless, look!" Sam points at the creature as it pulls down a cattail, sits on its hind legs and munches on the reed. It starts purring.
"The locals must have been afraid of its appearance, not its actions! It says that the cries of a bunyip can be ear-piercing, but they only do that if they feel threatened."
"So what made it feel threatened?"
"Let's see: 'Docile and curious in nature,'" Sam reads directly from the book, "'-normally will not approach humans. But if startled by shrieks or sudden movements, will scream and chase the intruder to defend themselves and their chosen feeding grounds. Notable for their pungent odor, normally despised by local fauna.'"
"The bats taking off like that…" Dean says, pulls the safety on the gun and lowers it.
Sam smiles, "Heh, well this is a first! They usually aren't found outside of Australia."
Dean sneers, "Yeah, it kinda looks like the kid of a platypus that knocked up a kangaroo-fish."
Sam smiles and closes his book. "That's so funny, a bunyip. It's like the nicest thing in the world, doesn't hurt a fly and-"
Sam finds himself pushed down into the green grass with a whump!
Dean pins him down and sits on him.
"Sam, stop doing this." Sam hears Dean atop him, he sputters and tries to twist over.
"Dean! Get off!"
"Mmm. Wish I could. But you're the one calling the shots here, you damn horny psychic-"
"I am not doing this, Dean!" Sam interrupts, and finally succeeds in twisting onto his back, looks up at Dean, peeling off his overshirt. Then the white undershirt comes off next with a slow pull. Sam kind of loses himself in the muscles of Dean's stomach. The ridges and curves.
Dean stalls, puts a finger on Sam's mouth. "When did you get so gorgeous, Sammy?"
"Dean-" Sam whispers. And Dean leans in to kiss him, lock fingers in his hair. Presses him into the dewy-wet earth. Smelling the sweet grass, the forest trees, even the swamp stench seems to dissipate. Sam finds his hands reaching up to Dean's stomach, rubbing back and forth. The muscles are taut but there's a softness, a give to them. Sam runs his hands higher, to Dean's chest and ghosts over his nipples. Dean moans into Sam's mouth and sits up.
The universe seems to iris in on them, feeling mutual erections digging into each other. Dean's on top of Sam, fingers in his hair lingering, though he's pulled back from the kiss. Sam is glassy eyed, dazed, but gives the slightest nod of his head.
Dean sees it, and drops his head to his chest, and Sam swells up inside. With lust, with desire, with fear and panic and-
"Don't. Move." Dean says.
Sam's still swimming in imaginary oceans of his mind and answers, "Huh?"
Dean tightens his grip on Sam. "It's. Watching. Us." He says, eyes darting to the space over Sam's head.
Sam's eyes widen and he finally picks up on the ruddy smell approaching, feels the grass shake a little as the creature wanders closer.
It appraises Dean first, sniffs him and tastes the air around his head with its slobbery tongue. Nudges Dean's shoulder with its muzzle, before moving down Dean's arm, sniffling. Ends up leaning over Sam, panting and huffing and sniffing his face. Sam stays perfectly still, other then scrunching up his eyes to avoid spittle falling down into them.
The creature makes an excited sound, and gives the side of Sam's face a long, happy lick. Only his tongue is much, much longer then they imagined and it manages to slobber all over Sam's face and hair. Dean snorts. The bunyip sits at Sam's side, like an obedient pet.
Sam's face is covered in yellowish bunyip spittle. It's in his hair, making it stick up at angles. Dean realizes that sounds aren't going to startle it, or he just loses control. Dean laughs and climbs off of him.
"Sorry Sammy, all the psychic whammy in the world isn't gonna make me touch that." He reaches over for his discarded t-shirt, "You need a shower first."
Sam groans, "I hate you."
"See you at the car," Dean says slinging his jacket over his shoulder. The bunyip looks down at Sam and coos.
Sam scowls at Dean in the distance, but stands up, trying to wipe the spit off of his face with his sleeve. He makes a vain attempt at washing up in the water, but just gets more slimy in the process.
Sam steels himself, and starts to walk back to the car. The bunyip trots alongside him, skipping and waddling like an oversized skunk. Sam spares it a kind scratch on the head, which it happily accepts. It disappears once he's out of the swamplands, probably sinking back down into the murky waters it calls home.
Dean's in the Impala when he gets there, and has nicely thought to put a towel on the backseat.
"You are not sitting up front until you clean off that pond scum, Uri Geller. You might drip on the dash."
