Big Bang 2012: The Iron Tongue of Midnight
Part Twelve
April 25th 2002 (cont…)
Dean hid in the bathroom for twenty minutes, at first just sitting on the closed lid of the toilet with his head in his hands, and then flicking through a well-thumbed copy of Busty Asian Beauties that he’d stashed behind the cistern when they’d first checked into the motel. For some reason ogling ‘Mei Lin 32H’ as she thrust her tits out and pinched her nipples felt stupidly like cheating, so Dean tossed the magazine onto the floor, ran a hand across his eyes and shied away from analyzing just exactly what it meant that a skin mag was making him feel uncomfortable.
Dean was a healthy young man, with a healthy sexual appetite. He liked sex with women; he like sex with…well…Sam, anyway. He liked the mutual exchange of pleasure; he liked to take control and push all of his partner’s buttons; and he liked to relinquish control-to hand his body over to a partner that he trusted, knowing that he could depend on that partner to make him feel oh so good and, more importantly, to stop if he said stop.
Dean wasn’t attracted to Gwyn Ap Nudd and he didn’t trust him for shit. He didn’t want to let the Faerie king fuck him and yet he was going to; and he was completely tied up in knots about it.
Sam had tried to help; not only did the kid have a swag of funny stories about tricks and hooking, he was also a treasure-trove of information about sex without any kind of emotional investment: “If a trick treats you like a convenient hole, then you need to think of him as a convenient dildo…one that you don’t have to work in and out of your ass yourself.” “Sometimes I used to just let my mouth run…the trick’d think he’d earned himself some dirty talk; honestly, it was almost always for my benefit. ‘C’mon baby, fuck my ass, harder baby, make me cum,’-yeah, that’s for me.” “Eighty percent of the time, they’re more freaked than you are. You do this day in, day out. They don’t. Most of the time, they need you to be in charge; to be the professional who leads them through it. Of course, it’s different when you’re still really young…”
Dean ground the heels of his palms into his eyes and then ran his hands through his hair. Okay. Enough already with the chick flick moment. Sammy had survived worse. If Sam could do it, he could do it. Besides, he had more immediate worries right now, like money. Dean went and washed his hands and face and then breezed out of the bathroom with a shit-eating grin on his face. Sam was still sitting at the table, a look of compassion stretched across his face. He looked as if he was about thirty seconds away from asking Dean if he wanted to talk about it and, yeah, so not happening.
“C’mon Sammy,” Dean said, “We gotta go earn some money.”
“How?” Sam asked, scrambling to his feet, grabbing his jacket and following Dean out into the car park.
“You got your hustling, I got mine. Works better with a wing man though.”
“A wing man?”
“Yeah. It’s better if there’s two of us. That way if I get made and there’s a fight, someone’s got my back.”
Sam nodded. “Sure. I’ve got your back, Dean. No problem.”
-X-
They took the Impala down the Bayshore Freeway to Redwood City. The trip only took twenty minutes but Sam enjoyed the chance to have more than a two minute run in the Impala; it was one hell of a nice car. And it made a nice change to be sitting upright in the front seat of a classic automobile, rather than ass up in the back, or with his head in the driver’s lap.
Dean pulled off the Freeway and into the car park of the New Harbor Bar and Grill. It wasn’t much from the outside, just a rundown red-brick building with a dulled neon sign advertising its name and the fact that it had Budweiser on tap, as well as a jukebox and pool tables.
“Okay,” Dean said, “you remember the drill? I’ll go in first, get a drink, get a pool table and start messing around. You’ll give me five minutes and then come in. You’ll get a drink and then find somewhere to sit.”
“Right,” said Sam, “and then you’ll come across and ask me if I want to play pool. It’s important that no-one realizes we know each other. I remember the play, Dean.”
“Okay,” Dean grinned and pushed open the car door. He pasted on a sloppy grin and weaved his way into the bar.
