[Slash] Redefine Anywhere - 1/1 - Sam/Dean
Title: Redefine Anywhere
Author: anyothergirl415
Recipient: hildigunnur
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slight AU (an alternative for season 5), UST, angst, eyeliner, slight voyeurism, Castiel and London. (I know, what a mix).
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: The plane could have taken them anywhere truthfully so Dean switched rapidly from how the fuck did we get here to where the fuck are we going?
Notes: I tried to hit as many of your requests as possible. Title taken from Wherever I May Roam by Metallica.
The plane could have taken them anywhere truthfully so Dean switched rapidly from how the fuck did we get here to where the fuck are we going? Very little about the last twenty four hours didn’t come with a swift kick in the gut and, temporarily, Dean considered shutting it all off. Shutting down, detaching from the world as much as humanly possible. There was Sam though, his brother, sitting beside him and looking for all the world like someone had just taken him back in time and forced him to watch the death of their mom in Technicolor 3D.
“Excuse me Miss.” Dean caught the arm of the flight attendant as she passed, arching an eyebrow as she tugged her sleeve free and shot him a withering glance. “Where’re we goin’?” He tried for his most charming, usually crowd pleasing smile.
“Look sir,” her annoyance was palpable, thick and heavy over Dean’s shoulders. “I don’t know if you’re trying to be funny, but I just had an eight year old throw up on my shoes and I’ve been pinched in the ass at least a dozen times. So if you could just stay in your seat, we’ll be dimming the lights soon.”
With that she was gone and Dean stared in mild shock until a snort to the right of him had him turning. “Something funny Sam?”
There was a smear of blood on Sam’s collar, across his neck, and it pulsed as he swallowed and shrugged. “Just never seen the legendary Dean Winchester smile fail.”
“I wasn’t even trying,” Dean huffed in return, bristling at the suggestion. Being on the plane agitated him, sharp little stabs along his senses that made him squirm uncomfortably in his seat. The monitor in the back of the chair before him switched over to a map and Dean’s eyes widened. On it was a plane and a line drawing from Kentucky and ending at a little dot across a wide ocean. “London. You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”
Sam’s attention switched to the screen and his face pulled together, features furrowing, “why the hell are we on a plane to London?”
“We must have died. This is hell. This is some weird, twisted, fucked up hell. Which is saying something ‘cause I’ve been to hell and it’s pretty twisted,” Dean groaned and buried his face in his palm.
There might have been some faint noise of agreement - or disbelief - from his brother but Dean zoned out.
Funny thing about being a Winchester, you learned to roll with the punches, even if they were figurative. Very little about the last forty eight hours made sense in Dean’s brain so he settled back on the seat, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply to calm the nerves.
“Dean? Shouldn’t we talk about this?” Sam said in a quiet hiss, obviously surprised that Dean seemed so ready to simply go to sleep and shut down. His hand extended and pressed over Dean’s thigh, fingers curling in a tight squeeze.
Heat bubbled along his skin through his jeans and Dean stared at the hand until Sam withdrew. Looking up slowly he clenched his jaw and shrug, “sure Sam, let’s see, should we talk about the fact that you’ve been channeling fucking Twilight and drinking blood? Or that you trusted a demon over your own brother? Or hey, how about this one, opening the gates to hell and letting Lucifer out? Which one sounds good to you?”
Sam’s lips parted, opening in closing slowly before he turned away with a scowl, “fine. Whatever. I’d apologize but I know you don’t want to hear that.”
“What good would it do?” Dean grunted and shifted his shoulders on the seat, turning away as much as he could. The imprint of Sam’s hand burned into his thigh, Dean ignored it, like he ignored everything else. Dean was pretty damn good at that.
-=-=-=-
They landed sometime midmorning, Sam hadn’t slept in… a while. A long while. And his head dipped down as they filed off the plane. “Sam,” Dean hissed from beside him and Sam blinked slowly at the fingers digging into his arm. “We don’t have anything. How the fuck are we gonna get through customs?”
Sam checked his pockets, uselessly, and scowled. The heat on his arm intensified as Dean’s fingers flexed and Sam pulled away before all his remaining thought could be centered in on how it was affecting him. “Shit. So what the hell are we supposed to do?”
There wasn’t much choice but to keep walking, stopping would draw unnecessary attention though Sam figured it was pointless anyway. The minute they reached the front of the custom’s line without ID or passports, they wasn’t going to be enough smooth talking and patent Dean smiles in the world to get them out of this.
“Dean,” a deep voice said from behind him and Sam barely had time to turn and register blue eyes before a sharp tug seemed to pull his body up, suck him through some invisible tube and shatter his being into millions of little pieces. There was a weird moment of possible weightlessness in which Sam wasn’t sure he really existed then everything was sparking with pain and his feet were stumbling forward across cement.
“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean spat. Sam itched to shove the angel away but restrained the urge. He tried to ignore the fleeting jealousy that Dean would show such restraint with Castiel. If Sam had done something like that, he’d be feeling the sharp sting of a punch already.
“I’m sorry but your immediate removal was necessary,” Castiel stared at the brothers and Sam leaned up against the light post, catching his breath with steady inhales.
The neighborhood they stood in looked like one out of a movie. White house’s all lined together, pressed in neat little rows, all matching and non-descript. “What are we doing here Cas?”
“There is a weapon that needs to be acquired, you must find and steal it,” Castiel explained in his usual, simple mode, as if nothing about that task seemed out of the ordinary. “I would get it myself but the owner has taken precautions against angel interference. Here you will be safe, I will ensure your protection.”
“Great, angel bodyguard,” Dean huffed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “So this weapon is in one of these houses?”
“No, these houses you will be staying at,” Castiel turned and walked up three quick steps to the front door of the building before them, pushing the door open easily.
Sam exchanged a wary look with his brother before trailing after. Leave it to Castiel to explain things like they should already know them, like this wasn’t the most randomly bizarre thing to ever happen to them.
-=-=-=-
“Do you remember when our life was easy?”Dean asked from across the small living room and Sam’s eyebrows arched incredulously because, seriously? There was no easy when it came to being a Winchester. There was just, a little less hard than yesterday. “Yeah, alright,” Dean agreed to Sam’s silent point and spread his legs a little wider, adjusting on the sofa.
Sam’s eyes dipped too low and lingered too long, stomach rolling in that way it had for years now when he stared at his brother a certain way and never chose to pinpoint it. “Do you remember when finding Dad was the only impossible task?” Sam mused in attempt to distract him, hunching over the laptop Castiel had provided and choosing not to worry about how he’d acquired it.
“That might have been more impossible than this,” Dean laughed and Sam had to admit it was nice to hear his brother joking around.
“Do you remember when I pulled you out of hell?” Castiel asked from across the room. Both Sam and Dean looked up at him with wide eyes and the angel frowned slightly. “I thought this was some type of game.”
Shaking his head Dean chuckled and stood, dropping his book and crossing the room. “I’m gonna try for some sleep. You should too,” Dean pointed out to Sam and patted Castiel on the shoulder as he passed to ascend the stairs.
Sam tried to pretend like he wasn’t jealous that Castiel got Dean’s version of an affectionate goodbye pat. It didn’t work.
-=-=-=-
Outside the few days leading up to this fallout, Sam hadn’t slept in a room by himself since his brother’s death. It was too quiet. No gentle inhale, exhale across the darkness, no shift of the mattress in which Sam could imagine Dean rolling from one side to the other, adjusting his hips along the cool sheets. There was also none of the quick inhales, sharp gasps, tell tale signs that Dean was dreaming about a time in a dark place filled with screams and pain.
Sighing softly Sam rolled to his side and tucked the blanket under his chin, remembering a time when he was still young enough to tuck up against Dean’s body and find comfort there.
-=-=-=-
They call him the Collector - no one seemed to know his real name - because that’s what he does, he collects things. Toys, weapons, expensive black market super computers that could destroy the world if he had the balls enough to do it. Most importantly, he collected people. Castiel needed this explained and Sam exchanged a look with his brother before pushing his laptop away, shaking his head.
“This guy, the Collector, he sees humans as possessions, just like everything else. So when he sees a pretty girl or guy, and he wants them, he takes them. No clue what type of environment they live in but I’m assuming it’s mostly sex related,” Sam offered and watched his brother push a blade through the peel of an apple, dragging around slowly.
“But humans have free will, why would they allow themselves to be collected like this?” Castiel’s head tilted to the side, arms hanging loosely at his sides.
Dean spoke around a mouthful of apple, juice spraying out along the countertop. “Don’t think they’ve got much a choice here Cas. There are some things that trump free will.”
It shouldn’t bother Sam any more than he could track his brother’s movements without looking up, that he could feel his gaze, the heat of his body from less than a foot away, that he could know Dean was about to touch him before it happened. It did bother him though, because it wasn’t just about knowing someone after twenty six years - give or take. It was… more than that.
“Looks like we’ve only got one choice,” Dean pointed out unnecessarily, fingers tightening over Sam’s shoulder as he leaned forward to peer at the laptop. Sam knew what his brother was thinking; they’d been doing this for long enough for Sam to see the plan before Dean even explained it. “We’ve got to be collected.”
Castiel argued the idea, Dean argued the logic, Sam got up to take a shower and silently tell himself that he was too old to still fantasize about licking the vein on Dean’s neck that stuck out when he got angry.
-=-=-=-
They did recon first, that was the smart thing to do anywhere. Things between them were like the embers burning at the bottom of a fire. Give it a moment, a few good pokes, an extra log and the fire would be full flames again. Dean wasn’t really looking forward to it, but he anticipated it because that was just the way things went with them. It was always side step, shoulder brush, lingering gazes the other pretended not to notice.
Dean used to consider himself Sam-wise. Not the hobbit. But wise in the ways of his brother. More and more recently though, Dean was thinking he didn’t know his brother at all. He kept doing things, looking at him like there was something on his face, or shooting out his ass, or… whatever. The truth was Dean could easily have been misinterpreting the looks because either Sam hated him or…
“That’s a shit load of guards,” Sam pointed out in a hushed whisper, peeking around the bush at the large building in front of him. There were three large, burly men standing guard and two that passed heading in opposite directions every ten minutes.
