Fic: Autumnal Bacchanal
Title: Autumn Bacchanal
Author: firesign10
Beta: theatregirl7299
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Word Count: 2550
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Don't own them
Summary: Sam and Dean are exploring a suspicious forest. They discover a beautiful glade, and then things get very interesting.
Notes: Written for my September 2019 SMPC.
Link to story on AO3
Sam tromped across the browning grass, his boots making little sound besides some muffled rustling. His backpack thumped him between his shoulder blades with each step, making a kind of cadence, thump thump thump. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry, and he grimaced at the raspy sensation.
Behind him, Dean likewise tromped, his sawed-off in his right hand. Both had their handguns in their waistbands, and their backpacks were stocked with salt, holy water, and three kinds of ammunition. Sam carried the little 5 gallon gas can. They weren't sure what they were confronting, so they'd gone with the basics.
“We're here,” said Sam, stopping abruptly. Dean collided with him and swore as he stepped back.
“Where is here, again?”
Sam gestured, sweeping his arm in front of him. “The Darke Forest, so dubbed by the town of Sarranpassett. Where strange lights and weird music has been observed, and the occasional townspeople wandering confused and seemingly drunk.”
Dean scoffed. “So they were drunk, big whoop. Didn't want to admit it to their righteous neighbors.”
“Still doesn't explain the lights and music.”
“Partying teenagers, who found a place that their parents don't want to come all the way out here for.” Dean shook his head. “Already betting this is a bust, Sammy. It's gonna be all cigarette butts, condoms, and empty PBR cans.”
“Well, we're here now, so let's check it out.” Sam was unfazed by Dean's crabbing. It was just one of the ways Dean worked out his tension at the beginning of a hunt.
A forest rose a few yards away from them, huge old trunks swathed in vines, thickets of thorns wrapped around their feet. Little light filtered in through the thick foliage, and Sam was glad he had both flashlight and matches in his backpack. He unhooked his machete from his belt, seeing Dean do the same-they were going to have to do some hacking to pass through that botanical mess.
An hour later, they practically fell into a large clearing. It had taken both machetes to break down the plant barrier and allow them to pass. Somewhat more disturbing was how the thicket had closed up behind them. Apparently getting back out was going to be as much work again.
The clearing was empty, so they sat down and pulled out water bottles, drinking first and then splashing some on their hands to wipe off their sweaty faces. Sam's eye was caught by glistening water droplets on Dean's ridiculously thick eyelashes; he was hypnotized by the fat droplets resting on the dark hairs, then how they fell and rolled down the plane of Dean's cheek. Dean turned and caught Sam staring, first frowning at him and then sticking out his tongue.
“Well, here we are. What are we looking for?” Dean got up and stretched. His shirt was untucked, and Sam saw the pale slice of Dean's belly before he lowered his arms. The skin there looked so tender, marked only by the same tiny freckles that covered the rest of Dean's body. Sam wondered what it would be like to press his lips there, maybe trace that shallow arc with his tongue.
A sudden rocking sensation broke Sam's reverie, tipping him onto his side. “Dude, what the hell,” said Dean, frowning down at Sam. “Focus, we're on the clock here.” Dean turned away and started walking around the perimeter of the clearing. Sam stood up, brushing himself off and feeling sheepish for being caught off guard.
Now that he were walking around and observing, Sam was amazed at how beautiful the clearing was. The grass was velvety green, not like outside the forest, and the bushes and trees were lush with foliage. The thorny brush was dark shiny ivy, studded with berries. More sunlight than he would have anticipated made its way through the tree branches, the leaves filtering the light into a lambent glow. With all senses attuned, Sam caught a hint of sweetness on the air, a scent of the grass and of fruit, rich and a little heady.
Dean was on the far side of the glade, and he beckoned Sam over. A small spring bubbled up, sparkling and enticing, filling a small pool before it trickled away. “Hey, we can refill our bottles,” said Dean, pulling his empty bottle out and putting it in the stream.
“Do you want the purification tablets?” asked Sam.
Dean scoffed. “Look at that, that's crystal. Doesn't come any purer than that.” He took a deep draught. “Damn, that's delicious!”
Sam knelt down and filled his bottle as well. Bringing it to his lips, he took a long swallow. Holy shit. Indeed the water was delicious, cold and crisp and clear, imbuing him with a sense of well-being. He drank again, closing his eyes to savor the wonderful water, drinking deeply.
When he opened his eyes, he gasped.