Sam waited the obligatory five minutes and then followed, pulling on the dominant persona he used with shy, flustered tricks who didn’t really know what they wanted. Inside, the place looked like every classic dive bar Sam had ever been in. The lighting was dim-the only illumination in the joint being provided by the TV screens showing Keno, the flashing jukebox (currently playing Sweet Home Alabama) and the big, rectangular lights over the pool tables which advertised Bud Light in garish blue. The walls and floor were polished painted concrete, the tables and chairs were plastic and the whole place stank of beer and hopelessness. Sam gave a chin nod to the bored-looking bar tender and made his life easy, asking for a beer, whatever was on tap.
“We got Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Lite and Fat Tire.”
“Bud’s fine, thanks.”
Sam looked around. There were maybe eight or nine men in the place, most of them sitting alone, their liver-spotted hands nursing tumblers of hard liquor and the occasional pint glass of Vodka Redbull, despite the fact that it wasn’t even midday. There were also a couple of construction guys in steel-toed boots and orange safety vests eating meatball subs and fries and washing the fatty grilled food down with bottles of Miller Chill. And then there was Dean. Dean was acting like he’d been up all night drinking, getting high and generally blowing his way through his pay check. As Sam found himself a table and settled down to drink his beer, he watched Dean perform and really, he didn’t see anything to dissuade him from his earlier notion that Dean would make a good stripper. He wasn’t being overtly sexual-in a blue collar bar like this that could be a risky proposition-he was just a good looking, extroverted guy who was very comfortable in his own skin; and it attracted attention. One of the construction workers was watching Dean with the kind of intensity that Sam would’ve played up to, if he’d been working.
“Yo, dude,” Dean said, weaving his way across to Sam. “You wanna play pool?”
Sam shrugged. “Just in here for a quiet drink, man.”
Dean plucked a fifty dollar bill out of his wallet and waved it at Sam. “C’mon buddy. I’ll make it worth your while!”
Sam narrowed his eyes, made a show of taking in Dean’s obviously inebriated state and then agreed. Dean played…not badly, as such, but like a decentish player whose hand-eye co-ordination was shot. He lost convincingly and made a show of being genuinely surprised.
“Was a fluke,” he slurred at Sam, “I demand a re-match!”
Sam shook his head. “Like I said, I only came in for a quiet drink. Besides, I believe in quitting while you’re ahead. Maybe you should do the same? Or at least…quit while you’re only fifty bucks down?”
“Pfff,” Dean waved a hand at him, “you’re no fun. You just got lucky and you know it!”
Sam shook his head and returned to his seat.
“Anybody else brave enough?” Dean called out.
One of the older men agreed to a game and Sam settled down to watch. He sipped at his beer and picked up a brochure marked with water rings that advertised the week’s activities at New Harbor Bar and Grill: Tanked up Tuesday had half price drinks from 5.00pm to 8.00pm, Wednesday was karaoke night, Thursday was Beer Pong and on Friday nights girls in lingerie and six inch heels sold raffle tickets which could win you five free drinks. Sam grinned. This was definitely Dean’s kind of place; even the jukebox played his kind of music; mostly hard rock, but also some country and some oldies too. Sam went across and chose Highway to Hell for Dean. The jukebox only took quarters but Sam still had a stash of them that he’d collected for the luggage locker at the station so he didn’t have to go and get change from the bartender like he’d seen a couple other people do.
Sam settled back down to watch Dean and he was surprised when the construction worker who’d been eyeing Dean off earlier came and sat down next to him, his bottle of Miller clutched in his hand. Sam looked around, but the guy Bob the Builder had been eating lunch with earlier had gone.
“Can I do something for you?” Sam asked.
The guy raked his eyes over Sam.
“I saw you lookin’ at his ass,” he said, nodding towards Dean.
“Is that a fact?”
The guy nodded. “Boy like that…he don’t need a kid like you. He needs a real man.”
“A man like you, huh?”
The guy shrugged and Sam licked his lips thoughtfully. What had Dean said earlier? You have your hustling, I have mine. Hmm.
