Sam/Dean, #14, Pregnancy Scare
Title: Breakfast of Champions
Character(s) or Pairing: Sam/Dean
Prompt: #14, Pregnancy Scare
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sam and Dean face a sticky situation that should have been hilarious, but ends up being a tad bit angsty.
A/N: Not *exactly* a pregnancy scare, since someone actually gets pregnant, but in the end it is close enough!
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"Breakfast of Champions"
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"Dean... Dean... Dean... ugh... fuck... fuck..."
"Sammy, shut the fuck up and go faster!" Dean gritted out, digging his hands into the motel sheets and trying his best to keep his ass up off the bed. Sam kept moving his hands, dragging them roughly all over his brother's body instead of supporting him.
He felt the pressure rising, Sam's long, sun-loved body crashing into his in a perfect primal rhythm. Each stroke was like an unbearable jolt of pure kinetic energy, shooting right down his spine. He could hardly remember to breathe as he began to crest, tasting salt as sweat ran down his cheek and puddled at the corner of his mouth.
"Fuck, fuck..." Sam's voice was hoarse and almost broken as he pounded furiously into Dean. His feet slipped back in the sheets and he pulled them up again, slipped some more, pushing the sheets way down to the very edge of the mattress. The muscles of his calves were trembling violently. He thought if he didn't come soon, he was going to straight-up die.
Dean was having similar thoughts, if he was having any thoughts at all. He mustered up one last vestige of energy and rolled his hips upward, balancing on the small of his back long enough to wrap his legs around Sammy's waist. Sam took this as his cue to speed up, and the new angle brought them to that perfect alignment, Sam's cock doing mortal damage. Dean finally topped and shook and cried out throatily, body spasming in short tight waves like a delirious strobe light. Sam gave a few more mindless thrusts, feeling every drop of come escape the weak body that was their vessel with an almost painfully good release, and collapsed on top of his brother.
It took only moments for Dean to recover, and shove Sam off. "Jesus, took you long enough!"
"What?" Sam countered wearily, missing the note of affection between Dean's lines, lying limp on the bed like a dead dog, messy brown hair scattered and stuck to his face, damp with sweat. God, it took so much damn energy to be on top.
Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and promptly wobbled. He sat back down, waiting for the blood to return to his head. "Nice Sammy... my ass is on fire." He said with a half-hearted glare, but underneath the disheveled locks and bright green eyes a completely self-satisfied smirk lurked. Sam rolled his eyes in typical little-brother fashion, and pushed himself up on his elbows, spreading out his long tired legs. He watched as Dean pulled on some worn-out jeans (no underwear) and buttoned them with tripping fingers.
"I like when you let me be on top." Sam said suddenly, a silly, boyish grin plastered on his face.
"I like when you shut your mouth." Dean quipped back, antagonizing.
"No you don't." Sam retorted, huge grin growing bigger.
"Hey." Dean paused, fishing in his sex-addled brain for a comeback. He couldn't find one. College boy one-upped him there. "Okay, true, but can't you put that mouth of yours to better use than screaming like another got-damn girl?" Dean was gloating now. Oh, it was on.
"I wasn't screaming!" Sam took the bait, voice rising a notch in defensiveness. It was the age-old little brother versus big brother game.
"Whatever princess. I'd help you out with those feminine tendencies, but, ya know, I've got no experience to go on. You're on your own."
Dean laughed as a pillow hit him square in the face.
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"Ughhh. My *ass.*"
"Dean, shut up, dude. We're in a diner, man, someone's gonna hear you."
"I don't fucking *care*... my ass is fucking bitching!"
Sam glanced around guiltily, taking note of the very few patrons in the greasy-spoon type joint they were currently sitting in. A couple of truckers at the bar, a young couple making good use of their mouths (not for food) in a back booth, an old lady with garishly applied clown-esque makeup reading a trashy romance novel near the door. Few people, but still- Dean wasn't exactly the quiet type.
"What the fuck, man... it feels like someone rammed a freaking apple up my shitter." Dean was squirming uncomfortably on the seat now, causing the cheap fake leather to squeak like mad.
It had been almost a week since the last time they'd had sex. Starting almost immediately afterwards, Dean had started complaining about his ass hurting, far more than usual. At first Sam had teased him, calling him a pussy, maintaining that he never bitched about any soreness, seeing as he usually found himself on the bottom of their couplings. But Dean didn't let up; over the following few days, he bemoaned both a soreness and a swelling of his lower stomach, and a fiery sensation of having really bad diarrhea that refused to release him from its evil grip.
Sam put up with the whining and accusations that somehow this was his fault, as if he'd "fucking broken something" that night, as Dean so elegantly put it. But really, enough was enough.
"Dean, dude, let's just drive the damn pharmacy and get some enemas."
"No fucking way." Dean said flatly for the fifth time. "You know what that would look like? Two guys going up to the counter with one of those... we'll look like fags!" He hissed under his breath.
"Fine, then I'll buy it." Sam said with mounting exasperation.
"No way." Dean countered stubbornly. "They'll think you're gay. And you're not gay, Sammy."
"The irony is killing me." Sam said behind his teeth, looking at his reflection in the grimy window and resisting the urge to deck his brother.
"What?" Dean asked sharply, still squirming.
"Nothing." Sam sighed. "Can we hit the road tomorrow morning? The lead is going to go cold if we keep hanging around here."
"Yeah, fine." Dean shrugged, looking uncomfortable.
"You want me to drive?" Sam pushed.
"No. I'm good." Dean leveled his little brother with a stern replica of their father's commanding gaze. Do not try your luck, buddy.
"Alright." Sam conceded, sitting back with an aloof shrug.
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One week later, with Dean having become physically ill from the internal angst his colon was indulging in, and Sam worn to the bone by the constant bitchiness, Dean finally locked himself in the bathroom.
"Are you okay in there?" Sam asked, standing nervously outside the door, resisting the urge to knock again or pace.
"Go away!" Dean gets out, gruff and sounding strained.
It was bright fucking early in the morning, and Sam had woken up suddenly as the sound of Dean hurtling across the room and slamming the bathroom door shut with an alarming urgency had pulled him from a rather disturbing dream. Now he was pacing outside said door (fuck willpower) with a horrible case of bedhead, and nothing but boxers on.
