Pseudonym (Sam/Dean NC-17)
Title: Pseudonym
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 for sex. Dirty sex.
Word Count: Approx. 4945
Warnings: Sex, rituals, tattoos, scratching, filthy mouths, some demony temper, Top!Sam, Bottom!Demon!Dean... Oh yeah, did I mention sex?
Summary: Sam isn't able to save Dean from going to hell but he's givin an opportunity to give him back his soul after the ragged Winchester makes it out on his own.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Really I don't. This is all fake. Fake.
AN: This fic was beta'd by the awesome mad_server . Any mistakes are my own fault. This story was written quite a while ago, but a lot has happened since then. Including my very long loss of internet D: But alas, here it is! I really did put a bit of Plot. I promise. XD
This story is the start of a possible series, depending on the response I get to this fic. Constructive crit is definitely welcomed!
The knock on the motel door was the last thing he’d been expecting. Which is why when he heard it, he jumped so high that his research notes went flying every which way, the Greater Key of Solomon sliding through the ring of salt around his bed. He didn’t really need the extra protection. If anything managed to get past the lines across the door or the window, it’d have no trouble at all with the one around Sam's bed. He walked slowly to the door, wishing furiously that the motel's cheap owners had splurged on a peep hole.
The knock came again, and this time Sam recognized it. Only two others besides Sam himself knew the telling rhythm. Only one was still alive so he opened the door in welcome, expecting to see Bobby on the other side. He took a step back before he’d even looked, a smile lighting up his features as his eyes lifted.
Hadn’t seen this coming. It was Dean.
Sam shuffled further into the room in surprise, one hand reaching behind him for purchase against anything he could find. There was nothing there to steady him though, and he was on his own in facing his brother - no. Not his brother. Not anymore.
The thing's eyes, which used to be the most striking shade of green Sam had and probably would ever see, were painted solid black. No white space or even a glimmer of emotion showed in them and it made Sam entirely too uneasy. Then again why wouldn’t it?
His brother was supposed to be dead, serving his time in hell. Sure, Sam had been reading every bit of text he could on the rings of Hades, hell gates - he’d even contemplated summoning spells before he’d decided against it on account of the fact that what he brought back still wouldn’t be Dean unless he figured a way to freeze out the darkness in him. He’d found clues, and he’d formed his own conclusion, but what he had managed to find wasn’t something he was willing to try. Not when the fallout would be tremendous when Dean was himself again.
He’d found a ritual in the Greater Key, or at least one he had been able to work his head around to apply to the situation. Except that he doubted Dean would be willing to give it a try. Not when the most vital component of the ritual was sexual release. Not only that but sexual release triggered by the caster. To put it in simpler words, Sam had to sleep with his brother. Not only that, but Dean had to like it. And demon or no, Sam just wasn’t sure that that was going to happen. He had to try though. He was convinced though, that as soon as his brother, sans-demon, was back with him he would never forgive Sam for fixing things quite that way. Sam on the other hand wasn’t so adverse to the idea of having a sexual relationship with his brother.
He just wished he didn’t need to commence said relationship for a damn ritual.
Sam's eyes dragged down his brother's body - so unreal seeing his brother and yet not - down to the carpeted floor. The salt line around the door was still in place and Dean - no, not Dean - was studying it with what might have been surprise on his face.
So he wouldn’t be able to get through. That was something at least. Only it really wasn’t, because when he looked at the demon on the outside of the room, he still felt the same desire he’d felt for his brother when he’d been alive.
“Sammy?”
Dean's voice was broken, hoarse and scratchy. He sounded like he’d been screaming his entire life.
“Sammy, let me in. It’s me.”
It was so convincing the way he said it, but with another look up at his not-brother's face Sam's resolve strengthened. Black pools stared at him from the sincere expression over pale skin.
“You’re not Dean,” Sam said, though deep down he wasn’t sure. “You’re not him anymore.”
Dean shook his head slowly.
“I am. Please, Sam.”
And then his eyes were green again, expressive and deeper than the Pacific, a slight sheen over them.
“It’s still me. Still me.”
As scratchy as his voice was, he sounded completely calm, almost too calm, and it was only that that kept Sam from kicking the sole of his shoe through the thick line of protective salt. And he wanted so badly just to let him in because he looked so much like his brother and the voice was still his, same facial expressions and his eyes just seemed to plead with him. Dean had always spilled his soul through his eyes. So easy for him to hide behind a stoic façade while his eyes still flashed fear and anger and loneliness. As easy for his little brother to read as it was for him to hide it from everyone else.
Sam shook his head, determined to stick this out no matter how tempted he was to give in and give up. Dean was in there somewhere…wasn’t he?
Dean's expression shifted to impatience, fists clenched tight at his sides.
“Sam…” he warned, voice firm. It sounded painful for him to speak but Sam didn’t want to think on that. Did he even really feel it? Now that he wasn’t human? He shook the thoughts out of his head.
“You let me in, Sam,” he ordered quietly, so much like their father and Sam had never been one to follow orders. He shook his head, more firmly this time, putting up his own walls to hide how very close he was to giving in to the man who had always given him almost everything he’d wanted. Except for the one thing Sam couldn’t ask for.
He could end this so quickly, all he had to do was grab the book from the foot of the bed. Read the Latin he knew almost by heart. Send pseudo-Dean straight back to hell and it would be over. But the thought of sending him back, when he’d somehow escaped… when Sam had promised to get him out and failed… Wouldn’t he be sending Dean back to hell in the process?
“Let me in. LET ME IN.”
A burst of energy spread through the room, shaking the tacky paintings on the motel walls, making the lamp flicker behind him and the floor seemed to scream. Sam felt the power in the center of his bones, white hot heat and sharp like a shot of electricity. Dean's face was now set partway in shadow as the bulb continued to flicker and then popped, the tinkle of glass filling the room like a faraway echo.