“Okay,” he said, pulling out his wallet and slapping a fifty dollar bill down on the table, “Fifty bucks says you can’t get into his pants.”
Dean chose that moment to lean over the pool table, his jeans stretched tight across his ass, which wiggled temptingly as he lined up his shot.
“You’re on.”
Sam and his companion watched in silence as Dean narrowly beat the old guy at pool and then Bob the Builder sidled up to Dean and started chatting him up. Dean, all easy smiles and low-key flirtation talked him into a game of pool, for a price of course. The guy lost, but didn’t seem too perturbed. He’d flirted with Dean, with varying degrees of subtlety, throughout the whole game and Dean had flirted back, just enough to be distracting. With the game over, and his fifty dollars safe in Dean’s wallet, the guy really turned up the heat, backing Dean up against the edge of the table, his hands against his chest and his lips seeking Dean’s.
“Dude,” Dean growled, “back the fuck off.”
“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that. You know you want it.”
Sam got up from the table and came up behind the man. He had no doubt that Dean could handle him, but Sam was supposed to have Dean’s back.
Dean kneed the guy in the groin and then shoved him away.
“Fucking cock tease,” the man spat, doubling over.
Sam tapped him on the shoulder. “Looks like you got shot down, dude,” he said. “You owe me fifty bucks.”
Dean raised an eyebrow and Sam grinned.
“I don’t owe you jack shit,” the man spat.
“What’s going on?” Dean asked.
Sam pointed at the man. “This dude bet me fifty bucks he could get into your pants.”
Dean drew himself up to his full height and spun his pool cue threateningly. The guy took an involuntary step backwards and hit a wall of muscle. Sam grasped his arms and pinned them back and suddenly, the guy realized that he was in trouble.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, “Let me get my wallet.”
Sam let him go and he pulled out a fifty and then paused, his lips pursed. He waved the fifty at Dean. “I could give this to that dude,” he inclined his head toward Sam, “or we could go out back and I could give it to you instead?”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “What d’you think fifty bucks gets you?” he asked.
Bob the Builder licked his lips, his eyes fixed on Dean’s. “A blow job?”
Dean’s face was a mask of calm. “Wasn’t the bet that you could get into my pants?” he asked huskily.
The builder’s eyes widened. “You’d do that for fifty?”
Dean shook his head.
Bob the Builder swallowed and pulled out a second fifty. “Does that get my cock in your ass?”
Dean’s eyes flicked to Sam’s. “What d’you reckon, Sammy. Should I let this guy take me out back and fuck me for a hundred bucks?”
“Wait, what?” the construction worker’s eyes darted from Sam to Dean and back again. “You know this guy?”
Sam nodded and then turned to Dean. “I’d make him shell out for a motel room.”
The guy’s eyes narrowed. “You…you fucking hustled me! Both of you! Fucking whores!” And he spun sharply and punched Sam hard in the face. Sam’s head snapped back and he missed the way Dean launched himself at the construction worker, slamming the pool cue into his ribs and then going to town on him and dropping him fast. When Sam’s vision cleared Bob the Builder was on the ground, the hundred dollars still clutched in his hand. Sam snatched it from his fingers and then he and Dean beat a hasty retreat on account of the bartender having reached for the telephone.
Once they were outside, Dean broke into a grin and then whooped loudly.
“That was fun!”
As soon as they were in the car, though, and pulling back onto the freeway, Dean’s expression became serious.
“Are you okay, Sam?” he reached across and tentatively touched Sam’s reddened cheek.
Sam nodded. “I’ve had worse, believe me.”
Dean’s expression darkened. “I know,” he said, “and I still wish I could beat the living snot outta everyone who ever laid a finger on you.”
Sam smiled; his smile broadening when Dean snatched up an AC/DC cassette tape and rammed it into the cassette player.
“Hey, Dean?”
“Huh?”
“Would you actually have done it?”
“Done what?”
