Fic: A Matter of Survival (1 of 1)
Title: A Matter of Survival
Author: firesign10
Beta: ephermeralk
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Word Count: 5700
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoiler(s): None
Disclaimer: I own nothing; this is just for fun.
Summary: Prompt from counteragent: it's a matter of survival
Dean is fighting to save Sam's life after the aborted Trials; he turns to a different source of power.
Notes: Written for the April 2014 round at salt_burn_porn. My first time! Loved it! Thank you for letting me play! A million thanks to ephemeralk for not only beta-reading, but cheering on and late-night moral support. Thank you, bb!
Dean watched as Sam lay unmoving in the bed. Sam's skin was ash gray, the dark shadows under his eyes standing out sharply against his pallor. The bones of his face pushed against the thin draping of his flesh, standing out prominently and giving Dean uncomfortable visions of his skull. Even his heavy stubble looked more like some disease crawling on his face, rather than the product of a robust male.
Fuck, Sammy, Dean thought, head dropped into his hands. We stopped the damn Trials. The creepy light disappeared from your arm. Why are you still unconscious? What the fuck is going on? Even the fall of the angels paled next to the crisis his brother was in. It was only about Sammy now, his Sammy, and he was not about to let Sammy die. Again. Not this time.
His phone beeped, and Dean pulled it out to see Garth's name lit up. He stood up and left the room before answering, standing just outside the open door of the motel room.
"Garth? Do you have anything?"
"Hey, Dean. How's Sam doing?"
"Garth! Do you have anything!" Dean needed answers now, this second. There was no time to waste--the doctors back at the hospital had not said anything positive about how much time Sam still had.
"Sure, Dean, I understand. Yeah, I think I found something. There's this Egyptian god--you know how all those gods and goddesses have their own areas of special interest? Well, this guy, name of Khonsu, he's in charge of male virility and healing. I thought that might be just the thing for you."
Dean looked at the phone.
"You think I need some Egyptian Viagra here? My 'nads work just fine, thank you very much."
Garth crowed with laughter. "No, no! Healing, Dean. He's a god of healing, and then with the male part, I figured he'd be partial to healing men. There's a ritual--"
"Ain't there always," Dean sighed.
"Yeah, true dat! So you can supposedly contact him through this ritual, and ask him to heal Sam. I thought it was worth a shot."
Dean only needed a moment to decide.
"Yeah, dude, email me the ritual and I'll get on it. Anything special I'm gonna need?"
"Most of it is pretty ordinary--sandalwood, olive oil, stuff like that. The one thing that could be a problem is you're going to need an animal heart."
"What? What the fuck do I need a fucking animal heart for? What kind of skeevy god is this, Garth?"
"Khonsu has a darker, bloodthirsty side, and so you're gonna need an animal heart. It can be anything--a mouse, a rat, a cat--"
"Garth! I am not killing a goddamn cat and ripping its heart out!" Dean felt a little sick.
"Try checking out a local butcher shop--a lot of them have organs, either for sale or--oh! Yeah, there you go! A chicken heart! They're bound to have some chicken hearts!"
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. This life was so fucking weird sometimes.
"Okay, Garth. Email me. I'm on the hunt for a heart."
"Will do, buddy. Hang in there. I'm here for you."
A few hours later, Dean was back at the motel room, carrying an assortment of little bags. He assembled all of his ingredients, including a couple of fresh, juicy chicken hearts waiting in a plastic container. He fetched a ceremonial brass bowl from the trunk of the Impala, and started the ritual.
He measured, he mixed, he ground herbs, he drizzled olive oil. The room became fragrant with sandalwood and spices. Glancing at Sam, he turned back to the last part of his task with renewed determination. It was agonizing to see his huge, strong brother lying beneath the blankets and barely making a bump. He had to fix this.
The last step was adding the chicken hearts, which landed in the bowl with a disgusting, squishy plop. Blood spattered along the rim of the bowl. Dean picked up an athame and drew it shallowly along his left pectoral, so the blood came from over his heart. He collected a few drops on the blade and then flicked them into the bowl.
A satisfying burst of smoke laced with flames shot out and immediately subsided. Dean fanned the air, looking at Sam to make sure he was not in distress. Sam remained unchanged, and when Dean looked back at the bowl, he saw an image hanging over it, wreathed in the gray mist that remained. A falcon's head stared out at him, the eyes of the falcon burning yellow in its dark blue feather head. The head was supported by a human-style neck and shoulders, the skin inky black, a wide necklace of gold and jewels circling its throat.
"Are you the one who summoned me? Who are you, and why do you disturb me?" The voice was alien in nature; nothing organic or composed of flesh could produce those pure, unearthly tones. They filled the room and yet were quiet, making Dean focus hard in order to understand Khonsu's words.
"Uh, I did. Me. Dean." Dean had faced many a spirit, and even some other gods before, but the falcon's eyes regarding him now were difficult to keep contact with. He forced himself not to look away, to keep his own gaze locked on the eerie yellow eyes of the bird-god.
"What do you want? Humans always want something. Tell me what it is that you want, and why I should give it to you."
"I want--I ask that my brother be healed." Dean gestured to the comatose Sam. "He is hurt beyond the healing of men."
The falcon looked over to the bed.
"Ah, a hero. He has fought long and hard. Yes, I can that see his hurts are many and deep." It returned its attention to Dean. "He is indeed worthy to be healed, but there is a price. There is always a price. Are you prepared to pay it?"
Dean didn't even think about it.
"Yes. Anything. I'll do anything you want. Give you whatever you want."
The falcon nodded gravely.
"You agree easily. Have you no care for what the price might be?"
"No. He is every--he's my brother. I have to save him." Dean felt his throat constrict with the twisting, visceral terror of losing Sam.
"Do you enjoy games, Dean? I love them. Chess is a favorite of mine, as well as games of chance."
Dean stared at the falcon, wondering what the hell it was yakking about games for. Was this fun for it?
"I propose a game--or perhaps challenge might be a better word. I am going to heal your brother . . . for two hours. In that two hour span, you both must offer me tribute. If you do--he resumes his life. If you do not satisfy me--you both die."
Dean caught his breath. Double-or-nothing was not a risk he had anticipated. Goddamn sneaky gods! Always pulling some shit or other. Fuckers.
His eyes were drawn back to the unmoving figure on the bed. He could barely see Sammy's chest moving from across the room.
I can't. I can't survive without him. Maybe this is the way--either we'll be together here or there. One way or the other . . .
"I agree to your terms."
The falcon screeched, startling Dean after its quiet speech and making him jump backward. On the bed, Sam gave a mighty gasp, his eyes popping open and rolling in their sockets. Dean rushed over to him, terrified that he was dying before the god could heal him, clutching his bony hands between Dean's own strong, scarred ones.
The silence after the terrible screeching stopped echoed in Dean's ears. His eyes studied Sam desperately, trying to discern of there was any improvement. He was still ashy, skeletal, and breathing shallowly. His eyes were open but seemed unseeing, and he didn't respond to Dean's whispered Sammy?
Dean whirled to face the falcon.
"What are you up to? Why isn't he healed?"