Rolling his eyes Dean muttered, “well, we told Cas we’d look at other options. I can kick ass, you can…” Dean glanced over at his brother and smirked. “You can hold your own.” His smirk shifted to a self satisfied smile when Sam gave him a fuck you glare. “Either way, it’d take us and a holy army of hunters to take this building on.”
“Collections it is,” Sam nodded in agreement and slid back.
Movement along the front walk caught Dean’s attention and he instinctively reached out to grab Sam’s arm, tugging him back. Their gazes locked for a fraction of a second - there was that look - before Dean dropped his hand and jerked his head toward the low voices.
“Got another for the boss,” the man slurred out in a thick, heavy accent, yanking a thin, dark haired man forward.
The first guard, who Dean had already pegged as the leader since he made a point to huff out his chest and stand too straight up, stepped forward and cupped the man’s jaw roughly. “Aye, he fits the MO. Little too skinny but easily worked out. Take him in.”
They crossed through a patch of light and Dean got a good glimpse of tight leather pants and smeared eyeliner. It went a long way in explaining what they’d have to do to worm their way into the system. “Jesus,” Sam whispered from beside him and Dean caught the grimace of sympathy for the stranger.
“Maybe we’ll get more than the weapon,” Dean pointed out in a whisper and fell back, slinking along the shadows toward the street.
They walked back to their impromptu home in silence. Dean pretended not to notice Sam’s sideway glances or the way their shoulders brushed with purpose.
-=-=-=-
“Are we ever going to talk about it?” Sam asked, dropping down onto the couch beside Dean heavy enough to make the back shake.
In the past three weeks Dean had learned many things. The Brits had way better food, sometimes, other times it was too much to even consider eating. Castiel still hadn’t learned any version of privacy, showing up in Dean’s bathroom as he was stepping out of the shower was beyond awkward. And Sam… Sam was still his brother and never liked to let things go.
“I thought no.” Dean mumbled and went back to fingering through the stack of papers Sam had provided about the so-called Collector.
There was a name for Sam’s sigh, whiney or bitchy wasn’t it but Dean couldn’t come up with anything better, and Sam lay whatever it was on thick. “I punched you Dean. Then you pulled a Dad. That’s just going to be swept under the rug?”
“Should I remind you what followed? Or are we just ignoring the ‘opening Hell and letting Lucifer out’ thing?” Dean shot him a look. There was probably a name for that look too, hurt and trust broken, but Dean left it alone.
“No… I haven’t forgotten,” Sam rolled his eyes and gave up, pulling out his laptop from along the couch and turning it on.
Dean was just as ready to let it drop. This wasn’t the right time or place. They had a goal here, a real mission, and things couldn’t get better until they completed it. “I think we should get picked up separate,” Dean suggested, continuing on when Sam turned to him. “From all these files, it seems he picks up one at a time. If one of us goes in first we can scope out the place. Then the other comes and it’ll be a quick thing. We’ll get the weapon, save the day, and be back on a plane to the good ol’ US of A.”
“Okay, so I’ll go first,” Sam shrugged and settled back on the couch, laptop resting on his thighs.
“No way, I’ll go first. You a shoe in to get picked up, I’ll need more work and we can’t run the risk that they won’t take me at all,” it was good logic in Dean’s brain, made perfect sense, and he watched Sam squirm for an argument with a pleased smile.
Giving in, Sam nodded slowly, “alright. You’ll go first. But don’t get stupid and do some heroic things to get you in trouble. This has to go smoothly.”
Dean bristled at being slightly scolded and rolled his eyes, “I can handle it.”
“You have to be… slaveish,” Sam pointed out and smirked at the idea.
Pushing the papers to the side Dean slid off the couch and crawled toward his brother, lifting the laptop and setting it on the cushion. “Yes master,” he murmured in a soft, silky voice he only used with pretty girls with big tits. “Your wish is my command,” his fingers curved over Sam’s thighs and slid up, massaging firmly over the denim until they couldn’t go any higher.
Sam’s lips parted slightly in time with his eyes widening, legs spreading apart as if by habit. “D-dean…” he stuttered in a rushed exhale, adam’s apple bobbing with a thick swallow.
Dipping forward Dean let his head rest low on Sam’s belly, close enough his chin could brush Sam’s crotch if he wanted. Which he didn’t. But he did notice how the jeans were a little tighter than they should be and growing. In an instant he was back up, hands digging into Sam’s thighs as he stood. “Slaveish enough?” He growled, surprised by how deep his voice sounded.
He left the room before Sam could muster up a response and climbed the steps two at a time. Dean stared at his reflection in the mirror until the heat cooled and the pressure against his own jeans disappeared.
-=-=-=-
“They’ll be expecting a trap so try to remain inconspicuous,” Sam said from the side of the room, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.
Shooting his brother a look - annoyance and irritation - Dean huffed, “I know Sam, Jesus, give a guy a break.”
“Yeah well…” the man muttered quietly, voice sad and soft.
Dean turned back and caught Sam’s eyes just as they lifted. The leather pants he wore were a size too small and Dean squirmed, unaccustomed to being so tightly compressed. “Are these clothes really necessary?”
Laughing quietly Sam nodded and pushed off the doorframe, crossing the room in two slow strides. “We’ve watched for weeks now, this is the type he likes. You’ve got to ham it up, make him want you.”
“And what do you think?” Dean ran his hand down the soft black silk that covered his chest. “Would you want me like this?”
Sam looked taken aback by the question and his face flushed. “I um… gross Dean,” he turned to the side but Dean saw the flash of that weird thing he kept seeing in Sam’s expressions.
“Wanna do the honors?” Dean held up a small tube of liquid eyeliner, trying not to wince at the thought. It was bad enough he had to slink around in leather and silk but make up? There were so many levels of no about this entire thing, Dean had to pull up all his patience to make it happen.
“I’ll try not to stab your eye out,” Sam laughed and took the tube, twisting off the top and stepping close into Dean’s body. “Okay we’ll just do the top line, tilt your head back, close your eyes.”
Dean’s shoulders were tense, eyes clamped shut as he waited for the first touch of cool liquid. He really wished there was someone who he could blame properly for this. Dean made a secret mental note to kick the Collector’s ass if he was given the opportunity.
“Dean, relax, I can’t do it right with you like this,” Sam whispered, voice coming too close, breath hot and moist against Dean’s cheek.
Forcing himself to relax, keep his eyes closed, Dean barely managed to resist the flinch when the first cool swipe moved along his eyelid. It felt… weird. Dean felt weird. And he made the decision to bypass all mirrors.
Cool air rushed over his face as Sam blew softly on one eye before repeating the motions on the next. “Okay, let me see,” Sam slid back and Dean slowly blinked his eyes open, surprised he couldn’t feel anything different now that the liner had dried.
His brother was just staring at him with slightly wide eyes and Dean scowled. “What? Do I look stupid?” Dean twitched to turn toward the mirror but held his ground.
“I think… we need to do the bottom too. Otherwise you won’t stand out in the club. Look straight up at the ceiling and don’t move.” Sam slid forward again.
Dean resigned himself to the torture and lifted his eyes, catching just the top of Sam’s features as strong fingers curled firm along his jaw, holding him in place. It was hard to not blink when the first touch of liquid traced along his lower lid and Dean pressed his lips together hard to keep from flinching away.
“Alright,” Sam eventually dropped back once more and stared down at his hands as he slid the brush back into the tube.
Dean waited for his brother to look up for a good three minutes before rolling his eyes and grunting, “Sam. Well? How does it look?”
There wasn’t really any way to describe the look on Sam’s face when his eyes finally lifted. Dean tried to name it, tried to dig through his memories to match with something he’d seen in the past but he was coming up blank. “Sam?” He said slowly, lips turning down into a frown.
“You look fine,” Sam mumbled and turned away, clutching the tube of eyeliner tight enough in his fist to turn his knuckles white. “Let’s go.”
Dean watched him stalk out of the room and sighed. Turning, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and his eyes widened. Thin black lines, just enough to make the green of his eyes nearly shine. “Damn…” he blew out a low breath and curved his hand over his ass. “I look fucking hot.”
-=-=-=-
The way Dean moved among the crowd had Sam wondering if his brother was really as straight as he claimed he was. It was a fifty/fifty chance that the Collector’s crew would be pursuing the crowd and Sam wasn’t sure he was complaining about the idea of having to do this again tomorrow. Even if there was a weird pinch of jealousy in his chest as he watched Dean rock and slid against some kid with tight jeans and an unbuttoned shirt.
Sam had to pull his gaze away, force himself to scan the edges of the room. No matter what Dean said, Sam knew his brother was fucking hot and would be just as much as a shoe in as Sam himself was. Even in the writhing crowd, Dean stood out, a blaring beacon of fuck me hot. They’d be stupid not to pick him up.
Sure enough, less than two hours later a large hand was curling around Dean’s arm and tugging. Sam watched as Dean struggled, holding back the part of him that was likely screaming to fight. Sam’s shoulders were tense, instinct wanting to dart forward to his brother’s aid. He held back though and trailed along at a distance.
“This is a foolish idea,” Castiel said from just outside the building, watching with Sam as they slid his brother into the back of a large SUV.
“Didn’t hear any alternatives we could actually do,” Sam pointed out and turned to look at Castiel. Angel travel wasn’t his preferred mode but driving in London wasn’t an option. “C’mon, we need a good spot to make sure they take him in and keep him there.”
Castiel nodded and gripped Sam’s arm. World and space shifted, fluttered and flared, then Sam was crouched down behind a bush that was familiar from all the times they’d sat and watched in the past few weeks.
“Hate that,” Sam pointed out and settled back to wait and watch.
“I apologize,” Castiel offered and sat awkwardly on the grass, back stiff.
“Beats getting killed trying to drive on the wrong side of the road,” Sam mumbled, oddly disturbed by how very Dean the comment was.
“Why do they drive on the wrong side of the road?” The angel asked in confusion, looking at Sam curiously.
