Big Bang 2012: The Iron Tongue of Midnight
Part Eleven
April 25th 2002
For a change, Sam was having an awesome dream. His cock was enveloped in hot, wet heat and plump lips were sliding up and down his length, creating just exactly the right amount of suction. Sam moaned as a tongue circled the head of his dick, licking at his slit and stabbing at the sensitive vein on the underside, before those soft, wet lips glided back down his cock again. Sam reached out and grabbed a handful of short hair, pulling the head it was attached to downwards as he lifted his hips and thrust in deep. There was a choked sound and a gagging noise and then someone started pulling at his hands. Sam woke up to the sight of his cock buried balls deep in Dean’s mouth and Dean gagging and clawing at the hands holding his head, his green eyes bright with tears. Sam let go of his head with a muttered curse and Dean pulled off him, said good morning, and then went right back to sucking his cock. Sam had to grip his balls tightly to stop himself from coming on the spot.
“Condom, Dean!” he commanded.
Dean released Sam’s cock with an obscene plop, rolled a plain, unflavored condom onto it and then smothered it in lube. Sam frowned. Lube? For a blow job? What the fuck?
“What are you…?” he trailed off as Dean straddled his hips and took Sam’s lubed cock in hand. “Dean, wait. You need to…” Sam pulled Dean’s ass cheeks apart and slid a finger over his puckered entrance. It was already slippery with lube and Sam’s eyes darkened. Unable to resist he pushed a finger inside and Dean moaned and leaned a hand against Sam’s chest to steady himself.
“I’m ready Sam; got myself all prepped and stretched before you woke up.”
Sam slid a second finger inside, pushing and scissoring. It was true. Dean felt moist and loose and well-stretched and Sam’s dick ached with the need to be inside him. Sam pulled his fingers free of Dean’s body and wiped them on the towel that Dean had thoughtfully left on the bed. He held Dean’s hips and helped the hunter position himself above Sam’s dick and then Sam watched with lust-blown eyes as Dean’s hole stretched wide around the head of his dick, his length slowly disappearing as Dean sank gently down, until, at last, he was fully seated.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked.
Dean nodded. He’d softened a little as he’d taken Sam’s cock and Sam decided to fix that immediately. He took the hunter in hand and fisted him just the way that Dean liked it. Dean threw back his head, closing his eyes and biting at his bottom lip as his erection came back to life. With a soft moan, he rested his hands on Sam’s shoulders, leaned forward and began to ride him, rising and falling and swiveling his hips and creating such delicious tight heat and friction that Sam knew he wasn’t going to last long. With one hand still fisting Dean’s dick, Sam wrapped an arm around his partner’s waist and thrust up hard, his strokes into Dean’s ass a counterpoint to Dean’s thrusts into his hand. They were quiet when they fucked, neither of them feeling the need for cheesy porn dialogue or declarations of love. The only sounds in the room were harsh, ragged breaths, the occasional cut-off moan and the slap of skin on skin.
“‘M’close,” Dean grunted and Sam began to jack him faster, while at the same time twisting his hips and stabbing unerringly against Dean’s prostate. Dean came with a gasp, his eyes half closed as he shot his load over Sam’s stomach and chest. Sam wiped himself off with the towel and then sat up.
“What are you…?”
“Put your legs around my waist and your arms around my neck,” Sam instructed.
When Dean obeyed Sam wrapped his arms around the hunter’s back and then pulled himself up onto his knees, before dropping Dean onto his back on the mattress.
“How flexible are you?” he asked as he leaned over Dean and began to push his legs towards his chest.
“Flexible enough for this,” Dean retorted as his knees came to rest against his shoulders.
Sam planted his hands on either side of Dean’s head and rocked forward, before pulling almost all the way out of him and then slamming back in. Dean groaned and Sam’s eyes froze on his face.
“You okay?” he asked.
Dean licked his lips. “Yeah.”
“Gonna fuck you hard now,” Sam said. “You want me to ease up any time, you gotta tell me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Sam withdrew a little and then drove back in, rough and fast, pounding Dean into the mattress and forcing breathy gasps and grunts to punch out from the hunter, as Sam chased his own climax. He was too close to the edge to be tempered by the occasional flash of pain that crossed Dean’s face and besides, Dean wasn’t telling him to ease up, so he didn’t, just thrust and thrust until he spilled into the condom and then collapsed on top of the hunter.
Dean bore his weight for a few moments and then shoved at him.
“Get off, dude. You weigh a freakin’ ton.”
Sam pulled out and cleaned up before falling down beside Dean on the bed. Dean hadn’t moved an inch and Sam thought he looked thoroughly fucked out.
“That was an awesome way to wake up,” Sam said.
Dean just smiled.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
Dean nodded. “Sore; but not in a bad way. Reckon I’m gonna be feeling this for a week!” He met Sam’s eyes, his expression serious. “Sam…I’m really sorry about last night, pulling a knife on you like that. I-”
“It’s forgotten,” Sam interrupted. He looked at the red figures on the bedside clock. “I’m blowing off school today. How about we spend the day in bed?”
After a half hour curled around each other, exchanging lazy kisses, Dean’s stomach started to growl, so the boys decided to go and get breakfast. They showered first, which delayed things by another half hour because one look at Dean emerging wet and naked from the bathroom, rubbing his dripping hair with a towel, had Sam sinking to his knees and taking the hunter’s soft cock in his mouth. He sucked and licked at him, enjoying the feel of Dean steadily hardening in his mouth, and when Dean started to swear softly and thrust forward, Sam pulled off him and dragged him back to the bed.
“Sam, no,” Dean protested when Sam picked up a condom and the lube. “I can’t. I’m still too sore from before.”
Sam threw the condom at him.
Dean gaped. “You want me to…?”
Sam nodded. “Please?” he said. “I really, really want you to.”
