Blood, Love, and Rhetoric

[mf_luder_xf]

SPN fic I started a long time ago and finished up for spn_gleeweek. Also, it's very important to read the author's notes in order to understand the leaning of this fic.

And OMG it was too long for one post. So you can find the second part linked.

Only a day and a half left!!

Category: Sam/Dean
Summary: We're more of the love, blood, and rhetoric school.


Title: Blood, Love, and Rhetoric
Author: MF Luder
Category: Sam/Dean
Keywords: Wincest, slash, angst, horror
Time Frame: No particular time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Nothing specific, but it happens sometime after Devil's Trap.
Disclaimer: They belong to the CW, and Kripke.
Archive: Sam/Dean Archive, my LJ, Sinful Desires, anywhere else, please just let me know so I can visit and pet my baby on occasion.
Summary: We're more of the love, blood, and rhetoric school.
Feedback: Mulder_Loves_Scully_Forever@hotmail.com
Author's Notes: So many, I needed to put them all at the end. Just know 1. If you think you recognize the theme of this fic, you probably do. 2. The quote is from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. And 3. This is what I term vindictive!Sam.
Beta Thanks: Many thanks to la_folle_allure.
Warnings: This fic contains some hardcore material; a type of consensual rape, and also non-graphic rape.
Inspiration:...Gay men are every bit as emotionally closeted as their straight counterparts. Instead of just one partner being distant, uncommunicative and emotionally stunted, both are.--Minotaur

Part 1/2



Player: We're more of the love, blood, and rhetoric school.

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Well, we can do you blood and love without the rhetoric
******************************************
Another night, another hunt, another conquest. Sam had stayed behind, cleaning the blood from their clothes as Dean went out and got himself pissed drunk and laid. He'd spent the entire night fuming. Why couldn't Dean ever take care of the more domestic duties? For Christ's sake, he felt like the little wife.

The later and later it got, the more angry Sam became. It was fucking ridiculous Dean went out all the time while he was stuck, doing laundry, eating alone, and watching old I Love Lucy reruns. Wouldn't Dean just give him shit for that? It wasn't that Dean didn't invite him. No, instead every night he'd asked, pleaded with Sam to come. But Sam didn't want to get drunk, didn't want to have some faceless, nameless, night of sex to get rid of the adrenaline rush. He didn't want to watch Dean flirt with girl after girl-it was nauseating. Why it bothered him now, he wasn't so sure. Just knew it did.

And so he'd repeatedly said no and lately, Dean had stopped asking. Just started leaving.

But, why couldn't Dean stay in once? Spend some time with him? Why couldn't Dean control his hormones? Did he really need to take the 'go forth and multiply' idea so seriously? It wasn't like Sam didn't have needs as well. He'd just gotten used to his hand, used to the feeling that someone could overhear him as he jacked off, and while it didn't fix everything, it helped, enough to control himself.

So that night he sat, blindly staring as Lucy popped dozens of chocolates in her mouth as fast as possible, and fumed. Thought about how ungrateful Dean was, how it was all his fault Sam was here, that even after Dad and the demon, he couldn't get away.

The door finally opened around three am and the scent of cheap perfume hit Sam's nostrils. No classy but easy college girls that night, it appeared. Instead, Dean had just found the nicest piece of ass he could and never bothered to think about the consequences. Sam, still sitting clothed in jeans, t-shirt, and a hoodie turned to face Dean, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Still up, dude? I Love Lucy that exciting tonight, huh?”

“Where have you been?” Sam demanded.

“Whoa, little bro. What's up your ass tonight? You knew where I was.”

“What was her name?”

“Her name?”

“Yeah, the cheap slut you had sex with.”

Dean eyed him warily as he chucked his jacket and tee onto the motel chair. “What's up with you? You know, I keep telling you, if you'd just go with me, you could get laid too and then maybe you wouldn't have such a probl--”

“You know what would make me not have a problem? You. If you stopped fucking every living being on this earth. God, you know you're no better than a whore, don't you? You disgust me.” Sam had stalked up to Dean, cornering him, breathing heavily.

“What the fuck, Sammy?”

“Don't you dare call me Sammy,” he hissed in Dean's ear. “Not when I can smell the sex and perfume and alcohol on you.” Then he made a move even he'd never anticipated. He reached forward and bit down on Dean's neck-Dean, whose eyes were rolling back in abject shock-and sucked on the spot. “You even taste like a whore, Dean. Like you've been used.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean's voice was just a little panicked now, and Sam couldn't resist the thrill that ran down his spine. He reached his arm up and put pressure on Dean's windpipe.

“I am taking what's mine. What you've denied me for too long. Teased and taunted me with for too long. Every time you smile at me, or lick your lips or a pen cap, every time you whisper in my ear when you're drunk. It's like you're putting yourself out for the world to see you, all of you. And I'm the only one who can't have you. But I'm changing that. From this moment on, you belong to me.” His voice had gone deathly calm.

Dean was still staring at him, eyes very wide, mouth partially hanging open so Sam leaned forward, not waiting for anything, not asking permission, not seeing if Dean would want to do this. His body was on fire and he couldn't stop, didn't want to, and Dean be damned. He attacked Dean's pink and kiss-swollen lips.

