So I Slept with an Angel of the Lord, Part 2 [NC17] Sam/Dean

[queenklu]

Title: So I Slept with an Angel of the Lord (sequel to Coming Clean)
Author: queenklu 
Beta By: the lovely shri_amato 
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 8,500+ O.O I did not mean for that to happen. *headdesk*
Spoilers: 4x09 and now 4x10
Disclaimer: I keep them in a jar by the side of my bed. This, according to Dean, does not mean i own them.
Warnings: read the rating and pairing and figure it out, but there's also mild Castiel bashing.

Summary: Angel sex was about as far from gay incestuous brother love as anyone could possibly get, so if Sam was looking for an excuse to run, Dean had just offered him one on a giant shiny silver platter.


Sam pulled his lips out of reach, turning his head, cheeks flushed and irises blown. “Bed. Now. Want to-Have to-”

Dean was a little confused about what a bed had to do with any of this anymore. “Wall,” he said instead, fisting the back of Sam’s hair and yanking him back.

“Bathroom sex is not hot,” Sam said, still managing to sound like he thought Dean had been dropped on his head as a child with their lips mashed together. “Shower sex, yeah, but not-"

“Shower,” Dean supplied helpfully, shooting a pointed glance to where theirs was still on and spraying water all over the floor.

“The water’s cold,” Sam pointed out, smiling sweet and slow. “Stop looking like we’re never going to take a shower again.”

“I’m not, bitch,” Dean rumbled, then licked his suddenly dry lips until he managed to string another handful of words together. “Gonna carry me there, gigantor?”

“Think you can walk?” Sam smirked, the palm of one hand pressing harder against one cheek as it rotated, allowing Sam to run his fingers lightly over the seam of Dean’s crack. Dean shuddered and bucked slightly; Sam got the wrong impression and put him back on his feet, almost a little awkwardly. Like Dean was going to admit it was a mistake. But he need a couple extra seconds to make his legs work, so he motioned for Sam to go first.

Sam gave him a sweltering, heavy-lidded look, but moved for the door, a completely saunter-free stride that was almost tension free for all that he was butt-naked-

Dean saw the scar.

He had Sam tackled on the bed before Sam knew what’d hit him, hands splayed on his shoulders, sitting on the back of his thighs, and pinning him down was almost as fun as being pinned. He moved his grip to Sam’s elbows before he could get them under him for leverage, bent down, and just…lickedbitlaved with his lips, tongue, teeth, nuzzling and growling encouragement when Sam squirmed and barked out, “Fuck! Fuck, Dean-”

His fascination with Sam’s scar was painful and needy and so deeply imbedded in him it hurt to think about. Almost lost you and Got you back and See how much I needlovewant you all rolled into one (probably selfish) knot. He knew Sam was curious-maybe didn’t get it-but the question stuck in his throat and Dean was happy to keep it there if it meant more time tasting this twist of scar tissue that was nothing and everything between Sam being alive.

Sam’s hips started rocking desperately against the bed, with pretty much zero room to operate what with Dean sitting on him and all, but the roll of his hips short circuited something in Dean’s brain and before he could figure out what Sam rolled more than just his hips, and settled down between Dean’s legs like he belonged there.

He dragged in a deep, barely shaky breath and locked eyes with Dean through his bangs, a clear decision that they were going to discuss his kink later. Before Dean could add it to his ever increasing list of things to Not Talk About, Sam’s hands landed on his knees and splayed them wide, a soft strain of muscles that weren’t used to horseback riding, thank you very much, but did something crazy to the blood-flow below the belt because he bucked up helplessly, trying to get any part of Sam to relieve some of the pressure. (Maybe it was the manhandling again, but he’d never admit it.)

He was dimly aware that Sam was saying things-important things, for all that they were broken and rambling-while he was divesting Dean of clothing, hands roaming everywhere under and over and across newly revealed skin, which was really not all that considerate considering the state of Dean’s upstairs brain.