Dean bit at his bottom lip. The hand jobs and the blow jobs they’d been trading, he’d sort of been able to overlook those. After all, it wasn’t that different to jacking off. Penetrative sex though, that was serious. That…meant something. When Sam fucked him, Dean could try to convince himself that it was just for the job, but if he fucked Sam…there’d be no reason for that except pleasure and…oh, God help him, he wanted in the younger man so badly he was almost shaking with need.
“Okay,” he rasped, nodding his head. “Yeah.”
Sam grinned in triumph and squirted lube onto his fingers before reaching behind himself and….Jesus H Christ on a cracker! The sight of Sam prepping himself to take Dean’s cock had Dean clutching furiously at his balls and he had to turn away, certain that if he watched those long, clever fingers pumping in and out of that smokin’ hot ass he was going to come untouched. And when the Hell did condom wrappers get so Goddamn hard to open? This was ridiculous; it was like the Goddamn Fort Knox of condom wrappers and…okay, got it. And wouldn’t you know it, he gets the defective condom, the one that won’t roll onto his dick…oh no, wait, that’s the wrong way. Fuck. Lubed side out, Dean. It would probably help if his fingers would stop shaking. He finally got the fucking thing on and looked up to see Sam reclining on the edge of the bed, legs spread, feet planted on the ground and Dean Winchester did not whimper, thank you very much; that was definitely a manly growl.
Sam licked his lips, a slow smile spreading across his face as he gave Dean a look that clearly said ‘come fuck me’. In one fluid movement he rolled onto his hands and knees, ass high in the air, and that was an invitation if ever Dean saw one. He took the step and a half necessary to bring himself up behind Sam and picked up the lube. Dean slicked himself quickly and then spread Sam’s cheeks apart, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. Somewhere along the line he’d lost the ability to speak, so when he nudged his straining cock up against Sam’s well-oiled hole he stopped and waited. Sam turned to him with raised eyebrows and Dean asked the question with his eyes. Sam nodded and Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He surged forward, sinking into Sam’s tight heat faster than was probably comfortable for the younger man, but Sam didn’t protest. Dean moaned as his cock spread Sam’s hole wide open and then disappeared, squeezed inch by inch into Sam’s welcoming channel. The pressure was just perfect and Dean wrapped his hands around Sam’s hips and began to slam home. The delicious, snug push and slide caused a stream of groans to fall from Dean’s lips but Sam was silent, jacking himself with firm, sure strokes, his head thrown back and his eyes half-closed. Dean knew he wasn’t going to last long, and he didn’t, filling the condom just a few thrusts later. He continued to move, though, nailing Sam’s prostate relentlessly until the younger man moaned and spilled over his hand. They cleaned up quickly and Sam couldn’t help noticing that Dean wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“You okay?” he asked.
Dean gave him a bright, fake smile.
“Fine.”
Sam shook his head. “Bullshit, Dean. What’s wrong? Do you…is it because we…?”
Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just…I kinda wanted to wait ‘til we didn’t have the whole ‘business’ aspect hanging over our heads before we...” he trailed off, his eyes tight with frustration. “I wanted to do it properly; take our time; take it slow. Not just plow into you like some over eager trick. I wanted you to know that it was…real.”
Sam took Dean’s head in his hands and gave him a soft, chaste kiss. “I knew it was real,” he whispered. “And I was kind of flattered by how bad you wanted it. Sometimes hard and fast is perfect. Next time, though, we’ll take our time.”
Dean huffed out a laugh and pushed Sam away, moving to pick up his clothes. “Okay,” he said, “chick flick moment over.”
They dressed in silence and headed over to Daisy’s Diner, where Daisy herself came out to serve them.
“Mornin’ boys,” she said cheerfully, flourishing her order pad. She lowered her voice. “Had a couple outta town goons in here yesterday.” Her voice became loud and perky once more. “Can I interest you in today’s specials?” She rattled off the day’s specials and then spoke softly again. “They were askin’ after you, Sammy. I told ‘em you weren’t working no more and I didn’t know where you lived.”
Sam fought to keep his expression neutral. “Thanks, Daisy,” he said quietly.
“So that’ll be two bacon and egg muffins and two regular coffees to go?” Daisy said loudly, scribbling on her pad, before quietly adding, “I think they might still be hangin’ around; lookin’ to see if you turn up here. You might wanna lay low for a while.” She strolled back behind the counter with a cheerful, “Comin’ right up, sugar,” and Sam stared at the red and white checked plastic table cloth and tried to ignore the fear churning in his gut. He’d had run-ins with Aazim’s goons before, whenever the pimp thought his little whore was getting too uppity. If Aazim hadn’t disappeared for eighteen months, taken a trip out of town to deal with some of his other operations, Sam didn’t think he would ever have managed to break free of the life. Now Aazim was back; and he wanted Sam back. Sam could feel goose bumps rising on his flesh and sick despair spreading through his veins.
“Sam?” Dean said quietly.
Sam raised his eyes.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Dean promised, “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
“You’re not gonna be here forever,” Sam pointed out.
Dean ran a hand over his face. “Then we’ll take care of it before I leave; make them understand that you’re off limits.”
Sam laughed; even to him it sounded hollow.
“These guys are big, Dean. They’re armed.”
Dean shrugged. ‘We’re big,” he said, “And I’m armed.”
Sam shook his head. “But these guys are brutal. They’re not like you.”
Dean lifted an eyebrow. “You’re right,” he said, ‘they’re not like me.” He paused for a moment with his head tilted to one side. “Okay,” he nodded. “When I was sixteen, me and my dad were hunting a pack of black dogs. You know what a black dog looks like Sam? They’re about the size of a small cow; they’ve got vicious, long teeth and claws, black shaggy fur and blood-red eyes. People used to think they were a death omen cuz if you saw one, you usually died-on account of the black dog rippin’ out your throat. Anyway, me and Dad got split up and the black dogs found me...alone,” Dean spread his arms out wide. “But here I am, Sammy, which means the score was Black Dogs-nil, Dean Winchester-1.” He paused again, his eyes on Sam’s and his expression hard and uncompromising. “These goons,” he said, leaning over the table, “they’re just human and I ain’t scared of humans. If they knew who they were dealin’ with, they’d be scared of me.”