Sam started, heart pounding hard in his chest like he’d just run a marathon as he watched the smirk appear on Oni-Dean's features.
“Should have let me in, Sammy.”
His green eyes dropped to the floor, where the carpet was split into two. Salt was scattered across the surface but the line was incomplete. Ruined and useless. The next second not-Dean was before him, breathing uneven and head tilted at an odd angle.
“Why couldn’t you just listen?” he growled into Sam’s face and for a second Sam felt like it was his Dean and he almost smiled at the tone of his voice. Just for a second, a single second where he wanted to hug his brother and welcome him back. Once that second was over Sam’s eyes widened and he took an instinctive step back, away from Dean and the feel of his breath on his neck.
Dean looked absolutely murderous at the action, which made it easier for Sam to push aside the sick need curling in his stomach.
“You never listen. Never. I ask you to do one thing. One goddamned thing and you go and screw it up. I always gave everything for you. Everything. I gave my life for you. I gave my soul for you.” He nodded to himself as if Sam wasn't the one he was trying to convince, “I sacrificed everything and for what?”
He pushed forward so fast that Sam almost fell into the nightstand between the two full-sized beds. And he still paid for the two, whether his brother was there or not. He hadn’t been ready to say goodbye, not in such a fundamental way.
“So, what? You want me to give up my life for you? You gonna kill me?” he glared, putting emphasis into the question. Sam was ashamed at how affected he was by the demon's proximity. God. But it was Dean.
“You’re gonna have your contract be for nothing?”
Dean's face fell for a nano-second before his eyes flashed black and his expression returned to that of anger and irritation. Then Dean shoved his shoulders hard and Sam struggled to stay on his feet, hands reached out, fingers finding the material over Dean’s shoulders. The demon didn’t seem to mind in the least.
“I’m not going to kill you yet, Sammy.”
His hands gripped at Sam's wrists, holding him still with unreasonable strength.
“I’m going to enjoy you first.”
And here he smirked, looking like he was about to take a handful out of the proverbial cookie jar.
“I’m going to play with you and then, then I’m going to kill you.”
There was no weight to the threat of death, which Sam found more troubling than the other promise - threat. The other threat. Because Sam was clearly getting the wrong idea.
Dean’s face pressed in once again to Sam’s throat and the younger swore Dean was smelling him, which made Sam nervous. His eyes were wide as he stared, pulling back as far as he could but finding that it just wasn’t far enough. Not when Dean followed his body until Sam had nowhere to go. Was Dean seriously suggesting what Sam thought he was suggesting?
“Um... You’re going to...” He pulled his upper body away from his brother to better look down at those demonic eyes. “You’re going to enjoy me?”
He raised an eyebrow, which got no helpful reaction out of the demon.
“Mhmm,” was his hummed response, answering instead by pulling Sam’s hand to the front of his jeans. Sam’s eyes widened further. It was impossible to mistake Dean’s intention. And since when had Sam started thinking of it as Dean?
“I um - oh,” he squeaked stupidly. His mind was racing, possibilities rushing through his head. Hope falling over his heart like a blanket.
Dean was going to hate himself in the morning that’s for sure, but he’d be Dean. And as selfish as it was, Sam wanted the chance to indulge in Dean's body if only just this once.
And he knew it would be only this once. Dean would hopefully never realize the extent of his brother's willingness in this simple, astronomical, act.
Sam tried to put his patented puppy expression on his face, his voice accepting as he said, “Yeah, yeah okay.” He didn’t give Dean enough time to wonder at why he’d agreed to all this so quickly, pressing his palm more firmly to the hard ridge under worn denim.
Sam was already half hard in his own jeans, his mind full of shame and self-loathing. This wasn’t really Dean, this was a demon, an unfeeling creature who only cared about his own base instincts. Sam was completely in control of his own mind and body, and yet he wanted Dean as much as his next breath.
He pushed aside his self-hate, focusing on the feel of Dean’s fingers grazing the bare skin under the back of his t-shirt.
“I can give you this, Dean,” he offered shakily, dragging the pads of his fingers up Dean's length until he was able to get to work on the buttons, making short work of them.
He wanted to admit to wanting Dean, if only to lie about it being necessary later on. He didn’t though, because it would probably raise flags in the demon's head and it was crucial that his sort-of-brother not get suspicious.
Dean wasn’t wearing any boxer-briefs and Sam was staggeringly relieved to have made it so quickly to bare skin. He would have liked to take this more slowly, do more than slide tight jeans down to Dean's thighs, but he knew he couldn’t risk it no matter how much he wished he could. Made a futile plea to the heavens for the permission to undress his brother and drink his fill of the sight of bare flesh.
This would be the first and only time they would ever be like this, but Sam still wouldn’t be able to force it into his memory to remember later. He had to keep Dean occupied. Had to distract him enough that the muttered words throughout the night wouldn’t strike a chord in the demon's head. Not if he wanted this to work.
He pressed his body tight against his brother's, slamming his mouth forcefully into Dean's. It wasn’t even a second before Dean's teeth and tongue were feasting on Sam's mouth and Sam had to clench his eyes closed to stay focused on his task.
“Bed,” he ordered, and it was so strange how easy it was to turn them both around and push his brother onto one of the beds. The one Sam slept in, closest to the door. The bed Dean would have slept in all these months if he’d been alive.
It was effortless, pushing the scattered salt around the bed back into place and climbing up to straddle Dean's hips. He was met with no resistance.
For some reason Sam had expected more... well just more. More violence. Harsh words, at least one insult. But he didn’t get any of that, just Dean's hands curling around his hips, pushing up, up, up and Sam realized belatedly that the demon was taking his shirt off. He lifted his arms to make the task easier, paying little attention to where the thing ended up.
“How do you want this, Dean?” he asked, his own palms dragging up Dean's shirt to thumb at his nipples until they were both hard and pointed and his brother was growling low in his throat, hips pushing up into Sam’s.