“Gone out back with that guy?”
Sam could feel Dean’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.
“No,” Dean said. “I mean, you were there. And we’re…well it would’ve been a dick move.”
Sam nodded. “What about in a few months from now. You’re over the other side of the country and you get a similar offer. Would you?”
Dean was silent for a very long time. “I dunno, Sammy,” he said finally. “Maybe? It’d probl’y depend how strapped for cash I was and how hot the guy was. If he was somebody I’d maybe hook up with anyway then…maybe. I guess it makes some sort of sense to get paid for it instead of giving it out for free. It’s not like I’m ever gonna have a long-term partner, not being on the road all the time.”
Sam looked at him steadily. “You could settle in one place, you know. Just go out on jobs as they come up.”
Dean barked out a laugh. “I wouldn’t know how to,” he said, “I’ve been on the road my whole life. I wouldn’t know how to do the white picket fence thing. No, better to face facts, Sammy. I ain’t husband or partner material.”
Dean’s tone was forcibly cheerful but Sam didn’t miss the flash of sadness that crossed his face; it was mirrored on his own.
-X-
They had lunch in a café by the bay. Or at least Sam called it a café; Dean called it a douched-up diner, but when Sam said they could go somewhere else if Dean wanted, Dean just waved him off and said that he wanted to take Sam somewhere nice for lunch. And the food was good, if a little pricey.
After lunch they hustled their way through another three bars and by the time they headed back to Palo Alto they’d raked in five hundred dollars; not bad money for five hours work. On a good night, walking the street, Sam could earn six or seven hundred dollars in five hours, but by the end of it he’d have an aching jaw or a sore ass and his working conditions would’ve been cold and uncomfortable. Today had been spent in the comfort of warm bars, and the money had been easy to make. Aside from a dull throbbing ache to his cheek where he’d been punched at the first bar, Sam felt great.
Dean’s cell phone rang as they re-entered the motel room and he juggled bags of Mexican takeout to answer it.
“What you got for me Bobby?”
Sam took the takeout from Dean and started laying it all out on the table.
“Hold on, hold on,” Dean said, “I’ma put you on speaker phone. Okay. Sam’s here too.”
“Hi Bobby.”
“Sam,” Bobby cleared his throat. “So, uh, I’ve been lookin’ into ways to kill a Faerie and the critters sure are hard to put down. Decapitation with an iron sword or an iron bullet to the heart oughta do it, but pretty much anything less, there’s a good chance they’ll recover.”
“We already knew that Bobby. Any idea how I smuggle a weapon that’s deadly to Faeries into the Faerie Realm and into the presence of the Faerie king? For bonus difficulty points, I’ll be doing it while naked.”
Bobby cleared his throat again. “Uh, well. I did actually have an idea that, well it wouldn’t kill Gwyn Ap Nudd, but it should mean that he stops re-enacting the Abduction of Creiddylad. See what I figure is, the Faerie king, he ain’t actually summoning the Goddess for the rite and-”
“And we piggy back off of the energy he raises,” Dean interrupted, “and I insist on opening the channel to the Goddess myself, do it right, then let her know what’s been goin’ on and hope she’s pissed enough to kick Gwyn’s ass.”
There was silence on the other end of the cell phone.
“Sam already came up with that plan,” Dean added.
“Oh,” said Bobby. “Sam?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Nice work, son.”
Sam could feel his face heating up. “Thanks,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, “you’re both awesome. I’m still literally screwed, though.”
He went over to the bar fridge and snagged a couple of beers, passing one to Sam before sitting back down and unwrapping his burrito.
“I’ll keep workin’ on it,” Bobby said gruffly. “In the meantime, I got something for you that should help with the demon.”
“Demon?” Sam spluttered, “As in…demon?”
“Y’all have had the monsters are real talk, right?” Bobby said dryly.
“Yeah,” said Sam, “but it’s not like he gave me a list of what’s real and what’s just myth. So demons, huh? That’s some pretty heavy shi…stuff.”