“Thought I was losing my mind. Kept seeing-hearing-bits and pieces, sure it was you, but I was seeing you everywhere anyway, just figured it was all in my head until-I woke up and I knew, knew, knew it was you, knew you’d come back, but you weren’t in the room where I fell asleep and then-fucking Ruby, you were gone-”

Dean made a noise somewhere between a curse and a cry, sharp and hurt like Sam had jabbed at a bruise (hell, he pretty much had) but also because-oh fucking god, he’d wrapped that sinful mouth around his cock, sending twisting, live-wire jolts through Dean’s spine with long flat sweeps of a tongue that kept slipping between the stretch of Sam’s lips and the dick that was doing the stretching. For one terrifying second he thought Sam had realized he wasn’t the full reason for the first noise out of Dean’s mouth, but he only hesitated for a second.

Sam pulled back just enough to a quick kiss to the tip of Dean’s cock, and Dean shuddered even as he thought it was kind of ridiculous, like his dick was some sort of pet, and then as Sam slurped him down he thought, Oh, fuck, maybe it is. Maybe it’s Sam’s. Maybe he’ll buy it a collar and take it for walks. And then he stopped thinking at all.

He’d never been this strung out, this out of control of a sexual situation in his life. It was a little terrifying how wild Sam was, how into it, not sweet and slow and nothing like Anna, nothing like Cassie, dirty and hot but somehow bypassing the skank-factor like the double mint twins Sam walked in on him fucking that one time-and, by the way, he barely lasted thirty seconds after he heard Sam say, “Oh god,” and shut the door. Thirty seconds earlier he’d been prepared to last for hours, dragging and spinning it out until when they finally did collapse in a sweaty threesome pile of legs and tits, they’d have earned it, it would last, along with his impression. Girls liked (“Ah!”) people paying attention (“Shit!”) to, um, what they wanted. “…Saaaaam…”

So for someone not thinking? There was a lot of thinking going on. Maybe even some talking. But really, what the hell else was a guy supposed to do when-when-“Ah, fuck. Sam!” He tried to get his knees on Sam’s shoulders and push him away, because, “Fuck, fuck, gonna-" and Sam shouldn’t have to-and where were his…? Hands were pinned to the bed. Sam had his hands-"SAM!”

He’d never blacked out during an orgasm before, kind of figured it was one of those urban myths perpetrated by bad romance novels and internet fan fiction (What? Once Sam had explained Myspace to him the rest kind of just…worked itself out). But now? With his insides exploded over who’s-god-knows-where, with his eyes open but not working and his ears listening to something like the ocean (if you were five miles out with your face in the water)…yeah. There was something to it.

Dean whined as Sam refused to let him out of his mouth, that evil tongue lap-lap-lapping at Dean’s oversensitive cock until he rolled on his side to get away-which is feasible with your hands pinned to the bed but not comfortable. Sam made a happy humming noise, and the film over Dean’s eyes dissipated just in time for him to see Sam lick his lips free of-

At some point in the mind-blowing orgasm Dean had forgotten there was actual come involved, and the realization that it was now coating Sam’s mouth like…something coatable made his hips twitch like crazy and something hot coil low in his gut.

“Sam…” His voice was so wrecked anyone would have thought he’d been the one deep-throating, and he had exactly enough time to blink once before Sam was stretched out over him, huge and warm and all that skin and muscle and Sam, biting at his lips and chin until he turned his head to meet his gaze again.

“Dean,” Sam murmured, dragging another shudder out of them both at the roughened (come-coated! Dean’s brain supplied helpfully) sound of his voice, “do you even know why she was in her underwear the day you came back?”

Dean shot him a surprised look that said, Dude, you’re the one with possible antichrist mind-melding, not me, and also I just came, moron, what more could you possibly want from me?