“Here you go sugar,” Daisy handed Sam and Dean a brown paper bag and a takeout coffee each. “You boys have a nice day now.”
Dean drank down his coffee and tossed the cardboard cup in the trash. He handed Sam the bag with his muffin in it and told Sam to follow close behind him. They walked nonchalantly down the road back towards the motel, neither of them speaking until suddenly, Dean said:
“Give me your coffee, Sam.”
Sam handed it over.
“Follow me,” Dean said taking the lid off of the coffee. He ducked around the corner into an alleyway and abruptly threw the coffee into the face of a huge, bearded guy, who was clearly loitering with intent. Before Sam had even processed what was happening, Dean had somehow gotten the guy onto his knees with his hands folded behind his head and was pointing a gun at the back of his skull.
“Get behind me, Sammy,” he said and Sam complied quickly.
A moment later another big, scary looking dude rounded the corner, with his gun drawn.
“Drop it,” Dean said, “Or your partner gets hurt.”
The guy didn’t seem inclined to listen, so Dean pistol-whipped the dude who was on his knees and drew his gun up so that it was trained on the new arrival.
Sam stared at the unconscious guy lying at his feet, then at Dean and then at the goon with the gun. He was big, but Sam doubted he was even Dean’s age; he probably liked to think of himself as an enforcer, but he was really little more than a punk-ass kid. There was a fair amount of aggression in his stance, but not a lot of intelligence in his eyes and that had Sam worried. Guys like that could be unpredictable; they didn’t always do the smart thing.
“I know what you’re thinkin’” Dean said, "’Did he fire six shots or only five?’”
The punk frowned. “You didn’t fire no shots, asshole.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself,” Dean continued. “But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do ya, punk?”
“Dirty Harry?” Sam muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “Really, Dean?”
The punk was still frowning. “That ain’t no .44 Magnum,” he said, “that’s a 9mm Glock.”
“Actually it’s a Beretta,” Dean corrected, “But I can guarantee you it’ll kill you dead just as good. So here’s my offer: You take Dumber here back to your boss and you tell him that Sammy’s mine now. You tell him Sammy’s strictly off limits and he can’t have him back. You do that; I won’t have to shoot you.”
“Here’s my counter,” said the punk. His gun hand moved a fraction, but before he could squeeze the trigger Dean shot his arm, causing the gun to spin away and clatter to the ground.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” the guy danced around clutching at his wrist.
“My bad,” Dean said casually. He gestured at the unconscious guy, “He must be Dumb. You must be Dumber. You think you’re smart enough to remember the message for your boss? Or do you need a bit more incentive?”
The guy shook his head and then nodded vigorously. “I’ll tell ‘im. I’ll remember.”
Dean backed up a few steps. Sam backed up with him.
“Then take your buddy and get outta here.”
As soon as they’d gone Dean turned to Sam with a sigh.
“Sorry about your coffee,” he said. “Let’s get back to the motel,” he frowned. “If my muffin’s gone cold, I’m gonna be pissed.”
-X-
It wasn’t until the motel door shut behind them that Sam realized he was shaking. Dean, on the other hand, was humming cheerfully.
“Dude,” Sam said, slumping onto a chair, “you just shot someone. How come you’re not freaked?”
Dean sat down next to him and un-wrapped his muffin. He bit into it with a look of bliss.
“Mmm. So good. And still warm too.”
“Dean!”
Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m a hunter, Sam. You do get what that means, right? I’ve been killing monsters since I was a kid. I shoot, stab, decapitate, torch, strangle, garrote, drown or poison whatever evil sonovabitch comes along. Basically, I’m an assassin. They ain’t none of ‘em human, but some of ‘em used to be. Most of ‘em are sentient and a lot of ‘em are as smart as a human, if not smarter. They’re usually stronger and faster too. I’ve spent the last seven, eight years tracking and killing really smart, really dangerous creatures. Shooting some punk-ass moron in the arm is nothing. Do you get what I’m telling you, Sammy?”
Sam did get it. Maybe not in the way Dean had intended him to; but maybe in a way that was deeper and more relevant. He got it because of Dean’s stance; the look on his face as he talked. It reminded Sam of himself, whenever he’d had to talk to social workers, counselors and doctors back in the day; adults who’d known what he was and how far he’d fallen through the cracks in society. They knew what his day-to-day life entailed and they thought they understood. There were some things, though that had to be experienced before they could be understood and looking at the void in Dean’s eyes told him that being raised a hunter was one of those things. Dean was asking Sam if he got it, but what he was really saying was you never will; you will never understand and I could never make you understand. Sam might be able to recognize intellectually what Dean’s childhood must’ve been like, but he would never have the bone deep understanding that someone else who’d been raised a hunter would have. Just as Dean might be able to recognize intellectually what Sam’s childhood had been like, but would never have the bone deep understanding that another kid raised on the street would have.
Sam nodded. “It’s like that old saying, I guess. You’ll never really understand another man; never really get him, until you’ve walked a hundred miles in his shoes.”
The ghost of a smile appeared on Dean’s lips. “Right,” he agreed, “And then it’s okay to tell him what you think of him…cuz he’s a hundred miles away and you have his shoes.”
Sam huffed out a laugh and then his face became serious again. “You’re not an assassin, Dean, you’re a soldier. One who’s fighting in a war that no-one else even knows exists.”
Dean’s discomfort was a tangible thing. “Yeah, well,” he muttered around a mouthful of muffin, “somebody’s gotta look out for the civilians. Makes sense for it to be me, seeing as how my family already got fucked over by the things that go bump in the night. It’s no big deal. I mean, a thank you every once in a while’d be nice but,” he shrugged and took a final big bite of muffin.