Sam hoped that when Dean came back to himself he wouldn’t remember all this. He’d never speak to him again, but god Sam wouldn’t be able to stop. Not anymore. Not now that he was taking. And he’d wanted this for so long. Now he could have it. He could have Dean - if only this once.
“Do you want my mouth?”
He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the base of Dean's throat, dragging his own tattooed palms up his brother's stomach, feeling the shudder beneath his touch.
“Or my hands?”
He scraped his nails across too pale skin, drawing a pattern with sensitive white lines.
“Sammy, Sammy,” Dean groaned, and Sam was surprised again by the lack of attention Dean was paying to a situation that was so damned important.
He seemed to have no trouble focusing on grinding his hard dick against the crease of Sam's ass through his boxers, or on reaching out to touch any place he could reach on Sam's body.
But he didn’t seem to notice the symbol being scratched into his own skin, or the ones tattooed permanently with ink and blood in the center of Sam’s palms. He didn’t notice Sam's lips moving around the words of a prayer in between dirty teasing.
It was too easy. Too goddamned easy. Should he be worried about that? But he didn’t worry, too high on the simple fact that even with a demon inside his brother, Dean was so lost in these carnal moments.
“Your hand - no your - everything. Everything.”
The last word was said on a whine and Sam felt it straight down to his dick. Demon Dean was a needy little bitch and Sam took a moment to mourn the fact that it was demon Dean. But he didn’t let it stop him from grinding his own cock into Dean's belly, breathing gone harsh and desperate.
“Yeah, okay. Okay,” he breathed.
He descended onto his brother, lips crashing together in a kiss that was despairing and frantic, demanding. And Dean accepted it, let Sam take control. He didn’t bother speculating as to why a demon would give up dominance like this. He was too far gone, driven by the sounds Dean was making, the incoherent pleading against his lips and the urgent press of hands, hips, mouth.
He tore himself away from Dean as far as his body would allow, still close enough to feel Dean's hot breath on his face. Was that cinnamon gum? He allowed the distraction of something so essentially Dean to carry him away from himself, breaking his concentration on the whispered Latin.
“Wanna - god, Dean…” he groaned, no longer paying heed to how this would look to his brother. He rutted against Dean's stomach, having dragged his boxers down his thighs some time between the first and most recent series of kisses. He couldn’t recall when it had happened, or even if he’d actually been the one to do it.
“What, Sammy,” Dean asked and when Sam’s eyes lifted he was mesmerized by the smoky green of his brother's irises, hot stare heating Sam's blood to an agonizing boil. “What do you want, Sam?”
Sam didn’t detect pain in his brother's voice any longer. Only want and need and awe that was so close to love that Sam choked on a sob.
“I want you Dean, I want to - god, Dean I want to fuck you.”
Just speaking the admission opened the floodgates and Sam’s desire was like a raging fire seeking to consume everything in its path, edged with a longing that was as covetous as a stream, drifting along and soaking into the burning heat of his soul like a healing salve. He never wanted it to go away, and yet he prayed it would.
He didn’t think he would be able to go on like he had been, now that he’d had a taste of what he’d wanted since he was fifteen, jerking off to the sound of his brother's easy breathing, feeling the heat of his body seeping into him. It had been wrong then and it was wrong still, sick and not right and god they were brothers.
He whimpered, the thoughts trailing off into nothing but yes and please and Dean.
“Yeah, Sammy,” his brother demanded. “Do it. Fuck me.”
Sam growled, lifting his body off of Dean's long enough to rip the jeans the rest of the way off of his brother. The force of the action most likely left abrasions on the back of Dean’s legs but he didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care because Dean was going to be his. He was going to fuck his brother and he was going to make damned sure that Dean would never forget what it felt like to have his brother's cock up his ass.
It may have been selfish and cruel but Sam needed it. He needed to know that this thing that tore him up from the inside would mean something. That Dean would take it with him. And Sam would know that it was real no matter how good Dean was at hiding from it.
He didn’t have to move to the bedside table for the tube of lubricant, it was in his hands in a second and Sam was overcome with a grateful relief at his maturing abilities. He’d have hated to have to separate himself from his brother even for such a short time.
He slicked up his fingers and Dean wasted no time in forcing Sam’s hand between his legs with fingers clenched around his wrist. “Hurry, Sam. Hurry.”
Sam’s head swam, his heart stuttering in his chest every time his name left his brother's kiss-swollen lips. He teased his lube-coated digits lightly over the soft skin connecting balls and entrance, glorifying in the startled shudder that racked his brother's tense form.
He kept his eyes on Dean's face, fascinated by the flush to his cheeks and his parted lips, wet from Sam’s and his own saliva.
When his middle finger stroked around that tight ring of muscle, ghosting over it at first before pressing slowly, Dean’s eyes rolled up, lids closing with snap. Older brother was pleading now. Demanding more with hoarse begging and the push of his ass down on Sam’s hand.
“So fucking hot like this, Dean. Look at you.”
He watched in amazement, body shaking with god now now zinging through every nerve ending. He forced himself to take it easy, not wanting to hurt Dean. Had he ever done this? Had he ever been touched like this before now? The thought of being the first to have this part of his brother made him ache.
He pushed his finger in farther, up to the second knuckle and twisting it slowly. Thrusting in and out a few times, already working in a second finger. God but he was so hot around his fingers, gripping like a vice - so tight. “More, more more - fuck please Sammy.”
Sam didn’t dare silence him, loving the sound of the moans and the pleading, so hot and welcome. A third finger edged in beside the other two, twisting and thrusting and Dean was restless. His hips rose up for the friction, cock leaving trails of precum over Sam’s middle, then he pressed back hard against the fingers in his ass.
By the time Sam had added the fourth and last finger he was light-headed. He couldn’t breathe, there wasn’t enough air in the world to satisfy his burning lungs. He was shaking all over, hands trembling rapidly. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle anything like a condom wrapper so he didn’t try.