“They don’t… it’s… you know they drive on the opposite side of us, everything’s backward. So you know, different,” Sam dragged a hand through his hair and shrugged. Sometimes he forgot that Castiel took things pretty much as literal as you could. It made for some awkwardly amusing situations at best. Sam was too worried about his brother right now to find this amusing in anyway. “Look, there,” he jerked his elbow toward approaching headlights and shifted as close as he could without fear of being caught.
Beside him, Castiel seemed more tense than usual and Sam tried not to feed off that energy. The last thing they needed was him blowing the entire thing just because the idea of any guy touching Dean like thatmade him itch with aggravation. “He’ll be alright,” Castiel whispered into the darkness as Dean was dragged out of the SUV and down the sidewalk.
Sam watched the front guard smirk and drag dirty fingers down Dean’s jaw. “Yeah, he will be,” he nodded and looked away as they ushered Dean forward inside the building.
-=-=-=-
There was a dim light glowing in the hallway but Dean couldn’t focus on it. They’d drugged him the moment they pushed him in the truck, shoving the sleeve up his arm swiftly and pushing a needle into the skin. It had to be a step above a sedative, something that made his mind swim and eyes blur. Dean struggled against it, trying to keep some wits about him because he needed to be prepared for anything.
It didn’t work.
“Dean huh?” A man was saying not too far from him before Dean could even realize he’d been asked his name and had offered it despite the obvious need for secrecy. “Well, let’s get a look at you. Shirt off.”
Some part of Dean wanted to say no even as his fingers slid across the buttons and the fabric fell off his shoulders.
A quiet murmur of appreciation drifted across the dark room, and Dean squinted, trying to give shape to the other blurry images in the shadows. “Wha… whatcha gonna…” the words were heavy and slurred and Dean wasn’t even sure they’d come from his mouth.
The man, who Dean vaguely assumed was the Collector, stepped closer into the light. It came as a weird sort of surprise to Dean that the Collector was shorter than him, a couple inches at least, pale skin standing out in bizarre contrast to the crisp white suit he wore. His hair was straight, blond, slicked back over his shoulders and tucked behind his ears. His hips swayed gently from side to side as he moved across the room. Dean felt his body swaying with the walk, eyes glazed. “Clearly this one works out… we’ll have to be sure to keep him under as often as possible. Wouldn’t want him to try and escape.”
If Dean were a little more aware of the situation, the thought might have made him panic. Being in this drugged out state was going to get them anywhere fast. Instead he allowed them to usher him off, taking him to a lone bedroom with one giant four poster bed taking up a great deal of the space. They ordered him to strip and climb beneath the sheets and Dean did so happily, sinking down into the soft mattress and burying himself in the coolest sheets he’d ever felt.
-=-=-=-
The days passed by in a strange blur. Everything was varying shades of dark. Dean’s meals were given to him in his room and he was not allowed to put on clothing unless ushered from the room. This only happened once or twice a day where Dean would be given a pair of tight, form fitting pants and nothing more. He was made to stand in place while a woman with thick, long black hair stepped forward and smeared his eyes with kohl.
Most of the time Dean was injected with something, never in his right mind, and he went along willing, traveling down long and spiraling hallways, never out of the guard’s sight. When Dean wasn’t drugged there was no way to escape the place they held him in, no way to figure out the layout of the building and create a plan for Sam’s arrival.
Contrary to what he thought might happen; Dean wasn’t used as a sex slave. It seemed as if the Collector was more interested in having him near, a possession to be shown off but never touched. He tried to observe the others through the haze in his mind whenever possible but outside the guards, it was impossible to tell who worked there and who simply belonged.
Alone in his room at night Dean tried not to worry that they’d made the wrong choice. This place seemed impossible to escape from and Dean only hoped Sam would come in a little more prepared.
-=-=-=-
It took three weeks for Sam to get picked up.
That was too long and he spent a good majority of his days pacing, worrying himself sick over what could be happening to Dean inside. Every night he wasn’t at a club, dressed in slick black leather, eyes smeared with liner, he was outside the building, praying for some chance to sneak in. If he could, he was going to grab Dean and screw the weapon, this was a shit plan anyway.
Sam was approached differently than Dean. They guy was skinny and short but the crowd seemed to part for him, like his presence alone was enough to make everyone cower. Sam watched as he moved his way with a purpose, slick blond hair not shifting despite the sway of his hips.
“I want you,” the guy informed, skipping a greeting altogether.
Letting his head drop slightly Sam smirked and rolled his shoulders, giving off the best air of confidence he could manage. “That work for you all the time?” He asked in a low murmur, sizing the guy up and considering his options. There were two guards off to the side, watching the encounter, and that was the dead giveaway.
“I always get what I want,” the guy stated simply and curled strong fingers around Sam’s arm.
It hit him like a punch in the gut. This was the guy, the Collector, and Sam had no choice but to follow along. He didn’t know what it meant, that the Collector was picking him up instead of a guard. It made something unpleasant curl in his stomach and as they headed outside he considered making a break for it. But the guards had taken up the rear and there was Dean waiting back at this man’s place for him. So he mentally prepared himself as he slid into the back seat of the SUV beside the Collector.
They didn’t touch along the drive, in fact the Collector didn’t even look at him, didn’t ask his name or acknowledge his presence. It was eerily quiet in the car, no music, no talking, and the uneasy quivering in the pit of Sam’s stomach grew. He didn’t understand the difference between being picked by the Collector himself as opposed to the guards, didn’t know what it would mean for him once they arrived back at the building.
The entrance they pulled up to was different from the one Sam had seen before, along the back and secluded, and Sam made a note of it before following down the long winding hallways.
“Would you like to see my pets?” The Collector asked, the first words he’d said since back at the club.
Sam was more than disturbed by the light in the man’s eyes, eager and excited, and he had to force himself to nod. “Sure, like, dogs?” Sam smoothed his fingers along the warm leather of his pants.
“Something like that,” the man smirked and continued to lead the way through the hallways until they stepped out into a large, dimly lit room.
People were spread out amongst the large pillows, dressed in scantily clad clothing, women in see through lingerie, men in tight black pants that left little to the imagination. And among them, head resting against a skinny brunette’s bare abdomen, was Dean. Sam’s heart lurched in his chest, eyes racking along his brother’s well cut body, lingering on the half hard bulge in his pants. Sam’s adam’s apple dibbed as he swallowed thickly, forcing his eyes to turn away.
“Aren’t they just lovely?” The Collector murmured fondly, walking over to the pillows and reaching out to slide his fingers through a thick mane of long red hair. The girl leaned slightly into the touch but didn’t move otherwise.
Sam felt like he was going to be sick. “These… these are your pets?” He asked incredulously, trying to sound more curious than disgusted.
“Yes. They make lovely decorations,” the blond nodded and waved a hand to urge Sam closer. “Pick one.”
“I… what?” Sam stared at him in disbelief, trying to keep his eyes from shooting directly to his brother. It seemed like Dean hardly noticed him, body still loose and relaxed back into the pillow.
The Collector smiled but it was nowhere near pleasant. “I would like you to pick one. You see… I have no real interest in… fucking you,” the blond winced with the word as if just saying it disgusted him. “But… I do not mind touching myself. And I would like to touch myself while you… enjoy one of my pets.”
Oh god. This couldn’t be happening. It was like being offered temptation itself. Sam slowly shook his head. “I… I can’t do that. They… who are these people? Do they want to be here?”
“Don’t worry about that,” the Collector shrugged off the words and walked over to a large, ornate chair, dropping down and snapping his fingers. A moment later he was surrounded by two girls, two guys, who clearly were more than accustomed to the situation. “What was your name again?”
“Uh… Sam,” he said slowly and stared in disbelief. “What… what exactly do you want me to do?”
The Collector’s face curved into something evil, lips tilted up with clear amusement. “Fuck one of course. Now what do you prefer, female or male? As you can see I have a wide collection, one must be of your choice.”
There had never been a more conflicting decision laid out before Sam. On the one hand, it was as if Sam was being everything he’d wanted for so long now, without complications, no one would know they were brothers. On the other, it was Dean and the guy didn’t exactly look like he was in his right mind, how could Sam take advantage of that. Sam’s gaze had shifted back to Dean, lingering there until his brother moved slightly, met his gaze, causing Sam to think he maybe wasn’t as out of it as he appeared to be.
Apparently the Collector had followed his gaze and he smirked, nodding his head, “oh yes. That’s Dean. He’s a recent acquisition and hasn’t been properly presented yet. I think you might enjoy him.” The Collector snapped his fingers again.
Sam felt bile rise up along his throat when Dean moved obediently up and over to the blond’s side, like following the simple gesture was second nature. “I… what do you want me to do?” The hunter part of Sam that was so engrained into his system told him he would do whatever it took. Knowing that Dean hadn’t been touched by another during his three weeks at the place was mildly comforting and Sam was going to get them out of there, no matter what.
“Dean has such a pretty little mouth…” the blond murmured and touched his own lips, tracing them slowly as if he was touching Dean’s. “I want to see it wrapped around your cock.”
Heat instantly shot through Sam’s body and he felt his cock respond, thickening and filling as his mind provided the perfect mental image of Dean doing just that. No orders had been given but Dean was moving forward, swaying slightly. Sam’s eyes dipped down to trail over hipbones and exposed skin stretched smooth along the curve. When he looked back up Dean was right there and his green eyes shone in the dull light of the room.
“Bout time,” he breathed before lifting a hand to wrap around the back of Sam’s neck, tugging him in for a heated kiss that was instantly parted lips and tongue.
Sam stepped instantly into the kiss, hand sliding around to press against the small of Dean’s back and hold him close. Even though Sam was sure Dean was actually the one lacking most of his normal senses, it was him who felt completely and totally thrown by the sudden change of events. Clearly his brother had seen this happen with someone else before now, he knew just how to ham it up and give the best show
There wasn’t much choice but to relax back and enjoy it. So Sam did, and ignored the eyes he could feel fixed on them. Dean’s lips moved along his skin, sucking at his neck and collar bone, mapping along the expanse of his neck as much as he could along the collar of the tight shirt he wore. His hands dragged down until Sam could feel the pressure release from his crotch as the button was undone and the zipper pulled down.