The falcon gave another awful screech; Dean clapped his hands to his ears, and yet still the screech penetrated his very brain. He fell to his knees, grimacing and squeezing his eyes shut. One more second and he thought his ears would start bleeding.
The quiet hit him like an anvil. The very absence of noise hurt for a moment.
Sammy!
Dean turned to crawl over to the bed.
Sam was sitting up.
Dean froze, his eyes unbelieving.
Sam looked around the room, confusion clear on his face with the tan, healthy looking color back. The shadows were gone. His flesh was supple and easily coated his bones, the looming awareness of his skull receded. His chest rose and fell normally, his muscles full and firm again, his hair thick and shiny.
Sam.
"Dean! Dean, where are we? I don't remember this room. Why are you on the floor, dude? And, um . . . why is there a bird head hanging in the air?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I missed some stuff, huh?" He stared at the falcon head in fascination.
Dean struggled to talk normally, ignoring the lump in his throat.
"Yeah, Sammy, just a little. We were on the move. What's the last thing you remember?"
"Uh, we found that ramshackle church to do the last Trial in. That's it. And maybe--there was a big meteor shower? Stars streaking down the sky."
Dean rubbed his face.
"We went there for the Trial, Sammy, but we had to stop. I'll explain about the meteors later. And the bird-thing, well . . . Sammy, meet the Egyptian god Khonsu. See, you were hurt pretty bad, Sammy, and this guy--he's fixing you up, good as new."
"Dean! A god? What--what does he want? They always want something, and it's usually not too great for us!" Sam sighed frustratedly.
Dean said, "He wants tribute. I don't know exactly what that means yet, but I agreed to it. And, Sammy, FYI--it's a game to him right now."
"A game? What the hell does that mean? Shit, Dean, what--why did you do this?"
Dean stared at Sam, unsure of how to respond. Because I love you more than anything. More than anyone. And without you, I have no life.
Yeah, that would fly with his brother.
Good thinking, Dean.
"Because it's my job to protect you, watch over you. And I'm not letting you die for some mumbo-jumbo angel-demon crap. Not on my watch."
Sam sat silently. Dean felt the tension build, but he had a job to do yet.
"Now, listen, Sammy. We have two hours to do this tribute thing, okay? So we need to get started."
"Two hours . . . and then what? Do I--" Sam stopped and looked down. "Two hours or I die, right?"
Dean cleared his throat.
"Yeah . . . that's the deal."
Sam sighed again, then stood up from the bed.
"I guess we'd better get started."
They faced the falcon, shoulder to shoulder. Dean asked firmly, "What is your desired tribute, Khonsu?"
"I demand two things. Both must be from each of you, gifts to yourselves and to me. One of these is blood--your blood will be joined, and then offered to me. The other is seed--your seed will be joined, and then offered to me. Then I will be satisfied."
Dean and Sam exchanged nervous looks. Sam addressed the falcon for the first time.
"Ah, Khonsu, this, um, seed business--are you referring to semen? Like, our semen must join? Like . . . like sex?"
Dean chimed in. "Yeah, see, we're brothers, so the seed-joining thing isn't going to work there."
Not thinking about getting to see Sam ejaculate, or his big ol' cock, or . . . nope nope nope. Not thinking about how my come would look on his face, coating his mouth, his lips--fuck, Dean, stop it! Stop it!
The falcon tilted his head in that unique, bird-like way.
"Brothers? Even better--the bond is stronger so. How is your brotherhood an obstacle?"
Dean gaped at the god. Sam tugged on his arm and whispered, "Dude, back in ancient Egypt, siblings slept together and had sex all the time. They even married and had kids. He doesn't care that we're related. It's our issue, not his."
Dean stared at Sam. "Sam, we can NOT be thinking about this! It's crazy! It's--"
"It's gotta be done, Dean. I'm not having you check-out with me because you tried to save me. So, I guess we better think of something good and whack one off."
"What is "whacking"?"
Dean looked at the bird-god, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"Jerking off, spanking the monkey--maybe you'd prefer chocking the chicken?"
Sam elbowed him in the ribs.
"It means pleasuring yourself, alone."
The falcon gave a loud croak.
"That is not tribute. You must be together, produce your seed together. Also the blood. Then I will be satisfied. Be aware time is already passing through your hourglass as we speak."
The Winchesters looked at each other with alarm.
"Okay, Sammy . . . let's get moving." Dean felt if he didn't push this, it wasn't going to happen. Maybe his perverted thoughts about his little brother would help him push past Sammy's normality boundaries and head on into incest-ville.
Fuck my life.
They both moved for the athame first--certainly the blood would be easier to accomplish. Innumerable rituals and identity-checks had inured them to small cuts and blood-letting. Dean went first, making a short slice across his palm before handing the athame to Sam. Sam cut himself likewise, and they both waited a second to let the blood rise in the wound, a wet, red line studded with small round beads clinging on by dint of surface tension.
They looked at each other, hands held flat still, until Dean said, "Here's mud in your eye." Hands met, palm to palm, their blood now trickling down their wrists as they pressed the cuts together. They softly moved their palms together to ensure the mingling of the blood.
Dean was surprised by how soft Sammy's palm felt against his own--oh, he could feel calluses, Sam was a laborer as much as he was, but still, the skin of the inner palm was so soft, so smooth. He couldn't help flashing on how that palm would feel as it slid over his body, squeezed around his balls, stroked his cock. His breath caught at that heady vision, and he felt the blood surge to his dick, fattening it up in his jeans.
Fuck, how am I ever going to keep this on the down-low?
Sam nudged him with a shoulder as he turned to face Khonsu.
"We have mingled our blood. Is this accepted as tribute?"
The falcon nodded.
"I accept your blood. Give me your seed."
Sam and Dean exchanged nervous glances. Sam murmured, "Let's just grab some band-aids. Don't need to be painting each other in blood, right?"
Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak. They quickly wiped their hands off and slapped a couple of band-aids on. Dean could feel his chest tightening now that the time was here. There was no prevaricating to do--he was going to have to fuck his little brother for them to live. It was simply a matter of survival.
He shed his chamois over-shirt and his plaid button-down. He grasped the hem of his T-shirt and paused. Dammit, not like Sammy hasn't seen me half my life without my shirt on! he thought angrily.
Yeah, but you weren't going to fuck him all those other times, his mind replied back.
He sighed and peeled his T-shirt off. Looking over at Sam, he saw his brother's jaw was set, that muscle tense and jumping as he undressed. Sam had already made it through his layers of shirts and was unbuttoning his fly.
Why the hell does he always wear those weird button-fly jeans? Zippers are so much more expedient, wondered Dean.
"Dean! Dean, focus!" Sam's voice cut through Dean's mental fog, and he fumbled with his fly, pushing his jeans down and kicking them off into the corner.
Oh, Sammy. God, you're so beautiful. How the hell did you get so fucking perfect?
Dean's eyes roved over Sam's body, noting the rounded, sleek muscles, the ripples of his abs, the deep grooves of his hip bones. His thighs were long, lean cords of muscle under that smooth, light caramel skin that begged Dean to lick it. Dark hair spread across his pecs and down a trail that Dean would be beyond happy to explore, ending in a surprisingly well-groom pubic patch.
Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam. "Been doing a little manscaping, I see?"
Sam glared at him.
"Some of us take pride in our grooming, besides wanting to be considerate to others."
Dean snickered. It was mostly an effort to distract Sam, though, because all he really wanted to do was kneel down before his glorious brother and bury his nose in that dark patch, inhale all the essence of Sam that he could before swallowing down his cock, still soft but weighty and large as it hung between his legs.
For his part, Sam seemed rather focused on Dean; his eyes tracked all over Dean's body before they fell to Dean's groin. Dean didn't trim as much as Sam--hey, life on the road was rough--but he did keep himself from being completely wild. He wondered if Sam was surprised at how much more gingery his hair down there was.
Under Sam's scrutiny, Dean's cock began to harden further. He was already half-hard from the palm contact, and now, feeling his brother's eyes studying his junk, Dean couldn't help responding. He tried looking at a point over Sam's shoulder, avoiding that incredible body in front of him, but he could still feel those hazel eyes on him, moving over his skin, his dick.
"Dean," Sam whispered. "Dean, you're so beautiful. I always knew how pretty you were, but you're so much more than that. God . . ." and he raised a hand, placing it gently on Dean's chest, resting it against his skin. "Here, and here, and then your skin . . ." His hand skimmed Dean's chest, drift down to his flat belly, further in his ginger thatch. "Jesus, look at you . . . all those freckles, I want to . . . I want to lick them all, Dean, wanna taste you all over . . . "
As Sam's hand drifted down, Dean felt himself freeze in shock. What the fuck was happening? What was Sammy saying? His throat was paralyzed; he couldn't say anything, couldn't ask Sammy what he meant by this. He could only gasp at the feel of Sam's hand as it lightly cupped his balls, hefted the increasingly hard length of his cock, ran a finger across his tip and caught the first bead of pre-come welling out.
"This is going well. I can see the brother bond is not a problem for you two. I anticipate a bounteous tribute." The falcon's unearthly voice broke the spell building between the two men. Sam snatched his hand away from Dean, while Dean felt his paralysis finally break.
"Hey! Bad enough we have to do this in front of you, you pervy bird, but you could at least be quiet!" Dean shot out before common sense reminded him not to scold a god. Besides, he felt cold now that Sammy's hand was gone.
They turned back to each other, and now Dean saw the unsureness in Sam's eyes.
"Dean--I'm sorry. I never . . . I never wanted you to find out. I know I'm crazy, I'm disgusting, but I wasn't ever going to tell you. I guess . . . well, I guess that's no good anymore, so--I'm sorry. Please don't--please don't hate me, okay? I promise after this, it will never happen again, I'll never touch you again."
His eyes glittered in the low light, and Dean realized Sam was fighting back tears. His hands trembled faintly as they hung by his sides. And his cock--
His cock stood full and hard and red, jutting out from his thighs. It was as big as the rest of him; a couple of inches longer and an inch thicker than any other dick Dean had seen before. Not that he'd seen so many, but he'd seen a few. And that wasn't counting the ones he'd seen in porn either.
"Jesus, Sammy, you're packing some serious heat there." Dean tried to lighten things up.
Sam's eyes dropped to Dean's erection.
"You've got nothing to complain about yourself."
Dean smirked and said, "Okay, so much for trading dick compliments, huh? Come here, Sammy. It's okay."
He reached for Sam's hand and drew him closer. Tilting his face up--and didn't that feel weird?--he pressed his lips against Sam's. Sam inhaled sharply, barely pressing back before grabbing Dean with both arms, wrapping them around him and holding him close as they kissed.
Dean's eyes popped open. "Damn! Sam--"
But Sam's lips descended on Dean's again, accompanied by a very clever tongue that slid into Dean's mouth, and then they were too busy with the kissing and the full-body grinding to talk anymore.
Finally breaking the kiss, Sam gasped, "Bed?"
Dean nodded vigorously.
They stumbled to the bed, unwilling to release each other, and collapsed onto it.
Dean was lost in hands; his hands moving over Sammy, exploring every inch of the physical wonderland that was his brother. Sammy's hands roving over Dean's body; stroking, probing, caressing him everywhere. Tweaking his nipples, which made Dean's cock jump and Sam laugh. Sam's finger rubbing behind his balls to his hole as they ground their cocks together.
Hands led to hungry mouths traveling across their bodies; mouths that licked with wet, soft tongues, that nibbled with firm lips and gentle hints of teeth, that sucked bruises into tender skin. Sam snuffled his way into Dean's armpit and then licked from there back down to his nipples, sucking and nipping on those tender pink points until Dean was moaning and arching under his mouth. Dean nuzzled Sam's chest scruff--how did he get hair there and I didn't? Not fair!--and nibbled that well-muscled belly, licking each groove, and finally arriving at the base of Sam's cock. He dug his nose in as he'd envisioned when they first undressed, burrowing into Sam and breathing him deeply. His warmth, his scent, the musk of his arousal . . . as good as any wet dream he'd ever had, and better.
Flushed and breathless, they realigned themselves face-to-face. Both of them were leaking pre-come steadily now, their combined slick easing the friction as they'd rubbed their cocks together.
"You know that we're gonna have to talk about this afterward, right?" Sam said quietly in between deep, hungry kisses.
Dean nodded.
"Yeah, I get it. Right now, though . . ."
"Yeah. Me too . . ." Sam bit Dean's lips softly before plunging his tongue back his mouth, where Dean gladly battled with him.
Then Dean pulled back. He could feel his lips were swollen as he spoke, and Sam's eyes were riveted to them as he listened.
"Dude, we gotta--we gotta seal the deal here. Have you ever . . . I mean, do you know if you'd rather . . .
"Top or bottom?" Sam shook his head. "I never . . . couple of blow jobs, hand jobs along the way, but I never went there with anyone."
Dean had to look away from those open, trusting eyes for a moment. Sam had never . . . and without him saying it, Dean knew why.
Well, Dean had gone there. Both ways, although mostly as a top. And now he could at least use that experience to make it easier for his Sammy.
"You top then, okay? It'll be a little easier for you. Let me just grab some lube and a condom, okay?"
Sam grabbed him.
"Dean--do we have to use a condom? Can it just . . . just be you?"
Dean spent one millisecond hating himself and the life he'd led so far before putting it aside and moving on.
"Sweetheart, I wish we could. I haven't always . . . used the best judgment. I don't want to take any chances with you. Not like this, okay? If we decide to . . . continue, we'll get tested and go from there. But right now, we're best off using a condom."
Sam nodded. Dean looked at him and marveled how the grown, thirty-year old man could still embody that softer, puppy-like seventeen-year-old Sam at the same time.
That had been how old Sam was when Dean realized how he'd really felt about his little brother. Realized . . . and denied as much as he could. Until now.
Shaking his head free of the memories, Dean got his supplies and rejoined Sam. He resolutely ignored the falcon, who apparently was sleeping after somehow tucking its head under . . . its arm?
Yeah, ignoring was good.
Dean and Sam resumed kissing and touching as Dean began opening himself up. Sam quickly realized what he was doing and said, "Um, can I help you with that?"