There was a sound of muffled groaning, and Sam dragged a hand down his face, taking a deep breath. Hopefully Dean wasn't really sick, like, seriously sick- maybe he'd just been constipated. Yeah. Maybe he was finally getting to take a freaking dump.
He was too worried and harried by a whole fortnight of listening to Dean's pained aches and groans to have the normal sibling reaction of eww, gross. He was genuinely worried.
"Dude, everything still okay?" He queried, and got another violent outburst of curses as his answer. Sam finally retreated back to bed, and perched on the edge nervously. He tried turning on the news to distract himself, but ten minutes later, when a loud yelp split the stale motel room air, he was up on his feet and at the door rattling the knob in seconds flat.
"Dean! Shit... Dean, open up!" He tried turning the knob and pushing on the door at the same time, not really expecting it to open (seeing as it hadn't the first one hundred times he'd tried it) but this time it swung right open, and he staggered forward in surprise.
Dean was sitting in shock on the yellowed bathroom floor, drawers barely pulled up and still a little tugged down, face edged in tiny beads of sweat, and mouth split in pure disbelief.
Sam's eyes immediately followed his brother's gaze, and was struck by an sudden wave of disappointment.
He'd expected something bad, knowing the strange and frightening situations and beings they'd come into contact with, some blood or some serious illness, or in the very least, something gross. But... there was nothing. Just Dean, on the floor, in a relatively clean, un-mussed bathroom, looking at an egg.
An... egg.
Why was there an egg on the bathroom floor?
"I cannot belive that just came out of my ass." Dean said in a slow, deadened, robotic voice.
It took several seconds of unwilling gears turning in Sam's head before the reality of the situation finally sunk in, and Sam's pretty little mouth, which could be put to better uses than screaming, dropped open.
He screamed.
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"Dude, you so passed out in there!" Dean, who seemed to have recovered from his traumatic gestation and delivery, crowed gleefully. "You totally screamed like a little girl."
"It was more of a small exclamation of surprise!" Sam bit back with a 'please, Dean, drop it' expression on his face.
The two of them had been sitting on the motel beds, staring at The Egg and discussing reasons why (and *how*) Dean had become a... mother.
Sam jumped up and started pacing, again. "I just don't get it. We... you know, and... and you..."
"We fucked." Dean supplied with a straight face and the barest hint of a crooked smile. "And I got pregnant."
"Shit, don't say it out loud." Sam winced. "Anyway, how the Hell did it happen...? I mean, it has to be because of a job... what have we come into contact with recently...?"
"Uh, all of Purgatory?" Dean supplied with generous cheek.
"Shut up." Sam retorted quickly. "Maybe it was that succubus in Wisconsin..."
"Really great place to be a succubus, by the way." Dean added thoughtfully. "Great nightlife. Lots of nature."
"Dean." Sam said with a 'pleaseshutup' plea to his voice.
Dean, who was more happy to be free of the asspain than worried about having laid an egg, simply raised his eyebrows and looked at the wall.
"Anyway." Sam continued, unfazed. "If that was the case, and it is a curse... then..." He stopped pacing and looked straight at The Egg. "Then that thing is evil. It could be another demon, or some kind of creature..."
"Whoa whoa whoa." Dean put his hand up, traffic-cop style. He had rested The Egg comfortably on top of a pillow next to him, and could be easily accused of having 'hovered' near it ever since the incident. "Wait a minute. Why do you think it's evil? I mean, really, it came from you and me..."
"Dean!" Sam snapped, uncharacteristically and maybe a tad hysterically. "We're two men. And we're mammals. Two facts of life that would automatically prevent us from conceiving an EGG. That right there is proof that that thing is evil."
Dean had that stubborn Winchester look on his face again. "I just don't think you should jump to conclusions like that... we should, you know, think it through some more."
"And since when are you, Mr. Both-Guns-Blazing, prone to thinking things through first?" Sam retorted waspishly. His inability to find a rational solution to the situation was quickly making him frantic and distraught.
"Jesus!" Dean snapped back. "I just... fuck... I don't know, I just don't want to do anything just yet. We don't know everything yet, Sam. Just hold up fer Chrissake." He put a hand to his forehead and massaged his temples.
"No way. No way, no way, that thing has to go." Sam stopped pacing and moved suddenly towards the bed, staring intently at The Egg as he bore down on it.
Dean moved before he even knew what he was doing. Like some sort of... instinct. Sam was on the ground nursing a split lip in the blink of an eye, and Dean's eyes were blazing, fists clenched at his sides as he stood over his little brother.
Sam's face was full of disbelief. He touched a finger to his lip, then held it out in front of him to see the bright red blood smeared there.
The fire left Dean immediately, melted right out of him. "Shit, Sammy, I'm sorry." He winced in shame as he stooped down to look at Sam's lip. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have done that, man. Fuck." He grabbed a t-shirt off the headboard and dabbed at Sam's lip tentatively. Sam cringed and drew away. "Fuck... Sam..."
Sam stood and sat down immediately on his own bed. "Dean, this is bad." He looked up at his brother with worried emerald eyes. "This is serious."
"Yeah." Dean conceded, the fight gone out of him entirely. He too sat down, facing Sam. The Egg lay oblivious to the angst it had caused on its pillow, content. "I don't know why I did that. It just... happened."
Sam knew they were really deep in it now.
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It had been a week since the fateful day that The Egg came into their lives. Brown-ish (about the color of Dean's hair) with hazel freckles scattered at random over the delicate shell, it was a rather pretty egg. Dean had taken to carrying it around in his inside pocket, and whispering catty remarks to it when Sam had his back turned.
Sam really didn't understand it. He was still convinced the thing was evil, or cursed somehow, and the thought that, as Dean insisted, the co-mingling of their incestuous sperm in the unpleasant confines of Dean's ass might have given it life did nothing to comfort him.
He had been trying for days to think of a way to get rid of it, and how to do the deed (burn it? Exorcize it first? Bury it under a church?) but Dean kept a close guard on the thing. It was frightening, watching his big brother go from gruff shoot-em-up hellblazer to coddling his unborn demon child and even sleeping with it (which meant no sex for Sam... not that Dean was letting him anywhere near his ass anytime soon) was quite disturbing.