He situated himself between his brother's thighs, groaning at the feel of Dean's legs wrapping instantly around him and pulled his fingers free only when he absolutely needed to, using up more lube to slick up his dick, angry and red - leaking precum in short bursts as soon as his long fingers wrapped around it.
Sam's fist tightened hard, staving off orgasm. He didn’t want this to end before it’d even really begun.
Dean's hands grabbed at his shoulders, chest, sides, pulling and stroking encouragingly.
“Sammy please.”
His brother's voice was so rough, so desperate. Sam thought he seemed more like Dean the further he took this.
He entered Dean without warning, balls-deep in one long stroke, rocking into Dean unconsciously. He gritted his teeth, beads of sweat gathering at his throat, waiting. Waiting.
“Sam now!”
The shouted command forced him into action and suddenly he was pounding into his brother fiercely, trying to gasp out the Latin he’d so nearly thrown out the window. God but he needed to finish this just as badly as he needed to fuck his brother into next week.
The headboard slammed repeatedly into the wall and Sam ignored the angry banging from the occupants of the room next to his. He focused instead on balancing himself on his forearms, entire body flush against Dean's and his tattooed palms curled in thick short hair, pressing to his scalp with a gentleness that was unplanned. It just was.
He was muttering the words, focusing only just on what he was saying but having studied the Latin so vigorously that attention wasn’t necessary. Dean was calling out things like more and just like that and harder fuck me harderfasterplease and Sam was so gone, out of control and -
“Sammy I’m -”
It was all the warning Sam got and was quick enough to say the last words, not bothering to whisper as Dean screamed out his release, cock jerking and spurting cum without even the aid of a hand. Dean’s eyes widened and his mouth went slack but Sam paid no heed, hips losing their rhythm as he thrust once, twice and a third time, pressing as deep as was physically possible as he lost it, coming so hard he was sure he’d gone blind.
But his eyes were just closed and he opened them slowly after he’d collapsed to the bed beside the still dazed Dean, eyeing his brother for any sign that the ritual had worked.
It took him a long moment to realize that he was looking directly into blissed out green eyes. When had Dean turned his head?
“Dean are you -” he was interrupted by a sloppy wave, the question being brushed off. Dean’s eyes were softer somehow, making him appear more vulnerable. He couldn’t stop staring at the moisture building up, doing their best to fall over reddened lids. He was shaking and Sam was sure that this really was Dean. You couldn’t fake a reaction like this, especially when the demon inside his brother had still been Dean.
“’M’fine” was the murmured reply, Dean's eyes closing slowly, like he was fighting it the whole way. “Tomorrow.”
And Sam didn’t know what he meant by that. What happened tomorrow? Would they sit down and talk about what had happened? Would Dean really buy Sam’s excuse that it had all only been because of the ritual? Or would Dean just pack up his stuff and leave behind the messed up little brother who’d fucked him raw because he’d wanted to, not just because of a stupid fucking spell.
Dean’s palm pressed to his chest, right over his heart, and Sam was astounded by how quickly his brother's brow relaxed and his face softened in a comfortable sleep.
All these worries couldn’t take away the feeling of joy and relief that he had Dean back. He was so elated to have him alive and himself, that he would be fully capable of dealing, should dean leave. It would hurt like hell but he’d get through it knowing that Dean was out of hell and safe. As safe as it was possible for either of them, that is.
He wanted to stay awake and watch Dean, make sure he didn’t up and leave without giving Sam the opportunity to fight it, or at least say goodbye, but his eyelids were so heavy and his muscles slack from exhaustion and it was so hard to keep them open…
><><><
When Sam awoke it was to fingers grazing over his jaw and it was like the dream was following him into wakefulness. Only it wasn’t a dream was it? Dean was really back. He was lying beside him, face so close to Sam’s and body only an inch apart.
Dean was studying his face with such longing and remembered misery in his hazel-green eyes. Sam felt a little more confident. Dean hadn’t left. He hadn’t moved away from Sam. He seemed content to lie there, head pillowed on Sam’s bicep.
Why then was that inch of empty space between them? It was as if Dean was indulging in the contact but not letting himself take his fill. The possibility made Sam hurt for Dean, along with the hope of maybe rushing warm and fuzzy over his senses.
“Dean, I...”
He was interrupted again, this time with the pad of Dean's thumb over his lips.
“Please don’t,” he asked softly, so soft, a tone Sam only remembered vaguely from the night he’d been stabbed in the back, Dean holding him tight and begging him not to go. He frowned at Dean, waiting for him to continue.
“I, I’m sorry I made you -”
This time it was Sam's turn to interrupt.
“You didn’t force me to do anything, Dean.”
He eyed Dean seriously, hand pressing his brother's tight against his jaw. He forced his eyes to remain open even when he wanted to close them if only to focus more fully on the affectionate contact.
“I wanted what happened.”
He was terrified the second the words left his lips but he didn’t take them back.
“God, Dean, I’ve wanted it for so long.”
It was like the proverbial latch had been broken from Sam's mouth and he was rambling, trying to tell Dean everything, “and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you - I was scared, I was ashamed - you’re my brother but god I couldn’t make it go away and -”
Dean shut him up with a kiss, slow and sweet and Sam calmed instantly, feeling Dean's thumb stroking at the soft skin below his lip.
“I know,” Dean said quietly, seriously, soon as he’d allowed Sam to breathe. “I know, me too.”
Sam had worried for years over how Dean would react should he admit his feelings for him. His love that was far beyond what was normal for two brothers and his desire that was wrong to everyone else, but felt so goddamned right to him. It had been pointless to worry because this wasn’t hard at all. This was him and Dean and them and they were still brothers but now they were more and they had more. They had each other and Sam thought that was more than he deserved, whether he was going to give it up or not.
“Bitch.” Sams eyes widened and a sharp laugh left his lip at the grunted addition. He was sure they’d be fine. Life certainly wouldn’t be easy, but it was nothing the brothers Winchester couldn’t handle. They would handle it together.