Dean nodded, and Sam began sliding one long finger inside Dean, next to Dean's finger. Sam gasped as he moved it, his cock twitching next to Dean's hip.
"Jesus, Dean, it's so hot inside! I never imagined . . . I mean, I get it, 98 degrees, but to feel it like this? And so tight! How'm I ever going to . . ."
"To fit, Sammy? Well not gonna lie, you got a monster there. But it's actually a pretty flexible area, so with a good stretch, a lotta lube, and taking our time a bit, it's gonna be fine."
Sam looked at the watch on the nightstand.
"Dean--not that much time! We've got less than an hour left!" His expression was fearful and worried.
Dean glanced too and swore. The time to take it slow was over.
"Okay, Sammy, roll onto your back. I'm gonna ride you so you don't have to worry about hurting me, and I can control things. You lie back and enjoy, because I'm pretty sure I have the sweetest ass around." He winked at his brother, who couldn't help laughing at his cheesy humor.
"Okay . . ." Sam took the condom and stroked it on, adding plenty of lube afterward.
Dean straddled Sam's hips and Sam steadied him with big hands on Dean's waist. Dean rose up, positioned Sam's cock under his hole, and began to push down. He grunted as the fat head pushed against the furl of his hole, trying to control his reactions so as not to alarm Sam. Sam pushed up a little with his hips, just enough to help him penetrate Dean without hurting him. Dean nodded at Sam's pushing, continuing to force himself down Sam's rigid shaft, using his thighs to move up and down in little increments.
"Jesus, what kind of mutant vegetables you been eating, little brother? Oh . . . .oh fuck . . . God, Sammy!" He closed his eyes as he relished the pain-pleasure of Sammy entering him.
Inch by inch, Dean worked his way down, Sam still giving little thrusts up at the same time. Dean saw tension growing in Sam's face, so he stopped to ask, "Are you okay? Am I hurting you?"
Sam blew out a gust of air. "Okay? Fuck, Dean, I've got my dick inside the tightest, hottest fucking place it's ever been! I'm doing everything I can not to blow my load right here and now. I'm fucking outrageous! I just wanna fuck you, so can we get going here?"
Dean broke into a huge smile, and Sammy smiled back at him. This is the weirdest fucking thing to ever happen to me, and I couldn't be happier right this second, Dean thought.
Then he stopped thinking.
He was all the way down now, his own erection resting on Sam's belly, the tip trailing pre-come beads onto Sam's happy trail. Sam's balls were snugged up under his ass. Dean started rolling his hips, pushing his cock against Sammy as he worked Sammy's cock in his ass. He reached up to Sam's chest at started pinching his nipples, tweaking them, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. Sam groaned and arched his chest as he stretched his arms above his head, giving Dean free play.
"Like that? Fuck, Sammy, so gorgeous, so fucking hot. Wanna play with all of you, spend days teasing you, torturing you. Oh, Sammy, oh fuck . . . feel so good, Jesus . . . ohh . . . "
Sam brought his hands back down and wrapped them around Dean, bringing them chest to chest as they kissed.
"Dean . . . so hot . . . fuckin' amazing. Loved you for so long, never . . ohh, shit . . . never dreamed this. We die now, De, I'd die happy."
Dean pushed himself upright.
"Fuck that, Sammy--we ain't dying now. I just got something new to live for. Come on, brother mine, get busy here! Fuck me! Give it to me! Now, Sammy, now!"
Dean watched as Sam looked positively feral, grabbing Dean's hips and fucking up hard. He set a fast rhythm, thrusting up as he pulled Dean down hard, slamming their pelvises together. Dean thought dimly that he was going to have bruises tomorrow, but the ecstasy of Sam's cock slamming in his ass pushed that aside. He bounced on Sam, his prostate pounded by Sam's dick as they moved hard and fast.
It didn't take much of that for Dean's orgasm to start rushing in. He managed to grunt as much to Sam; a Sam he'd never seen before, one with a curled lip and gritted teeth, sweaty and animalistic, yet whose hands still held Dean with love.
Fuck, I didn't have it bad enough already . . .
"Yeah . . . grunted Sam. "Yeah . . . me too . . . God, De, fuck . . .get off, get off!"
Dean pushed hard and rose up, moaning at the loss of that thick heat inside him. His cock and balls were screaming at him still, so he sat back down on Sam's thighs and pushed his cock against Sam's, wrapping his hand around them as best he could. Sam's hand joined him, and together they stroked and squeezed their dicks, balls tight and smashed together, Sam's heat bleeding into Dean as they rocked.
Dean brought up his other hand and ran it over the tips of both cocks, pressing at their slits, but it was Sam's hand cupping and squeezing their balls in unison that sent them simultaneously over the edge. Dean yelled hoarsely as he came; he was almost afraid he was going to blow off the top of his head, or maybe have a stroke. It didn't seem possible for a body to be able to contain so much pleasure. He could feel Sammy's balls next to his, pulsing and jerking as Sammy shot his load, his brother groaning loudly as his head ground back into the pillow.
It seemed to go on forever, but finally they were empty, a pool of combined come all over their joined hands and Sam's belly. Dean almost fell backward, he was so drained, but Sam caught his arm and propelled him forward, laying next to him with his head on Sam's shoulder.
Dean could have laid there forever, but he picked up his head to look at the watch. No time for that.
"Sammy . . . Sammy, gotta move. Sorry, but we gotta talk to Kentucky Fried over there. C'mon, man . . ."
Sam moaned softly, but pushed himself up on one elbow.
"Is it time?"
"Just about. Come on . . . I'd think we got enough combined jizz there for three resurrections, but we have to check in."
"Gonna sleep for a week after . . . " Sam grumbled as he sat all the way up. "Guess we don't have to get dressed, huh?"
Dean snickered. "Yeah, guess not."
They stood up, holding onto each other with legs still wobbly, and stood in front of the now-awake falcon. The piercing yellow eyes studied them both. Dean felt ridiculous--naked, sweaty, come drying on one hand. He looked at Sam and snickered again.
"What?"
"You're a fuckin' mess, man."
Sam looked down and snickered too. "Yeah, guess I am."
They elbowed each other.
A loud chirp commanded their attention.
"Khonsu, we have mingled our seed for you. Do you accept our tribute?" asked Dean.
"Khonsu, my brother and I have done as you asked. Do you accept our tribute? asked Sam.
The falcon regarded them for a long minute.
"I accept your tribute. You have done well. You are free to go live the rest of your natural lives."
In a flash of smoke and flame, the falcon disappeared.
Sam and Dean turned to each other.
Is this it? Is this when it happens? We say, mission accomplished, and go back to the way things were before?
Having had this, can I live without it again?
"No," said Sam.
Dean started. "Um, what?"
"We don't go back. We don't live without it. We keep going."
Dean was confounded. "How did . . . "
Sam smiled at him.
What a beautiful smile he's always had . . .
"Dean, I know you. I know that with the danger past, you're already re-evaluating. Trying to decide if we can do this. And I know we have a lot of talking to do--and we are going to talk about it, Dean--but I don't want to go back. To go without. We won here, but we're just surviving. I want to live. And I need you, Dean. That means us."
He reached a hand out to Dean.
Dean took it.