Dean knew how Sam felt about The Egg, too. "You don't love him." He'd accused one morning at a diner.
"I just think this is all a very, very bad idea." Sam had said wearily, pushing the grits around on his plate. (He'd wanted an omelet, but Dean had forbidden it.)
"Sammy wanted to get rid of you, poor thing." Dean spoke in the direction of his jacket's chest pocket, then shot Sam a dirty look. "Don't worry, I'll protect you. Make sure you're big and strong just like your Daddy."
Sam dropped his fork.
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Dean wouldn't let Sam touch The Egg.
Or touch him, for that matter.
It had been a very tiring week, and when they arrived at Missouri's house back in Kansas, the air tasted very sweet to Sam. He let the door of the Impala fall shut behind him, and shouldered his and Dean's bags, walking up the driveway without looking behind him. He knew Dean was probably securing the damn thing in its Kleenex swaddling, well-hidden in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He had to suppress a sudden guilty wish that Missouri was the type to bear-hug without warning when greeting guests.
"Boys!" She said, genuinely pleased to see them. She propped the door open with her foot and ushered them inside, giving Dean an appraising look as he passed, which Sam had not expected. The last he knew, Missouri had a matronly, nun-with-a-ruler attitude towards Dean, but something about this new Dean seemed to soften her up a bit, as if she could sense something with that astute woman's nose of hers.
Well, she'll still fall for my puppy eyes first, Sam thought with relish.
They lounged over coffee in the sitting room for a while, taking about jobs here and there, about Sam's gift and about the Others. Missouri was very interested in the other children, and the Demon. Even though John was gone, she seemed to still carry a torch for him in that respect- wanting to continue to help fight that battle that had worn their old man out far before his time.
It was mid-morning when Missouri asked that they run out to buy some groceries for her. She wanted to make them a big breakfast, she said.
Sam and Dean loaded back into the Impala, and headed towards the local farmer's market, one their dad had frequented, back before everything had gone wrong. It was a large, airy, open place, with many stalls and booths, and a tangy freshness to the air, like bitter vegetables. They strolled casually through the market, picking up ingredients here and there, winding their way down the aisles.
"Something about this place just feels better than all those other cities." Sam said, stopping to stretch and simply enjoying the sensation of being out of the car and walking about. It had been a long drive, and listening to Dean describe, in full detail, what being a Hunter entailed to his unborn child was wearisome after the first five hours.
"Yeah." Dean agreed, actually quiet for a moment, as if dredging up old memories. Sam watched him carefully for a moment, feeling a large, dense lump of emotion welling up in him. His throat worked for a moment as he fought to suppress the pricks of his eyes. Finally his sentimental side won out.
"I've missed you." He said quietly, almost stifled by the hustle and bustle of the noisy market.
Dean turned and looked at him with quiet eyes, very seriously. They must have looked very awkward and tense, standing there in the middle of the produce section, gazing into each other's eyes.
"Yeah." Dean conceded gruffly, but not looking away.
A silent message passed between them. It was an unspoken declaration, a tentative nuance. It was a bond that would always connect them, and it vibrated with the intensity of their need. A lifeline. One that was as strong as blood.
Winchester blood.
When they got back to the house, they dumped the groceries quite unceremoniously in the kitchen and scrambled up the stairs, appeasing the confused and irritable Missouri with haphazard excuses that there was some urgent business they needed to attend to in private, something about a new lead, which sounded fishy in retrospect. But she bought it, or at least seemed to.
In their haste up the stairs, Dean paused, ignoring Sam's pleading and needy eyes burning the back of his neck, and after a moment of consideration, shrugged off his jacket. He hung it on the end of the bannister of the stair, delicately, knowing that it would be safe there and that Missouri wouldn't bother it, and not wanting The Egg to get crushed in the frantic lovemaking that was about to occur.
Responsibilities taken care of, Dean turned back to his impatient brother with his burning puppy eyes and rushed up the stairs towards the empty bedroom, two at a time.
It had been far too long.
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Missouri listened as the boys bounded up the stairs, wondering what the Hell could be so important that they needed to cater to it right this minute... after all, wasn't she about to make them some real home-cooked food? She thought the boys would have been sitting at the goddamn table by now, holding their forks and knives.
She shrugged it off (Hunters! Always running off somewhere!) and busied herself about the kitchen, rifling through the paper bags for the bacon and potatoes she's requested.
Oh, damn. She'd forgotten to ask them to pick up some eggs... well she wasn't about to head out herself!
Missouri padded in slippered feet across the floor of her cozy and warm kitchen to the fridge, opening up the door. Well, she had some eggs. Not quite as many as she'd have liked, but enough...
In fact, where was the butter? Hadn't those silly boys paid any attention to her list? She huffed like a mother hen and hustled back to the bags, digging through them again. No butter... oh wait...
There was one bag, one that Sam had dropped in his haste, nearer the door and the stairwell. Missouri padded back towards the foyer, scooping up the bag.
She was delighted to see that Sam had in fact managed to pick up a half-dozen eggs, and she extracted them along with the butter and a block of havarti cheese. She stopped, humming, as she glimpsed something with her peripheral vision; On the stairs, Dean's jacket lay crumpled on the floor where it seemed to have slipped from the railing- but that wasn't what she was interested in.
An egg, brown like the kind in the carton she held, sat peacefully on the bottom step.
"Must a' rolled away from them others." She mused aloud, scooping it up and carrying it into the kitchen with her. The humming turned into a jovial good-natured song as she set about preparing to make an omelet big enough to feed two grown men.
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Sam slammed Dean up against the wall as soon as the door was closed, devouring those perfect lips and raking his hands down those shoulders, so familiar, so erotic.
Dean moaned into Sam's mouth, pressing a knee between his legs, pushing up, moving it back and forth. Sam made a strangled plea in the back of his throat and parted his legs further, grinding down on that delicious friction.
Dean, having had enough of being worked over by his little brother, pushed Sam back, their mouths coming apart with a loud wet sound and a hiss of pent-up breath. Sam stumbled back and Dean moved forward, pushing him back onto the bed, then pounced on top of that long, lithe body.
"-So long..." Sam gasped as Dean's quick and experienced fingers popped the button of his fly open with the flick of his wrist.