All of which Sam ignored to keep yakking. “We’d just got back from wiping out a den of Kayatuk. You know what stinks worse than regurgitated fish guts, Dean? Nothing in the known world. While she used up all the hot water showering I had to take her clothes out and burn them. Wh-Why are you laughing?” Dean had no idea, but Sam nuzzled him anyway, grinning like a-“Dork.”

“Bitch.” he rumbled, limbs and lips and every part of him as pliable as melted rubber.

“Jerk.” Sam’s grin was blinding, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to say the word.

Dean caught a trio of alien words in the back of his throat, turned it into a moan when Sam gave another firm rock, tip of his aching cock catching against his bellybutton, then stifled a sigh.

“But you slept with Anna, and you had me. That’s not any better, Dean. That’s…actually really worse.”

Dean grabbed hold of Sam’s head and dragged his crestfallen brother’s head up to eyelevel, with arms about as strong as rubber bands so. You know he meant it. “Sex with Anna,” he said slowly, enunciating each word so Sam’s college-ruined brain would comprehend, “was like sex with the fabric softener teddy bear. I had to do the Titanic hand-smear to keep myself awake.”

Sam’s swollen lips fell open-stunned, happy, a little horrified-and there was really no way for Dean to keep his tongue to himself.

“Gonna fuck me?” he panted against Sam’s mouth, hips rocking up against the gentle pressure of Sam’s hands. Sam tasted like him, like Dean and Dean and Samsamsam and Dean’n’Sam and Sam’n’Dean. “’Cause you promised…” Didn’t matter if he wasn’t going to get it up in time, he just wanted to feel, feel Sam and remember-

“You talk sometimes,” Sam murmured between his own gasps for air against Dean’s chin (his hands were doing something near or on Dean’s belly but he could not for the life of him care (or see)). “I don’t think you know.”

Dean flushed and pulled Sam down for another kiss to keep his traitorous lips occupied, just in time for Sam’s slick hand to wrap around his cock.

“Sam-Sam, really can’t again. Three times in three hours, man.” He didn’t really care that his voice was upwards of a squeak. Okay, maybe a little, but Sam was giving him more than a run for his money in the sack, what the hell did he expect?

“Three times?” Sam queried, then slid down to lick a hot wet streak across the puckered ring of muscle behind Dean’s balls. Dean nearly arched up off the bed, would have if Sam wasn’t fucking pinning him down again.

“Once in the shower, plus, uh, right now, and then Anna-"

“Shower, huh?” Sam shook his head, sending shivers skittering through Dean’s body as floppy hair stroked the inside of his thighs. “Doesn’t count.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” is what he meant to say. What came out was more of an incoherent yelpy mewl of ohgodtoomuchnotenoughfuck at the feel of Sam’s tongue licking and lapping and sucking deep into his body, like he was planning to taste the back of Dean’s throat when he got deep enough. After that he was pretty much reduced to incoherent whimpers of, “Please please please fuck Sam.”

“Fuck Dean,” Sam corrected with an evil chuckle against his inner thigh, fingers playing in the sloppy mess he’d left behind. It was kind of gross, kind of really hot, kind of not fucking enough. At the briefest touch of Sam’s finger against him, Dean elongated his spine and pushed into it, hips canting up and eyes fixed on Sam’s so he could see when they went wide at the sight of that fingertip slipping inside. The next time he said it, a breathless little whisper of, “Fuck, Dean,”-yeah, that was the way it should be. The lazy smirk spreading over the older Winchester’s face was cut off, though, when Sam turned his head and bit down just as he slid his finger in as far as it would go.

“Fuck fuck fuck what the fuck is that?” Dean squirmed, suddenly rethinking this whole fingers-going-inappropriate places because that-that insane spark of pleasure threatening to fuse his vertebra-that was not supposed to happen!

“Hey, hey,” Sam soothed, huge hand splayed over his belly without holding him down. “It’ll get better, just-”

“Better?” Dean demanded, strangled, “How the fuck could it-?” Sam added another finger and he cut off in a moan.