FIN
I tag verucasalt123 with the prompt, and not a drop to drink
Author: firesign10
Beta: ephermeralk
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Word Count: 5700
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Spoiler(s): None
Disclaimer: I own nothing; this is just for fun.
Summary: Prompt from counteragent: it's a matter of survival
Dean is fighting to save Sam's life after the aborted Trials; he turns to a different source of power.
Notes: Written for the April 2014 round at salt_burn_porn. My first time! Loved it! Thank you for letting me play! A million thanks to ephemeralk for not only beta-reading, but cheering on and late-night moral support. Thank you, bb!
Dean watched as Sam lay unmoving in the bed. Sam's skin was ash gray, the dark shadows under his eyes standing out sharply against his pallor. The bones of his face pushed against the thin draping of his flesh, standing out prominently and giving Dean uncomfortable visions of his skull. Even his heavy stubble looked more like some disease crawling on his face, rather than the product of a robust male.
Fuck, Sammy, Dean thought, head dropped into his hands. We stopped the damn Trials. The creepy light disappeared from your arm. Why are you still unconscious? What the fuck is going on? Even the fall of the angels paled next to the crisis his brother was in. It was only about Sammy now, his Sammy, and he was not about to let Sammy die. Again. Not this time.
His phone beeped, and Dean pulled it out to see Garth's name lit up. He stood up and left the room before answering, standing just outside the open door of the motel room.
"Garth? Do you have anything?"
"Hey, Dean. How's Sam doing?"
"Garth! Do you have anything!" Dean needed answers now, this second. There was no time to waste--the doctors back at the hospital had not said anything positive about how much time Sam still had.
"Sure, Dean, I understand. Yeah, I think I found something. There's this Egyptian god--you know how all those gods and goddesses have their own areas of special interest? Well, this guy, name of Khonsu, he's in charge of male virility and healing. I thought that might be just the thing for you."
Dean looked at the phone.
"You think I need some Egyptian Viagra here? My 'nads work just fine, thank you very much."
Garth crowed with laughter. "No, no! Healing, Dean. He's a god of healing, and then with the male part, I figured he'd be partial to healing men. There's a ritual--"
"Ain't there always," Dean sighed.
"Yeah, true dat! So you can supposedly contact him through this ritual, and ask him to heal Sam. I thought it was worth a shot."
Dean only needed a moment to decide.
"Yeah, dude, email me the ritual and I'll get on it. Anything special I'm gonna need?"
"Most of it is pretty ordinary--sandalwood, olive oil, stuff like that. The one thing that could be a problem is you're going to need an animal heart."
"What? What the fuck do I need a fucking animal heart for? What kind of skeevy god is this, Garth?"
"Khonsu has a darker, bloodthirsty side, and so you're gonna need an animal heart. It can be anything--a mouse, a rat, a cat--"
"Garth! I am not killing a goddamn cat and ripping its heart out!" Dean felt a little sick.
"Try checking out a local butcher shop--a lot of them have organs, either for sale or--oh! Yeah, there you go! A chicken heart! They're bound to have some chicken hearts!"
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. This life was so fucking weird sometimes.
"Okay, Garth. Email me. I'm on the hunt for a heart."
"Will do, buddy. Hang in there. I'm here for you."
A few hours later, Dean was back at the motel room, carrying an assortment of little bags. He assembled all of his ingredients, including a couple of fresh, juicy chicken hearts waiting in a plastic container. He fetched a ceremonial brass bowl from the trunk of the Impala, and started the ritual.
He measured, he mixed, he ground herbs, he drizzled olive oil. The room became fragrant with sandalwood and spices. Glancing at Sam, he turned back to the last part of his task with renewed determination. It was agonizing to see his huge, strong brother lying beneath the blankets and barely making a bump. He had to fix this.
The last step was adding the chicken hearts, which landed in the bowl with a disgusting, squishy plop. Blood spattered along the rim of the bowl. Dean picked up an athame and drew it shallowly along his left pectoral, so the blood came from over his heart. He collected a few drops on the blade and then flicked them into the bowl.
A satisfying burst of smoke laced with flames shot out and immediately subsided. Dean fanned the air, looking at Sam to make sure he was not in distress. Sam remained unchanged, and when Dean looked back at the bowl, he saw an image hanging over it, wreathed in the gray mist that remained. A falcon's head stared out at him, the eyes of the falcon burning yellow in its dark blue feather head. The head was supported by a human-style neck and shoulders, the skin inky black, a wide necklace of gold and jewels circling its throat.
"Are you the one who summoned me? Who are you, and why do you disturb me?" The voice was alien in nature; nothing organic or composed of flesh could produce those pure, unearthly tones. They filled the room and yet were quiet, making Dean focus hard in order to understand Khonsu's words.
"Uh, I did. Me. Dean." Dean had faced many a spirit, and even some other gods before, but the falcon's eyes regarding him now were difficult to keep contact with. He forced himself not to look away, to keep his own gaze locked on the eerie yellow eyes of the bird-god.
"What do you want? Humans always want something. Tell me what it is that you want, and why I should give it to you."
"I want--I ask that my brother be healed." Dean gestured to the comatose Sam. "He is hurt beyond the healing of men."
The falcon looked over to the bed.
"Ah, a hero. He has fought long and hard. Yes, I can that see his hurts are many and deep." It returned its attention to Dean. "He is indeed worthy to be healed, but there is a price. There is always a price. Are you prepared to pay it?"
Dean didn't even think about it.
"Yes. Anything. I'll do anything you want. Give you whatever you want."
The falcon nodded gravely.
"You agree easily. Have you no care for what the price might be?"
"No. He is every--he's my brother. I have to save him." Dean felt his throat constrict with the twisting, visceral terror of losing Sam.
"Do you enjoy games, Dean? I love them. Chess is a favorite of mine, as well as games of chance."
Dean stared at the falcon, wondering what the hell it was yakking about games for. Was this fun for it?
"I propose a game--or perhaps challenge might be a better word. I am going to heal your brother . . . for two hours. In that two hour span, you both must offer me tribute. If you do--he resumes his life. If you do not satisfy me--you both die."
Dean caught his breath. Double-or-nothing was not a risk he had anticipated. Goddamn sneaky gods! Always pulling some shit or other. Fuckers.
His eyes were drawn back to the unmoving figure on the bed. He could barely see Sammy's chest moving from across the room.
I can't. I can't survive without him. Maybe this is the way--either we'll be together here or there. One way or the other . . .
"I agree to your terms."
The falcon screeched, startling Dean after its quiet speech and making him jump backward. On the bed, Sam gave a mighty gasp, his eyes popping open and rolling in their sockets. Dean rushed over to him, terrified that he was dying before the god could heal him, clutching his bony hands between Dean's own strong, scarred ones.
The silence after the terrible screeching stopped echoed in Dean's ears. His eyes studied Sam desperately, trying to discern of there was any improvement. He was still ashy, skeletal, and breathing shallowly. His eyes were open but seemed unseeing, and he didn't respond to Dean's whispered Sammy?
Dean whirled to face the falcon.
"What are you up to? Why isn't he healed?"