Sam nodded. He could relate to that. He un-wrapped his own muffin and took a thoughtful bite.
“The other day,” he began tentatively, “you were trying to figure out how to kill Gwyn Ap Nudd.”
Dean looked closely at him and then, apparently deciding that Sam wasn’t about to give him a hard time, he gave a quick nod. “It’s m’job Sammy.”
“What d’you come up with?”
“Honestly? I’m starting to think that your idea of me hiding a sword up my ass is a good plan. But I got Bobby lookin’ into it. Maybe he’ll come up with something.”
Sam finished his muffin in silence and then cleared his throat.
“Uh, Dean? Do you have to kill Gwyn Ap Nudd?”
Dean frowned. “Like I said, this is my job. I know he’s, like, a legend come to life for a Myth Geek like you but he’s been abducting and maiming and killing and driving guys mad for a millennium and I gotta stop it.”
“Right,” Sam nodded, “but do you have to actually kill him? Or would you be happy if you could just stop him from re-enacting the Abduction of Creiddylad ever again?”
Dean stared at him. “You got an idea?”
Sam fiddled with the edge of Matholwch’s Guide to Cryptozoology.
“Maybe? You said you can’t summon a sword, that the only things you can summon are ghosts, demons and deities?”
“Right.”
“So…Gywn Ap Nudd…he’s gonna be doing a ritual, right? He’s gonna be summoning deities. What if…what if we piggy back off of the energy he raises in his ritual and…send out our own summons to the goddess?”
Dean frowned. “How does that help?”
Sam pushed back from the table and went over to his bag.
“Like you said, I’m a bit of a mythology geek. And after that whole…trip to Faerieland I went to the library and checked this out.” Sam hefted a brown leather book out of the bag and Dean’s mouth dropped. The book was huge; way bigger than Matholwch’s Guide to Cryptozoology, and obviously very, very old.
“A bit of light reading, huh?’ Dean said faintly.
Sam grinned and sat back down, opening the book at a page he’d bookmarked.
“What can I say? Finding out Faeries were real kinda renewed my interest,” his grin turned wicked. “Of course, when I said I checked the book out I may have been exaggerating a little; these priceless ancient manuscripts aren’t actually available to borrow.”
Dean arched an eyebrow. “Sammy, I’m shocked. And you a pre-law student too.”
Sam shrugged. “Pre-law; post hooking. I’m sort of in a twilight zone right now and this…I dunno, Dean. It seemed important.”
Dean shook his head. “Okay. So I’m guessing you learnt something that gave you an idea?”
Sam chewed on his bottom lip for a moment and then looked up at Dean from beneath his bangs.
“Uh, how much do you actually know about the Great Rite?”
Dean covered his face with his hands. “More than I ever wanted to,” he said, his voice muffled.
Sam nodded. “Okay, I get that. But honestly, it probably wouldn’t hurt for you to understand a bit more about…what you’re gonna be involved in.”
Dean sighed. “Alright, Sam. Hit me with it.”
Sam cleared his throat. “So, uh, the ritual, it should follow the standard, basic elements for a pagan ritual; the blessing of sacred objects, the raising of a Circle, quarter point invocations, the raising of magickal energy and then, what would usually happen is that the High Priestess would draw down the moon-channel the Goddess-and the High Priest would draw down the sun, or in other words channel the God. Gwyn Ap Nudd seems to have perverted the ritual at some point because…okay, look, paganism, witchcraft whatever you want to call it, it’s an earth-based spirituality that believes in balance and equilibrium. The creation of life is considered sacred and because of that the sacred feminine is revered in a way that a lot of modern, mainstream religions have forgotten about.”
“And the point is?” Dean said, his face having darkened at the mention of witchcraft.
“The point,” Sam said, “is that even though balance is important, the Goddess is probably revered just a little bit more than the God. The channel for the Goddess is supposed to be opened by the High Priestess, in other words by the person who’s going to be the…vessel…for the Goddess. And there is no way that the Goddess would enter a channel and not realize that the channel was essentially unwilling. I think,” Sam turned several pages of the book over, “I don’t think that Gwyn is opening a channel for the Goddess at all. I think he’s either giving his partner an incorrect invocation or he’s just taking care of all the summonings himself and deliberately doing it wrong.”
Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t the other Faeries realize?”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe not. Besides, he’s their king; they trust him.”
“So I, what? Insist on opening the channel to the Goddess myself and make sure it’s done right? Then let her know what’s going down?”
Sam nodded. “Bingo.”
Dean grinned. “Sam…you are awesome! So I probably won’t have to go through with the getting fucked part of the ritual, right?”
Sam pulled a face. “Well…”
Dean’s face fell. “Sammy? C’mon man,” he begged, “Tell me I’m not gonna get fucked by a Faerie.”
Sam ran a hand across his furrowed forehead. “It’s possible,” he said carefully, “that the Goddess will need a physical connection to the God…to Gwyn…to be able to kick Gwyn’s ass.”
Dean’s eyes darkened. “She can’t just…reach out and…touch…his…arm?”
Sam shrugged. “That’s not the only problem. Channeling deities means raising a lot of energy. That energy has to go somewhere. The ritual is set up for it to be channeled through sex, with the power thrown at the point of climax to enhance global fertility. If you don’t provide a conduit for the built-up energy…” Sam met Dean’s eyes. “Dean it’s still gonna have to go somewhere, that’s just the way energy works. If it doesn’t go down the conduit created for it, it’s just gonna explode out somehow. And that could be dangerous.”
Dean’s expression had gone from hangdog to completely unreadable.
“Fuck,” he said; voice devoid of emotion. He laughed briefly. “And ain’t that just the word of the hour? For a moment there…but, whatever…looks like I’m fucked no matter what.” He stood abruptly and went into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.