"Stop calling me that," Sam spits out bitterly, but takes a place in the backseat anyway.
Dean laughs quietly and starts the car. "Okay, Kreskin."
"Dean!"
"What?"
"It isn't funny anymore."
Dean dials the radio up nice and loud and Sam stares out of the window. Watching the lines on the highway blend together into one long racing stripe, flying alongside him.
He doesn't hear Dean mutter, "Wasn't trying to be funny in the first place."
***
Dean's already walked into the room, but Sam's still at the doorway, wringing his hands. He lets out a loud breath. Dean turns and crooks an eye at him.
"I'm going to take a shower." He announces.
"Okay." Dean answers.
"So. I'll be in the shower."
Dean's expression doesn't change.
"Naked. In the shower. Where I'll be."
Dean rolls his eyes and sits down on the foot of his bed, starts unlacing his boots. Sam turns and stalks into the bathroom, slams the door shut and presses his forehead against it.
"Idiot." Sam says and bangs his head once against the door. He turns and begins shucking off the muddy-spit laden clothes. Kicks them to one side on the floor, and turns on the water. He waits for it to get nice and hot, then steps in and just lets it rain down on his head. Turning around to let it hit his back, his constantly sore shoulders. Sam closes his eyes, and reaches down to grab his cock.
Before he can touch it, the door slides open and Dean steps into the shower stall, still wearing a white t-shirt and half-buttoned jeans and grabs his face. Kisses him hard and pushes him against the cold tiled wall.
"You're so obvious, Sam. C'mon."
Sam's tired of pretending to be shocked, Dean's getting soaked and he can see his nipples through the flimsy white t-shirt. His dick twitches.
"If you're here…" Sam trails off and closes his eyes tight, tries to make his words make sense. He shakes his head and opens them to look back at Dean.
Dean is soaking wet, bulge in his pants tightening the denim, dark and heavy. Shirt clinging to his skin, visible to Sam now. The outlines of his muscles, his face-
God his face. Beautiful full mouth, he can still taste Dean's bottom lip on his tongue from earlier. He just wants to bite that wet, hot mouth. Nip and tongue his way past white teeth and swallow his lips up. Fuck, his hair is spiky and wet, dripping water down the lines of his face, drawing Sam to his stubble-laden jaw, his half-lidded eyes.
"If you're here, then you know what I want, Dean." Sam rasps out. "You heard me calling to you, telling you what I need. Do it now."
Dean almost smiles for a moment, but instead nods and bows his head. Drops to his knees and grabs Sam's cock in his hands. There's water everywhere, so it's wet and smooth and Dean pumps him a few times, before finally taking him into his mouth.
And the water beats down, like white noise Sam concentrates on. Tries to ignore the voice in his head flipping out, telling him that it's Dean's mouth. It's Dean's sweet mouth wrapping around him. It's Dean making that sound in the back of his throat. That hot little pornographic slurp, that moan, those hands reaching up to lay against his thighs.
He listens to the water fall, steady pit-a-pat rhythm, but soon there's a cacophony of sound. It starts with his heart pounding, his breath catching, and then he's groaning and sucking in air. Twisting and placing a hand on the back of Dean's head. Just to touch the wet hair, feel Dean moving back and forth against him. Symphony of sex and water pouring down and blood rushing to his groin.
It's wet and warm and real. He comes into Dean's mouth. Dean digs his fingers into Sam's thighs, swallows around him. Lets him fall out of his open mouth.
Dean is panting. Still holding onto Sam's legs, his grip goes from tight to trembling. Sam can see the lust in his eyes, his own hardness straining against wet, heavy denim.
Sam reaches over to turn off the water, and then slowly moves Dean's head up, to face him. He nods his head to the bathroom door.
"You know what I want next, right?"
"Y-yeah."
Sam steps out of the shower and walks, naked, to the beds. Dean trails behind him, wet feet slapping against the floor. Plodding slowly.
Sam turns around, and Dean's there, head tilted to one side, staring at his body, watching small rivers drip onto the floor. Dean peels his shirt off first, letting it slap against the floor. Sam reaches to undo the rest of his button-fly. Then he yanks the jeans down, they cling to Dean still, and finally Sam gets them around his ankles. The boxer-briefs are the last thing to go, also wet and cold. Dean shivers as Sam draws them down his legs. And he steps out of the clothing pile carefully.
Dean's cock is standing ready, big and red. His head is still tilted to the right, and Sam has to repress a laugh, because they both are at the same angle. Dean sees him smile.
