And Here We Go Again (We Know The Start, We Know The End) [NC17ish] Sam/Dean
Title: And Here We Go Again (We Know The Start, We Know The End)
Author: queenklu
Beta by:
shri_amato
Rating: NC17ish
Pairing: Sam/Dean *wriggles* It's so good to be writing the OTP again!
Summary: So, the first time Sam reads fanfiction is a bit of a doozy. Thanks, Chuck.
A/N: for
chica_charlie, who was being SO PATIENT for the fic i actually promised her, she agreed to accept this as a sort of place holder. *headdesk*
It just sort of…happens, in the space between one blissfully unaware minute and the gut clenching horror Sam hasn’t experienced since he was fifteen and accidentally clicked some beastiality website just before Dad walked in the room.
Okay, so maybe this way is better, in the sense that he’s alone when it happens. Sam bites down on the fierce urge to X out of everything and run the fuck away, maybe come back to his baby with some bleach wipes and a browser cleansing. Because that…
It takes that whole minute to sink in what he’s looking at. That these aren’t Chuck’s words on the screen. He’s just following along, tracking the familiar dialogue between himself and Dean on the bridge waiting for Constance, ‘don’t you talk about mom that way blah,’ ‘I have my own life now blee,’ and absently he’s thinking about Jess and the normal he’d told himself he’d had in California, when suddenly-
Dean grabbed him harder, huge fistfuls of Sam’s jacket and just tugged, pulled Sam down and when he wouldn’t go-too shocked-wrapped a hand around the back of his head and yanked Sam down until he was close enough to get his mouth on him.
“Wha…” The word comes out breathless the first time, squeaky the second. “What-?”
The instant their lips touched Sam made a starving, broken sound, more like a growl, and clutched his brother so tight it was barely possible to keep moving their lips rough and hungry over each other. Sam’s hand moved restless over Dean’s ribs, trying to pull him even closer, back arching against the cold metal brace.
“Uhh…” Sam pushes away dumbly, wheels on his chair half turning him, and he still can’t look away.
“Fuck,” Sam gasped when Dean let those kiss-swollen lips go, “Fuck, Dean. Dean.”
“Fucking missed you,” Dean ground out against Sam’s collarbone, and Sam shuddered like he was falling apart when his brother’s fingers started tearing at his zipper, reaching in for the hot flesh withi-
“OKAY!” Sam yelps, slams his computer shut, and goes to get coffee. It’s raining, but he’s going to walk. He says ‘okay’ several more times at seeming random, and startles the barista into giving him his mocha half price.
So. So he kind of. So he kind of maybe has…those thoughts. Of…you know, of the. Yeah. And…it’s just. It’s different when not little fleeting snatches in his head. When someone somewhere actually sat down and typed out the words he hasn’t let himself think.
When Dean gets back, Sam’s schooled his expression into passive nonjudgmental boredom, and jerked off twice to dozens of different things labeled “P.W.P.” His browser’s gonna need a lot more cleansing, but at least Dean doesn’t notice anything wrong.
“Dude, what’s up with you?” Dean snaps, eyes narrowed over his double bacon cheeseburger that night. “Seriously, stop. Staring. At. My hands.”
“I-uh.” Sam flushes scarlet and drops his gaze instantly to his salad, tearing into it with an enthusiasm that he doesn’t feel. “Nothing.”
Dean takes a long, unnecessarily wet slurp from his Pepsi and doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then, “So that ‘slash’ stuff. Pretty sick, right?”
“Yup,” Sam answers instantly, because it is. His crouton’s being elusive.
“I mean. …We’re brothers.”
Sam’s eyes roll a little. “I told you, they don’t seem to think it matters.”
“Yeah, but. Why? Obviously some of these chicks gotta have siblings, right? You don’t see many Incest Pride Parades anywhere around.”
“So it’s the incest thing you’re hung up on?” Sam asks, against his better judgment. “Not the gay thing?”
He was kind of regretting making eye contact again until Dean flushes pink, and holy shit that is just about the-it doesn’t matter what it is. It’s brotherly.
“Hell, Sam.” The flush gets darker when Dean ducks his head, tucks back into his food, next words muffled with fried potato. “You know I’ve sampled from the other side of the buffet.”
And no, actually, Sam didn’t. Not officially. Dean wasn’t supposed to know he knew about the guys Sam’s seen him brush a little too close to, and he’s definitely not supposed to come out in a conversation about fictional incest.
“Maybe they get off on it,” he bites out, suddenly gung-ho to fight this one out. His elbows feel sharp and hard under his hands where his arms cross over his chest. “Hey, I know nothing busts your nut quicker than a pair of double-D twins going at it. How is this any different?”
Dean stops chewing, which is pretty much another sign of the apocalypse. “Dude,” he says like his bacon turned to tofu, “I’m eating.”
“Seriously.” Sam knows he’s got his bitch face on, but he also knows his voice is dropping into that octave Jess called feral. “How? Don’t I look enough like you to turn you on?”
The burger hits his plate like it was burning him; Dean drags grease slick fingers over his flanks through his jeans and Sam has to fight a fierce and sudden urge to grab his wrists and lick him angry and clean. “You look nothing like me,” sounds like it should be meaner, but Dean’s face is closed off like he’s afraid to show too much of anything, and before he knows he’s moving Sam is half over the table, leaning into Dean’s space.
“Don’t, do I?” Sam has no idea where the hell this is coming from, except maybe a couple hundred rabid fangirls and his own dark desires. “Everyone always thinks we’re a couple. Wouldn’t have to tell them we’re related, could just lick into your mouth and they’d-”
Dean boot lashes out, and even though it’s a bench seat the whole thing skids back a good handful of inches with Sam on it. “Dean, wait-” His brother’s already out the door before Sam can get to his feet, let alone fish out his wallet and pay for their dinner. And of course he’s only got a fifty, and the waitress looks about ready to murder him for the displaced booth, so getting change is like prying teeth.
Sam’s ears are ringing with the numbness that sets in right before a full blown panic by the time he gets out of the restaurant, bleakly looking across the parking lot for the Impala even though part of him knows Dean is-
“The fuck took you so long,” Dean snaps, latching onto a fistful of Sam’s shirts and yanking him into the back alley, shoving him against a filthy wall and crowding close they’re sharing air and body heat from knees to collarbone. And then…well, then Dean’s mouth is on his, and it’s so…so good, so good, and right, and hey, exactly like that first fic he read that something in the back of Sam’s mind tries to remember the username of the person who wrote it, until Dean’s hand does that thing to his zipper and Sam’s suddenly much more interested in what happens next.
~*~
Back in his house, Chuck logs off of prophet_this on LiveJournal, and goes to pour himself several stiff drinks. “Oh god,” he starts, and then thinks better of it.