Sam shoved his tongue in right away, moving it fast and skilled, claiming everything that was his, practically giving Dean a tonsillectomy, that wasn't helped by gradual increases in pressure against his brother's neck. Finally, when Dean gave off a choked noise, Sam drew back.

Dean's eyes were still wide, but this time, the hazel was only a rim about the black pupils. His breathing was shallow, both from the kiss and the arm. Sam shifted and nudged Dean's feet apart, creating a place in between Dean's thighs for his knee. He rubbed up first one of Dean's legs, than the other, finally settling it right against a rock hard cock.

“So, Dean,” he started, keeping his voice light and mocking. “That hard on. Still from the nameless chick, or is there something you've been wanting to tell me?” He leaned back in, nipping at an earlobe, biting down his brother's neck, sucking at his Adam's apple as he gulped. When he pulled back there was a nice purple mark that claimed his territory.

“Sam,” Dean gasped and Sam only pushed harder. Dean wasn't telling him to stop, wasn't clawing at his arm, so he must be enjoying it. “We, we have to stop this. It's wrong...”

“Wrong, huh? Wrong like dragging me away from Jessica? Wrong like taking me away and then seeing her die? Wrong like telling me I'm selfish, but then not letting me kill Dad when we all knew he needed to die-that that demon needed to die. Wrong like letting that demon go and kill a few more people while we were still healing. Wrong maybe, like you not dying when you should have from that demon and his magical claws. You should have died that night. And you should have let me kill Dad, if just to end it. But no, you made me listen to you. Your powers over me are phenomenal. No more. You're mine and you will die when I let you. You will see me walk out that door when I want. And you'll never be satisfied again because you'll know deep inside you that you belong to me.”

“You are sel-selfish,” the elder gasped out. Sam grabbed his short hair with his other hand and spun him away from the wall, flinging him down onto the bed, where Dean lay half sitting up, rubbing at his throat.

“Take it back. Take it back, Dean.” Sam crawled onto the bed, stalking his brother who was feebly trying to roll off the bed. Sam didn't let him, instead trapping him, arms and legs on either side. He paused, staring at his brother.

“You truly are a slut. You just had sex and yet, here you are. Like Play-Doh in my hands. I can form you into whatever I want. And you'll let me. Because,” he turned his voice into a whisper again, “you know inside your bones that you were meant for me.”

“And you for me, then,” Dean stuttered out.

Sam loved seeing Dean lose his control. No more Mr. Cool, not the obedient son, not the cocky brother. Just Dean's core: fear, panic, and lust. Fight or flight was kicking in and Sam expected Dean would run, not trying to save himself, but to save his beloved Sammy from whatever was going on in his head right then. Sam made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. The thought only made him angrier. He could do whatever he wanted now. Dean had to stop protecting him.

“Maybe. But right now, I'm going to fuck you. And you'll beg me like you make those ridiculous one night stands beg you, your only semblance of power. Because we both know, despite your exterior, you've always been a slave. A slave to Dad and what he wanted, and a slave to me and your deep-seated need for me.”

Sam moved his hands down to Dean's belt, leaning forward to bite at his toned stomach, suck at the hardened nipples, to nuzzle at Dean's armpits where he smelled less like the hooker and more like Dean: sweat, car interior, and his own Deanness. He yanked the belt undone and just watched as Dean moaned, the sound ripping up from his belly and hitting Sam's ears like music. He writhed beneath Sam, tossing his head this way and that, hands ineffectively pushing at the man on top of him.

Sam pulled the jeans off, trusting Dean wouldn't go anywhere. When he got like this, his mind became one-track, and sure enough, Dean went nowhere. He opened his eyes and gazed at Sam beneath his lashes.

“Sam-”

“Shut up, Dean. You've said enough. You've always gotten the last word in but this time, you won't. It's mine to take.”

He quickly shucked his clothing off, climbing back above Dean completely naked. Dean hadn't had to worry about underwear; he hadn't been wearing any.

He ran his hands up and down the beautiful body that lay prone. For him. He began by licking and sucking at Dean's chest, making obscene popping noises and slurps as he worked his way down, somehow knowing before the moans of approval met his ears that Dean would like it like this. As he worked down, he muttered dirty words, dirty thoughts, telling Dean the million ways he wanted to fuck Dean into submission. Over the desk, in public, sideways, anything and every where.

Finally he reached his goal, but instead of going for it right away, he reached both hands around to cup Dean's ass, moving his nails back and forth across the smooth skin as much as being sandwiched between Dean and the bed would let them. Then he settled on one thigh, licking through the fine hair and first, drawing nonsense patterns with his tongue, glancing up to see how Dean's stomach fluttered, feeling how his knee jerked when Sam hit a good spot. He turned his attention to the other, doing the same but then sucking, sucking a spot tender and red. Then he really let himself go and he bit Dean. Bit him until he could feel the blood begin to well in his mouth, not a lot, but a few drops.

He raised himself up to Dean's eye level. His eyes were glazed over, begging Sam to keep going, even as his hands caught Sam and followed the smooth muscle lines, slid down strong biceps, tangled in long hair. Sam leaned in to kiss him and this time Dean willingly submitted, pressing his body up and towards Sam, twining tongues and whimpering when the taste of his own blood filled his mouth. He pulled up the other leg against Sam's side, rubbing up and down Sam's leg, grinding his cock into Sam's hip, trying for friction.