End.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 for sex. Dirty sex.
Word Count: Approx. 4945
Warnings: Sex, rituals, tattoos, scratching, filthy mouths, some demony temper, Top!Sam, Bottom!Demon!Dean... Oh yeah, did I mention sex?
Summary: Sam isn't able to save Dean from going to hell but he's givin an opportunity to give him back his soul after the ragged Winchester makes it out on his own.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Really I don't. This is all fake. Fake.
AN: This fic was beta'd by the awesome mad_server . Any mistakes are my own fault. This story was written quite a while ago, but a lot has happened since then. Including my very long loss of internet D: But alas, here it is! I really did put a bit of Plot. I promise. XD
This story is the start of a possible series, depending on the response I get to this fic. Constructive crit is definitely welcomed!
The knock on the motel door was the last thing he’d been expecting. Which is why when he heard it, he jumped so high that his research notes went flying every which way, the Greater Key of Solomon sliding through the ring of salt around his bed. He didn’t really need the extra protection. If anything managed to get past the lines across the door or the window, it’d have no trouble at all with the one around Sam's bed. He walked slowly to the door, wishing furiously that the motel's cheap owners had splurged on a peep hole.
The knock came again, and this time Sam recognized it. Only two others besides Sam himself knew the telling rhythm. Only one was still alive so he opened the door in welcome, expecting to see Bobby on the other side. He took a step back before he’d even looked, a smile lighting up his features as his eyes lifted.
Hadn’t seen this coming. It was Dean.
Sam shuffled further into the room in surprise, one hand reaching behind him for purchase against anything he could find. There was nothing there to steady him though, and he was on his own in facing his brother - no. Not his brother. Not anymore.
The thing's eyes, which used to be the most striking shade of green Sam had and probably would ever see, were painted solid black. No white space or even a glimmer of emotion showed in them and it made Sam entirely too uneasy. Then again why wouldn’t it?
His brother was supposed to be dead, serving his time in hell. Sure, Sam had been reading every bit of text he could on the rings of Hades, hell gates - he’d even contemplated summoning spells before he’d decided against it on account of the fact that what he brought back still wouldn’t be Dean unless he figured a way to freeze out the darkness in him. He’d found clues, and he’d formed his own conclusion, but what he had managed to find wasn’t something he was willing to try. Not when the fallout would be tremendous when Dean was himself again.
He’d found a ritual in the Greater Key, or at least one he had been able to work his head around to apply to the situation. Except that he doubted Dean would be willing to give it a try. Not when the most vital component of the ritual was sexual release. Not only that but sexual release triggered by the caster. To put it in simpler words, Sam had to sleep with his brother. Not only that, but Dean had to like it. And demon or no, Sam just wasn’t sure that that was going to happen. He had to try though. He was convinced though, that as soon as his brother, sans-demon, was back with him he would never forgive Sam for fixing things quite that way. Sam on the other hand wasn’t so adverse to the idea of having a sexual relationship with his brother.
He just wished he didn’t need to commence said relationship for a damn ritual.
Sam's eyes dragged down his brother's body - so unreal seeing his brother and yet not - down to the carpeted floor. The salt line around the door was still in place and Dean - no, not Dean - was studying it with what might have been surprise on his face.
So he wouldn’t be able to get through. That was something at least. Only it really wasn’t, because when he looked at the demon on the outside of the room, he still felt the same desire he’d felt for his brother when he’d been alive.
“Sammy?”
Dean's voice was broken, hoarse and scratchy. He sounded like he’d been screaming his entire life.
“Sammy, let me in. It’s me.”
It was so convincing the way he said it, but with another look up at his not-brother's face Sam's resolve strengthened. Black pools stared at him from the sincere expression over pale skin.
“You’re not Dean,” Sam said, though deep down he wasn’t sure. “You’re not him anymore.”
Dean shook his head slowly.
“I am. Please, Sam.”
And then his eyes were green again, expressive and deeper than the Pacific, a slight sheen over them.
“It’s still me. Still me.”
As scratchy as his voice was, he sounded completely calm, almost too calm, and it was only that that kept Sam from kicking the sole of his shoe through the thick line of protective salt. And he wanted so badly just to let him in because he looked so much like his brother and the voice was still his, same facial expressions and his eyes just seemed to plead with him. Dean had always spilled his soul through his eyes. So easy for him to hide behind a stoic façade while his eyes still flashed fear and anger and loneliness. As easy for his little brother to read as it was for him to hide it from everyone else.
Sam shook his head, determined to stick this out no matter how tempted he was to give in and give up. Dean was in there somewhere…wasn’t he?
Dean's expression shifted to impatience, fists clenched tight at his sides.
“Sam…” he warned, voice firm. It sounded painful for him to speak but Sam didn’t want to think on that. Did he even really feel it? Now that he wasn’t human? He shook the thoughts out of his head.
“You let me in, Sam,” he ordered quietly, so much like their father and Sam had never been one to follow orders. He shook his head, more firmly this time, putting up his own walls to hide how very close he was to giving in to the man who had always given him almost everything he’d wanted. Except for the one thing Sam couldn’t ask for.
He could end this so quickly, all he had to do was grab the book from the foot of the bed. Read the Latin he knew almost by heart. Send pseudo-Dean straight back to hell and it would be over. But the thought of sending him back, when he’d somehow escaped… when Sam had promised to get him out and failed… Wouldn’t he be sending Dean back to hell in the process?
“Let me in. LET ME IN.”
A burst of energy spread through the room, shaking the tacky paintings on the motel walls, making the lamp flicker behind him and the floor seemed to scream. Sam felt the power in the center of his bones, white hot heat and sharp like a shot of electricity. Dean's face was now set partway in shadow as the bulb continued to flicker and then popped, the tinkle of glass filling the room like a faraway echo.
Sam started, heart pounding hard in his chest like he’d just run a marathon as he watched the smirk appear on Oni-Dean's features.