Then Dean was on his knees before Sam, pulling Sam’s thick swollen cock free from his pants and stroking with a slow twist of his wrist. Gasping in pleasure, Sam turned his head down to stare at his brother, watching as the man’s tongue slid out and up along the underside. Dean sucked his cock like a pro and Sam would have questioned it if he wasn’t sure his brother was pulling his brain out with each slide of his tongue and wrap of his lips.
Sam’s knees dipped, threatened to give out but he kept himself up, weaving his fingers through Dean’s silky hair and moaning. He could feel the heat of Dean’s mouth up the full length of him, sucking him in until the tip brushed along the back of his throat. Then Dean fucking hummed and Sam snapped forward in response. Surprisingly, Dean let him control the movements, let him use his hands to lift Dean’s head and thrust his hips forward, fucking into his brother’s mouth at a slow, steady pace.
It was the singular hottest thing Sam had ever been part of and he watched through half open, lust blown eyes as Dean’s face twisted and morphed with pleasure. Sam could see his brother’s hand drop down to his own crotch and rub along the bulge and Sam groaned a guttural, “Dean,” somewhere low in the back of his throat.
Sam wasn’t aware of the others in the room, the place they were, anything outside building heat and the best fucking blow job in the history of the world. Then Dean’s hand was up and rolling along his balls and Sam lost control, hips jerking forward in half a dozen steady thrusts before he came down his brother’s throat.
Watching Dean swallow everything he had was enough to make Sam think he might come again from the thought alone. The minute his flesh was free from Dean’s lips, Sam hook hands under his arms and dragged him up, crushing their lips together in a long, brutal kiss, tongue sliding forward to chase the hints of his come along the inside of his brother’s mouth.
“My my, that was quite a show,” the Collector murmured from across the room and Sam had to force himself not to jump. It was very lax of him to completely lose track of the task at hand. “I feel an encore of that is necessary. You will stay the night. I’ll even let you stay with Dean; perhaps you can make use of the pretty little bed I keep him in.”
Sam desperately wanted to slug the guy. No one was allowed to talk about Dean like he was some trophy kept in a display cupboard. But Dean’s head came to rest on his shoulder, hips swaying slightly, and Sam knew it was a warning for his tense shoulders more than anything else. “Um… wow. Alright. I… okay,” he nodded slowly and wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist, watching the Collector’s eyes light up.
“Wonderful,” the blond nodded and rose from his chair, “allow me to show you the way.”
Having no choice but to follow, Sam trailed him out of the room, keeping Dean securely tucked under his arm.
-=-=-=-
“Jesus Dean, are you alright?” Sam stepped forward the moment the door was close and he knew they were alone, eyes wide and concerned, and fixed on his brother.
Dean slid and stumbled, crashed into Sam’s chest and grinned. A moment later his hips were rolling slowly into Sam’s thigh and he murmured a throat, “gonna make use of my pretty little bed?”
“Fuck,” Sam hissed slightly, the heat of Dean’s crotch heady and strong against his body. “What do they have you on?”
“Who the hell knows, it’ll wear off soon,” Dean shrugged and caught Sam’s hand, pulling it down to press hard into his hard line confined by tight leather. “Might wear off quicker, if you help me out.”
There were so many things Sam wanted to do, so many ways he wanted Dean, but not here. Not like this. Not when he wasn’t even sure how aware his brother was. They needed to figure out a way out of here first and foremost though and clearly Dean wasn’t going to focus on anything until the issue at hand - literally - were taken care of. “Fuck,” he grumbled once more and shoved Dean back to the bed.
Dean went willingly, working his fingers over the buttons holding him in place. Before he even dropped down onto the mattress the leather was around his thighs, holding him in place.
Sam stared down at the smeared kohl along Dean’s eyes, the way his skin glistened and glowed in the faint light coming from the overhead lamp. He continued the lustful sweep along the skin until Dean’s hand dropped, clearly impatient with the lack of movement. “Don’t you dare,” he growled and dropped to his knees, tugging the leather down Dean’s thighs and over his knees, pressing them along the ankle until Dean’s foot pulled free.
“Always makin’ me wait,” Dean grumbled, hands dropping to the sides and curling along the blanket.
Rolling his eyes Sam crawled forward, fingers pressing into Dean’s thighs and tugging him close. Sam’s experience with blow jobs was limited to one, semi-drunk during his sophomore year and it hadn’t exactly been enjoyable. But this was Dean. The skin was salty and slick along his tongue, scent of arousal strong and heavy with each inhale.
Encouraged by the way Dean’s hips rocked and writhed along the edge of the mattress; Sam parted his lips, sucked in the head and pulled. His name fell from Dean’s lips in a litany, whispered and breathless, fingers tangling into Sam’s hair and tugging. Dean’s cock was thick and full, a heavy weight against his tongue, filling his mouth in a way he’d never imagined. Sam moaned as he pulled him in further, sucked him as deep as he could. The way his brother reacted to the touch sucking in greedy breaths, stuttering on moans, made Sam feel powerful.
There was no warning before the salty heat of Dean’s come was sliding down his throat. Sam had to swallow fast to keep it from falling out his mouth and he moaned as the taste coated his mouth. He sucked and swallowed and pulled sharp breaths through his nose until Dean’s flesh softened and Sam sat back. “C’mere,” Dean murmured, tugging at Sam’s collar to pull him up.
Their lips locked, gliding together slowly, Dean’s tongue sweeping out to pull in his own taste. When they broke the kiss they were both panting, foreheads resting together. “Dean…”
“Shh…” Dean whispered and slowly shook his head from side to side. “We’ll talk about it later Sam. Just gotta get out of here.”
That sounded like a fantastic idea. Even if the urge to talk about things, clear the air, nagged at him. Pushing up slowly Sam nodded watched as his brother struggled with his pants, fumbling them up and swaying slightly as he stood. “Your mind a little better?” He asked quietly, hand reaching up to cup Dean’s elbow.
With a smirk Dean shrugged, “my mind’s been fine for awhile dude. The raging hard-on? It thanks you.”
Sam couldn’t resist the urge to scowl slightly and smack Dean’s shoulder. “Shoulda fuckin’ guess you were faking it,” he grumbled and turned slowly to survey the room. “Got any idea how we’re gonna do this?”
“Very quickly,” Dean smirked and walked toward the door, pressing his ear against the wood. Turning slightly he jerked his head, urging Sam across the room. “So there’s a guard here. The weapon room is down the hall, a left, another left. There are two guards in front. You and I should be able to handle it though, as long as they don’t call anyone else.”
Eyebrows arching, Sam smirked slightly. “Was the high thing really just part of the act?”
“Nah, they really have been drugging me, I’m building up a tolerance,” Dean shrugged and slid to the side. “It’s ‘cause I’m awesome. Ready?”
Snorting in a small puff of air Sam nodded, “yeah. Let’s do this. Dean… the people?”
“We can’t save them Sam. Maybe later, but not if we want the weapon too,” Dean shook his head.
Sam had little choice but to give in, resigned to the idea even if his stomach churned unpleasantly.
-=-=-=-
They fought because they had to and Sam was mildly surprised by how easy it was. Almost like it was planned that way, like they just let them into the collection room. Of course the guard at Dean’s door went down early, tucked away inside the room and no one knew. They didn’t encounter anyone along the hallways until the guards at the main door. It occurred to Sam that it was likely that no one was stupid enough to break into the Collector’s private stash.
The weapon was a blade.
They had never really been sure but Castiel had provided them with an etching that was carved along the handle. Clearly the Collector underestimated its power because it rested behind a box of glass, not nearly as secure as some of the other items in the room. Dean freed it easily, curling his fingers along the handle and lifting it slightly. “All this shit for this?” Dean quirked his eyebrow and shrugged.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Sam mumbled and ignored the curious part of him that wanted to investigate what else the Collector had stashed in the large room.
“Sam,” Dean breathed and tugged his arm. He hadn’t even realized how his gaze continued to sweep slowly along the room.
“There could be more here, more that could help people,” Sam pointed out and looked over at Dean.
Shaking his head Dean pulled him hard toward the door. “Not now Sam. Not here.”
Knowing his brother was right Sam allowed Dean to pull him from the room. They weaved down the hall, Sam caught Dean’s arm to tug him toward the back door.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t know what you were trying to do?” The Collector’s smooth and silky voice sounded from down the hall and the brother’s froze. “You really think me foolish enough to have no cameras?”
Dean and Sam shared a look, turning slowly to size up their situation. There were twelve guards and the rustling of fabric behind them that suggested more joining the fight, trapping them in. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been in tricky situations before but this one… wasn’t looking too promising. Especially considering the guards had guns.
“Sam…” Dean whispered from beside him, shoulders tense.
Swallowing thickly Sam tilted his head down in the slightest nod of acknowledgement, scan the area, scout out the exit, and figure out if escaping was even plausible. In this case, it didn’t seem it was.
“I forgive you,” his brother’s whisper was quiet, low, a barely audible hum, head tilting enough to lock his gaze on his brother, nothing but truth in his words.
Before Sam could turn to him the back door was kicked open and in came… Castiel. Wouldn’t it just figure that this was the time the angel proved what a genuine badass he could be. With one sweep of the hand the guards were all against the wall, slumping down in knocked out heaps against one another.
The Collector merely gaped at them as Dean and Sam smirked in unison. “Hey, thanks for everything,” Dean stated casually, grinning at the man. “It’s been a real… eye opener,” he glanced at his brother before taking his arm and leading him out of the building.
-=-=-=-
“So… are we gonna talk about things?” Sam asked, a week later, back on home turf, in a motel room that could have been any other.
Glancing up from the knife he was polishing, Dean rolled his eyes and slowly stood, setting the blade down on the table, rag covering it. “Sam?”
Sighing softly Sam nodded and shrugged, “yeah I know. Shut up, I get it.” His shoulders slumped, defeated.
Chuckling softly Dean stepped forward and grabbed the edge of his shirt, tugging him close. “Yeah, shut up. And kiss me.”