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April 25th 2002
For a change, Sam was having an awesome dream. His cock was enveloped in hot, wet heat and plump lips were sliding up and down his length, creating just exactly the right amount of suction. Sam moaned as a tongue circled the head of his dick, licking at his slit and stabbing at the sensitive vein on the underside, before those soft, wet lips glided back down his cock again. Sam reached out and grabbed a handful of short hair, pulling the head it was attached to downwards as he lifted his hips and thrust in deep. There was a choked sound and a gagging noise and then someone started pulling at his hands. Sam woke up to the sight of his cock buried balls deep in Dean’s mouth and Dean gagging and clawing at the hands holding his head, his green eyes bright with tears. Sam let go of his head with a muttered curse and Dean pulled off him, said good morning, and then went right back to sucking his cock. Sam had to grip his balls tightly to stop himself from coming on the spot.
“Condom, Dean!” he commanded.
Dean released Sam’s cock with an obscene plop, rolled a plain, unflavored condom onto it and then smothered it in lube. Sam frowned. Lube? For a blow job? What the fuck?
“What are you…?” he trailed off as Dean straddled his hips and took Sam’s lubed cock in hand. “Dean, wait. You need to…” Sam pulled Dean’s ass cheeks apart and slid a finger over his puckered entrance. It was already slippery with lube and Sam’s eyes darkened. Unable to resist he pushed a finger inside and Dean moaned and leaned a hand against Sam’s chest to steady himself.
“I’m ready Sam; got myself all prepped and stretched before you woke up.”
Sam slid a second finger inside, pushing and scissoring. It was true. Dean felt moist and loose and well-stretched and Sam’s dick ached with the need to be inside him. Sam pulled his fingers free of Dean’s body and wiped them on the towel that Dean had thoughtfully left on the bed. He held Dean’s hips and helped the hunter position himself above Sam’s dick and then Sam watched with lust-blown eyes as Dean’s hole stretched wide around the head of his dick, his length slowly disappearing as Dean sank gently down, until, at last, he was fully seated.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked.
Dean nodded. He’d softened a little as he’d taken Sam’s cock and Sam decided to fix that immediately. He took the hunter in hand and fisted him just the way that Dean liked it. Dean threw back his head, closing his eyes and biting at his bottom lip as his erection came back to life. With a soft moan, he rested his hands on Sam’s shoulders, leaned forward and began to ride him, rising and falling and swiveling his hips and creating such delicious tight heat and friction that Sam knew he wasn’t going to last long. With one hand still fisting Dean’s dick, Sam wrapped an arm around his partner’s waist and thrust up hard, his strokes into Dean’s ass a counterpoint to Dean’s thrusts into his hand. They were quiet when they fucked, neither of them feeling the need for cheesy porn dialogue or declarations of love. The only sounds in the room were harsh, ragged breaths, the occasional cut-off moan and the slap of skin on skin.
“‘M’close,” Dean grunted and Sam began to jack him faster, while at the same time twisting his hips and stabbing unerringly against Dean’s prostate. Dean came with a gasp, his eyes half closed as he shot his load over Sam’s stomach and chest. Sam wiped himself off with the towel and then sat up.
“What are you…?”
“Put your legs around my waist and your arms around my neck,” Sam instructed.
When Dean obeyed Sam wrapped his arms around the hunter’s back and then pulled himself up onto his knees, before dropping Dean onto his back on the mattress.
“How flexible are you?” he asked as he leaned over Dean and began to push his legs towards his chest.
“Flexible enough for this,” Dean retorted as his knees came to rest against his shoulders.
Sam planted his hands on either side of Dean’s head and rocked forward, before pulling almost all the way out of him and then slamming back in. Dean groaned and Sam’s eyes froze on his face.
“You okay?” he asked.
Dean licked his lips. “Yeah.”
“Gonna fuck you hard now,” Sam said. “You want me to ease up any time, you gotta tell me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Sam withdrew a little and then drove back in, rough and fast, pounding Dean into the mattress and forcing breathy gasps and grunts to punch out from the hunter, as Sam chased his own climax. He was too close to the edge to be tempered by the occasional flash of pain that crossed Dean’s face and besides, Dean wasn’t telling him to ease up, so he didn’t, just thrust and thrust until he spilled into the condom and then collapsed on top of the hunter.
Dean bore his weight for a few moments and then shoved at him.
“Get off, dude. You weigh a freakin’ ton.”
Sam pulled out and cleaned up before falling down beside Dean on the bed. Dean hadn’t moved an inch and Sam thought he looked thoroughly fucked out.
“That was an awesome way to wake up,” Sam said.
Dean just smiled.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
Dean nodded. “Sore; but not in a bad way. Reckon I’m gonna be feeling this for a week!” He met Sam’s eyes, his expression serious. “Sam…I’m really sorry about last night, pulling a knife on you like that. I-”
“It’s forgotten,” Sam interrupted. He looked at the red figures on the bedside clock. “I’m blowing off school today. How about we spend the day in bed?”
After a half hour curled around each other, exchanging lazy kisses, Dean’s stomach started to growl, so the boys decided to go and get breakfast. They showered first, which delayed things by another half hour because one look at Dean emerging wet and naked from the bathroom, rubbing his dripping hair with a towel, had Sam sinking to his knees and taking the hunter’s soft cock in his mouth. He sucked and licked at him, enjoying the feel of Dean steadily hardening in his mouth, and when Dean started to swear softly and thrust forward, Sam pulled off him and dragged him back to the bed.
“Sam, no,” Dean protested when Sam picked up a condom and the lube. “I can’t. I’m still too sore from before.”
Sam threw the condom at him.
Dean gaped. “You want me to…?”
Sam nodded. “Please?” he said. “I really, really want you to.”