“Should have let me in, Sammy.”
His green eyes dropped to the floor, where the carpet was split into two. Salt was scattered across the surface but the line was incomplete. Ruined and useless. The next second not-Dean was before him, breathing uneven and head tilted at an odd angle.
“Why couldn’t you just listen?” he growled into Sam’s face and for a second Sam felt like it was his Dean and he almost smiled at the tone of his voice. Just for a second, a single second where he wanted to hug his brother and welcome him back. Once that second was over Sam’s eyes widened and he took an instinctive step back, away from Dean and the feel of his breath on his neck.
Dean looked absolutely murderous at the action, which made it easier for Sam to push aside the sick need curling in his stomach.
“You never listen. Never. I ask you to do one thing. One goddamned thing and you go and screw it up. I always gave everything for you. Everything. I gave my life for you. I gave my soul for you.” He nodded to himself as if Sam wasn't the one he was trying to convince, “I sacrificed everything and for what?”
He pushed forward so fast that Sam almost fell into the nightstand between the two full-sized beds. And he still paid for the two, whether his brother was there or not. He hadn’t been ready to say goodbye, not in such a fundamental way.
“So, what? You want me to give up my life for you? You gonna kill me?” he glared, putting emphasis into the question. Sam was ashamed at how affected he was by the demon's proximity. God. But it was Dean.
“You’re gonna have your contract be for nothing?”
Dean's face fell for a nano-second before his eyes flashed black and his expression returned to that of anger and irritation. Then Dean shoved his shoulders hard and Sam struggled to stay on his feet, hands reached out, fingers finding the material over Dean’s shoulders. The demon didn’t seem to mind in the least.
“I’m not going to kill you yet, Sammy.”
His hands gripped at Sam's wrists, holding him still with unreasonable strength.
“I’m going to enjoy you first.”
And here he smirked, looking like he was about to take a handful out of the proverbial cookie jar.
“I’m going to play with you and then, then I’m going to kill you.”
There was no weight to the threat of death, which Sam found more troubling than the other promise - threat. The other threat. Because Sam was clearly getting the wrong idea.
Dean’s face pressed in once again to Sam’s throat and the younger swore Dean was smelling him, which made Sam nervous. His eyes were wide as he stared, pulling back as far as he could but finding that it just wasn’t far enough. Not when Dean followed his body until Sam had nowhere to go. Was Dean seriously suggesting what Sam thought he was suggesting?
“Um... You’re going to...” He pulled his upper body away from his brother to better look down at those demonic eyes. “You’re going to enjoy me?”
He raised an eyebrow, which got no helpful reaction out of the demon.
“Mhmm,” was his hummed response, answering instead by pulling Sam’s hand to the front of his jeans. Sam’s eyes widened further. It was impossible to mistake Dean’s intention. And since when had Sam started thinking of it as Dean?
“I um - oh,” he squeaked stupidly. His mind was racing, possibilities rushing through his head. Hope falling over his heart like a blanket.
Dean was going to hate himself in the morning that’s for sure, but he’d be Dean. And as selfish as it was, Sam wanted the chance to indulge in Dean's body if only just this once.
And he knew it would be only this once. Dean would hopefully never realize the extent of his brother's willingness in this simple, astronomical, act.
Sam tried to put his patented puppy expression on his face, his voice accepting as he said, “Yeah, yeah okay.” He didn’t give Dean enough time to wonder at why he’d agreed to all this so quickly, pressing his palm more firmly to the hard ridge under worn denim.
Sam was already half hard in his own jeans, his mind full of shame and self-loathing. This wasn’t really Dean, this was a demon, an unfeeling creature who only cared about his own base instincts. Sam was completely in control of his own mind and body, and yet he wanted Dean as much as his next breath.
He pushed aside his self-hate, focusing on the feel of Dean’s fingers grazing the bare skin under the back of his t-shirt.
“I can give you this, Dean,” he offered shakily, dragging the pads of his fingers up Dean's length until he was able to get to work on the buttons, making short work of them.
He wanted to admit to wanting Dean, if only to lie about it being necessary later on. He didn’t though, because it would probably raise flags in the demon's head and it was crucial that his sort-of-brother not get suspicious.
Dean wasn’t wearing any boxer-briefs and Sam was staggeringly relieved to have made it so quickly to bare skin. He would have liked to take this more slowly, do more than slide tight jeans down to Dean's thighs, but he knew he couldn’t risk it no matter how much he wished he could. Made a futile plea to the heavens for the permission to undress his brother and drink his fill of the sight of bare flesh.
This would be the first and only time they would ever be like this, but Sam still wouldn’t be able to force it into his memory to remember later. He had to keep Dean occupied. Had to distract him enough that the muttered words throughout the night wouldn’t strike a chord in the demon's head. Not if he wanted this to work.
He pressed his body tight against his brother's, slamming his mouth forcefully into Dean's. It wasn’t even a second before Dean's teeth and tongue were feasting on Sam's mouth and Sam had to clench his eyes closed to stay focused on his task.
“Bed,” he ordered, and it was so strange how easy it was to turn them both around and push his brother onto one of the beds. The one Sam slept in, closest to the door. The bed Dean would have slept in all these months if he’d been alive.
It was effortless, pushing the scattered salt around the bed back into place and climbing up to straddle Dean's hips. He was met with no resistance.
For some reason Sam had expected more... well just more. More violence. Harsh words, at least one insult. But he didn’t get any of that, just Dean's hands curling around his hips, pushing up, up, up and Sam realized belatedly that the demon was taking his shirt off. He lifted his arms to make the task easier, paying little attention to where the thing ended up.
“How do you want this, Dean?” he asked, his own palms dragging up Dean's shirt to thumb at his nipples until they were both hard and pointed and his brother was growling low in his throat, hips pushing up into Sam’s.