Dean jr. started to cry, thick salty smears of precome down its suddenly rigid shaft. He knew what a prostate was, wasn’t a fucking idiot, but he’d thought it was another one of those- Dean cut off his thoughts and stuffed his fist in his mouth because he had the sneaking suspicion he was talking again, with the smirk on Sam’s face.

“Wait til I’m inside you,” Sam purred, growled, against the bite mark on his thigh.

“Don’t want to wait,” Dean said, “Can’t.” Except he was still biting down on his fist so it came out as a really high-pitched, “Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.”

Sam pulled his fingers free for two of the longest seconds of Dean’s life, smeared on a mixture of lotion from their bedside table and his own precome (“Guh.”) and slid in a grand total of three ridiculously long digits, hitting that bone-jarring spot on the second slippery thrust. Dean’s hips were lying, traitorous things that kept thrusting back and down and onto Sam’s fingers without his say so, entrancing Sam’s gaze with their trampy slinking flex of muscles so close to his face. Sam was enthralled, and his own hips weren’t doing so well either judging by the way they were grinding into the bed.

And then those eyes, huge and blown and almost crazy, fixed on his own, and Sam had him flipped on his stomach, back held flat to Sam’s chest with one hand on his belly, bending him back onto his knees so Sam could fit their hips together.

“Too. Fucking. Hot,” Sam ground out, nearly whined, lining himself up at Dean’s stretched and aching hole. “Can’t. Can’t or I won’t-fuck, last-”

Dean grabbed Sam’s hand, which turned into a fist as he slid in, and pressed it to his abs, felt like he could feel Sam in him through their fingers and his flesh. His head fell down between his shoulders as his muscles gave out, but Sam was right there, nibbling on his ear and whispering things, stupid things like, “Good,” and, “Hot,” and, “Fuck, fuck, Dean,” like he’d been hiding something from him or they were playing a sick game of Duck, Duck, Goose, and someone had forgot to tell him-

“Shh,” Sam whispered on a nearly broken hiccup of air as his hips rolled back and in. “Got you, got you…”

Dean flew apart at the seams at the first touch to his cock. Sam’s hand tightened around him and pumped him dry, thrusts flying and erratic, nearly nearly there, and Dean heard the whine caught in Sam’s throat like it was in his own, turned Sam’s head and kissed him like breathing, desperate and necessary and trembling as Sam shuddered to messy, beautiful stop, come spurting deep inside and slicking up his over stretched walls with the last needy pumps. Sam made a noise like he was dying, or crying, quiet and muffled into Dean’s mouth, and Dean drank it down.

“Fucker,” he choked out a full minute later, and tried to smack Sam upside the head as the evil bastard leaned to one side and fell next to Dean on the bed-his whole equilibrium was shot at the feeling of Sam slipping free, and he ended up missing entirely. “I was thinking ‘bout you in the shower, fucking counts.”

Sam just turned his face to Dean’s shoulder and laughed.

~*~

Dean lay there, curled tight in Sam’s arms, and let the events which had led him to being sticky and sore and completely blissed out flicker in an instant replay 80s-montage of skin and kisses and ohgodSam. “Stereo surround,” he murmured against Sam’s chest, then licked the taste off his lips.

“Muff?” Sam mumbled, sleepy and warm, and the desire to let them both drift off was ridiculously temping.

So he rolled over and sprawled over Sam, pushing the breath out of him in a noise best described as, “Gffunuguh…”

“Dean,” Sam groan-laughed when he’d dragged in the air to, “Get off. This is not post-coital-”

“I love you.” Dean’s words were blunt but curious, and not even close to what he’d expected to say. They were out now, though, so he crossed his hands over Sam’s heart and propped his head up to wait, licking away the soft sheen of sweat along his collarbone. Sam’s lashes fluttered, and then Dean was sinking into the liquid warmth of Sam’s steady hazel gaze. He was looking away before he realized it, swallowing and catching a brief spark of Sam on his tongue. “It might-should-go without saying but… I do. So... Yeah."