Looking up a slow smile formed on Sam’s lips. He didn’t need to be asked twice when it came to that request.
Author: anyothergirl415
Recipient: hildigunnur
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slight AU (an alternative for season 5), UST, angst, eyeliner, slight voyeurism, Castiel and London. (I know, what a mix).
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary: The plane could have taken them anywhere truthfully so Dean switched rapidly from how the fuck did we get here to where the fuck are we going?
Notes: I tried to hit as many of your requests as possible. Title taken from Wherever I May Roam by Metallica.
The plane could have taken them anywhere truthfully so Dean switched rapidly from how the fuck did we get here to where the fuck are we going? Very little about the last twenty four hours didn’t come with a swift kick in the gut and, temporarily, Dean considered shutting it all off. Shutting down, detaching from the world as much as humanly possible. There was Sam though, his brother, sitting beside him and looking for all the world like someone had just taken him back in time and forced him to watch the death of their mom in Technicolor 3D.
“Excuse me Miss.” Dean caught the arm of the flight attendant as she passed, arching an eyebrow as she tugged her sleeve free and shot him a withering glance. “Where’re we goin’?” He tried for his most charming, usually crowd pleasing smile.
“Look sir,” her annoyance was palpable, thick and heavy over Dean’s shoulders. “I don’t know if you’re trying to be funny, but I just had an eight year old throw up on my shoes and I’ve been pinched in the ass at least a dozen times. So if you could just stay in your seat, we’ll be dimming the lights soon.”
With that she was gone and Dean stared in mild shock until a snort to the right of him had him turning. “Something funny Sam?”
There was a smear of blood on Sam’s collar, across his neck, and it pulsed as he swallowed and shrugged. “Just never seen the legendary Dean Winchester smile fail.”
“I wasn’t even trying,” Dean huffed in return, bristling at the suggestion. Being on the plane agitated him, sharp little stabs along his senses that made him squirm uncomfortably in his seat. The monitor in the back of the chair before him switched over to a map and Dean’s eyes widened. On it was a plane and a line drawing from Kentucky and ending at a little dot across a wide ocean. “London. You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”
Sam’s attention switched to the screen and his face pulled together, features furrowing, “why the hell are we on a plane to London?”
“We must have died. This is hell. This is some weird, twisted, fucked up hell. Which is saying something ‘cause I’ve been to hell and it’s pretty twisted,” Dean groaned and buried his face in his palm.
There might have been some faint noise of agreement - or disbelief - from his brother but Dean zoned out.
Funny thing about being a Winchester, you learned to roll with the punches, even if they were figurative. Very little about the last forty eight hours made sense in Dean’s brain so he settled back on the seat, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply to calm the nerves.
“Dean? Shouldn’t we talk about this?” Sam said in a quiet hiss, obviously surprised that Dean seemed so ready to simply go to sleep and shut down. His hand extended and pressed over Dean’s thigh, fingers curling in a tight squeeze.
Heat bubbled along his skin through his jeans and Dean stared at the hand until Sam withdrew. Looking up slowly he clenched his jaw and shrug, “sure Sam, let’s see, should we talk about the fact that you’ve been channeling fucking Twilight and drinking blood? Or that you trusted a demon over your own brother? Or hey, how about this one, opening the gates to hell and letting Lucifer out? Which one sounds good to you?”
Sam’s lips parted, opening in closing slowly before he turned away with a scowl, “fine. Whatever. I’d apologize but I know you don’t want to hear that.”
“What good would it do?” Dean grunted and shifted his shoulders on the seat, turning away as much as he could. The imprint of Sam’s hand burned into his thigh, Dean ignored it, like he ignored everything else. Dean was pretty damn good at that.
-=-=-=-
They landed sometime midmorning, Sam hadn’t slept in… a while. A long while. And his head dipped down as they filed off the plane. “Sam,” Dean hissed from beside him and Sam blinked slowly at the fingers digging into his arm. “We don’t have anything. How the fuck are we gonna get through customs?”
Sam checked his pockets, uselessly, and scowled. The heat on his arm intensified as Dean’s fingers flexed and Sam pulled away before all his remaining thought could be centered in on how it was affecting him. “Shit. So what the hell are we supposed to do?”
There wasn’t much choice but to keep walking, stopping would draw unnecessary attention though Sam figured it was pointless anyway. The minute they reached the front of the custom’s line without ID or passports, they wasn’t going to be enough smooth talking and patent Dean smiles in the world to get them out of this.
“Dean,” a deep voice said from behind him and Sam barely had time to turn and register blue eyes before a sharp tug seemed to pull his body up, suck him through some invisible tube and shatter his being into millions of little pieces. There was a weird moment of possible weightlessness in which Sam wasn’t sure he really existed then everything was sparking with pain and his feet were stumbling forward across cement.
“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean spat. Sam itched to shove the angel away but restrained the urge. He tried to ignore the fleeting jealousy that Dean would show such restraint with Castiel. If Sam had done something like that, he’d be feeling the sharp sting of a punch already.
“I’m sorry but your immediate removal was necessary,” Castiel stared at the brothers and Sam leaned up against the light post, catching his breath with steady inhales.
The neighborhood they stood in looked like one out of a movie. White house’s all lined together, pressed in neat little rows, all matching and non-descript. “What are we doing here Cas?”
“There is a weapon that needs to be acquired, you must find and steal it,” Castiel explained in his usual, simple mode, as if nothing about that task seemed out of the ordinary. “I would get it myself but the owner has taken precautions against angel interference. Here you will be safe, I will ensure your protection.”
“Great, angel bodyguard,” Dean huffed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “So this weapon is in one of these houses?”
“No, these houses you will be staying at,” Castiel turned and walked up three quick steps to the front door of the building before them, pushing the door open easily.
Sam exchanged a wary look with his brother before trailing after. Leave it to Castiel to explain things like they should already know them, like this wasn’t the most randomly bizarre thing to ever happen to them.
-=-=-=-
“Do you remember when our life was easy?”Dean asked from across the small living room and Sam’s eyebrows arched incredulously because, seriously? There was no easy when it came to being a Winchester. There was just, a little less hard than yesterday. “Yeah, alright,” Dean agreed to Sam’s silent point and spread his legs a little wider, adjusting on the sofa.
Sam’s eyes dipped too low and lingered too long, stomach rolling in that way it had for years now when he stared at his brother a certain way and never chose to pinpoint it. “Do you remember when finding Dad was the only impossible task?” Sam mused in attempt to distract him, hunching over the laptop Castiel had provided and choosing not to worry about how he’d acquired it.
“That might have been more impossible than this,” Dean laughed and Sam had to admit it was nice to hear his brother joking around.
“Do you remember when I pulled you out of hell?” Castiel asked from across the room. Both Sam and Dean looked up at him with wide eyes and the angel frowned slightly. “I thought this was some type of game.”
Shaking his head Dean chuckled and stood, dropping his book and crossing the room. “I’m gonna try for some sleep. You should too,” Dean pointed out to Sam and patted Castiel on the shoulder as he passed to ascend the stairs.
Sam tried to pretend like he wasn’t jealous that Castiel got Dean’s version of an affectionate goodbye pat. It didn’t work.
-=-=-=-
Outside the few days leading up to this fallout, Sam hadn’t slept in a room by himself since his brother’s death. It was too quiet. No gentle inhale, exhale across the darkness, no shift of the mattress in which Sam could imagine Dean rolling from one side to the other, adjusting his hips along the cool sheets. There was also none of the quick inhales, sharp gasps, tell tale signs that Dean was dreaming about a time in a dark place filled with screams and pain.
Sighing softly Sam rolled to his side and tucked the blanket under his chin, remembering a time when he was still young enough to tuck up against Dean’s body and find comfort there.
-=-=-=-
They call him the Collector - no one seemed to know his real name - because that’s what he does, he collects things. Toys, weapons, expensive black market super computers that could destroy the world if he had the balls enough to do it. Most importantly, he collected people. Castiel needed this explained and Sam exchanged a look with his brother before pushing his laptop away, shaking his head.
“This guy, the Collector, he sees humans as possessions, just like everything else. So when he sees a pretty girl or guy, and he wants them, he takes them. No clue what type of environment they live in but I’m assuming it’s mostly sex related,” Sam offered and watched his brother push a blade through the peel of an apple, dragging around slowly.
“But humans have free will, why would they allow themselves to be collected like this?” Castiel’s head tilted to the side, arms hanging loosely at his sides.
Dean spoke around a mouthful of apple, juice spraying out along the countertop. “Don’t think they’ve got much a choice here Cas. There are some things that trump free will.”
It shouldn’t bother Sam any more than he could track his brother’s movements without looking up, that he could feel his gaze, the heat of his body from less than a foot away, that he could know Dean was about to touch him before it happened. It did bother him though, because it wasn’t just about knowing someone after twenty six years - give or take. It was… more than that.
“Looks like we’ve only got one choice,” Dean pointed out unnecessarily, fingers tightening over Sam’s shoulder as he leaned forward to peer at the laptop. Sam knew what his brother was thinking; they’d been doing this for long enough for Sam to see the plan before Dean even explained it. “We’ve got to be collected.”
Castiel argued the idea, Dean argued the logic, Sam got up to take a shower and silently tell himself that he was too old to still fantasize about licking the vein on Dean’s neck that stuck out when he got angry.
-=-=-=-
They did recon first, that was the smart thing to do anywhere. Things between them were like the embers burning at the bottom of a fire. Give it a moment, a few good pokes, an extra log and the fire would be full flames again. Dean wasn’t really looking forward to it, but he anticipated it because that was just the way things went with them. It was always side step, shoulder brush, lingering gazes the other pretended not to notice.
Dean used to consider himself Sam-wise. Not the hobbit. But wise in the ways of his brother. More and more recently though, Dean was thinking he didn’t know his brother at all. He kept doing things, looking at him like there was something on his face, or shooting out his ass, or… whatever. The truth was Dean could easily have been misinterpreting the looks because either Sam hated him or…
“That’s a shit load of guards,” Sam pointed out in a hushed whisper, peeking around the bush at the large building in front of him. There were three large, burly men standing guard and two that passed heading in opposite directions every ten minutes.