Sam pulled back and laughed lightly at the sounds of protest Dean made. “Oh, you are so easy for me, aren't you, baby? Mind me calling you that? I think I should be able to call you whatever I want. Baby, Dean, mine, whore, trash. And you'll take it. So, so easy...” he trailed off as he licked at the rest of the blood barely oozing out. Then he swallowed the head of Dean's cock.

That got through to Dean. He nearly sat upright, a strangled scream escaping his lips before it turned into a litany of “SamSamSamSammy...”

The faint musk of a woman was all over his skin, a single scratch mark on his hip. Sam didn't care; he was going to fuck that and every other woman off and out of Dean's body. And any men he might ever have been with as well.

After a few good licks, he flipped Dean's pliable body right over and Dean just made a muffled noise into the pillow. He grabbed over the side of the bed and got the lube Dean had carried with him from that night's adventure from his pocket. He lubed two fingers up, not caring if Dean hadn't ever done this before.

And was surprised, not happily so, to find out Dean was ready for him. Maybe the hooker that night had been kinky, or Dean had slept with enough men. Or perhaps, he had been hiding a kink for his little brother for much longer than Sam could ever guess. It stopped mattering when Sam's fingers slid beyond that first ring and encountered hot tightness that was his brother.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” he couldn't help crying out. So, not too many before him. Not enough to make him loose. Sam quickly scissored his fingers, filling Dean up, just barely brushing his prostrate, making Dean cry out in pleasure and frustration. The man was flat on his stomach, slowly grinding against the sheets, hands gripping the pillow. What a beautiful sight.

He pulled the fingers out and coated himself, after finding an unused condom in Dean's pocket as well. Then he lined up and pushed in on one thrust.

“Gah!” Dean cried out.

“Uhn, God!” gasped Sam. So tight. So wet and slick and hot and he had to move but couldn't for fear of coming too soon. Instead, he calmed his breathing as he ran long fingers up Dean's side, one hand resting on a hip, the other reaching up into Dean's hair. Dean just whimpered when the hand grabbed it a little too hard, securing Sam's hold.

When he felt ready, Sam started moving, long, hard fast strokes. No nice build-up, just sex and lust and want and a sudden need for Dean. It hadn't started out this way-it honestly wasn't what Sam had been planning when he'd confronted Dean. But, now that he was here, he couldn't get enough, couldn't imagine wanting someone else, feeling this complete because of someone else. The feeling of being inside Dean, where at times he wanted to curl up and just cry sometimes, it was exhilarating. Freeing. Beautiful in the midst of his pain.

He almost stopped, almost saw what he was doing to Dean, that he was raping his brother, the man he actually loved, the only one who'd made him feel whole since Jess. But he was still so angry and when he saw Dean pushing back into the rough fuck, something inside him clicked and all his jealousy came pouring out, all his pain, his need to hurt something besides himself. And he just did it harder, twisting his hips in a way that hit Dean's prostrate when he wanted and counter-intuitive to Dean's moans and whispered begging for Sam to let him come. He would come when Sam wanted him to come.

“What did she look like, Dean? What have all your men looked like? What were their names and did any of them do this to you?” He arched his back, forcing Dean up onto his knees though his arms still gripped the pillow and he refused to take his face away from the white lump. A low grunt, a sexy low grunt, echoed from him.

“What did she look like, Dean? Tell me!” He yanked on the hair still in his grasp a little harder, pulling Dean's head up, thrust a little harsher.

“God! Fine, Sam! She-she looked like you!” Dean panted, eyes closed up, grimace on his face. Sam wasn't sure if it was the pain from Sam's fucking or from having to admit something that almost made Sam stop. But he didn't, he had to hear it all.

“Go on,” he growled.

“She, she had brown hair just your shade. It was cut short and curled up on the ends and she had these green eyes that though they were...brighter than yours, weren't yours. And she smelled...she smelled nothing like you, Sam. God, nothing like you.” He started half-sobbing, though he was still struggling, half to get away, half to make Sam hit that illusive spot.

“I-I never flirt with someone who looks anything like you-not while you're around. I never wanted you to know. Know how disgusting I am, that instead of protecting my baby brother, all I wanted to do was fuck him.”

“Oh,” Sam knew he was over the edge, that he'd gone too far, because in his right mind a confession like that would have brought hugs and tears, not the harder thrusts, not the nail scratches on Dean's hips. “You won't have to worry about fucking me, because I'm the one doing the fucking here. Only me, Dean. 'Cause you are mine.”

At that, Sam felt shudders ripple through Dean and he was coming, Sam never having touched his cock. Dean's orgasm didn't stop and it didn't stop Sam, who just kept thrusting as he too came, chanting, “Dean, you're mine. Mine, mine, mine...” until he finally blanked out, collapsing on top of Dean. The last thing he heard was a muttered, “...why Sam? Love you so much...”

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And we can do you blood and rhetoric without the love
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When Dean finally realized something was wrong, it was too late.

He'd walked back into the motel they had been currently staying at, tired and bruised from the seemingly inevitable bar fight. But when he opened the door, Sam wasn't sitting where he'd left him working on the computer, doing whatever research his geek brother did. Nor was he lying on one of the beds. Dean stepped in cautiously, thinking his brother might have decided to be in a better mood and surprise him from behind the door.