Sam’s grin stretched so wide and white and happy it almost hurt to look at. “Yeah?”

Dean ducked his head down so Sam wouldn’t see the flush and licked absently at the bite mark on Sam’s neck, mumbling another affirmative. Sam laughed and nibbled at his ear until Dean turned his face back towards him, then caught his lips in a long, languid kiss, until-

“Hey,” Dean said when he caught the ghost of an unhappy sound Sam silenced in his throat. “Hey, Sammy, hey…”

“Scared to go to sleep,” Sam let out on a shaky, breathy laugh. “Afraid you’ll be gone-or turn into Ruby. So stupid…” He was kissing with his eyes mostly closed, trying to smile, and it made Dean’s chest ache.

“Yeah. You are.” Dean caught Sam’s head in his hands and held it still, making each syllable loud and distinct as Sam’s eyelids slid open. His hazel cat-eyes were so unguarded and honest-the next words were out of Dean’s mouth before he knew he was talking again. “You’re the runner.”

Casual. Matter of fact. His shoulders rolled in a shrug Sam could tear through like tissue paper, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying.

Sam twitched beneath him-Dean couldn’t tell if it was a flinch or just surprise-but held on tighter instead of pulling away. Dean suddenly realized his own fingertips were close to leaving bruises on Sam’s scalp, but couldn’t do much to remove them.

“You were the one who threatened to leave when you saw what I w-am.” Sam’s arms were like iron bands around him, his jaw tense, and every word came out like a tangle of barbed wire dragged from his throat. “The demon blood’s still there, Dean, nothing’s…changed.”

“Hmm,” Dean hummed disbelievingly, looking down at the tangle of naked limbs. But he figured Sam, gabby bitch that he was, would need more than that, so he let his mouth slide along Sam’s neck, under his ear. “You’re you.” Nip. “You’re Sam.” Nibble. “You’re mine.” He found the bite mark again and let his teeth sink back into the grooves, before letting out a soft chuckle. “And you’re forgetting who started you on the antichrist mojo training.” Lick, lick, lick…

“And people think I’m the puppy,” Sam rumbled playfully against the curve of Dean’s ear before catching the lie in his teeth. “Why did you? Teach me, that is?” Dean’s eyes flicked away on a sigh but Sam nudged his chin and got them back. “When you saw what I could do- You freaked out, Dean. You freaked me out.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean’s instinct was to put some space between them, pull away, but convincing his body to obey that particular request would’ve been like ordering his heart to stop beating.

Sam’s stare was even and his arms didn’t tighten, but they didn’t loosen either. Dean dragged in another breath and stared at the ceiling, because…dammit, he really did suck at chick flick moments, but what Sam was asking from him was honesty, which was almost worse.

“I woke up and you were gone.” He flinched, not realizing until he heard the words that they were a lot like Sam’s, then mumbled into Sam’s hair, “Maybe we both have abandonment issues…”

Sam kissed the words away, and Dean felt a jolt in his belly as twenty-plus years of instinct and training told himself it wasn’t right. He shook the feeling away, tongue sliding along the slightly-swollen curve of Sam’s lips.

“Tell me,” Sam breathed, hitching up a little further against his brother’s body, and Dean suddenly felt the hardening edge of Sam’s cock against his hip.

Dean was losing interest in their conversation by the second, so he figured the faster he talked the faster there’d be sex. Blowing Sam sounded like a fucking awesome idea. Like pie.