A green and gold patterned carpet lay over the grass at one side of the glade. On the carpet rested plates, cups, and bowls of fashioned from dark wood. Various types of fruits filled the bowls; grapes, pears, apples. Slices of dark bread were piled on one plate, with some soft, white cheese on another. Jugs sat behind the food, and when Dean opened one, he smiled.
“Oh this smells fantastic! This one is mead, I remember it from some floofy medieval fair.” He tried another and said, “This one's for you, Sam. It's some fancy wine.” Taking one of the cups, Dean poured the wine, and Sam could see its rich purple color. Dean handed it over before pouring himself some of the golden mead. He sipped and moaned. “That's amazing.”
Sam took the wine, and immediately he could smell the complex aroma of a fine vintage. Still, he hesitated. “Dean, what is all this? Should we be, I don't know, testing stuff? What if it's a spell? Or Fae? We don't want to disappear for centuries.” He sipped the wine again, feeling the warmth of it all the way down his throat into his stomach.
Dean already had a wooden plate with bread piled on it, and was taking a stone spreader to smear the cheese on. “You know, Sam,” he said, reaching for a bunch of grapes. “Every so often, things work out in our favor. And this?” He looked around and back at Sam. “This is one of them.”
Sam grinned. He had to admit that at this moment he was not too worried. Maybe Dean had a point. Maybe this was just a fortuitous moment for the Winchester brothers.
He went over to the carpet and sat down, helping himself to bread, cheese, and fruit as well. The flavors were all so richly distinct; the dark, hearty grain of the bread, the soft, tangy cheese, the sweet fruit, and yet they all melded perfectly, including with the wine. Sam and Dean ate their fill, and drank even more. They told each other stories, shared memories, and laughed with a carefree joy that they rarely got to experience in their dark, dangerous world.
Sam knew he was pretty toasted, but all the same he couldn't stop watching Dean eat and drink. Watching the bread and cheese slipping between those plump lips, how they were wet with wine, shiny from his tongue licking the drops up. Sam yearned to taste the wine on those lips, his cock pressing against his zipper as if it too wanted to slip between those tempting lips. He shifted, trying to mitigate the pressure, licking his own lips in unconscious reflection.
“You okay there, Sammy?” Dean's voice was husky, and his eyes were a darker shade of green than normal. “Gotta drain the lizard? Go over there, away from the spring.”
Sam was okay, but he figured he'd take the opportunity for a more thorough resettling. He got up and went to the edge of the glade, unzipping and taking himself out. He was pretty hard, and it was a little difficult to pee, but he managed.
Wrestling with his unruly dick, trying to stuff it back in his jeans, Sam cursed under his breath. Then his breath stopped, because another hand-a pale, freckled hand-was wrapped around his dick. This other hand gripped Sam firmly, giving it a little squeeze before its thumb rubbed under the ridge. Sam's lungs snapped back into action, pulling in a great gasp of air.
“I gotcha, Sammy.”
Dean's words snuggled into Sam's ear, air puffing warmly. Dean's other arm came around Sam's back, holding him close, while that warm hand squeezed and rubbed. “Why don't we go sit down?” suggested Dean, not releasing Sam while guiding him back. They somehow managed to sit down in unison, Dean still attached to Sam's member, but then Dean gently pushed Sam down on the velvety grass, soft and thick as any cushion.
“I saw you watching me. Saw your boner.” Dean leaned over and kissed the corner of Sam's mouth. “Want it. Want you.”
Sam shivered and felt feverish at the same time. “Dean, what--” His words fell away into a moan as Dean leaned over again, this time wrapping his lips around Sam's dick.
The heat...the wetness...the pressure of Dean's mouth as he sucked and bobbed on Sam's now rock-hard cock, deliciously running his tongue over Sam's tip. Sam groaned and cursed, one hand sliding into Dean's hair, the other gripping the earth in an effort not to fall off the planet that clearly was spinning madly.
“Dean!”
Dean pulled off, pumping Sam with his hand, watching gleefully as jizz fountained from Sam's cock, spattering thickly on his stomach, thighs, the grass, and Dean's hand. Sam panted, trying to regain normal breathing after his forceful orgasm.
“Jesus, Dean, I...where...you?”
“I won't say no, Sammy.” Dean stood up and ripped his jeans and boxers off, sitting and scrabbling at his bootlaces when everything got jammed up at his ankles. Sam did the same, only he did his boots first.