"Yeah... fuck, Sammy..." Dean's hand kept working, unzipping and dragging the denim down even as his mouth found his brother's again and locked on with feral force, knocking the breath out of them. Dean pulled away briefly to glanced down, and Sam gasped into Dean's neck as Dean found his pulsing cock and gripped it in a calloused hand, a hand so good at making love to both people and rifles.
"Oh, fuck... Dean..." Sammy ground out behind clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut, hands fisting in Dean's shirt. Dean sprinkled Sam's neck and exposed collar bones with fevered kisses as he slowly began to to move his hand, back and forth, one moment caressing, the next pulling and squeezing. Sam thrust his hips upward, trying to get a rhythm out of the motion, voice thin and needling in his urgency.
Dean smiled at the little mewls he was eliciting from his brother, felt arousal welling up inside him, a painful yearning, a rushing of his blood. He was so good at this. And Sam made it so easy.
Sam was bucking with frenzy now, and had given up running his hands down Dean's back for the more productive activity of pulling his damn shirt off. He succeeded, and pulled Dean down to him, latching onto his brother's neck with his mouth.
"Dammit, Sammy, don't go too fast..." Dean growled, and pushed his brother back down. Sam immediately fixed Dean with an irate, almost childish glare at being deprived of what he wanted.
Dean let go of Sam's cock, at which he received a strangled cry of protest, and grinned like an alley cat, moving downward, trailing his lips across the sun-kissed skin, feeling the tight muscles that contracted beneath, the sharp jut of ribs and hipbone. His breath tickled the tiny golden-brown hairs that trickled from Sam's bellybutton down to his erect, angrily bobbing cock, glistening at the tip.
Dean allowed his breath to torment Sam for another second or two, and even laughed when Sam growled his frustration. Dean spread Sam's legs, and Sam gripped his brother's shoulders, watching with huge fevered eyes and a flushed face as Dean trailed kisses down the inside of one thigh, making Sam buck again involuntarily as his nerves jumped, on fire. Dean finally kissed the tip of Sam's erection, and without further adieu, took it into his mouth.
Sam immediately cried out, and tightened his hold, digging his fingers into the taught flesh of Dean's shoulders. He gritted his teeth and whimpered as Dean slid his mouth up and down, and Sam tried with every single ounce of his willpower to not thrust up into that pretty, perfect mouth.
He was writhing and crumbling when Dean finally pulled away, and sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ready, Sammy?" He asked.
Sam nodded blearily, his whole body trembling with unfulfilled need.
Dean didn't spare a moment. He spit on his hand and grabbed his weeping dick, then guided it into Sam's entrance with forced precision. He didn't want to hurt Sam, but God, it had been so long. He didn't think he could take any more fucking foreplay.
Sam grit his teeth at the momentary discomfort, the almost painful sensation of something forcing its way where it should not be, the intrusion that was unavoidable- but as soon as Dean was in, and was pulling back, and was touching that spot- God, that spot- and pushing back in, pushing on that spot-
Sam bit back a yelp as intense, searing pleasure electrified all his nerves, setting his belly on fire and knocking the air out of his lungs. Dean finally gave in and began rocking them urgently, grasping Sam's hips as if a dying man drowning, and they crashed together, shook together, trembled and cried out as they found that perfect rhythm, and bled it dry, milked it for all it was worth until they both hit that peak, and hovered there for one electric moment that they never wanted to end, and yet wanted to end so badly, and then washed over it like a torrential river flooding down the ravine, tension and pleasure ebbing away in short spasms and bursts until they collapsed back onto the bed together, drained and glowing and whole.
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When Dean and Sam finally emerged from upstairs, looking suspiciously sated and self-satisfied (so thoroughly fucked that Dean even failed to check his jacket, which Missouri had hung back up for him looking just as he left it) a large breakfast was just being set on the table.
"Oh my God, I am starving." Sam declared without preamble, sliding lankily into the nearest chair.
"You're still hungry?" Dean instantly threw back, catching Sam's eye and sharing a knowing grin. "Well I could eat a whole cow." He crashed into the seat next to Sam, and Missouri eyed them both with amusement.
"Good thing you boys got such big appetites." She said, clucking like a proud mother. "'Cause I outdid myself this morning." She said with an edge of mystery. Both Sam and Dean turned around in their chairs, wondering what she had made that was so good and so obviously not on the table yet.
She reached between them and set down a huge steaming plate. The biggest damn omelet that the brothers had ever seen.
They stared at it for a moment, and like a magic panic button had been pressed, Dean suddenly bolted out of his seat, scrambling furiously across slippery linoleum towards the stairs. Sam's eyes widened as he realized where Dean was going, and he scraped his chair back noisily, clambering out and flailing long limbs as he went after his brother, leaving Missouri standing ruffled and slightly confused in their wake.
Dean reached his jacket and grabbed for the old leather, folding back the front flap. Time seemed to slow down as his fingers fell on an empty pocket. Empty.
The Egg, so notorious, so unexpected, so not worth it, so worth it, so oblivious to all the drama it had caused in the past two weeks, so small, so pretty, so perfect, so easily having wormed its way into Dean's heart disguised as hope, a hope for a family that had just kept shrinking and had finally started growing again, was gone. Just like that. Breakfast. Fucking... breakfast.
Dean stood in total shock, trying to decide what to think or do next.
"Well..." Sam began tentatively. "At least you didn't eat him."
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End!
Comment/Crit loved...
P.S. This was me hashing out a "working" plot for the fic for a friend (in retrospect it is kind of hilarious!):
Yet another mpreg. After sex, Dean's ass is extra painful. He had just let Sammy have a rare turn on top, and bitches and moans about it all day every day for the next week. finally one day Dean lays an egg, and at first they are all WTF! But even as Sam paces around trying to figure out why or how or what to do with it, Dean is silently growing endeared to it. Eventually he starts carrying it around being protective, and won't let Sammy touch it, saying stuff like "mommy wanted to get rid of you, poor thing..."
so eventually they go to Missouri's house, and pick up groceries for her, musing a while in the dairy section, and when they get back, sneak off for a quick fuck and meanwhile missouri finds the egg and when the boys get back she is cooking breakfast foo! ohnoes!