"Sam…"
"Dean?"
Dean bites his lower lip, pulls it into his mouth slightly. "I think you want me to-"
"Yes." Sam lowers himself onto the bed, Dean follows, pushes him down on his back. The sheets are getting damp and wet, Dean's skin is cold and clammy.
Sam wishes he swiped a towel before he left the bathroom, so he could wrap Dean up and pat him dry. Instead he improvises, grabs the discarded duvet cover off the floor and throws it over Dean, tenting them inside a halo of floral patterns.
"Don't want you to get cold."
"Sammy…" Sam shifts and wiggles, finally has the right angle to grab Dean's cock and pump it. Dean hisses.
"C'mon Dean. I'm putting the horny psychic whammy on you. Do something about it."
Dean just stares at Sam. Finally Sam seems to get through to him, whether it's from stroking him or finally playing his game.
"If... I," Dean swallows. "Say something, if you don't want it."
"I want it. I'm telling you I want it. I've been telling you forever. You're finally listening."
Dean plunders Sam's mouth with his own, finally. Kisses him with all the fervor of earlier. All the enthusiasm. All the wanting.
Sam lifts his hips up, allows Dean to pull his legs up around his waist.
The angle isn't great, and Dean has to stop and fumble around until he finally produces some lube from under the bed. (How it got there, Sam doesn't need to know). Sam's still a little wet from the shower, though now it's mixing with sweat and Dean reaches into him with slick fingers.
Sam just holds Dean's shoulders, like they're everything. Focuses on the muscles there, holds himself together as much as he can. Dean moves deeper and Sam looks at his collarbone. His neck, the tiny nick of a knife on his left. The sliver of a scar, pale pink against the skin. Dean's still wet, droplets running down the lines of his body. Sam concentrates on the water, on the lines of water and the skin-
Dean's letting his fingers slide out of Sam, steadying his cock at the entrance. Sam snaps to, his concentration turning to Dean. Their eyes lock.
In that moment, there's a pause. There's a chance for Sam to call him out. To admit that this is a genuine want. No more games, no tricks, no lies or sublimation. No simply looking the other way. This is the point of disclosure.
Sam stares at Dean, hard look in his eyes and whispers, "I'm not the one doing this, am I Dean?"
Dean's head drops, he places a kiss to Sam's collarbone and nuzzles the juncture of his neck.
"Dean, you didn't-"
Dean sighs into his skin.
"You didn't need an, an excuse for this."
"… thought it would be easier…"
"What was that?"
"On you. Thought it would be easier for you if you could pretend-" Dean loses his thought and looks away. Finally understanding how ridiculous it all sounds out loud. It was a stupid plan, it could have gone so, horribly wrong so easily. He could have fucked them both up, for good. Dean squeezes his face, tight at the thought.
"It was." Sam realizes. "It's harder to tell you how much I need you inside me right now. How much I want this. How good I think we could be. It's harder to face you, to let you know that. It's easier to play your game. It's easier to lie to you, and myself." Sam swallows.
"Nothing worth having is easy, Dean."
Dean pushes into Sam in one fluid motion. "Fuck, yeah." He smiles.
They move under the covers, surrounded by floral patterns. Wet and sweaty, liquid movements. Spilling and raining down on each other.
***
Dean's sleeping on his left side, facing away from Sam, and snoring. He's gone and done for, no longer responding to Sam's post-coital questions or pleas for further messing around. Sam rubs his eyes and stares at his beautiful naked back. He's so sleepy, drifting in and out of consciousness.
Somewhere in the corner of his mind, a small petulant voice says: Hold me.
Dean turns over and wraps his arms around Sam.
Fin.
***
* Lancet flukes.
* Video: Daniel Dennett on Ants & Memes. Yay TED.COM!
This is all the result of the following conversation with regards to Sam using his powers for sex:
memphis86: I'd love something where Dean takes advantage and is just faking
memphis86: "Sam, stop using your powers to make me horny!"
memphis86: "Stop making me take off my clothes and get into bed with you!"
dark_reaction: heee
memphis86: "I'M NOT DOING THAT"
dark_reaction: WRITE IT
memphis86: "Shut up and turn over"
memphis86: I MIGHT
dark_reaction: WELL GOOD
memphis86: :D
And then I decided to throw in a MoTW for good measure. I actually saw this awesome exhibit on mythical creatures at the AMNH a while ago and remembered bunyips from that.