Naked, the two men stared at each other in lust and wonder. Sam had always known how beautiful Dean was, but now-he wasn't just beautiful, he was downright erotic. He was sex on bowed legs, from his perky pink nipples to his muscular thighs. Sam pulled at him, tugging him into Sam's lap, and they kissed passionately, free for the first time to get as much of each other as they wanted. Hands gripping skin, rubbing on muscle, cocks shifting against each other in their conjoined lap as their mouths clung and demanded and explored.
God, Sam could do this forever. But Dean broke their kiss, panting “Wait.” He got up, cock bobbing heavily, and grabbed the wine. Bringing it back to Sam, Dean took a swallow and then offered it to Sam, who also drank. They kissed again, lips wet with wine, and Sam moaned at how Dean tasted. He licked and sucked at Dean's lip, relishing their swollen, sexy puffiness. Dean purred and bit at Sam's mouth, tangling their tongues and stopping for more sips of wine.
Now bodies lay side by side, skin against skin. Legs slid together, hands roamed, and cocks rubbed against each other. Breath moved from one to another, lips pressed urgently, and Sam's cock, fully revitalized, moved blindly of its volition.
“Dean...” Sam bit his lip, finding the words difficult. “Can we...you want to...” Usually the more articulate one, he huffed in frustration at his lust blocking him. His hips bucked involuntarily under the weight of Dean's body, speaking for him.
“Yeah, baby. We just gotta-we need something,” Dean answered gruffly. He raised his head and looked around. “Maybe we got something-hey! What's that?” Propping himself up on one elbow, Dean reached over to the edge of the carpet and snagged a small flask. “This wasn't here before.” He took the stopper out and poured a drop of something clear out. “Yahtzee!”
“What?”
“Oil, baby. The finest olive oil, and in a few short moments, it's gonna be in your ass.”
Sam thought about complaining, but then Dean's fingers, slick with the oil, were probing his ass, and it just didn't matter, compared to the slick pleasure those digits were providing.
They groaned in unison as Dean began his push into Sam. What pain he felt blended into the pleasure of Dean's thick cock bearing deeper and deeper into Sam. Sam had never felt so open, so vulnerable, so full before, and he gasped and clutched Dean in dual pleasure and seeking reassurance. Dean gave it, plying Sam's throat and jaw with soft kisses, whispering into his ear, using his body to cover Sam, grounding him.
They surged together, Sam releasing between their bellies and Dean into Sam. They went at it again, switching roles this time, and it was just as good and fulfilling. Dean gave himself up to his brother like he could no one else, and Sam felt the power of driving into the person he loved most, bringing Dean the best, most intense pleasure.
Sated and sweetly intoxicated, they fell asleep in each other's arms.
Sam woke with birdsong tweeting brightly, blinking his eyes in the full morning sun. He groaned slightly, finding himself stiff and not a little sticky from wine and other fluids. The glade was empty; the food, wine, and carpet all had vanished. He could still hear the burbling of the spring, but that was it.
Disengaging himself from Dean, Sam went over to the spring and washed his face, then used his wet hands to clean off his body. By the time he was getting dressed, Dean was stirring. Sam found a couple of granola bars for their breakfast in his backpack, tossing one to Dean. They took their water bottles and filled them at the spring.
As the second bottle filled, the spring died.
The brothers looked at each other. Dean shrugged. “Got me. You got any theories?”
“It was I.” A rich, deep voice spoke behind them. Dean and Sam turned from the spring, but Sam couldn't really see anything. A swirl of colored leaves hung in the air, and the voice appeared to emanate from it.
“Uh, what...who are you?” Sam asked, trying to project the utmost respect to what had to be a powerful entity.
“I am the Autumn. I provide the Feast: the bread, the wine, the fruit. I provide fertility and the pleasures of the flesh. In return, I seek human enjoyment. I relish your hunger and consumption, I share in your passion in lying with each other. I rejoice in the scattering of your seed upon the earth.”
Dean opened his mouth, but Sam shook his head and held up a finger.
“We thank you for your bounty, and hope we nourished you. May we go now?”
The swirl spun. “Your thanks are accepted. You may go.”
The thicket parted. Sam and Dean grabbed their backpacks and machetes-clearly not necessary this time-and left.
“Sammy? What was that all about?”
Sam shivered. “I think we just had a brush with a god. Specifically, Bacchus.”
Dean gave a soft whistle.
They were quiet all the way until they got to the Impala.