Character(s) or Pairing: Sam/Dean
Prompt: #14, Pregnancy Scare
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sam and Dean face a sticky situation that should have been hilarious, but ends up being a tad bit angsty.
A/N: Not *exactly* a pregnancy scare, since someone actually gets pregnant, but in the end it is close enough!
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"Breakfast of Champions"
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"Dean... Dean... Dean... ugh... fuck... fuck..."
"Sammy, shut the fuck up and go faster!" Dean gritted out, digging his hands into the motel sheets and trying his best to keep his ass up off the bed. Sam kept moving his hands, dragging them roughly all over his brother's body instead of supporting him.
He felt the pressure rising, Sam's long, sun-loved body crashing into his in a perfect primal rhythm. Each stroke was like an unbearable jolt of pure kinetic energy, shooting right down his spine. He could hardly remember to breathe as he began to crest, tasting salt as sweat ran down his cheek and puddled at the corner of his mouth.
"Fuck, fuck..." Sam's voice was hoarse and almost broken as he pounded furiously into Dean. His feet slipped back in the sheets and he pulled them up again, slipped some more, pushing the sheets way down to the very edge of the mattress. The muscles of his calves were trembling violently. He thought if he didn't come soon, he was going to straight-up die.
Dean was having similar thoughts, if he was having any thoughts at all. He mustered up one last vestige of energy and rolled his hips upward, balancing on the small of his back long enough to wrap his legs around Sammy's waist. Sam took this as his cue to speed up, and the new angle brought them to that perfect alignment, Sam's cock doing mortal damage. Dean finally topped and shook and cried out throatily, body spasming in short tight waves like a delirious strobe light. Sam gave a few more mindless thrusts, feeling every drop of come escape the weak body that was their vessel with an almost painfully good release, and collapsed on top of his brother.
It took only moments for Dean to recover, and shove Sam off. "Jesus, took you long enough!"
"What?" Sam countered wearily, missing the note of affection between Dean's lines, lying limp on the bed like a dead dog, messy brown hair scattered and stuck to his face, damp with sweat. God, it took so much damn energy to be on top.
Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and promptly wobbled. He sat back down, waiting for the blood to return to his head. "Nice Sammy... my ass is on fire." He said with a half-hearted glare, but underneath the disheveled locks and bright green eyes a completely self-satisfied smirk lurked. Sam rolled his eyes in typical little-brother fashion, and pushed himself up on his elbows, spreading out his long tired legs. He watched as Dean pulled on some worn-out jeans (no underwear) and buttoned them with tripping fingers.
"I like when you let me be on top." Sam said suddenly, a silly, boyish grin plastered on his face.
"I like when you shut your mouth." Dean quipped back, antagonizing.
"No you don't." Sam retorted, huge grin growing bigger.
"Hey." Dean paused, fishing in his sex-addled brain for a comeback. He couldn't find one. College boy one-upped him there. "Okay, true, but can't you put that mouth of yours to better use than screaming like another got-damn girl?" Dean was gloating now. Oh, it was on.
"I wasn't screaming!" Sam took the bait, voice rising a notch in defensiveness. It was the age-old little brother versus big brother game.
"Whatever princess. I'd help you out with those feminine tendencies, but, ya know, I've got no experience to go on. You're on your own."
Dean laughed as a pillow hit him square in the face.
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"Ughhh. My *ass.*"
"Dean, shut up, dude. We're in a diner, man, someone's gonna hear you."
"I don't fucking *care*... my ass is fucking bitching!"
Sam glanced around guiltily, taking note of the very few patrons in the greasy-spoon type joint they were currently sitting in. A couple of truckers at the bar, a young couple making good use of their mouths (not for food) in a back booth, an old lady with garishly applied clown-esque makeup reading a trashy romance novel near the door. Few people, but still- Dean wasn't exactly the quiet type.
"What the fuck, man... it feels like someone rammed a freaking apple up my shitter." Dean was squirming uncomfortably on the seat now, causing the cheap fake leather to squeak like mad.
It had been almost a week since the last time they'd had sex. Starting almost immediately afterwards, Dean had started complaining about his ass hurting, far more than usual. At first Sam had teased him, calling him a pussy, maintaining that he never bitched about any soreness, seeing as he usually found himself on the bottom of their couplings. But Dean didn't let up; over the following few days, he bemoaned both a soreness and a swelling of his lower stomach, and a fiery sensation of having really bad diarrhea that refused to release him from its evil grip.
Sam put up with the whining and accusations that somehow this was his fault, as if he'd "fucking broken something" that night, as Dean so elegantly put it. But really, enough was enough.
"Dean, dude, let's just drive the damn pharmacy and get some enemas."
"No fucking way." Dean said flatly for the fifth time. "You know what that would look like? Two guys going up to the counter with one of those... we'll look like fags!" He hissed under his breath.
"Fine, then I'll buy it." Sam said with mounting exasperation.
"No way." Dean countered stubbornly. "They'll think you're gay. And you're not gay, Sammy."
"The irony is killing me." Sam said behind his teeth, looking at his reflection in the grimy window and resisting the urge to deck his brother.
"What?" Dean asked sharply, still squirming.
"Nothing." Sam sighed. "Can we hit the road tomorrow morning? The lead is going to go cold if we keep hanging around here."
"Yeah, fine." Dean shrugged, looking uncomfortable.
"You want me to drive?" Sam pushed.
"No. I'm good." Dean leveled his little brother with a stern replica of their father's commanding gaze. Do not try your luck, buddy.
"Alright." Sam conceded, sitting back with an aloof shrug.
----------
One week later, with Dean having become physically ill from the internal angst his colon was indulging in, and Sam worn to the bone by the constant bitchiness, Dean finally locked himself in the bathroom.
"Are you okay in there?" Sam asked, standing nervously outside the door, resisting the urge to knock again or pace.
"Go away!" Dean gets out, gruff and sounding strained.
It was bright fucking early in the morning, and Sam had woken up suddenly as the sound of Dean hurtling across the room and slamming the bathroom door shut with an alarming urgency had pulled him from a rather disturbing dream. Now he was pacing outside said door (fuck willpower) with a horrible case of bedhead, and nothing but boxers on.