The falcon gave another awful screech; Dean clapped his hands to his ears, and yet still the screech penetrated his very brain. He fell to his knees, grimacing and squeezing his eyes shut. One more second and he thought his ears would start bleeding.
The quiet hit him like an anvil. The very absence of noise hurt for a moment.
Sammy!
Dean turned to crawl over to the bed.
Sam was sitting up.
Dean froze, his eyes unbelieving.
Sam looked around the room, confusion clear on his face with the tan, healthy looking color back. The shadows were gone. His flesh was supple and easily coated his bones, the looming awareness of his skull receded. His chest rose and fell normally, his muscles full and firm again, his hair thick and shiny.
Sam.
"Dean! Dean, where are we? I don't remember this room. Why are you on the floor, dude? And, um . . . why is there a bird head hanging in the air?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I missed some stuff, huh?" He stared at the falcon head in fascination.
Dean struggled to talk normally, ignoring the lump in his throat.
"Yeah, Sammy, just a little. We were on the move. What's the last thing you remember?"
"Uh, we found that ramshackle church to do the last Trial in. That's it. And maybe--there was a big meteor shower? Stars streaking down the sky."
Dean rubbed his face.
"We went there for the Trial, Sammy, but we had to stop. I'll explain about the meteors later. And the bird-thing, well . . . Sammy, meet the Egyptian god Khonsu. See, you were hurt pretty bad, Sammy, and this guy--he's fixing you up, good as new."
"Dean! A god? What--what does he want? They always want something, and it's usually not too great for us!" Sam sighed frustratedly.
Dean said, "He wants tribute. I don't know exactly what that means yet, but I agreed to it. And, Sammy, FYI--it's a game to him right now."
"A game? What the hell does that mean? Shit, Dean, what--why did you do this?"
Dean stared at Sam, unsure of how to respond. Because I love you more than anything. More than anyone. And without you, I have no life.
Yeah, that would fly with his brother.
Good thinking, Dean.
"Because it's my job to protect you, watch over you. And I'm not letting you die for some mumbo-jumbo angel-demon crap. Not on my watch."
Sam sat silently. Dean felt the tension build, but he had a job to do yet.
"Now, listen, Sammy. We have two hours to do this tribute thing, okay? So we need to get started."
"Two hours . . . and then what? Do I--" Sam stopped and looked down. "Two hours or I die, right?"
Dean cleared his throat.
"Yeah . . . that's the deal."
Sam sighed again, then stood up from the bed.
"I guess we'd better get started."
They faced the falcon, shoulder to shoulder. Dean asked firmly, "What is your desired tribute, Khonsu?"
"I demand two things. Both must be from each of you, gifts to yourselves and to me. One of these is blood--your blood will be joined, and then offered to me. The other is seed--your seed will be joined, and then offered to me. Then I will be satisfied."
Dean and Sam exchanged nervous looks. Sam addressed the falcon for the first time.
"Ah, Khonsu, this, um, seed business--are you referring to semen? Like, our semen must join? Like . . . like sex?"
Dean chimed in. "Yeah, see, we're brothers, so the seed-joining thing isn't going to work there."
Not thinking about getting to see Sam ejaculate, or his big ol' cock, or . . . nope nope nope. Not thinking about how my come would look on his face, coating his mouth, his lips--fuck, Dean, stop it! Stop it!
The falcon tilted his head in that unique, bird-like way.
"Brothers? Even better--the bond is stronger so. How is your brotherhood an obstacle?"
Dean gaped at the god. Sam tugged on his arm and whispered, "Dude, back in ancient Egypt, siblings slept together and had sex all the time. They even married and had kids. He doesn't care that we're related. It's our issue, not his."
Dean stared at Sam. "Sam, we can NOT be thinking about this! It's crazy! It's--"
"It's gotta be done, Dean. I'm not having you check-out with me because you tried to save me. So, I guess we better think of something good and whack one off."
"What is "whacking"?"
Dean looked at the bird-god, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"Jerking off, spanking the monkey--maybe you'd prefer chocking the chicken?"
Sam elbowed him in the ribs.
"It means pleasuring yourself, alone."
The falcon gave a loud croak.
"That is not tribute. You must be together, produce your seed together. Also the blood. Then I will be satisfied. Be aware time is already passing through your hourglass as we speak."
The Winchesters looked at each other with alarm.
"Okay, Sammy . . . let's get moving." Dean felt if he didn't push this, it wasn't going to happen. Maybe his perverted thoughts about his little brother would help him push past Sammy's normality boundaries and head on into incest-ville.
Fuck my life.
They both moved for the athame first--certainly the blood would be easier to accomplish. Innumerable rituals and identity-checks had inured them to small cuts and blood-letting. Dean went first, making a short slice across his palm before handing the athame to Sam. Sam cut himself likewise, and they both waited a second to let the blood rise in the wound, a wet, red line studded with small round beads clinging on by dint of surface tension.
They looked at each other, hands held flat still, until Dean said, "Here's mud in your eye." Hands met, palm to palm, their blood now trickling down their wrists as they pressed the cuts together. They softly moved their palms together to ensure the mingling of the blood.
Dean was surprised by how soft Sammy's palm felt against his own--oh, he could feel calluses, Sam was a laborer as much as he was, but still, the skin of the inner palm was so soft, so smooth. He couldn't help flashing on how that palm would feel as it slid over his body, squeezed around his balls, stroked his cock. His breath caught at that heady vision, and he felt the blood surge to his dick, fattening it up in his jeans.
Fuck, how am I ever going to keep this on the down-low?
Sam nudged him with a shoulder as he turned to face Khonsu.
"We have mingled our blood. Is this accepted as tribute?"
The falcon nodded.
"I accept your blood. Give me your seed."
Sam and Dean exchanged nervous glances. Sam murmured, "Let's just grab some band-aids. Don't need to be painting each other in blood, right?"
Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak. They quickly wiped their hands off and slapped a couple of band-aids on. Dean could feel his chest tightening now that the time was here. There was no prevaricating to do--he was going to have to fuck his little brother for them to live. It was simply a matter of survival.
He shed his chamois over-shirt and his plaid button-down. He grasped the hem of his T-shirt and paused. Dammit, not like Sammy hasn't seen me half my life without my shirt on! he thought angrily.
Yeah, but you weren't going to fuck him all those other times, his mind replied back.
He sighed and peeled his T-shirt off. Looking over at Sam, he saw his brother's jaw was set, that muscle tense and jumping as he undressed. Sam had already made it through his layers of shirts and was unbuttoning his fly.
Why the hell does he always wear those weird button-fly jeans? Zippers are so much more expedient, wondered Dean.
"Dean! Dean, focus!" Sam's voice cut through Dean's mental fog, and he fumbled with his fly, pushing his jeans down and kicking them off into the corner.
Oh, Sammy. God, you're so beautiful. How the hell did you get so fucking perfect?
Dean's eyes roved over Sam's body, noting the rounded, sleek muscles, the ripples of his abs, the deep grooves of his hip bones. His thighs were long, lean cords of muscle under that smooth, light caramel skin that begged Dean to lick it. Dark hair spread across his pecs and down a trail that Dean would be beyond happy to explore, ending in a surprisingly well-groom pubic patch.
Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam. "Been doing a little manscaping, I see?"