Rolling his eyes Dean muttered, “well, we told Cas we’d look at other options. I can kick ass, you can…” Dean glanced over at his brother and smirked. “You can hold your own.” His smirk shifted to a self satisfied smile when Sam gave him a fuck you glare. “Either way, it’d take us and a holy army of hunters to take this building on.”
“Collections it is,” Sam nodded in agreement and slid back.
Movement along the front walk caught Dean’s attention and he instinctively reached out to grab Sam’s arm, tugging him back. Their gazes locked for a fraction of a second - there was that look - before Dean dropped his hand and jerked his head toward the low voices.
“Got another for the boss,” the man slurred out in a thick, heavy accent, yanking a thin, dark haired man forward.
The first guard, who Dean had already pegged as the leader since he made a point to huff out his chest and stand too straight up, stepped forward and cupped the man’s jaw roughly. “Aye, he fits the MO. Little too skinny but easily worked out. Take him in.”
They crossed through a patch of light and Dean got a good glimpse of tight leather pants and smeared eyeliner. It went a long way in explaining what they’d have to do to worm their way into the system. “Jesus,” Sam whispered from beside him and Dean caught the grimace of sympathy for the stranger.
“Maybe we’ll get more than the weapon,” Dean pointed out in a whisper and fell back, slinking along the shadows toward the street.
They walked back to their impromptu home in silence. Dean pretended not to notice Sam’s sideway glances or the way their shoulders brushed with purpose.
-=-=-=-
“Are we ever going to talk about it?” Sam asked, dropping down onto the couch beside Dean heavy enough to make the back shake.
In the past three weeks Dean had learned many things. The Brits had way better food, sometimes, other times it was too much to even consider eating. Castiel still hadn’t learned any version of privacy, showing up in Dean’s bathroom as he was stepping out of the shower was beyond awkward. And Sam… Sam was still his brother and never liked to let things go.
“I thought no.” Dean mumbled and went back to fingering through the stack of papers Sam had provided about the so-called Collector.
There was a name for Sam’s sigh, whiney or bitchy wasn’t it but Dean couldn’t come up with anything better, and Sam lay whatever it was on thick. “I punched you Dean. Then you pulled a Dad. That’s just going to be swept under the rug?”
“Should I remind you what followed? Or are we just ignoring the ‘opening Hell and letting Lucifer out’ thing?” Dean shot him a look. There was probably a name for that look too, hurt and trust broken, but Dean left it alone.
“No… I haven’t forgotten,” Sam rolled his eyes and gave up, pulling out his laptop from along the couch and turning it on.
Dean was just as ready to let it drop. This wasn’t the right time or place. They had a goal here, a real mission, and things couldn’t get better until they completed it. “I think we should get picked up separate,” Dean suggested, continuing on when Sam turned to him. “From all these files, it seems he picks up one at a time. If one of us goes in first we can scope out the place. Then the other comes and it’ll be a quick thing. We’ll get the weapon, save the day, and be back on a plane to the good ol’ US of A.”
“Okay, so I’ll go first,” Sam shrugged and settled back on the couch, laptop resting on his thighs.
“No way, I’ll go first. You a shoe in to get picked up, I’ll need more work and we can’t run the risk that they won’t take me at all,” it was good logic in Dean’s brain, made perfect sense, and he watched Sam squirm for an argument with a pleased smile.
Giving in, Sam nodded slowly, “alright. You’ll go first. But don’t get stupid and do some heroic things to get you in trouble. This has to go smoothly.”
Dean bristled at being slightly scolded and rolled his eyes, “I can handle it.”
“You have to be… slaveish,” Sam pointed out and smirked at the idea.
Pushing the papers to the side Dean slid off the couch and crawled toward his brother, lifting the laptop and setting it on the cushion. “Yes master,” he murmured in a soft, silky voice he only used with pretty girls with big tits. “Your wish is my command,” his fingers curved over Sam’s thighs and slid up, massaging firmly over the denim until they couldn’t go any higher.
Sam’s lips parted slightly in time with his eyes widening, legs spreading apart as if by habit. “D-dean…” he stuttered in a rushed exhale, adam’s apple bobbing with a thick swallow.
Dipping forward Dean let his head rest low on Sam’s belly, close enough his chin could brush Sam’s crotch if he wanted. Which he didn’t. But he did notice how the jeans were a little tighter than they should be and growing. In an instant he was back up, hands digging into Sam’s thighs as he stood. “Slaveish enough?” He growled, surprised by how deep his voice sounded.
He left the room before Sam could muster up a response and climbed the steps two at a time. Dean stared at his reflection in the mirror until the heat cooled and the pressure against his own jeans disappeared.
-=-=-=-
“They’ll be expecting a trap so try to remain inconspicuous,” Sam said from the side of the room, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.
Shooting his brother a look - annoyance and irritation - Dean huffed, “I know Sam, Jesus, give a guy a break.”
“Yeah well…” the man muttered quietly, voice sad and soft.
Dean turned back and caught Sam’s eyes just as they lifted. The leather pants he wore were a size too small and Dean squirmed, unaccustomed to being so tightly compressed. “Are these clothes really necessary?”
Laughing quietly Sam nodded and pushed off the doorframe, crossing the room in two slow strides. “We’ve watched for weeks now, this is the type he likes. You’ve got to ham it up, make him want you.”
“And what do you think?” Dean ran his hand down the soft black silk that covered his chest. “Would you want me like this?”
Sam looked taken aback by the question and his face flushed. “I um… gross Dean,” he turned to the side but Dean saw the flash of that weird thing he kept seeing in Sam’s expressions.
“Wanna do the honors?” Dean held up a small tube of liquid eyeliner, trying not to wince at the thought. It was bad enough he had to slink around in leather and silk but make up? There were so many levels of no about this entire thing, Dean had to pull up all his patience to make it happen.
“I’ll try not to stab your eye out,” Sam laughed and took the tube, twisting off the top and stepping close into Dean’s body. “Okay we’ll just do the top line, tilt your head back, close your eyes.”
Dean’s shoulders were tense, eyes clamped shut as he waited for the first touch of cool liquid. He really wished there was someone who he could blame properly for this. Dean made a secret mental note to kick the Collector’s ass if he was given the opportunity.
“Dean, relax, I can’t do it right with you like this,” Sam whispered, voice coming too close, breath hot and moist against Dean’s cheek.
Forcing himself to relax, keep his eyes closed, Dean barely managed to resist the flinch when the first cool swipe moved along his eyelid. It felt… weird. Dean felt weird. And he made the decision to bypass all mirrors.
Cool air rushed over his face as Sam blew softly on one eye before repeating the motions on the next. “Okay, let me see,” Sam slid back and Dean slowly blinked his eyes open, surprised he couldn’t feel anything different now that the liner had dried.
His brother was just staring at him with slightly wide eyes and Dean scowled. “What? Do I look stupid?” Dean twitched to turn toward the mirror but held his ground.
“I think… we need to do the bottom too. Otherwise you won’t stand out in the club. Look straight up at the ceiling and don’t move.” Sam slid forward again.
Dean resigned himself to the torture and lifted his eyes, catching just the top of Sam’s features as strong fingers curled firm along his jaw, holding him in place. It was hard to not blink when the first touch of liquid traced along his lower lid and Dean pressed his lips together hard to keep from flinching away.
“Alright,” Sam eventually dropped back once more and stared down at his hands as he slid the brush back into the tube.
Dean waited for his brother to look up for a good three minutes before rolling his eyes and grunting, “Sam. Well? How does it look?”
There wasn’t really any way to describe the look on Sam’s face when his eyes finally lifted. Dean tried to name it, tried to dig through his memories to match with something he’d seen in the past but he was coming up blank. “Sam?” He said slowly, lips turning down into a frown.
“You look fine,” Sam mumbled and turned away, clutching the tube of eyeliner tight enough in his fist to turn his knuckles white. “Let’s go.”
Dean watched him stalk out of the room and sighed. Turning, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and his eyes widened. Thin black lines, just enough to make the green of his eyes nearly shine. “Damn…” he blew out a low breath and curved his hand over his ass. “I look fucking hot.”
-=-=-=-
The way Dean moved among the crowd had Sam wondering if his brother was really as straight as he claimed he was. It was a fifty/fifty chance that the Collector’s crew would be pursuing the crowd and Sam wasn’t sure he was complaining about the idea of having to do this again tomorrow. Even if there was a weird pinch of jealousy in his chest as he watched Dean rock and slid against some kid with tight jeans and an unbuttoned shirt.
Sam had to pull his gaze away, force himself to scan the edges of the room. No matter what Dean said, Sam knew his brother was fucking hot and would be just as much as a shoe in as Sam himself was. Even in the writhing crowd, Dean stood out, a blaring beacon of fuck me hot. They’d be stupid not to pick him up.
Sure enough, less than two hours later a large hand was curling around Dean’s arm and tugging. Sam watched as Dean struggled, holding back the part of him that was likely screaming to fight. Sam’s shoulders were tense, instinct wanting to dart forward to his brother’s aid. He held back though and trailed along at a distance.
“This is a foolish idea,” Castiel said from just outside the building, watching with Sam as they slid his brother into the back of a large SUV.
“Didn’t hear any alternatives we could actually do,” Sam pointed out and turned to look at Castiel. Angel travel wasn’t his preferred mode but driving in London wasn’t an option. “C’mon, we need a good spot to make sure they take him in and keep him there.”
Castiel nodded and gripped Sam’s arm. World and space shifted, fluttered and flared, then Sam was crouched down behind a bush that was familiar from all the times they’d sat and watched in the past few weeks.
“Hate that,” Sam pointed out and settled back to wait and watch.
“I apologize,” Castiel offered and sat awkwardly on the grass, back stiff.
“Beats getting killed trying to drive on the wrong side of the road,” Sam mumbled, oddly disturbed by how very Dean the comment was.
“Why do they drive on the wrong side of the road?” The angel asked in confusion, looking at Sam curiously.