There was a sound of muffled groaning, and Sam dragged a hand down his face, taking a deep breath. Hopefully Dean wasn't really sick, like, seriously sick- maybe he'd just been constipated. Yeah. Maybe he was finally getting to take a freaking dump.
He was too worried and harried by a whole fortnight of listening to Dean's pained aches and groans to have the normal sibling reaction of eww, gross. He was genuinely worried.
"Dude, everything still okay?" He queried, and got another violent outburst of curses as his answer. Sam finally retreated back to bed, and perched on the edge nervously. He tried turning on the news to distract himself, but ten minutes later, when a loud yelp split the stale motel room air, he was up on his feet and at the door rattling the knob in seconds flat.
"Dean! Shit... Dean, open up!" He tried turning the knob and pushing on the door at the same time, not really expecting it to open (seeing as it hadn't the first one hundred times he'd tried it) but this time it swung right open, and he staggered forward in surprise.
Dean was sitting in shock on the yellowed bathroom floor, drawers barely pulled up and still a little tugged down, face edged in tiny beads of sweat, and mouth split in pure disbelief.
Sam's eyes immediately followed his brother's gaze, and was struck by an sudden wave of disappointment.
He'd expected something bad, knowing the strange and frightening situations and beings they'd come into contact with, some blood or some serious illness, or in the very least, something gross. But... there was nothing. Just Dean, on the floor, in a relatively clean, un-mussed bathroom, looking at an egg.
An... egg.
Why was there an egg on the bathroom floor?
"I cannot belive that just came out of my ass." Dean said in a slow, deadened, robotic voice.
It took several seconds of unwilling gears turning in Sam's head before the reality of the situation finally sunk in, and Sam's pretty little mouth, which could be put to better uses than screaming, dropped open.
He screamed.
----------
"Dude, you so passed out in there!" Dean, who seemed to have recovered from his traumatic gestation and delivery, crowed gleefully. "You totally screamed like a little girl."
"It was more of a small exclamation of surprise!" Sam bit back with a 'please, Dean, drop it' expression on his face.
The two of them had been sitting on the motel beds, staring at The Egg and discussing reasons why (and *how*) Dean had become a... mother.
Sam jumped up and started pacing, again. "I just don't get it. We... you know, and... and you..."
"We fucked." Dean supplied with a straight face and the barest hint of a crooked smile. "And I got pregnant."
"Shit, don't say it out loud." Sam winced. "Anyway, how the Hell did it happen...? I mean, it has to be because of a job... what have we come into contact with recently...?"
"Uh, all of Purgatory?" Dean supplied with generous cheek.
"Shut up." Sam retorted quickly. "Maybe it was that succubus in Wisconsin..."
"Really great place to be a succubus, by the way." Dean added thoughtfully. "Great nightlife. Lots of nature."
"Dean." Sam said with a 'pleaseshutup' plea to his voice.
Dean, who was more happy to be free of the asspain than worried about having laid an egg, simply raised his eyebrows and looked at the wall.
"Anyway." Sam continued, unfazed. "If that was the case, and it is a curse... then..." He stopped pacing and looked straight at The Egg. "Then that thing is evil. It could be another demon, or some kind of creature..."
"Whoa whoa whoa." Dean put his hand up, traffic-cop style. He had rested The Egg comfortably on top of a pillow next to him, and could be easily accused of having 'hovered' near it ever since the incident. "Wait a minute. Why do you think it's evil? I mean, really, it came from you and me..."
"Dean!" Sam snapped, uncharacteristically and maybe a tad hysterically. "We're two men. And we're mammals. Two facts of life that would automatically prevent us from conceiving an EGG. That right there is proof that that thing is evil."
Dean had that stubborn Winchester look on his face again. "I just don't think you should jump to conclusions like that... we should, you know, think it through some more."
"And since when are you, Mr. Both-Guns-Blazing, prone to thinking things through first?" Sam retorted waspishly. His inability to find a rational solution to the situation was quickly making him frantic and distraught.
"Jesus!" Dean snapped back. "I just... fuck... I don't know, I just don't want to do anything just yet. We don't know everything yet, Sam. Just hold up fer Chrissake." He put a hand to his forehead and massaged his temples.
"No way. No way, no way, that thing has to go." Sam stopped pacing and moved suddenly towards the bed, staring intently at The Egg as he bore down on it.
Dean moved before he even knew what he was doing. Like some sort of... instinct. Sam was on the ground nursing a split lip in the blink of an eye, and Dean's eyes were blazing, fists clenched at his sides as he stood over his little brother.
Sam's face was full of disbelief. He touched a finger to his lip, then held it out in front of him to see the bright red blood smeared there.
The fire left Dean immediately, melted right out of him. "Shit, Sammy, I'm sorry." He winced in shame as he stooped down to look at Sam's lip. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have done that, man. Fuck." He grabbed a t-shirt off the headboard and dabbed at Sam's lip tentatively. Sam cringed and drew away. "Fuck... Sam..."
Sam stood and sat down immediately on his own bed. "Dean, this is bad." He looked up at his brother with worried emerald eyes. "This is serious."
"Yeah." Dean conceded, the fight gone out of him entirely. He too sat down, facing Sam. The Egg lay oblivious to the angst it had caused on its pillow, content. "I don't know why I did that. It just... happened."
Sam knew they were really deep in it now.
----------
It had been a week since the fateful day that The Egg came into their lives. Brown-ish (about the color of Dean's hair) with hazel freckles scattered at random over the delicate shell, it was a rather pretty egg. Dean had taken to carrying it around in his inside pocket, and whispering catty remarks to it when Sam had his back turned.
Sam really didn't understand it. He was still convinced the thing was evil, or cursed somehow, and the thought that, as Dean insisted, the co-mingling of their incestuous sperm in the unpleasant confines of Dean's ass might have given it life did nothing to comfort him.
He had been trying for days to think of a way to get rid of it, and how to do the deed (burn it? Exorcize it first? Bury it under a church?) but Dean kept a close guard on the thing. It was frightening, watching his big brother go from gruff shoot-em-up hellblazer to coddling his unborn demon child and even sleeping with it (which meant no sex for Sam... not that Dean was letting him anywhere near his ass anytime soon) was quite disturbing.