Sam glared at him.
"Some of us take pride in our grooming, besides wanting to be considerate to others."
Dean snickered. It was mostly an effort to distract Sam, though, because all he really wanted to do was kneel down before his glorious brother and bury his nose in that dark patch, inhale all the essence of Sam that he could before swallowing down his cock, still soft but weighty and large as it hung between his legs.
For his part, Sam seemed rather focused on Dean; his eyes tracked all over Dean's body before they fell to Dean's groin. Dean didn't trim as much as Sam--hey, life on the road was rough--but he did keep himself from being completely wild. He wondered if Sam was surprised at how much more gingery his hair down there was.
Under Sam's scrutiny, Dean's cock began to harden further. He was already half-hard from the palm contact, and now, feeling his brother's eyes studying his junk, Dean couldn't help responding. He tried looking at a point over Sam's shoulder, avoiding that incredible body in front of him, but he could still feel those hazel eyes on him, moving over his skin, his dick.
"Dean," Sam whispered. "Dean, you're so beautiful. I always knew how pretty you were, but you're so much more than that. God . . ." and he raised a hand, placing it gently on Dean's chest, resting it against his skin. "Here, and here, and then your skin . . ." His hand skimmed Dean's chest, drift down to his flat belly, further in his ginger thatch. "Jesus, look at you . . . all those freckles, I want to . . . I want to lick them all, Dean, wanna taste you all over . . . "
As Sam's hand drifted down, Dean felt himself freeze in shock. What the fuck was happening? What was Sammy saying? His throat was paralyzed; he couldn't say anything, couldn't ask Sammy what he meant by this. He could only gasp at the feel of Sam's hand as it lightly cupped his balls, hefted the increasingly hard length of his cock, ran a finger across his tip and caught the first bead of pre-come welling out.
"This is going well. I can see the brother bond is not a problem for you two. I anticipate a bounteous tribute." The falcon's unearthly voice broke the spell building between the two men. Sam snatched his hand away from Dean, while Dean felt his paralysis finally break.
"Hey! Bad enough we have to do this in front of you, you pervy bird, but you could at least be quiet!" Dean shot out before common sense reminded him not to scold a god. Besides, he felt cold now that Sammy's hand was gone.
They turned back to each other, and now Dean saw the unsureness in Sam's eyes.
"Dean--I'm sorry. I never . . . I never wanted you to find out. I know I'm crazy, I'm disgusting, but I wasn't ever going to tell you. I guess . . . well, I guess that's no good anymore, so--I'm sorry. Please don't--please don't hate me, okay? I promise after this, it will never happen again, I'll never touch you again."
His eyes glittered in the low light, and Dean realized Sam was fighting back tears. His hands trembled faintly as they hung by his sides. And his cock--
His cock stood full and hard and red, jutting out from his thighs. It was as big as the rest of him; a couple of inches longer and an inch thicker than any other dick Dean had seen before. Not that he'd seen so many, but he'd seen a few. And that wasn't counting the ones he'd seen in porn either.
"Jesus, Sammy, you're packing some serious heat there." Dean tried to lighten things up.
Sam's eyes dropped to Dean's erection.
"You've got nothing to complain about yourself."
Dean smirked and said, "Okay, so much for trading dick compliments, huh? Come here, Sammy. It's okay."
He reached for Sam's hand and drew him closer. Tilting his face up--and didn't that feel weird?--he pressed his lips against Sam's. Sam inhaled sharply, barely pressing back before grabbing Dean with both arms, wrapping them around him and holding him close as they kissed.
Dean's eyes popped open. "Damn! Sam--"
But Sam's lips descended on Dean's again, accompanied by a very clever tongue that slid into Dean's mouth, and then they were too busy with the kissing and the full-body grinding to talk anymore.
Finally breaking the kiss, Sam gasped, "Bed?"
Dean nodded vigorously.
They stumbled to the bed, unwilling to release each other, and collapsed onto it.
Dean was lost in hands; his hands moving over Sammy, exploring every inch of the physical wonderland that was his brother. Sammy's hands roving over Dean's body; stroking, probing, caressing him everywhere. Tweaking his nipples, which made Dean's cock jump and Sam laugh. Sam's finger rubbing behind his balls to his hole as they ground their cocks together.
Hands led to hungry mouths traveling across their bodies; mouths that licked with wet, soft tongues, that nibbled with firm lips and gentle hints of teeth, that sucked bruises into tender skin. Sam snuffled his way into Dean's armpit and then licked from there back down to his nipples, sucking and nipping on those tender pink points until Dean was moaning and arching under his mouth. Dean nuzzled Sam's chest scruff--how did he get hair there and I didn't? Not fair!--and nibbled that well-muscled belly, licking each groove, and finally arriving at the base of Sam's cock. He dug his nose in as he'd envisioned when they first undressed, burrowing into Sam and breathing him deeply. His warmth, his scent, the musk of his arousal . . . as good as any wet dream he'd ever had, and better.
Flushed and breathless, they realigned themselves face-to-face. Both of them were leaking pre-come steadily now, their combined slick easing the friction as they'd rubbed their cocks together.
"You know that we're gonna have to talk about this afterward, right?" Sam said quietly in between deep, hungry kisses.
Dean nodded.
"Yeah, I get it. Right now, though . . ."
"Yeah. Me too . . ." Sam bit Dean's lips softly before plunging his tongue back his mouth, where Dean gladly battled with him.
Then Dean pulled back. He could feel his lips were swollen as he spoke, and Sam's eyes were riveted to them as he listened.
"Dude, we gotta--we gotta seal the deal here. Have you ever . . . I mean, do you know if you'd rather . . .
"Top or bottom?" Sam shook his head. "I never . . . couple of blow jobs, hand jobs along the way, but I never went there with anyone."
Dean had to look away from those open, trusting eyes for a moment. Sam had never . . . and without him saying it, Dean knew why.
Well, Dean had gone there. Both ways, although mostly as a top. And now he could at least use that experience to make it easier for his Sammy.
"You top then, okay? It'll be a little easier for you. Let me just grab some lube and a condom, okay?"
Sam grabbed him.
"Dean--do we have to use a condom? Can it just . . . just be you?"
Dean spent one millisecond hating himself and the life he'd led so far before putting it aside and moving on.
"Sweetheart, I wish we could. I haven't always . . . used the best judgment. I don't want to take any chances with you. Not like this, okay? If we decide to . . . continue, we'll get tested and go from there. But right now, we're best off using a condom."
Sam nodded. Dean looked at him and marveled how the grown, thirty-year old man could still embody that softer, puppy-like seventeen-year-old Sam at the same time.
That had been how old Sam was when Dean realized how he'd really felt about his little brother. Realized . . . and denied as much as he could. Until now.
Shaking his head free of the memories, Dean got his supplies and rejoined Sam. He resolutely ignored the falcon, who apparently was sleeping after somehow tucking its head under . . . its arm?
Yeah, ignoring was good.
Dean and Sam resumed kissing and touching as Dean began opening himself up. Sam quickly realized what he was doing and said, "Um, can I help you with that?"
Dean nodded, and Sam began sliding one long finger inside Dean, next to Dean's finger. Sam gasped as he moved it, his cock twitching next to Dean's hip.