Sam hoped that when Dean came back to himself he wouldn’t remember all this. He’d never speak to him again, but god Sam wouldn’t be able to stop. Not anymore. Not now that he was taking. And he’d wanted this for so long. Now he could have it. He could have Dean - if only this once.
“Do you want my mouth?”
He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the base of Dean's throat, dragging his own tattooed palms up his brother's stomach, feeling the shudder beneath his touch.
“Or my hands?”
He scraped his nails across too pale skin, drawing a pattern with sensitive white lines.
“Sammy, Sammy,” Dean groaned, and Sam was surprised again by the lack of attention Dean was paying to a situation that was so damned important.
He seemed to have no trouble focusing on grinding his hard dick against the crease of Sam's ass through his boxers, or on reaching out to touch any place he could reach on Sam's body.
But he didn’t seem to notice the symbol being scratched into his own skin, or the ones tattooed permanently with ink and blood in the center of Sam’s palms. He didn’t notice Sam's lips moving around the words of a prayer in between dirty teasing.
It was too easy. Too goddamned easy. Should he be worried about that? But he didn’t worry, too high on the simple fact that even with a demon inside his brother, Dean was so lost in these carnal moments.
“Your hand - no your - everything. Everything.”
The last word was said on a whine and Sam felt it straight down to his dick. Demon Dean was a needy little bitch and Sam took a moment to mourn the fact that it was demon Dean. But he didn’t let it stop him from grinding his own cock into Dean's belly, breathing gone harsh and desperate.
“Yeah, okay. Okay,” he breathed.
He descended onto his brother, lips crashing together in a kiss that was despairing and frantic, demanding. And Dean accepted it, let Sam take control. He didn’t bother speculating as to why a demon would give up dominance like this. He was too far gone, driven by the sounds Dean was making, the incoherent pleading against his lips and the urgent press of hands, hips, mouth.
He tore himself away from Dean as far as his body would allow, still close enough to feel Dean's hot breath on his face. Was that cinnamon gum? He allowed the distraction of something so essentially Dean to carry him away from himself, breaking his concentration on the whispered Latin.
“Wanna - god, Dean…” he groaned, no longer paying heed to how this would look to his brother. He rutted against Dean's stomach, having dragged his boxers down his thighs some time between the first and most recent series of kisses. He couldn’t recall when it had happened, or even if he’d actually been the one to do it.
“What, Sammy,” Dean asked and when Sam’s eyes lifted he was mesmerized by the smoky green of his brother's irises, hot stare heating Sam's blood to an agonizing boil. “What do you want, Sam?”
Sam didn’t detect pain in his brother's voice any longer. Only want and need and awe that was so close to love that Sam choked on a sob.
“I want you Dean, I want to - god, Dean I want to fuck you.”
Just speaking the admission opened the floodgates and Sam’s desire was like a raging fire seeking to consume everything in its path, edged with a longing that was as covetous as a stream, drifting along and soaking into the burning heat of his soul like a healing salve. He never wanted it to go away, and yet he prayed it would.
He didn’t think he would be able to go on like he had been, now that he’d had a taste of what he’d wanted since he was fifteen, jerking off to the sound of his brother's easy breathing, feeling the heat of his body seeping into him. It had been wrong then and it was wrong still, sick and not right and god they were brothers.
He whimpered, the thoughts trailing off into nothing but yes and please and Dean.
“Yeah, Sammy,” his brother demanded. “Do it. Fuck me.”
Sam growled, lifting his body off of Dean's long enough to rip the jeans the rest of the way off of his brother. The force of the action most likely left abrasions on the back of Dean’s legs but he didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care because Dean was going to be his. He was going to fuck his brother and he was going to make damned sure that Dean would never forget what it felt like to have his brother's cock up his ass.
It may have been selfish and cruel but Sam needed it. He needed to know that this thing that tore him up from the inside would mean something. That Dean would take it with him. And Sam would know that it was real no matter how good Dean was at hiding from it.
He didn’t have to move to the bedside table for the tube of lubricant, it was in his hands in a second and Sam was overcome with a grateful relief at his maturing abilities. He’d have hated to have to separate himself from his brother even for such a short time.
He slicked up his fingers and Dean wasted no time in forcing Sam’s hand between his legs with fingers clenched around his wrist. “Hurry, Sam. Hurry.”
Sam’s head swam, his heart stuttering in his chest every time his name left his brother's kiss-swollen lips. He teased his lube-coated digits lightly over the soft skin connecting balls and entrance, glorifying in the startled shudder that racked his brother's tense form.
He kept his eyes on Dean's face, fascinated by the flush to his cheeks and his parted lips, wet from Sam’s and his own saliva.
When his middle finger stroked around that tight ring of muscle, ghosting over it at first before pressing slowly, Dean’s eyes rolled up, lids closing with snap. Older brother was pleading now. Demanding more with hoarse begging and the push of his ass down on Sam’s hand.
“So fucking hot like this, Dean. Look at you.”
He watched in amazement, body shaking with god now now zinging through every nerve ending. He forced himself to take it easy, not wanting to hurt Dean. Had he ever done this? Had he ever been touched like this before now? The thought of being the first to have this part of his brother made him ache.
He pushed his finger in farther, up to the second knuckle and twisting it slowly. Thrusting in and out a few times, already working in a second finger. God but he was so hot around his fingers, gripping like a vice - so tight. “More, more more - fuck please Sammy.”
Sam didn’t dare silence him, loving the sound of the moans and the pleading, so hot and welcome. A third finger edged in beside the other two, twisting and thrusting and Dean was restless. His hips rose up for the friction, cock leaving trails of precum over Sam’s middle, then he pressed back hard against the fingers in his ass.
By the time Sam had added the fourth and last finger he was light-headed. He couldn’t breathe, there wasn’t enough air in the world to satisfy his burning lungs. He was shaking all over, hands trembling rapidly. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle anything like a condom wrapper so he didn’t try.