“They don’t… it’s… you know they drive on the opposite side of us, everything’s backward. So you know, different,” Sam dragged a hand through his hair and shrugged. Sometimes he forgot that Castiel took things pretty much as literal as you could. It made for some awkwardly amusing situations at best. Sam was too worried about his brother right now to find this amusing in anyway. “Look, there,” he jerked his elbow toward approaching headlights and shifted as close as he could without fear of being caught.
Beside him, Castiel seemed more tense than usual and Sam tried not to feed off that energy. The last thing they needed was him blowing the entire thing just because the idea of any guy touching Dean like thatmade him itch with aggravation. “He’ll be alright,” Castiel whispered into the darkness as Dean was dragged out of the SUV and down the sidewalk.
Sam watched the front guard smirk and drag dirty fingers down Dean’s jaw. “Yeah, he will be,” he nodded and looked away as they ushered Dean forward inside the building.
-=-=-=-
There was a dim light glowing in the hallway but Dean couldn’t focus on it. They’d drugged him the moment they pushed him in the truck, shoving the sleeve up his arm swiftly and pushing a needle into the skin. It had to be a step above a sedative, something that made his mind swim and eyes blur. Dean struggled against it, trying to keep some wits about him because he needed to be prepared for anything.
It didn’t work.
“Dean huh?” A man was saying not too far from him before Dean could even realize he’d been asked his name and had offered it despite the obvious need for secrecy. “Well, let’s get a look at you. Shirt off.”
Some part of Dean wanted to say no even as his fingers slid across the buttons and the fabric fell off his shoulders.
A quiet murmur of appreciation drifted across the dark room, and Dean squinted, trying to give shape to the other blurry images in the shadows. “Wha… whatcha gonna…” the words were heavy and slurred and Dean wasn’t even sure they’d come from his mouth.
The man, who Dean vaguely assumed was the Collector, stepped closer into the light. It came as a weird sort of surprise to Dean that the Collector was shorter than him, a couple inches at least, pale skin standing out in bizarre contrast to the crisp white suit he wore. His hair was straight, blond, slicked back over his shoulders and tucked behind his ears. His hips swayed gently from side to side as he moved across the room. Dean felt his body swaying with the walk, eyes glazed. “Clearly this one works out… we’ll have to be sure to keep him under as often as possible. Wouldn’t want him to try and escape.”
If Dean were a little more aware of the situation, the thought might have made him panic. Being in this drugged out state was going to get them anywhere fast. Instead he allowed them to usher him off, taking him to a lone bedroom with one giant four poster bed taking up a great deal of the space. They ordered him to strip and climb beneath the sheets and Dean did so happily, sinking down into the soft mattress and burying himself in the coolest sheets he’d ever felt.
-=-=-=-
The days passed by in a strange blur. Everything was varying shades of dark. Dean’s meals were given to him in his room and he was not allowed to put on clothing unless ushered from the room. This only happened once or twice a day where Dean would be given a pair of tight, form fitting pants and nothing more. He was made to stand in place while a woman with thick, long black hair stepped forward and smeared his eyes with kohl.
Most of the time Dean was injected with something, never in his right mind, and he went along willing, traveling down long and spiraling hallways, never out of the guard’s sight. When Dean wasn’t drugged there was no way to escape the place they held him in, no way to figure out the layout of the building and create a plan for Sam’s arrival.
Contrary to what he thought might happen; Dean wasn’t used as a sex slave. It seemed as if the Collector was more interested in having him near, a possession to be shown off but never touched. He tried to observe the others through the haze in his mind whenever possible but outside the guards, it was impossible to tell who worked there and who simply belonged.
Alone in his room at night Dean tried not to worry that they’d made the wrong choice. This place seemed impossible to escape from and Dean only hoped Sam would come in a little more prepared.
-=-=-=-
It took three weeks for Sam to get picked up.
That was too long and he spent a good majority of his days pacing, worrying himself sick over what could be happening to Dean inside. Every night he wasn’t at a club, dressed in slick black leather, eyes smeared with liner, he was outside the building, praying for some chance to sneak in. If he could, he was going to grab Dean and screw the weapon, this was a shit plan anyway.
Sam was approached differently than Dean. They guy was skinny and short but the crowd seemed to part for him, like his presence alone was enough to make everyone cower. Sam watched as he moved his way with a purpose, slick blond hair not shifting despite the sway of his hips.
“I want you,” the guy informed, skipping a greeting altogether.
Letting his head drop slightly Sam smirked and rolled his shoulders, giving off the best air of confidence he could manage. “That work for you all the time?” He asked in a low murmur, sizing the guy up and considering his options. There were two guards off to the side, watching the encounter, and that was the dead giveaway.
“I always get what I want,” the guy stated simply and curled strong fingers around Sam’s arm.
It hit him like a punch in the gut. This was the guy, the Collector, and Sam had no choice but to follow along. He didn’t know what it meant, that the Collector was picking him up instead of a guard. It made something unpleasant curl in his stomach and as they headed outside he considered making a break for it. But the guards had taken up the rear and there was Dean waiting back at this man’s place for him. So he mentally prepared himself as he slid into the back seat of the SUV beside the Collector.
They didn’t touch along the drive, in fact the Collector didn’t even look at him, didn’t ask his name or acknowledge his presence. It was eerily quiet in the car, no music, no talking, and the uneasy quivering in the pit of Sam’s stomach grew. He didn’t understand the difference between being picked by the Collector himself as opposed to the guards, didn’t know what it would mean for him once they arrived back at the building.
The entrance they pulled up to was different from the one Sam had seen before, along the back and secluded, and Sam made a note of it before following down the long winding hallways.
“Would you like to see my pets?” The Collector asked, the first words he’d said since back at the club.
Sam was more than disturbed by the light in the man’s eyes, eager and excited, and he had to force himself to nod. “Sure, like, dogs?” Sam smoothed his fingers along the warm leather of his pants.
“Something like that,” the man smirked and continued to lead the way through the hallways until they stepped out into a large, dimly lit room.
People were spread out amongst the large pillows, dressed in scantily clad clothing, women in see through lingerie, men in tight black pants that left little to the imagination. And among them, head resting against a skinny brunette’s bare abdomen, was Dean. Sam’s heart lurched in his chest, eyes racking along his brother’s well cut body, lingering on the half hard bulge in his pants. Sam’s adam’s apple dibbed as he swallowed thickly, forcing his eyes to turn away.
“Aren’t they just lovely?” The Collector murmured fondly, walking over to the pillows and reaching out to slide his fingers through a thick mane of long red hair. The girl leaned slightly into the touch but didn’t move otherwise.
Sam felt like he was going to be sick. “These… these are your pets?” He asked incredulously, trying to sound more curious than disgusted.
“Yes. They make lovely decorations,” the blond nodded and waved a hand to urge Sam closer. “Pick one.”
“I… what?” Sam stared at him in disbelief, trying to keep his eyes from shooting directly to his brother. It seemed like Dean hardly noticed him, body still loose and relaxed back into the pillow.
The Collector smiled but it was nowhere near pleasant. “I would like you to pick one. You see… I have no real interest in… fucking you,” the blond winced with the word as if just saying it disgusted him. “But… I do not mind touching myself. And I would like to touch myself while you… enjoy one of my pets.”
Oh god. This couldn’t be happening. It was like being offered temptation itself. Sam slowly shook his head. “I… I can’t do that. They… who are these people? Do they want to be here?”
“Don’t worry about that,” the Collector shrugged off the words and walked over to a large, ornate chair, dropping down and snapping his fingers. A moment later he was surrounded by two girls, two guys, who clearly were more than accustomed to the situation. “What was your name again?”
“Uh… Sam,” he said slowly and stared in disbelief. “What… what exactly do you want me to do?”
The Collector’s face curved into something evil, lips tilted up with clear amusement. “Fuck one of course. Now what do you prefer, female or male? As you can see I have a wide collection, one must be of your choice.”
There had never been a more conflicting decision laid out before Sam. On the one hand, it was as if Sam was being everything he’d wanted for so long now, without complications, no one would know they were brothers. On the other, it was Dean and the guy didn’t exactly look like he was in his right mind, how could Sam take advantage of that. Sam’s gaze had shifted back to Dean, lingering there until his brother moved slightly, met his gaze, causing Sam to think he maybe wasn’t as out of it as he appeared to be.
Apparently the Collector had followed his gaze and he smirked, nodding his head, “oh yes. That’s Dean. He’s a recent acquisition and hasn’t been properly presented yet. I think you might enjoy him.” The Collector snapped his fingers again.
Sam felt bile rise up along his throat when Dean moved obediently up and over to the blond’s side, like following the simple gesture was second nature. “I… what do you want me to do?” The hunter part of Sam that was so engrained into his system told him he would do whatever it took. Knowing that Dean hadn’t been touched by another during his three weeks at the place was mildly comforting and Sam was going to get them out of there, no matter what.
“Dean has such a pretty little mouth…” the blond murmured and touched his own lips, tracing them slowly as if he was touching Dean’s. “I want to see it wrapped around your cock.”
Heat instantly shot through Sam’s body and he felt his cock respond, thickening and filling as his mind provided the perfect mental image of Dean doing just that. No orders had been given but Dean was moving forward, swaying slightly. Sam’s eyes dipped down to trail over hipbones and exposed skin stretched smooth along the curve. When he looked back up Dean was right there and his green eyes shone in the dull light of the room.
“Bout time,” he breathed before lifting a hand to wrap around the back of Sam’s neck, tugging him in for a heated kiss that was instantly parted lips and tongue.
Sam stepped instantly into the kiss, hand sliding around to press against the small of Dean’s back and hold him close. Even though Sam was sure Dean was actually the one lacking most of his normal senses, it was him who felt completely and totally thrown by the sudden change of events. Clearly his brother had seen this happen with someone else before now, he knew just how to ham it up and give the best show
There wasn’t much choice but to relax back and enjoy it. So Sam did, and ignored the eyes he could feel fixed on them. Dean’s lips moved along his skin, sucking at his neck and collar bone, mapping along the expanse of his neck as much as he could along the collar of the tight shirt he wore. His hands dragged down until Sam could feel the pressure release from his crotch as the button was undone and the zipper pulled down.