No Sam.

Dean cocked his head, listening for water running, a toilet flushing, anything.

Nothing.

Then he saw it. A note. Sam just up and left without him?

But that didn't explain the weird feeling he had. Like he was being watched. He glanced over his shoulder as he picked up the piece of parchment.

If you want him back, come play with us, it read in flowery script. Then shockingly enough, the ink faded and the piece of paper caught on fire and burned, not unlike those notes from the old Inspector Gadget cartoons. Definitely not from Sam then. He knew he shouldn't be surprised, but even after demons and ghosts, magic still seemed ridiculous.

He looked around again, now expecting some type of ambush. Instead, when he glanced at the door, he saw a man standing in the shadow of a tree, sunglasses on though it was twilight, who hadn't been standing there before.

Dean calmly locked the room up and sauntered across the parking lot.

“He wishes to see you,” the man said. Up close, Dean saw deathly white skin that was nonetheless beautiful for its lack of color, and shockingly black hair. Dean, who never been considered less than gorgeous by himself or anyone else, felt dwarfed by the man's looks. He was dressed in a gray suit that gave Dean the feeling he was looking at a god from the era of black and white movies, something in the tones and the luminous quality of his skin.

“Who?” Dean said, planting his feet, not ready to move until he knew who was keeping Sam.

“Him,” the man stated simply. He extended his hand and for some reason, Dean allowed his own to be taken smoothly, more because his sudden interest in the mysterious and alluring man, than because he obviously knew where Sam was, previous concerns suddenly gone.

He became momentarily disorientated before landing with a jarring thud and finding himself in a raging blizzard, only God-knew-where.

“Where are we?” he chattered, bemoaning the loss of the Florida humidity and heat he'd been complaining about for the past week. If only he'd been told there would be a change in the weather.

The man was unfazed and merely blinked, ushering Dean into a cave mouth that appeared suddenly. The moment he stepped in, he was warmed and the entrance sealed, effectively trapping him.

“Hey,” he started, but was shushed when the ebony-haired man placed one warm and comforting hand in the small of his back, gently pushing him inside further. It was then he realized it was more than a normal cave. It appeared to be made of crystal. Icicles dripped down from the ceiling, creating natural chandeliers which supported dozens of small candles that didn't appear to melt the ice. The floor was like an Olympic hockey rink, but not slippery. When he looked further in, he saw a crowd of men and women, all similar to his escort in tone of skin, and seemed to emanate light from within. They too were dressed sharply and in somber colors, odd for people who lived in a damn ice cave.

He looked up above their heads to see an ice cage, intricately designed. It held Sam. A frozen-looking Sam. His skin was turning a light shade of blue, wherever red blood, redder than the sun in the morning, didn't cover him.

That shocked him out of whatever allure these creatures had. “What have you done to him?” he cried out, launching himself at crowd.

“Halt,” came a voice.

Dean stopped; that voice commanded nothing but full obedience. The man that stepped out of another carved cave was distinguished. His voice held a light, almost British accent. Silvery hair covered his head while a dark, coarse goatee enhanced his strong jawline. He was most likely in his late forties, but still very good-looking. If these people even had ages. Gray eyes met hazel and once more, Dean couldn't help feeling he was insignificant, somehow a mutt, and not pure.

“Your brother remains well, have no fear. Though that situation may change. It is entirely up to you. You see, you are here to play a game.” The man's voice was lilting and a soft baritone.

“I don't play games,” Dean spoke up, gazing up at Sam. “I'd like my brother back. Now.”

The man chuckled softly. “Oh, I don't think so, Dean Winchester. See, we're quite bored, we have so little company beyond ourselves, and we've heard so much about you. Our cousins were taken back by your strength at one time. Now it is our turn.”

“Cousins?” Dean asked, confused.

The man's eyes glittered, but instead of the simple sheen and glint Dean had seen before, these eyes appeared to crystallize for a moment.

“You're shapeshifters,” he stated.

“You catch on quick.”

“What have you done to him?”

Ignoring Dean, the man turned to Ebony Man. “Congratulations, Eli. You brought me the boy and without harm or issue. You have done well.”

Eli only nodded, accepting the praise as route though no doubt it was not. Dean was reminded of his father for an instant.

“Clearly, you can't be too popular. Your cousin never mentioned you.” Dean asked.

The man seemed amused. “I highly doubt he had the chance. I'm sure you and Sam didn't sit down and have a chat with him.”

“Gee, why didn't I think to do that-you know, when he was busy torturing my brother,” Dean let the sarcasm leech into his voice.

“You would know us as snow demons. But I assure you, we are no demons and have no ties to Hell beyond our own faults.”

“Snow demons...” Dean muttered. Of course, that made sense. The magic, the ice. Only question was what they wanted from him.

“You see,” the man continued, beginning to walk closer, away from the crowd of shapeshifters who simply stood there staring, like a silenced chorus of angels. “We have no blood lust like our cousins. Not in the standard sense of the word, at least. Our only lust comes from our own sins and wants and the blood is merely an acquired taste-a bit of a delicacy, shall we say. So we never had a need to bring ourselves to any Hunter's attention. We like our games, is all.