Dean bit at his bottom lip. The hand jobs and the blow jobs they’d been trading, he’d sort of been able to overlook those. After all, it wasn’t that different to jacking off. Penetrative sex though, that was serious. That…meant something. When Sam fucked him, Dean could try to convince himself that it was just for the job, but if he fucked Sam…there’d be no reason for that except pleasure and…oh, God help him, he wanted in the younger man so badly he was almost shaking with need.
“Okay,” he rasped, nodding his head. “Yeah.”
Sam grinned in triumph and squirted lube onto his fingers before reaching behind himself and….Jesus H Christ on a cracker! The sight of Sam prepping himself to take Dean’s cock had Dean clutching furiously at his balls and he had to turn away, certain that if he watched those long, clever fingers pumping in and out of that smokin’ hot ass he was going to come untouched. And when the Hell did condom wrappers get so Goddamn hard to open? This was ridiculous; it was like the Goddamn Fort Knox of condom wrappers and…okay, got it. And wouldn’t you know it, he gets the defective condom, the one that won’t roll onto his dick…oh no, wait, that’s the wrong way. Fuck. Lubed side out, Dean. It would probably help if his fingers would stop shaking. He finally got the fucking thing on and looked up to see Sam reclining on the edge of the bed, legs spread, feet planted on the ground and Dean Winchester did not whimper, thank you very much; that was definitely a manly growl.
Sam licked his lips, a slow smile spreading across his face as he gave Dean a look that clearly said ‘come fuck me’. In one fluid movement he rolled onto his hands and knees, ass high in the air, and that was an invitation if ever Dean saw one. He took the step and a half necessary to bring himself up behind Sam and picked up the lube. Dean slicked himself quickly and then spread Sam’s cheeks apart, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. Somewhere along the line he’d lost the ability to speak, so when he nudged his straining cock up against Sam’s well-oiled hole he stopped and waited. Sam turned to him with raised eyebrows and Dean asked the question with his eyes. Sam nodded and Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He surged forward, sinking into Sam’s tight heat faster than was probably comfortable for the younger man, but Sam didn’t protest. Dean moaned as his cock spread Sam’s hole wide open and then disappeared, squeezed inch by inch into Sam’s welcoming channel. The pressure was just perfect and Dean wrapped his hands around Sam’s hips and began to slam home. The delicious, snug push and slide caused a stream of groans to fall from Dean’s lips but Sam was silent, jacking himself with firm, sure strokes, his head thrown back and his eyes half-closed. Dean knew he wasn’t going to last long, and he didn’t, filling the condom just a few thrusts later. He continued to move, though, nailing Sam’s prostate relentlessly until the younger man moaned and spilled over his hand. They cleaned up quickly and Sam couldn’t help noticing that Dean wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“You okay?” he asked.
Dean gave him a bright, fake smile.
“Fine.”
Sam shook his head. “Bullshit, Dean. What’s wrong? Do you…is it because we…?”
Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just…I kinda wanted to wait ‘til we didn’t have the whole ‘business’ aspect hanging over our heads before we...” he trailed off, his eyes tight with frustration. “I wanted to do it properly; take our time; take it slow. Not just plow into you like some over eager trick. I wanted you to know that it was…real.”
Sam took Dean’s head in his hands and gave him a soft, chaste kiss. “I knew it was real,” he whispered. “And I was kind of flattered by how bad you wanted it. Sometimes hard and fast is perfect. Next time, though, we’ll take our time.”
Dean huffed out a laugh and pushed Sam away, moving to pick up his clothes. “Okay,” he said, “chick flick moment over.”
They dressed in silence and headed over to Daisy’s Diner, where Daisy herself came out to serve them.
“Mornin’ boys,” she said cheerfully, flourishing her order pad. She lowered her voice. “Had a couple outta town goons in here yesterday.” Her voice became loud and perky once more. “Can I interest you in today’s specials?” She rattled off the day’s specials and then spoke softly again. “They were askin’ after you, Sammy. I told ‘em you weren’t working no more and I didn’t know where you lived.”
Sam fought to keep his expression neutral. “Thanks, Daisy,” he said quietly.
“So that’ll be two bacon and egg muffins and two regular coffees to go?” Daisy said loudly, scribbling on her pad, before quietly adding, “I think they might still be hangin’ around; lookin’ to see if you turn up here. You might wanna lay low for a while.” She strolled back behind the counter with a cheerful, “Comin’ right up, sugar,” and Sam stared at the red and white checked plastic table cloth and tried to ignore the fear churning in his gut. He’d had run-ins with Aazim’s goons before, whenever the pimp thought his little whore was getting too uppity. If Aazim hadn’t disappeared for eighteen months, taken a trip out of town to deal with some of his other operations, Sam didn’t think he would ever have managed to break free of the life. Now Aazim was back; and he wanted Sam back. Sam could feel goose bumps rising on his flesh and sick despair spreading through his veins.
“Sam?” Dean said quietly.
Sam raised his eyes.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Dean promised, “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
“You’re not gonna be here forever,” Sam pointed out.
Dean ran a hand over his face. “Then we’ll take care of it before I leave; make them understand that you’re off limits.”
Sam laughed; even to him it sounded hollow.
“These guys are big, Dean. They’re armed.”
Dean shrugged. ‘We’re big,” he said, “And I’m armed.”
Sam shook his head. “But these guys are brutal. They’re not like you.”
Dean lifted an eyebrow. “You’re right,” he said, ‘they’re not like me.” He paused for a moment with his head tilted to one side. “Okay,” he nodded. “When I was sixteen, me and my dad were hunting a pack of black dogs. You know what a black dog looks like Sam? They’re about the size of a small cow; they’ve got vicious, long teeth and claws, black shaggy fur and blood-red eyes. People used to think they were a death omen cuz if you saw one, you usually died-on account of the black dog rippin’ out your throat. Anyway, me and Dad got split up and the black dogs found me...alone,” Dean spread his arms out wide. “But here I am, Sammy, which means the score was Black Dogs-nil, Dean Winchester-1.” He paused again, his eyes on Sam’s and his expression hard and uncompromising. “These goons,” he said, leaning over the table, “they’re just human and I ain’t scared of humans. If they knew who they were dealin’ with, they’d be scared of me.”