“Cas said you were with Ruby-” He didn’t miss the flick of Sam’s eyes at his handprint scar, but it was too quick to see any emotion behind it. The tightening of his jaw, though, that was a clue suggesting Sam was less than happy about it. Dean moved his hand to hold Sam’s face again, thumb stroking until his muscles relaxed. “Then that demon said something about ‘games in the dark’ and I... We never set any ground rules,” he ground out, grudgingly, then softer, “Not that this was exactly part of the plan…”

Sam’s hand glided down Dean’s thigh, tugging it up higher against his hips, and gave them a slow, dirty roll just to watch Dean’s breath stutter in a gasp. “Can’t imagine why,” he chuckled, then, “So the demon powers…”

“Freak me the fuck out,” Dean blurted. And cringed, so he wouldn’t have to see Sam’s heartbroken expression. But then he realized there was an actual heartbroken expression to see, and his eyes snapped open so he could smooth it away with his fingertips and not poke Sam’s eye out. “It’s not-I mean, it is-I’m not afraid of you,” he stammered. Sam looked not particularly impressed. “Bitch, I’m not.” He tried to thwack his baby brother between the eyes, but Sam caught his fingers in his teeth and held them there, lapping at the tips with his tongue. “Um…”

Sam’s eyebrow raised.

“I wasn’t around,” Dean snapped finally, before his skin actually went up in flames at the heat Sam’s mouth was sending through his veins. Sam went very still. It was almost funny, almost hot, Dean’s fingers between his lips, except for the fact that… “I was dead, and I thought I was staying that way, and hell, Ruby wasn’t exactly being supervised and I saw how fucked up you were-and she’s a demon, Sam, and I thought-"

“That I’d kept sleeping with her after you weren’t…her anymore?” The vibration of Sam’s lips against his fingertips rocked through Dean’s body, settling low in his belly where Sam’s cock was starting to leave a brand and his own cock was trying its hardest to reciprocate. Apparently arguing was a kink. For both of them. Who knew?

Dean raised a mental hand. The sight of Sam flushed and confused, eyes glittering with righteous indignation because Dean had done something annoying and brotherly always did stupid things to his insides. Like now, only ten times worse (better?) because a part of him had been afraid they weren’t going to be able to have this now. Now that they could actually touch and fuck and kiss…

“No more demons?” he growled against Sam’s cock, licking at the tip when it nudged against his lips in a needy stutter.

“Never actually fucked one,” Sam let out on a shuddering breath, through another blinding grin that earned him a long teasing swipe of Dean’s tongue.

~*~

“Still afraid to sleep?” Dean murmured after he’d dragged another sex-shaky gasp out of Sam, wiped them both down with one of Sam’s dumber-looking shirts, and tucked them both into the other (dry) double bed. His lips were brushing the top of Sam’s head, hairs moving gently with every breath. Neither of them had seemed willing to be the little spoon and ended up in a position as awkward as it felt right, a tangle of limbs and their ribs touching so they could feel the other breathing.

“A little,” Sam said, barely audible. He had one hand over Dean’s pentagram tattoo, over his heart, watching the rise and fall of Dean’s chest like it could put him in a trance. “But I’ll get over it.”

Some distant part of Dean didn’t like the sound of that, but it was hard to put his finger on why when said fingers were busy skimming over Sam’s lower back. “How ‘bout we both promise not to fucking run any more,” he offered instead, words sleep-slurry.

“Deal,” Sam chuckled, still breathlessly quiet.

“Deal,” Dean repeated, mouth open a little too long but smiling.

“What is your weird obsession with my scar?” Sam asked a little louder, squirming closer to Dean and away from his stroking fingers.

“Tell you what,” Dean said, talking around a kiss on the top of Sam’s head. “Tell you in the morning, yeah?”

Sam’s grin lit up the room, and he didn’t even have his eyes open to see it. “Yeah…”

THE END

A/N Thank's you guys for reading! I'm a new author with a very little fanbase so if you liked the story please tell your friends!

P.S. There is a soundtrack coming soon! IT'S  HERE!!!

P.P.S. Feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeedback pleeeeeeeeeeease *bambi eyes*

P.P.P.S. Now there's icons. *headdesk*

P.P.P.P.S. There's a sequel to the sequel (threequel?) Whatever, enjoy! Not Too High To Fall