“Humans on the other hand, true ones, like yourselves,” he gestured in a broad sweep towards Sam who lay seemingly unconscious, as he had neither moved nor spoken the entire exchange. “They have much blood lust. Everything you do involves blood. Your love you had for your father, for instance. He required of you sacrifice. And not just keeping your little brother safe. That was never good enough for him. Instead he had to have your blood. Had to see it spill on a hunt to know you truly loved him. And you gave in, followed his orders, because you knew it was what he needed. Now your love for your brother, that's an entirely different sort of blood lust, isn't it?”

“Don't talk about my father like that. You have no right...” Dean growled, but was cut off with a flash of the man's eyes.

That grey head cocked in a smooth movement. “You and your brother commit one very big sin don't you? You require from each other, not gentleness and words, but instead, each other's blood. You need him to hurt you to tell you you're alive. And he willingly hurts you, because it's what you want.”

“What I want?” Dean broke in, getting caught up in the man's words, despite vowing not to rise to the bait. “I never wanted anything but love from him-never wanted...that. He's the one who pushes me until I break.”

“You love your brother, he knows that. But for you, there is no distinction. You're brothers, each having the same blood running through you. It's all blood, you understand? Everything is blood.” And here, the man's eyes glazed over.

Dean shuddered.

“So I have stolen your most precious possession, in order to tempt you into my offer. I am willing to make a deal. Play a game with me, and, if you win, you get your brother back none the worse. If you lose, then we keep your brother.”

Dean didn't like the sound of that. “How do you know I won't just shoot you all and make off with him? I don't have to put up with your shit.”

“You have no gun.”

Defeated, Dean cursed his stupidity. His need to get back to Sam had been so strong, he thrown all caution to the wind. What would John think of him at this moment? He was no use to Sam without weapons.

“Why do you want him so bad?”

“Because, your brother is worth more than you might think.”

“My brother is my life.”

“Ah, yes. But you see, your life is so small. It is but a drop in a tiny wade pool. Your brother, on the other hand, your brother has much potential.”

Dean thought. “And if I don't play?”

The shapeshifter stepped back and gestured at his fellow monsters. “Then you both become one of us.”

“That's not really an option, then.” Dean stared at the man hard, keeping his voice calm.

He laughed, a deep chuckle. “No, no, my friend, it isn't.”

Dean shifted his feet out, adopting a bored pose, despite the fast pit-pat of his heart. He couldn't lose Sam. Two chairs and a ice table appeared.

“Have a seat,” the man nodded at Dean. Dean sat, expecting his butt to suddenly freeze, but just like the cave itself, it felt no different from glass. Two goblets sparkled into being and a carafe filled with red liquid. Dean stared in horror.

“Have no worries, Dean.” The man was smiling, vaguely amused. “I assure you it is not what you think. Simply snow demon wine.”

“And that isn't like some code for blood?” Dean raised a skeptic eyebrow.

“No, just made with grapes we harvest here. It takes a special grape to grow in our ice caves.”

“I'll bet,” Dean muttered, eying the bottle. “Magic. What crap.”

“Here, I shall drink first.” Slender hands picked up the carafe and poured out drink to both of them, before he brought the goblet up to his mouth, silently toasting Dean.

“And how do I know this isn't a poisoned with something you're immune to?”

“You don't,” he said frankly, putting down his glass. “You'll just have to take it on good faith that I am a fair man, and that I would rather play a game and amuse myself than kill you, leaving me with only the same company I had before.”

“A fair man? What kind of 'fair man' magics off someones brother just to play a game?” Dean couldn't help the rise in his voice.

“I play my games fair, and that is all you need to know.” His voice thundered. Dean dropped the subject.

“Tell me, have you ever heard the legend of King Arthur?”

“In high school, yeah,” he replied. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“So you know about Morgan Le Fey and Merlin.”

“I guess. So?”

“Didn't you know?” The man said in mock surprise. “Morgan committed incest. She was Arthur's half sister. Together they conceived Mordred, who was his father's downfall. So you see, incest never seems to go right. Both deeds done knowingly, both bringing about blood. Take that as you will.”

Dean had been getting angrier and angrier, not at the blatant statements, but at his tone. As though he could look down on his and Sam's relationship so disdainfully. They were the monsters, not him and Sam. But as he watched those eyes crystalize again in the light, Dean swallowed his anger and with it a bit of wine.

The first touch of it to his lips made them feel ice cold. When it swirled into his mouth he tasted cinnamon and ice and fire and something undeniably wicked and sweet. He wanted to spit it out, afraid of that taste, but his throat, in reflex, swallowed it and it coated his throat, dripping into his belly and warming him like nothing had before. It spread throughout his limbs and he couldn't help but think it was better than afterglow.

He drained the goblet.

The man across form him smirked. “We're going to play a game. It's fairly easy. All you have to do is pick your brother out of the bunch.” He gestured at the silent shapeshifters still standing there.

“That's it? Are you kidding me?” Dean felt his confidence come back.

The leader flicked a hand at the cage and the bottom vanished, dropping Sam to the floor which seemed to jar him awake.

“Dean?” he mumbled, disoriented.

“It's ok, Sam, I'm here...” Dean stepped forward, about to claim Sam and leave, when in a shimmer, all the people looked like Sam and began jostling, some falling on the ground. “Sam!”