“Here you go sugar,” Daisy handed Sam and Dean a brown paper bag and a takeout coffee each. “You boys have a nice day now.”
Dean drank down his coffee and tossed the cardboard cup in the trash. He handed Sam the bag with his muffin in it and told Sam to follow close behind him. They walked nonchalantly down the road back towards the motel, neither of them speaking until suddenly, Dean said:
“Give me your coffee, Sam.”
Sam handed it over.
“Follow me,” Dean said taking the lid off of the coffee. He ducked around the corner into an alleyway and abruptly threw the coffee into the face of a huge, bearded guy, who was clearly loitering with intent. Before Sam had even processed what was happening, Dean had somehow gotten the guy onto his knees with his hands folded behind his head and was pointing a gun at the back of his skull.
“Get behind me, Sammy,” he said and Sam complied quickly.
A moment later another big, scary looking dude rounded the corner, with his gun drawn.
“Drop it,” Dean said, “Or your partner gets hurt.”
The guy didn’t seem inclined to listen, so Dean pistol-whipped the dude who was on his knees and drew his gun up so that it was trained on the new arrival.
Sam stared at the unconscious guy lying at his feet, then at Dean and then at the goon with the gun. He was big, but Sam doubted he was even Dean’s age; he probably liked to think of himself as an enforcer, but he was really little more than a punk-ass kid. There was a fair amount of aggression in his stance, but not a lot of intelligence in his eyes and that had Sam worried. Guys like that could be unpredictable; they didn’t always do the smart thing.
“I know what you’re thinkin’” Dean said, "’Did he fire six shots or only five?’”
The punk frowned. “You didn’t fire no shots, asshole.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself,” Dean continued. “But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do ya, punk?”
“Dirty Harry?” Sam muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “Really, Dean?”
The punk was still frowning. “That ain’t no .44 Magnum,” he said, “that’s a 9mm Glock.”
“Actually it’s a Beretta,” Dean corrected, “But I can guarantee you it’ll kill you dead just as good. So here’s my offer: You take Dumber here back to your boss and you tell him that Sammy’s mine now. You tell him Sammy’s strictly off limits and he can’t have him back. You do that; I won’t have to shoot you.”
“Here’s my counter,” said the punk. His gun hand moved a fraction, but before he could squeeze the trigger Dean shot his arm, causing the gun to spin away and clatter to the ground.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” the guy danced around clutching at his wrist.
“My bad,” Dean said casually. He gestured at the unconscious guy, “He must be Dumb. You must be Dumber. You think you’re smart enough to remember the message for your boss? Or do you need a bit more incentive?”
The guy shook his head and then nodded vigorously. “I’ll tell ‘im. I’ll remember.”
Dean backed up a few steps. Sam backed up with him.
“Then take your buddy and get outta here.”
As soon as they’d gone Dean turned to Sam with a sigh.
“Sorry about your coffee,” he said. “Let’s get back to the motel,” he frowned. “If my muffin’s gone cold, I’m gonna be pissed.”
-X-
It wasn’t until the motel door shut behind them that Sam realized he was shaking. Dean, on the other hand, was humming cheerfully.
“Dude,” Sam said, slumping onto a chair, “you just shot someone. How come you’re not freaked?”
Dean sat down next to him and un-wrapped his muffin. He bit into it with a look of bliss.
“Mmm. So good. And still warm too.”
“Dean!”
Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m a hunter, Sam. You do get what that means, right? I’ve been killing monsters since I was a kid. I shoot, stab, decapitate, torch, strangle, garrote, drown or poison whatever evil sonovabitch comes along. Basically, I’m an assassin. They ain’t none of ‘em human, but some of ‘em used to be. Most of ‘em are sentient and a lot of ‘em are as smart as a human, if not smarter. They’re usually stronger and faster too. I’ve spent the last seven, eight years tracking and killing really smart, really dangerous creatures. Shooting some punk-ass moron in the arm is nothing. Do you get what I’m telling you, Sammy?”
Sam did get it. Maybe not in the way Dean had intended him to; but maybe in a way that was deeper and more relevant. He got it because of Dean’s stance; the look on his face as he talked. It reminded Sam of himself, whenever he’d had to talk to social workers, counselors and doctors back in the day; adults who’d known what he was and how far he’d fallen through the cracks in society. They knew what his day-to-day life entailed and they thought they understood. There were some things, though that had to be experienced before they could be understood and looking at the void in Dean’s eyes told him that being raised a hunter was one of those things. Dean was asking Sam if he got it, but what he was really saying was you never will; you will never understand and I could never make you understand. Sam might be able to recognize intellectually what Dean’s childhood must’ve been like, but he would never have the bone deep understanding that someone else who’d been raised a hunter would have. Just as Dean might be able to recognize intellectually what Sam’s childhood had been like, but would never have the bone deep understanding that another kid raised on the street would have.
Sam nodded. “It’s like that old saying, I guess. You’ll never really understand another man; never really get him, until you’ve walked a hundred miles in his shoes.”
The ghost of a smile appeared on Dean’s lips. “Right,” he agreed, “And then it’s okay to tell him what you think of him…cuz he’s a hundred miles away and you have his shoes.”
Sam huffed out a laugh and then his face became serious again. “You’re not an assassin, Dean, you’re a soldier. One who’s fighting in a war that no-one else even knows exists.”
Dean’s discomfort was a tangible thing. “Yeah, well,” he muttered around a mouthful of muffin, “somebody’s gotta look out for the civilians. Makes sense for it to be me, seeing as how my family already got fucked over by the things that go bump in the night. It’s no big deal. I mean, a thank you every once in a while’d be nice but,” he shrugged and took a final big bite of muffin.