Dean knew how Sam felt about The Egg, too. "You don't love him." He'd accused one morning at a diner.
"I just think this is all a very, very bad idea." Sam had said wearily, pushing the grits around on his plate. (He'd wanted an omelet, but Dean had forbidden it.)
"Sammy wanted to get rid of you, poor thing." Dean spoke in the direction of his jacket's chest pocket, then shot Sam a dirty look. "Don't worry, I'll protect you. Make sure you're big and strong just like your Daddy."
Sam dropped his fork.
----------
Dean wouldn't let Sam touch The Egg.
Or touch him, for that matter.
It had been a very tiring week, and when they arrived at Missouri's house back in Kansas, the air tasted very sweet to Sam. He let the door of the Impala fall shut behind him, and shouldered his and Dean's bags, walking up the driveway without looking behind him. He knew Dean was probably securing the damn thing in its Kleenex swaddling, well-hidden in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He had to suppress a sudden guilty wish that Missouri was the type to bear-hug without warning when greeting guests.
"Boys!" She said, genuinely pleased to see them. She propped the door open with her foot and ushered them inside, giving Dean an appraising look as he passed, which Sam had not expected. The last he knew, Missouri had a matronly, nun-with-a-ruler attitude towards Dean, but something about this new Dean seemed to soften her up a bit, as if she could sense something with that astute woman's nose of hers.
Well, she'll still fall for my puppy eyes first, Sam thought with relish.
They lounged over coffee in the sitting room for a while, taking about jobs here and there, about Sam's gift and about the Others. Missouri was very interested in the other children, and the Demon. Even though John was gone, she seemed to still carry a torch for him in that respect- wanting to continue to help fight that battle that had worn their old man out far before his time.
It was mid-morning when Missouri asked that they run out to buy some groceries for her. She wanted to make them a big breakfast, she said.
Sam and Dean loaded back into the Impala, and headed towards the local farmer's market, one their dad had frequented, back before everything had gone wrong. It was a large, airy, open place, with many stalls and booths, and a tangy freshness to the air, like bitter vegetables. They strolled casually through the market, picking up ingredients here and there, winding their way down the aisles.
"Something about this place just feels better than all those other cities." Sam said, stopping to stretch and simply enjoying the sensation of being out of the car and walking about. It had been a long drive, and listening to Dean describe, in full detail, what being a Hunter entailed to his unborn child was wearisome after the first five hours.
"Yeah." Dean agreed, actually quiet for a moment, as if dredging up old memories. Sam watched him carefully for a moment, feeling a large, dense lump of emotion welling up in him. His throat worked for a moment as he fought to suppress the pricks of his eyes. Finally his sentimental side won out.
"I've missed you." He said quietly, almost stifled by the hustle and bustle of the noisy market.
Dean turned and looked at him with quiet eyes, very seriously. They must have looked very awkward and tense, standing there in the middle of the produce section, gazing into each other's eyes.
"Yeah." Dean conceded gruffly, but not looking away.
A silent message passed between them. It was an unspoken declaration, a tentative nuance. It was a bond that would always connect them, and it vibrated with the intensity of their need. A lifeline. One that was as strong as blood.
Winchester blood.
When they got back to the house, they dumped the groceries quite unceremoniously in the kitchen and scrambled up the stairs, appeasing the confused and irritable Missouri with haphazard excuses that there was some urgent business they needed to attend to in private, something about a new lead, which sounded fishy in retrospect. But she bought it, or at least seemed to.
In their haste up the stairs, Dean paused, ignoring Sam's pleading and needy eyes burning the back of his neck, and after a moment of consideration, shrugged off his jacket. He hung it on the end of the bannister of the stair, delicately, knowing that it would be safe there and that Missouri wouldn't bother it, and not wanting The Egg to get crushed in the frantic lovemaking that was about to occur.
Responsibilities taken care of, Dean turned back to his impatient brother with his burning puppy eyes and rushed up the stairs towards the empty bedroom, two at a time.
It had been far too long.
----------
Missouri listened as the boys bounded up the stairs, wondering what the Hell could be so important that they needed to cater to it right this minute... after all, wasn't she about to make them some real home-cooked food? She thought the boys would have been sitting at the goddamn table by now, holding their forks and knives.
She shrugged it off (Hunters! Always running off somewhere!) and busied herself about the kitchen, rifling through the paper bags for the bacon and potatoes she's requested.
Oh, damn. She'd forgotten to ask them to pick up some eggs... well she wasn't about to head out herself!
Missouri padded in slippered feet across the floor of her cozy and warm kitchen to the fridge, opening up the door. Well, she had some eggs. Not quite as many as she'd have liked, but enough...
In fact, where was the butter? Hadn't those silly boys paid any attention to her list? She huffed like a mother hen and hustled back to the bags, digging through them again. No butter... oh wait...
There was one bag, one that Sam had dropped in his haste, nearer the door and the stairwell. Missouri padded back towards the foyer, scooping up the bag.
She was delighted to see that Sam had in fact managed to pick up a half-dozen eggs, and she extracted them along with the butter and a block of havarti cheese. She stopped, humming, as she glimpsed something with her peripheral vision; On the stairs, Dean's jacket lay crumpled on the floor where it seemed to have slipped from the railing- but that wasn't what she was interested in.
An egg, brown like the kind in the carton she held, sat peacefully on the bottom step.
"Must a' rolled away from them others." She mused aloud, scooping it up and carrying it into the kitchen with her. The humming turned into a jovial good-natured song as she set about preparing to make an omelet big enough to feed two grown men.
----------
Sam slammed Dean up against the wall as soon as the door was closed, devouring those perfect lips and raking his hands down those shoulders, so familiar, so erotic.
Dean moaned into Sam's mouth, pressing a knee between his legs, pushing up, moving it back and forth. Sam made a strangled plea in the back of his throat and parted his legs further, grinding down on that delicious friction.
Dean, having had enough of being worked over by his little brother, pushed Sam back, their mouths coming apart with a loud wet sound and a hiss of pent-up breath. Sam stumbled back and Dean moved forward, pushing him back onto the bed, then pounced on top of that long, lithe body.
"-So long..." Sam gasped as Dean's quick and experienced fingers popped the button of his fly open with the flick of his wrist.