“Here, Dean!” came from one of the Sam's, but then another on the end shouted the same thing...with Sam's voice.

Shit.

“Piece of cake,” Dean said cockily to the man who stood simply drinking a second glass of win. “I know my brother better than anyone.”

“Do you,” the man said, amused.

Dean turned back and saw all the Sam's standing in a single line.

“Sam, come on. Don't play along.”

“It's the only way, Dean.”

“I have to.”

“It's only fair, Dean.”

Dean whipped his head from Sam to Sam. They all sounded like his brother. They all looked like his brother. He reached out an arm.

“Ah-ah. I wouldn't touch them if I were you. The one you touch is the one you get. If you choose wrong, you're both mine,” came the mocking voice.

Dean immediately drew back his hand.

“What's our dad's name?” he asked the closest.

“John.”

“What happened when you were six months old?”

“Something bad happened. A demon. Dad had to save us. He got us out of the fire.”

“Ha!” Dean yelled, triumphant. “If you'd have been Sam, you would have known I pulled you from the fire.”

“Dean!” came a large and very Sam-like wail from further down.

“Fuck,” he said, realizing that he'd just given away one of the least know things that could have identified Sam. He immediately whipped his head towards the other Sam, but by then, it was too late. The shapeshifters had already changed themselves around.

But he knew the real Sam was on the other end, now. He walked down the line, trying to take in each Sam's features. All were perfect. He wondered if each would taste like Sam, smell like Sam. But he didn't dare get that close.

“The night we first had sex, was it slow or fast?”

A myriad of 'slow' and 'fast' responses came at him, but he listened only to those directly near him.

“It was rough,” the one in front of him said.

“I was angry,” the one beside him spoke.

“I was jealous,” came another.

Dean turned to him. “Of what?”

“The other girls!” shouted the one in front of him.

The one Dean was considering, though, paused. “I think of the girls and the time you spent away from me. You made me do all this, and I never wanted to.”

Dean was about to grab that Sam's arm when another a little bit down the line yelled “Wait!”

A chorus of 'yes, don't pick him' and similar comments flooded in.

Once more, he turned his focus to the Sam before him now, having shifted down the line to the one whom he thought was the real Sam.

“When you kissed Sarah, what was it like?”

“I never kissed her. She wasn't you.”

Dean mentally reeled, because he knew that was the answer he wanted, somewhere deep inside him. But it wasn't the right one. That hurt.

“It was amazing,” said the Sam to originally make him stop. “She was warm and soft and God, I wanted to stay with her. It was the first time since Jess I felt alive. I could forget you, forget the Demon as I kissed her.”

Dean zeroed in. “Sam, do you love me?”

“As my brother, always.”

Dean waited, but there was nothing more and he knew. With a heavy heart, he reached out a hand to touch Sam's face. “This is him,” he spoke softly.

Sure enough, another shimmer passed through the crowd and all the hoodies and jeans were changed into business suits again.

“Very good, Dean.” The head shapeshifter wandered over, rubbing a caressing hand down Dean's arm and then back. To Sam he grabbed his chin and stared into his eyes. All Dean could do was watch the staring contest, but after a moment, the monster let Sam go and Dean breathed again.

“It's a shame, Sam. We could teach you so much. Maybe not as much as the demon could have, but enough. You would become great. You could rule.”

“I never wanted to rule. I wanted safe. And normal. I still do.”

Chuckling, the man replied, “What you do is not normal.”

“Don't you think I know that?” Sam spat. “Don't you think every day I try to stop and somehow can't? But I can say I will never use my powers. Not for the Demon, not for you, and not even for him.” Sam sharply jabbed the air towards Dean.

“You'll find one day, Sam, that you just can't stop. Then, you'll wish you'd stayed.”

Sam nodded tersely but dismissively and walked away towards the entrance of the cave looking over his shoulder once. “We are through with your game. I am taking him back and you will leave us alone, or so help me God, you will see my vengeance.” Sam was acting as though his brother has been the one stuck in a cage, in need of rescuing and Dean stared, agape.

The man turned to Dean who blinked away his shock. Steeling himself, he looked the shapeshifter right in the eye. “I'd never give him up, not if the fate of the world was in my hands. Neither you or he could ever understand that. But if the Devil walked up to me today, just like this, and gave me a challenge, I'd do it, just to keep him safe.”

He moved to join Sam. He swore he'd never seen his younger brother so cold. Not when Jess died, not when Dad died. They stood, apparently waiting for something.

“Eli,” the man gestured, already starting to fade into the crowd.

“Wait,” Sam commanded. “Your name.”

The man turned and looked at them, smiling at Sam and eyes glinting at Dean. “My name, Sam Winchester, is Mordred.”

And then it made sense.

Eli touched them and his beautiful face suddenly became the garish sun, so bright after the coolness of the cave and Dean grimaced into its light.

“Mommy!! Those two men just appeared!” A little girl tugged at her mother's sleeve as they walked the pathway in front of the motel.

The lady sniffed at them, arms and legs tangled as they leaned against a trunk of a tree. “Nonsense, honey. Peoplesh don't just appear-or vanish. They were just around the tree.” She sniffed at them again, giving them a disapproving glance and walked away fast, holding the girl's hand.

“But, Mommy...” her high-pitched voice trailed off around the corner.