Sam nodded. He could relate to that. He un-wrapped his own muffin and took a thoughtful bite.
“The other day,” he began tentatively, “you were trying to figure out how to kill Gwyn Ap Nudd.”
Dean looked closely at him and then, apparently deciding that Sam wasn’t about to give him a hard time, he gave a quick nod. “It’s m’job Sammy.”
“What d’you come up with?”
“Honestly? I’m starting to think that your idea of me hiding a sword up my ass is a good plan. But I got Bobby lookin’ into it. Maybe he’ll come up with something.”
Sam finished his muffin in silence and then cleared his throat.
“Uh, Dean? Do you have to kill Gwyn Ap Nudd?”
Dean frowned. “Like I said, this is my job. I know he’s, like, a legend come to life for a Myth Geek like you but he’s been abducting and maiming and killing and driving guys mad for a millennium and I gotta stop it.”
“Right,” Sam nodded, “but do you have to actually kill him? Or would you be happy if you could just stop him from re-enacting the Abduction of Creiddylad ever again?”
Dean stared at him. “You got an idea?”
Sam fiddled with the edge of Matholwch’s Guide to Cryptozoology.
“Maybe? You said you can’t summon a sword, that the only things you can summon are ghosts, demons and deities?”
“Right.”
“So…Gywn Ap Nudd…he’s gonna be doing a ritual, right? He’s gonna be summoning deities. What if…what if we piggy back off of the energy he raises in his ritual and…send out our own summons to the goddess?”
Dean frowned. “How does that help?”
Sam pushed back from the table and went over to his bag.
“Like you said, I’m a bit of a mythology geek. And after that whole…trip to Faerieland I went to the library and checked this out.” Sam hefted a brown leather book out of the bag and Dean’s mouth dropped. The book was huge; way bigger than Matholwch’s Guide to Cryptozoology, and obviously very, very old.
“A bit of light reading, huh?’ Dean said faintly.
Sam grinned and sat back down, opening the book at a page he’d bookmarked.
“What can I say? Finding out Faeries were real kinda renewed my interest,” his grin turned wicked. “Of course, when I said I checked the book out I may have been exaggerating a little; these priceless ancient manuscripts aren’t actually available to borrow.”
Dean arched an eyebrow. “Sammy, I’m shocked. And you a pre-law student too.”
Sam shrugged. “Pre-law; post hooking. I’m sort of in a twilight zone right now and this…I dunno, Dean. It seemed important.”
Dean shook his head. “Okay. So I’m guessing you learnt something that gave you an idea?”
Sam chewed on his bottom lip for a moment and then looked up at Dean from beneath his bangs.
“Uh, how much do you actually know about the Great Rite?”
Dean covered his face with his hands. “More than I ever wanted to,” he said, his voice muffled.
Sam nodded. “Okay, I get that. But honestly, it probably wouldn’t hurt for you to understand a bit more about…what you’re gonna be involved in.”
Dean sighed. “Alright, Sam. Hit me with it.”
Sam cleared his throat. “So, uh, the ritual, it should follow the standard, basic elements for a pagan ritual; the blessing of sacred objects, the raising of a Circle, quarter point invocations, the raising of magickal energy and then, what would usually happen is that the High Priestess would draw down the moon-channel the Goddess-and the High Priest would draw down the sun, or in other words channel the God. Gwyn Ap Nudd seems to have perverted the ritual at some point because…okay, look, paganism, witchcraft whatever you want to call it, it’s an earth-based spirituality that believes in balance and equilibrium. The creation of life is considered sacred and because of that the sacred feminine is revered in a way that a lot of modern, mainstream religions have forgotten about.”
“And the point is?” Dean said, his face having darkened at the mention of witchcraft.
“The point,” Sam said, “is that even though balance is important, the Goddess is probably revered just a little bit more than the God. The channel for the Goddess is supposed to be opened by the High Priestess, in other words by the person who’s going to be the…vessel…for the Goddess. And there is no way that the Goddess would enter a channel and not realize that the channel was essentially unwilling. I think,” Sam turned several pages of the book over, “I don’t think that Gwyn is opening a channel for the Goddess at all. I think he’s either giving his partner an incorrect invocation or he’s just taking care of all the summonings himself and deliberately doing it wrong.”
Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t the other Faeries realize?”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe not. Besides, he’s their king; they trust him.”
“So I, what? Insist on opening the channel to the Goddess myself and make sure it’s done right? Then let her know what’s going down?”
Sam nodded. “Bingo.”
Dean grinned. “Sam…you are awesome! So I probably won’t have to go through with the getting fucked part of the ritual, right?”
Sam pulled a face. “Well…”
Dean’s face fell. “Sammy? C’mon man,” he begged, “Tell me I’m not gonna get fucked by a Faerie.”
Sam ran a hand across his furrowed forehead. “It’s possible,” he said carefully, “that the Goddess will need a physical connection to the God…to Gwyn…to be able to kick Gwyn’s ass.”
Dean’s eyes darkened. “She can’t just…reach out and…touch…his…arm?”
Sam shrugged. “That’s not the only problem. Channeling deities means raising a lot of energy. That energy has to go somewhere. The ritual is set up for it to be channeled through sex, with the power thrown at the point of climax to enhance global fertility. If you don’t provide a conduit for the built-up energy…” Sam met Dean’s eyes. “Dean it’s still gonna have to go somewhere, that’s just the way energy works. If it doesn’t go down the conduit created for it, it’s just gonna explode out somehow. And that could be dangerous.”
Dean’s expression had gone from hangdog to completely unreadable.
“Fuck,” he said; voice devoid of emotion. He laughed briefly. “And ain’t that just the word of the hour? For a moment there…but, whatever…looks like I’m fucked no matter what.” He stood abruptly and went into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.
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