"Yeah... fuck, Sammy..." Dean's hand kept working, unzipping and dragging the denim down even as his mouth found his brother's again and locked on with feral force, knocking the breath out of them. Dean pulled away briefly to glanced down, and Sam gasped into Dean's neck as Dean found his pulsing cock and gripped it in a calloused hand, a hand so good at making love to both people and rifles.
"Oh, fuck... Dean..." Sammy ground out behind clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut, hands fisting in Dean's shirt. Dean sprinkled Sam's neck and exposed collar bones with fevered kisses as he slowly began to to move his hand, back and forth, one moment caressing, the next pulling and squeezing. Sam thrust his hips upward, trying to get a rhythm out of the motion, voice thin and needling in his urgency.
Dean smiled at the little mewls he was eliciting from his brother, felt arousal welling up inside him, a painful yearning, a rushing of his blood. He was so good at this. And Sam made it so easy.
Sam was bucking with frenzy now, and had given up running his hands down Dean's back for the more productive activity of pulling his damn shirt off. He succeeded, and pulled Dean down to him, latching onto his brother's neck with his mouth.
"Dammit, Sammy, don't go too fast..." Dean growled, and pushed his brother back down. Sam immediately fixed Dean with an irate, almost childish glare at being deprived of what he wanted.
Dean let go of Sam's cock, at which he received a strangled cry of protest, and grinned like an alley cat, moving downward, trailing his lips across the sun-kissed skin, feeling the tight muscles that contracted beneath, the sharp jut of ribs and hipbone. His breath tickled the tiny golden-brown hairs that trickled from Sam's bellybutton down to his erect, angrily bobbing cock, glistening at the tip.
Dean allowed his breath to torment Sam for another second or two, and even laughed when Sam growled his frustration. Dean spread Sam's legs, and Sam gripped his brother's shoulders, watching with huge fevered eyes and a flushed face as Dean trailed kisses down the inside of one thigh, making Sam buck again involuntarily as his nerves jumped, on fire. Dean finally kissed the tip of Sam's erection, and without further adieu, took it into his mouth.
Sam immediately cried out, and tightened his hold, digging his fingers into the taught flesh of Dean's shoulders. He gritted his teeth and whimpered as Dean slid his mouth up and down, and Sam tried with every single ounce of his willpower to not thrust up into that pretty, perfect mouth.
He was writhing and crumbling when Dean finally pulled away, and sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ready, Sammy?" He asked.
Sam nodded blearily, his whole body trembling with unfulfilled need.
Dean didn't spare a moment. He spit on his hand and grabbed his weeping dick, then guided it into Sam's entrance with forced precision. He didn't want to hurt Sam, but God, it had been so long. He didn't think he could take any more fucking foreplay.
Sam grit his teeth at the momentary discomfort, the almost painful sensation of something forcing its way where it should not be, the intrusion that was unavoidable- but as soon as Dean was in, and was pulling back, and was touching that spot- God, that spot- and pushing back in, pushing on that spot-
Sam bit back a yelp as intense, searing pleasure electrified all his nerves, setting his belly on fire and knocking the air out of his lungs. Dean finally gave in and began rocking them urgently, grasping Sam's hips as if a dying man drowning, and they crashed together, shook together, trembled and cried out as they found that perfect rhythm, and bled it dry, milked it for all it was worth until they both hit that peak, and hovered there for one electric moment that they never wanted to end, and yet wanted to end so badly, and then washed over it like a torrential river flooding down the ravine, tension and pleasure ebbing away in short spasms and bursts until they collapsed back onto the bed together, drained and glowing and whole.
----------
When Dean and Sam finally emerged from upstairs, looking suspiciously sated and self-satisfied (so thoroughly fucked that Dean even failed to check his jacket, which Missouri had hung back up for him looking just as he left it) a large breakfast was just being set on the table.
"Oh my God, I am starving." Sam declared without preamble, sliding lankily into the nearest chair.
"You're still hungry?" Dean instantly threw back, catching Sam's eye and sharing a knowing grin. "Well I could eat a whole cow." He crashed into the seat next to Sam, and Missouri eyed them both with amusement.
"Good thing you boys got such big appetites." She said, clucking like a proud mother. "'Cause I outdid myself this morning." She said with an edge of mystery. Both Sam and Dean turned around in their chairs, wondering what she had made that was so good and so obviously not on the table yet.
She reached between them and set down a huge steaming plate. The biggest damn omelet that the brothers had ever seen.
They stared at it for a moment, and like a magic panic button had been pressed, Dean suddenly bolted out of his seat, scrambling furiously across slippery linoleum towards the stairs. Sam's eyes widened as he realized where Dean was going, and he scraped his chair back noisily, clambering out and flailing long limbs as he went after his brother, leaving Missouri standing ruffled and slightly confused in their wake.
Dean reached his jacket and grabbed for the old leather, folding back the front flap. Time seemed to slow down as his fingers fell on an empty pocket. Empty.
The Egg, so notorious, so unexpected, so not worth it, so worth it, so oblivious to all the drama it had caused in the past two weeks, so small, so pretty, so perfect, so easily having wormed its way into Dean's heart disguised as hope, a hope for a family that had just kept shrinking and had finally started growing again, was gone. Just like that. Breakfast. Fucking... breakfast.
Dean stood in total shock, trying to decide what to think or do next.
"Well..." Sam began tentatively. "At least you didn't eat him."
----------
End!
Comment/Crit loved...
P.S. This was me hashing out a "working" plot for the fic for a friend (in retrospect it is kind of hilarious!):
Yet another mpreg. After sex, Dean's ass is extra painful. He had just let Sammy have a rare turn on top, and bitches and moans about it all day every day for the next week. finally one day Dean lays an egg, and at first they are all WTF! But even as Sam paces around trying to figure out why or how or what to do with it, Dean is silently growing endeared to it. Eventually he starts carrying it around being protective, and won't let Sammy touch it, saying stuff like "mommy wanted to get rid of you, poor thing..."
so eventually they go to Missouri's house, and pick up groceries for her, musing a while in the dairy section, and when they get back, sneak off for a quick fuck and meanwhile missouri finds the egg and when the boys get back she is cooking breakfast foo! ohnoes!