Dean shook his head to reorient himself; time had clearly passed. A night, or maybe more. Sam was standing, stock still, hand in his pockets.

“Sam, we should...we should talk.”

Sam eyed him. “Ok. What about?”

“What happened.”

Sam turned away from him. “Shoot.”

“There was a while, before you regained consciousness, that I was talking to the shapeshifter. And he mentioned,” Dean paused. “He mentioned that we-you and I-we need to do what we do.”

“What do you mean?”

“That the way we show, um...affection for each oth--”

“Hey, you hungry?” Sam began walking towards the motel room.

“Huh?” Dean blinked, jogging to catch up with Sam's long strides.

“I'm starved, how 'bout you?”

“Wait just a minute, Sam, we're talking here.”

“Yeah. But, don't you want to eat? I mean, we haven't all day. Or however long.”

“Sure, but can we finish?”

Sam stepped inside and immediately began gathering his stuff. “Yeah, yeah, continue.”

“Sam. What's with you? I'm trying to discuss something with you.”

“And I'm discussin'.”

“No, you're not. You're pacing and antsy and avoiding me. You're acting like me.” Dean looked at Sam. His features were closed off, not allowing any emotion to show. Sam had been like this more and more recently, and after today, it seemed worse. “Hey,” Dean said softly. “Is there something wrong? Did the shifters do something to you?”

“I'm fine.” Sam's voice was tight.

“Sammy, I'm here ya know. I want to know if those bastards did something to you. Jesus,” he realized he was being a jackass. “I didn't even think to ask that earlier. Did they mess with your mind or something-before I was there? Talk to me.”

Sam turned about face towards Dean. “No,” he hissed. “I don't want to talk. I want to eat, then I want to fuck you, and then I want to go to bed. And tomorrow we can get out of this fucking town and we'll forget this episode and then, I'll be fine.

**************************************
And we can do you all three-concurrent
**************************************
“Why can't these demons ever thrive on virtue or something?” Sam grumbled as they exited from the local library.

“'Cause they're demons, Sam. Demons are bad.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“Besides,” Dean smirked, “if it lived on virtues, we'd never be able to get near it. I haven't had a virtuous bone in my body since I was fourteen.”

Sam snorted. “You're such a whore, Dean. I can't believe you sometimes.”

“Like you can talk, little bro. Maybe you were virtuous once, but I'm afraid to say, you ain't anymore.”

“No thanks to you.”

Dean patted him cheerfully on the back. “That's what big brothers are for, dude. Just be glad you got one as handsome as you did.” He slid his hand down and pinched Sam's butt, getting a startled yelp from him. “Now lets go kick some demon ass.”

A particularly lusty demon had been rampaging the town, voyeuristically making couples rape each other and then commit murder-suicides. Having caught onto the demon's pattern of victims, they were staking out the next couple. Their plan was to sneak into the house during the day and wait for the demon to make his move that night. Dean really hated this assignment simply because the only time they could take out the demon was when its concentration was focused on the victims. Meaning, he and Sam had to let the couple begin the rape before they could attack. It was the only time it was vulnerable-the only time it materialized.

They been sitting in the couples closest for several hours, Sam very quietly bitching the whole time about lack of leg room, when Dean tensed. He could feel it. He peeked through the closet's slits.

The very attractive blonde was sitting, reading in bed while her husband was downstairs watching TV. But Dean knew the demon had appeared, he could feel the sudden anger and lust that gathered around one particularly dark shadow.

“Sam,” he hissed, nudging his snoozing brother.

Sure enough, a minute later the husband came in, looking as though he were entranced.

Blondie looked up, “Hi, honey. Ready for bed?”

The man nodded and beside him, Sam's fingers tightened around his gun. Dean was suddenly hyper-aware of every movement that happened next to him.

The husband crawled onto the bed.

“Honey?” came the woman's voice, sounding small. “Is-is something wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, sweetie.”

Even in the dark, Dean could see the shadow that was the demon grow and suddenly the man lept on the woman and she let out a scream.

He wanted to turn his head away, wanted to run from the sight before him, but he forced himself to stay still, to watch and force down the bile in his throat as the lust spell took over both of them, waiting for that right moment.

Suddenly, a hand reached over and started stroking him through his jeans. He gasped at the contact.

“What are you...” he batted Sam's hand away, refusing to look, knowing he couldn't succumb. “Stop it!” he hissed, glad the violent sounds were covering up his voice.

He shifted, his crouch position lent itself to Sam's easy access and they couldn't afford that now. “Come on, Sam. Work with me here! On a count of three. One...two...three!” He burst out of the closet, ready and aiming at the demon.

But he'd misjudged, misjudged it all. “Fuck!” he cried as the moment he burst out of the closet, Sam tackled him, scrambling up over his back to pin him to the floor and Dean's shot went wide, missing the demon entirely. He cried out again when he saw in the moment of ecstasy, the women bashed her husband's head with one swift hit of the bedside lamp and then used one of the broken bits to slit her own throat.

Dean didn't puke. He didn't have time. It seemed the demon had turned its full attention on them and they were going to go through the same process he had just witnessed. He closed his eyes as Sam flipped him over roughly onto his back, managing to get Dean's gun away.