"Jesus, Dean, it's so hot inside! I never imagined . . . I mean, I get it, 98 degrees, but to feel it like this? And so tight! How'm I ever going to . . ."
"To fit, Sammy? Well not gonna lie, you got a monster there. But it's actually a pretty flexible area, so with a good stretch, a lotta lube, and taking our time a bit, it's gonna be fine."
Sam looked at the watch on the nightstand.
"Dean--not that much time! We've got less than an hour left!" His expression was fearful and worried.
Dean glanced too and swore. The time to take it slow was over.
"Okay, Sammy, roll onto your back. I'm gonna ride you so you don't have to worry about hurting me, and I can control things. You lie back and enjoy, because I'm pretty sure I have the sweetest ass around." He winked at his brother, who couldn't help laughing at his cheesy humor.
"Okay . . ." Sam took the condom and stroked it on, adding plenty of lube afterward.
Dean straddled Sam's hips and Sam steadied him with big hands on Dean's waist. Dean rose up, positioned Sam's cock under his hole, and began to push down. He grunted as the fat head pushed against the furl of his hole, trying to control his reactions so as not to alarm Sam. Sam pushed up a little with his hips, just enough to help him penetrate Dean without hurting him. Dean nodded at Sam's pushing, continuing to force himself down Sam's rigid shaft, using his thighs to move up and down in little increments.
"Jesus, what kind of mutant vegetables you been eating, little brother? Oh . . . .oh fuck . . . God, Sammy!" He closed his eyes as he relished the pain-pleasure of Sammy entering him.
Inch by inch, Dean worked his way down, Sam still giving little thrusts up at the same time. Dean saw tension growing in Sam's face, so he stopped to ask, "Are you okay? Am I hurting you?"
Sam blew out a gust of air. "Okay? Fuck, Dean, I've got my dick inside the tightest, hottest fucking place it's ever been! I'm doing everything I can not to blow my load right here and now. I'm fucking outrageous! I just wanna fuck you, so can we get going here?"
Dean broke into a huge smile, and Sammy smiled back at him. This is the weirdest fucking thing to ever happen to me, and I couldn't be happier right this second, Dean thought.
Then he stopped thinking.
He was all the way down now, his own erection resting on Sam's belly, the tip trailing pre-come beads onto Sam's happy trail. Sam's balls were snugged up under his ass. Dean started rolling his hips, pushing his cock against Sammy as he worked Sammy's cock in his ass. He reached up to Sam's chest at started pinching his nipples, tweaking them, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. Sam groaned and arched his chest as he stretched his arms above his head, giving Dean free play.
"Like that? Fuck, Sammy, so gorgeous, so fucking hot. Wanna play with all of you, spend days teasing you, torturing you. Oh, Sammy, oh fuck . . . feel so good, Jesus . . . ohh . . . "
Sam brought his hands back down and wrapped them around Dean, bringing them chest to chest as they kissed.
"Dean . . . so hot . . . fuckin' amazing. Loved you for so long, never . . ohh, shit . . . never dreamed this. We die now, De, I'd die happy."
Dean pushed himself upright.
"Fuck that, Sammy--we ain't dying now. I just got something new to live for. Come on, brother mine, get busy here! Fuck me! Give it to me! Now, Sammy, now!"
Dean watched as Sam looked positively feral, grabbing Dean's hips and fucking up hard. He set a fast rhythm, thrusting up as he pulled Dean down hard, slamming their pelvises together. Dean thought dimly that he was going to have bruises tomorrow, but the ecstasy of Sam's cock slamming in his ass pushed that aside. He bounced on Sam, his prostate pounded by Sam's dick as they moved hard and fast.
It didn't take much of that for Dean's orgasm to start rushing in. He managed to grunt as much to Sam; a Sam he'd never seen before, one with a curled lip and gritted teeth, sweaty and animalistic, yet whose hands still held Dean with love.
Fuck, I didn't have it bad enough already . . .
"Yeah . . . grunted Sam. "Yeah . . . me too . . . God, De, fuck . . .get off, get off!"
Dean pushed hard and rose up, moaning at the loss of that thick heat inside him. His cock and balls were screaming at him still, so he sat back down on Sam's thighs and pushed his cock against Sam's, wrapping his hand around them as best he could. Sam's hand joined him, and together they stroked and squeezed their dicks, balls tight and smashed together, Sam's heat bleeding into Dean as they rocked.
Dean brought up his other hand and ran it over the tips of both cocks, pressing at their slits, but it was Sam's hand cupping and squeezing their balls in unison that sent them simultaneously over the edge. Dean yelled hoarsely as he came; he was almost afraid he was going to blow off the top of his head, or maybe have a stroke. It didn't seem possible for a body to be able to contain so much pleasure. He could feel Sammy's balls next to his, pulsing and jerking as Sammy shot his load, his brother groaning loudly as his head ground back into the pillow.
It seemed to go on forever, but finally they were empty, a pool of combined come all over their joined hands and Sam's belly. Dean almost fell backward, he was so drained, but Sam caught his arm and propelled him forward, laying next to him with his head on Sam's shoulder.
Dean could have laid there forever, but he picked up his head to look at the watch. No time for that.
"Sammy . . . Sammy, gotta move. Sorry, but we gotta talk to Kentucky Fried over there. C'mon, man . . ."
Sam moaned softly, but pushed himself up on one elbow.
"Is it time?"
"Just about. Come on . . . I'd think we got enough combined jizz there for three resurrections, but we have to check in."
"Gonna sleep for a week after . . . " Sam grumbled as he sat all the way up. "Guess we don't have to get dressed, huh?"
Dean snickered. "Yeah, guess not."
They stood up, holding onto each other with legs still wobbly, and stood in front of the now-awake falcon. The piercing yellow eyes studied them both. Dean felt ridiculous--naked, sweaty, come drying on one hand. He looked at Sam and snickered again.
"What?"
"You're a fuckin' mess, man."
Sam looked down and snickered too. "Yeah, guess I am."
They elbowed each other.
A loud chirp commanded their attention.
"Khonsu, we have mingled our seed for you. Do you accept our tribute?" asked Dean.
"Khonsu, my brother and I have done as you asked. Do you accept our tribute? asked Sam.
The falcon regarded them for a long minute.
"I accept your tribute. You have done well. You are free to go live the rest of your natural lives."
In a flash of smoke and flame, the falcon disappeared.
Sam and Dean turned to each other.
Is this it? Is this when it happens? We say, mission accomplished, and go back to the way things were before?
Having had this, can I live without it again?
"No," said Sam.
Dean started. "Um, what?"
"We don't go back. We don't live without it. We keep going."
Dean was confounded. "How did . . . "
Sam smiled at him.
What a beautiful smile he's always had . . .
"Dean, I know you. I know that with the danger past, you're already re-evaluating. Trying to decide if we can do this. And I know we have a lot of talking to do--and we are going to talk about it, Dean--but I don't want to go back. To go without. We won here, but we're just surviving. I want to live. And I need you, Dean. That means us."
He reached a hand out to Dean.
Dean took it.
FIN
I tag verucasalt123 with the prompt, and not a drop to drink