He situated himself between his brother's thighs, groaning at the feel of Dean's legs wrapping instantly around him and pulled his fingers free only when he absolutely needed to, using up more lube to slick up his dick, angry and red - leaking precum in short bursts as soon as his long fingers wrapped around it.
Sam's fist tightened hard, staving off orgasm. He didn’t want this to end before it’d even really begun.
Dean's hands grabbed at his shoulders, chest, sides, pulling and stroking encouragingly.
“Sammy please.”
His brother's voice was so rough, so desperate. Sam thought he seemed more like Dean the further he took this.
He entered Dean without warning, balls-deep in one long stroke, rocking into Dean unconsciously. He gritted his teeth, beads of sweat gathering at his throat, waiting. Waiting.
“Sam now!”
The shouted command forced him into action and suddenly he was pounding into his brother fiercely, trying to gasp out the Latin he’d so nearly thrown out the window. God but he needed to finish this just as badly as he needed to fuck his brother into next week.
The headboard slammed repeatedly into the wall and Sam ignored the angry banging from the occupants of the room next to his. He focused instead on balancing himself on his forearms, entire body flush against Dean's and his tattooed palms curled in thick short hair, pressing to his scalp with a gentleness that was unplanned. It just was.
He was muttering the words, focusing only just on what he was saying but having studied the Latin so vigorously that attention wasn’t necessary. Dean was calling out things like more and just like that and harder fuck me harderfasterplease and Sam was so gone, out of control and -
“Sammy I’m -”
It was all the warning Sam got and was quick enough to say the last words, not bothering to whisper as Dean screamed out his release, cock jerking and spurting cum without even the aid of a hand. Dean’s eyes widened and his mouth went slack but Sam paid no heed, hips losing their rhythm as he thrust once, twice and a third time, pressing as deep as was physically possible as he lost it, coming so hard he was sure he’d gone blind.
But his eyes were just closed and he opened them slowly after he’d collapsed to the bed beside the still dazed Dean, eyeing his brother for any sign that the ritual had worked.
It took him a long moment to realize that he was looking directly into blissed out green eyes. When had Dean turned his head?
“Dean are you -” he was interrupted by a sloppy wave, the question being brushed off. Dean’s eyes were softer somehow, making him appear more vulnerable. He couldn’t stop staring at the moisture building up, doing their best to fall over reddened lids. He was shaking and Sam was sure that this really was Dean. You couldn’t fake a reaction like this, especially when the demon inside his brother had still been Dean.
“’M’fine” was the murmured reply, Dean's eyes closing slowly, like he was fighting it the whole way. “Tomorrow.”
And Sam didn’t know what he meant by that. What happened tomorrow? Would they sit down and talk about what had happened? Would Dean really buy Sam’s excuse that it had all only been because of the ritual? Or would Dean just pack up his stuff and leave behind the messed up little brother who’d fucked him raw because he’d wanted to, not just because of a stupid fucking spell.
Dean’s palm pressed to his chest, right over his heart, and Sam was astounded by how quickly his brother's brow relaxed and his face softened in a comfortable sleep.
All these worries couldn’t take away the feeling of joy and relief that he had Dean back. He was so elated to have him alive and himself, that he would be fully capable of dealing, should dean leave. It would hurt like hell but he’d get through it knowing that Dean was out of hell and safe. As safe as it was possible for either of them, that is.
He wanted to stay awake and watch Dean, make sure he didn’t up and leave without giving Sam the opportunity to fight it, or at least say goodbye, but his eyelids were so heavy and his muscles slack from exhaustion and it was so hard to keep them open…
><><><
When Sam awoke it was to fingers grazing over his jaw and it was like the dream was following him into wakefulness. Only it wasn’t a dream was it? Dean was really back. He was lying beside him, face so close to Sam’s and body only an inch apart.
Dean was studying his face with such longing and remembered misery in his hazel-green eyes. Sam felt a little more confident. Dean hadn’t left. He hadn’t moved away from Sam. He seemed content to lie there, head pillowed on Sam’s bicep.
Why then was that inch of empty space between them? It was as if Dean was indulging in the contact but not letting himself take his fill. The possibility made Sam hurt for Dean, along with the hope of maybe rushing warm and fuzzy over his senses.
“Dean, I...”
He was interrupted again, this time with the pad of Dean's thumb over his lips.
“Please don’t,” he asked softly, so soft, a tone Sam only remembered vaguely from the night he’d been stabbed in the back, Dean holding him tight and begging him not to go. He frowned at Dean, waiting for him to continue.
“I, I’m sorry I made you -”
This time it was Sam's turn to interrupt.
“You didn’t force me to do anything, Dean.”
He eyed Dean seriously, hand pressing his brother's tight against his jaw. He forced his eyes to remain open even when he wanted to close them if only to focus more fully on the affectionate contact.
“I wanted what happened.”
He was terrified the second the words left his lips but he didn’t take them back.
“God, Dean, I’ve wanted it for so long.”
It was like the proverbial latch had been broken from Sam's mouth and he was rambling, trying to tell Dean everything, “and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you - I was scared, I was ashamed - you’re my brother but god I couldn’t make it go away and -”
Dean shut him up with a kiss, slow and sweet and Sam calmed instantly, feeling Dean's thumb stroking at the soft skin below his lip.
“I know,” Dean said quietly, seriously, soon as he’d allowed Sam to breathe. “I know, me too.”
Sam had worried for years over how Dean would react should he admit his feelings for him. His love that was far beyond what was normal for two brothers and his desire that was wrong to everyone else, but felt so goddamned right to him. It had been pointless to worry because this wasn’t hard at all. This was him and Dean and them and they were still brothers but now they were more and they had more. They had each other and Sam thought that was more than he deserved, whether he was going to give it up or not.
“Bitch.” Sams eyes widened and a sharp laugh left his lip at the grunted addition. He was sure they’d be fine. Life certainly wouldn’t be easy, but it was nothing the brothers Winchester couldn’t handle. They would handle it together.
End.