“Sammy,” he whispered, but when he opened his eyes and looked into Sam's now chocolate brown orbs, he knew it wouldn't do any good. He just hoped Sam killed him fast, he didn't want to be the one to kill Sam.

“Shut up, Dean!” Sam hollered at him. Dean didn't resist as Sam tore at his clothing, ripping his favorite blue tee in the process, didn't move when Sam stopped holding him down long enough to unbutton his own jeans, just barely shoving them down to his knees.

Seeing Sam like this, angry and lustful shouldn't turn Dean on, shouldn't make him want Sam. But at least if he went along willingly, maybe it couldn't be called rape and Sam wouldn't have that on his soul too when he died.

Sam was back, hovering over him and Dean could see the conflict inside him; there was a part of Sam that knew he was being taken by the demon, and he didn't really want to do this. But Dean knew he'd done it once before. For some reason Sam needed this from him. So Dean did what he could to ease his brother.

“Take me.”

And the hesitation went away and Sam was only angry and hungry and Dean arched up into his body as Sam's lips came crashing down on his.

“You're always mine, Dean,” Sam whispered harshly against his mouth. In his haste and anger, he managed to bite Dean's lip and Dean tasted blood.

Sam's hands were everywhere, tugging his hair, marking his skin, leaving little bruises and nail marks. He slid down, sucking and biting Dean's nipples and Dean couldn't help it, he started to beg.

“Oh, Sam, please, please, please...” He wasn't sure anymore if he was begging for Sam or for Sam to stop. But his body kept arching into Sam's touch and humming with pleasure.

It seemed to spark something in Sam though, and while he kept at his task, biting down on Dean's stomach, arms still outstretched and holding Dean's wrists, he began to speak.

“Dean. I'm so sorry. I wish I could stop. But this thing is powerful. God, Dean, love you so much, so sorry.” His voice was no longer angry, instead it sounded as though he was about to break, shatter to bits. It tore at Dean and he knew he couldn't let the guilt lie on his brother. What good was he if he couldn't protect Sam?

“No, no, you're not sorry, Sam. And when we get out of this, I am going to fucking kick your ass and that demon's. You are so dead. You messed up this hunt.”

“I messed it up?!” The anger was back and Dean relaxed, then tensed as his legs were spread apart and lifted, scrunched to his body and a slightly wet, blunt tip touched his opening. Oh, God, he thought.

“No, you fucked it up, Dean! Why did you have to bring me, huh? It's all your fault I am doing this. Your fault! Yours and that demon's.” In that moment he glanced up at the shadow.

Dean thought quickly. “That's right, Sam. The demon. He's the one doing this. It's not you. That thing is the reason, he messed up the hunt.”

“Didn't I tell you to shut up, bitch?” Sam said scathingly, but his attention had turned to the demon again. He still had a gun in his hand, too. If Dean could just make him shoot it...

“Jesus Christ, Sam!!” he shouted in agony as Sam invaded his body. God, it burned! How was it going to get past that muscle ring?

He screamed when Sam slid in to the hilt, writhing in pain, ass on fire. He could almost kill Sam right now.

Sam leaned down to bite at his neck and that changed his angle and suddenly it still burned but as Sam raked over his prostate, Dean couldn't stop his hips from thrusting up into Sam's.

He started blathering, “God, Sam, it hurts, you're hurting me, don't stop, God, let me touch you! Sam...hurts...stop...letmetouch...hurtsSammy!!” But despite all the pain, he could still feel an orgasm building in his balls and that thought made him sicker than the scene he'd witnessed earlier. He couldn't believe he was getting off on this. On his brother hurting him, and oh, it hurt like a mother fucking bitch, but that bundle of nerves was being rubbed raw and the sound of Sam's flesh hitting his ass was the hottest sound ever, and he really wanted to be sick right now.

Sam had stopped watching him, even as he kept slamming in, focus all on the demon. But when Sam's path suddenly got easier, Dean knew it was time to end this.

“Sam. Listen to me. I know you're in there. You have to fucking shoot it. Then kill me, fine, but Christ! for my sake,” he panted, eyes scrunched closed and teeth gritted, “fucking kill the bastard!”

And somehow, just as Sam's orgasm burst through him, coating Dean's insides and making his ass sting as well as burn, Sam lifted his gun hand up and shot, three times. Two rock salt pellets hit the thing and in a high pitched shriek it burst into flames and vanished back to Hell where it belonged.

Sam collapsed on him, pulling out as painful as he'd entered as he rolled to Dean's side, completely blacked out. The slight friction from Sam falling on him was enough to erupt Dean's own orgasm, though it certainly wasn't once of the most powerful he'd had, pain still too fresh.

When he came to, Sam was still passed out. He reached down and very gingerly felt himself. His fingers came away bloody, just like he thought. He wiped his fingers on his shirt beside him and tugged up his boxers and jeans, wincing and biting his lips as he did. Then he looked over at Sam. His brother had lost all anger in his completion and Dean reached over, brushing dark bangs off Sam's face. He scooted closer until he was pressed against Sam's side and gently kissed the corner of Sam's mouth, then his lips.

He knew he had to get them out of there, but he wasn't in a condition to carry Sam out yet. Instead he just laid his head on Sam's chest, feeling his heartbeat, grateful they were both alive, and allowed himself to cry, wracking sobs.

Continued in Part 2