Then Dean was on his knees before Sam, pulling Sam’s thick swollen cock free from his pants and stroking with a slow twist of his wrist. Gasping in pleasure, Sam turned his head down to stare at his brother, watching as the man’s tongue slid out and up along the underside. Dean sucked his cock like a pro and Sam would have questioned it if he wasn’t sure his brother was pulling his brain out with each slide of his tongue and wrap of his lips.
Sam’s knees dipped, threatened to give out but he kept himself up, weaving his fingers through Dean’s silky hair and moaning. He could feel the heat of Dean’s mouth up the full length of him, sucking him in until the tip brushed along the back of his throat. Then Dean fucking hummed and Sam snapped forward in response. Surprisingly, Dean let him control the movements, let him use his hands to lift Dean’s head and thrust his hips forward, fucking into his brother’s mouth at a slow, steady pace.
It was the singular hottest thing Sam had ever been part of and he watched through half open, lust blown eyes as Dean’s face twisted and morphed with pleasure. Sam could see his brother’s hand drop down to his own crotch and rub along the bulge and Sam groaned a guttural, “Dean,” somewhere low in the back of his throat.
Sam wasn’t aware of the others in the room, the place they were, anything outside building heat and the best fucking blow job in the history of the world. Then Dean’s hand was up and rolling along his balls and Sam lost control, hips jerking forward in half a dozen steady thrusts before he came down his brother’s throat.
Watching Dean swallow everything he had was enough to make Sam think he might come again from the thought alone. The minute his flesh was free from Dean’s lips, Sam hook hands under his arms and dragged him up, crushing their lips together in a long, brutal kiss, tongue sliding forward to chase the hints of his come along the inside of his brother’s mouth.
“My my, that was quite a show,” the Collector murmured from across the room and Sam had to force himself not to jump. It was very lax of him to completely lose track of the task at hand. “I feel an encore of that is necessary. You will stay the night. I’ll even let you stay with Dean; perhaps you can make use of the pretty little bed I keep him in.”
Sam desperately wanted to slug the guy. No one was allowed to talk about Dean like he was some trophy kept in a display cupboard. But Dean’s head came to rest on his shoulder, hips swaying slightly, and Sam knew it was a warning for his tense shoulders more than anything else. “Um… wow. Alright. I… okay,” he nodded slowly and wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist, watching the Collector’s eyes light up.
“Wonderful,” the blond nodded and rose from his chair, “allow me to show you the way.”
Having no choice but to follow, Sam trailed him out of the room, keeping Dean securely tucked under his arm.
-=-=-=-
“Jesus Dean, are you alright?” Sam stepped forward the moment the door was close and he knew they were alone, eyes wide and concerned, and fixed on his brother.
Dean slid and stumbled, crashed into Sam’s chest and grinned. A moment later his hips were rolling slowly into Sam’s thigh and he murmured a throat, “gonna make use of my pretty little bed?”
“Fuck,” Sam hissed slightly, the heat of Dean’s crotch heady and strong against his body. “What do they have you on?”
“Who the hell knows, it’ll wear off soon,” Dean shrugged and caught Sam’s hand, pulling it down to press hard into his hard line confined by tight leather. “Might wear off quicker, if you help me out.”
There were so many things Sam wanted to do, so many ways he wanted Dean, but not here. Not like this. Not when he wasn’t even sure how aware his brother was. They needed to figure out a way out of here first and foremost though and clearly Dean wasn’t going to focus on anything until the issue at hand - literally - were taken care of. “Fuck,” he grumbled once more and shoved Dean back to the bed.
Dean went willingly, working his fingers over the buttons holding him in place. Before he even dropped down onto the mattress the leather was around his thighs, holding him in place.
Sam stared down at the smeared kohl along Dean’s eyes, the way his skin glistened and glowed in the faint light coming from the overhead lamp. He continued the lustful sweep along the skin until Dean’s hand dropped, clearly impatient with the lack of movement. “Don’t you dare,” he growled and dropped to his knees, tugging the leather down Dean’s thighs and over his knees, pressing them along the ankle until Dean’s foot pulled free.
“Always makin’ me wait,” Dean grumbled, hands dropping to the sides and curling along the blanket.
Rolling his eyes Sam crawled forward, fingers pressing into Dean’s thighs and tugging him close. Sam’s experience with blow jobs was limited to one, semi-drunk during his sophomore year and it hadn’t exactly been enjoyable. But this was Dean. The skin was salty and slick along his tongue, scent of arousal strong and heavy with each inhale.
Encouraged by the way Dean’s hips rocked and writhed along the edge of the mattress; Sam parted his lips, sucked in the head and pulled. His name fell from Dean’s lips in a litany, whispered and breathless, fingers tangling into Sam’s hair and tugging. Dean’s cock was thick and full, a heavy weight against his tongue, filling his mouth in a way he’d never imagined. Sam moaned as he pulled him in further, sucked him as deep as he could. The way his brother reacted to the touch sucking in greedy breaths, stuttering on moans, made Sam feel powerful.
There was no warning before the salty heat of Dean’s come was sliding down his throat. Sam had to swallow fast to keep it from falling out his mouth and he moaned as the taste coated his mouth. He sucked and swallowed and pulled sharp breaths through his nose until Dean’s flesh softened and Sam sat back. “C’mere,” Dean murmured, tugging at Sam’s collar to pull him up.
Their lips locked, gliding together slowly, Dean’s tongue sweeping out to pull in his own taste. When they broke the kiss they were both panting, foreheads resting together. “Dean…”
“Shh…” Dean whispered and slowly shook his head from side to side. “We’ll talk about it later Sam. Just gotta get out of here.”
That sounded like a fantastic idea. Even if the urge to talk about things, clear the air, nagged at him. Pushing up slowly Sam nodded watched as his brother struggled with his pants, fumbling them up and swaying slightly as he stood. “Your mind a little better?” He asked quietly, hand reaching up to cup Dean’s elbow.
With a smirk Dean shrugged, “my mind’s been fine for awhile dude. The raging hard-on? It thanks you.”
Sam couldn’t resist the urge to scowl slightly and smack Dean’s shoulder. “Shoulda fuckin’ guess you were faking it,” he grumbled and turned slowly to survey the room. “Got any idea how we’re gonna do this?”
“Very quickly,” Dean smirked and walked toward the door, pressing his ear against the wood. Turning slightly he jerked his head, urging Sam across the room. “So there’s a guard here. The weapon room is down the hall, a left, another left. There are two guards in front. You and I should be able to handle it though, as long as they don’t call anyone else.”
Eyebrows arching, Sam smirked slightly. “Was the high thing really just part of the act?”
“Nah, they really have been drugging me, I’m building up a tolerance,” Dean shrugged and slid to the side. “It’s ‘cause I’m awesome. Ready?”
Snorting in a small puff of air Sam nodded, “yeah. Let’s do this. Dean… the people?”
“We can’t save them Sam. Maybe later, but not if we want the weapon too,” Dean shook his head.
Sam had little choice but to give in, resigned to the idea even if his stomach churned unpleasantly.
-=-=-=-
They fought because they had to and Sam was mildly surprised by how easy it was. Almost like it was planned that way, like they just let them into the collection room. Of course the guard at Dean’s door went down early, tucked away inside the room and no one knew. They didn’t encounter anyone along the hallways until the guards at the main door. It occurred to Sam that it was likely that no one was stupid enough to break into the Collector’s private stash.
The weapon was a blade.
They had never really been sure but Castiel had provided them with an etching that was carved along the handle. Clearly the Collector underestimated its power because it rested behind a box of glass, not nearly as secure as some of the other items in the room. Dean freed it easily, curling his fingers along the handle and lifting it slightly. “All this shit for this?” Dean quirked his eyebrow and shrugged.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Sam mumbled and ignored the curious part of him that wanted to investigate what else the Collector had stashed in the large room.
“Sam,” Dean breathed and tugged his arm. He hadn’t even realized how his gaze continued to sweep slowly along the room.
“There could be more here, more that could help people,” Sam pointed out and looked over at Dean.
Shaking his head Dean pulled him hard toward the door. “Not now Sam. Not here.”
Knowing his brother was right Sam allowed Dean to pull him from the room. They weaved down the hall, Sam caught Dean’s arm to tug him toward the back door.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t know what you were trying to do?” The Collector’s smooth and silky voice sounded from down the hall and the brother’s froze. “You really think me foolish enough to have no cameras?”
Dean and Sam shared a look, turning slowly to size up their situation. There were twelve guards and the rustling of fabric behind them that suggested more joining the fight, trapping them in. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been in tricky situations before but this one… wasn’t looking too promising. Especially considering the guards had guns.
“Sam…” Dean whispered from beside him, shoulders tense.
Swallowing thickly Sam tilted his head down in the slightest nod of acknowledgement, scan the area, scout out the exit, and figure out if escaping was even plausible. In this case, it didn’t seem it was.
“I forgive you,” his brother’s whisper was quiet, low, a barely audible hum, head tilting enough to lock his gaze on his brother, nothing but truth in his words.
Before Sam could turn to him the back door was kicked open and in came… Castiel. Wouldn’t it just figure that this was the time the angel proved what a genuine badass he could be. With one sweep of the hand the guards were all against the wall, slumping down in knocked out heaps against one another.
The Collector merely gaped at them as Dean and Sam smirked in unison. “Hey, thanks for everything,” Dean stated casually, grinning at the man. “It’s been a real… eye opener,” he glanced at his brother before taking his arm and leading him out of the building.
-=-=-=-
“So… are we gonna talk about things?” Sam asked, a week later, back on home turf, in a motel room that could have been any other.
Glancing up from the knife he was polishing, Dean rolled his eyes and slowly stood, setting the blade down on the table, rag covering it. “Sam?”
Sighing softly Sam nodded and shrugged, “yeah I know. Shut up, I get it.” His shoulders slumped, defeated.
Chuckling softly Dean stepped forward and grabbed the edge of his shirt, tugging him close. “Yeah, shut up. And kiss me.”
Looking up a slow smile formed on Sam’s lips. He didn’t need to be asked twice when it came to that request.