Bobby snorted. “When they break outta hell they ain’t corporeal, gotta find themselves a person to possess. The lore says if you say the name of Christ in Latin the demon will flinch. The lore also says holy water’ll burn ‘em and they can be trapped by a symbol called a Key of Solomon, otherwise known as a Devil’s trap. I’ve sent a picture to your Hotmail, Dean.”
“Okay,” Dean was nodding along as he wrote down what Bobby was saying in an old, leather-bound journal. “So what’s the Latin word for Christ?”
“Christo,” said Sam.
“You speak Latin, Sam?” Bobby sounded surprised.
“He’s gonna be a lawyer,” Dean said proudly, “lawyers gotta know all about habeas corpses and in flagrante delicto and all that legal Latin stuff.”
“It’s corpus, Dean,” Sam corrected, “Habeas corpus. It’s a writ requiring a person under arrest to be brought before a judge or into court.”
Dean barely restrained an eye roll. “Thank you Matlock. So, Bobby, you got anything else on the demon? Are you still tracking it?”
“Yeah. Seems to have stopped about where you’re at. I can’t tell how close…but I’d say it’s most likely in Palo Alto. You might wanna take precautions; make sure your room’s safe.”
“Okay, Bobby. Will do. Thanks for your help.”
The boys finished eating and then Dean asked Sam if the computers in the Stanford library were connected to the internet.
“Of course they are. Why?”
“Wanna get this Devil’s trap picture off my Hotmail.”
Sam nodded. “We got a phone line in this room?”
Dean nodded.
“Then I can just plug my modem into that, get a dial-up internet connection and we can access your Hotmail from here.”
“Really?” said Dean. “You can do that?”
Sam grinned. “How did you ever survive without me, you Luddite?”
-X-
Bobby had sent them pictures of two types of Devil’s trap. One was a combination of The Grand Pentacle and The Fifth Pentacle of Mars, which formed a Heptagram when put together. It was so complex that the idea of having to paint it on the floor or the ceiling of the motel room made Sam a little nervous. In contrast, the second Devil’s trap was a lot simpler. It was a standard pentacle, with five symbols in between each of the pentagram’s points.
“I vote we go with that one,” Sam said.
Dean agreed.
Sam learnt then what Bobby had meant by ‘making sure the room was safe’. While Dean carefully drew a Devil’s trap on the ceiling above the door with a thick, black marker pen, he got Sam to lay salt lines across all the possible entrances into the room and bring several flagons of holy water in from the trunk of the Impala.
The Impala’s trunk was a revelation. In addition to the holy water, Sam had vaguely expected to find spare car parts, oily rags, miscellaneous tools, a First Aid Kit, a can of gasoline, perhaps, and maybe the odd skin mag or two in the trunk. He hadn’t expected to see an arsenal of specialized monster fighting weapons, although when he thought about it some more, he realized that Dean had to keep his tools of trade somewhere and when Dean had given him a combination and told him that it opened a special compartment in the trunk, well, he should’ve twigged that there was going to be more than water, gasoline and spare parts in there. There were shotguns, salt rounds, big bags of salt, flagons of holy water, several cans of gasoline, knives, machetes, rosaries, ropes, various blades, stakes, and all sorts of other kick-ass monster-slaying stuff that Sam couldn’t have named if his life depended on it. Sam quickly and surreptitiously liberated the holy water from the trunk and hurried inside. Dean had finished drawing the Devil’s trap and had double-checked Sam’s salt lines, touching them up here and there. They decanted the holy water into various smaller bottles and left them spread about the room and then Dean sat Sam down on the edge of the bed and tentatively touched his cheek.
“Should’ve put ice on this,” he said.
Sam shrugged. “It barely even hurts.”
“Still. It’s gonna bruise.”
Dean’s fingers running gently up and down his jawline felt really nice, so Sam kept quiet.
“I need to take care of you,” Dean said.
“I can take care of myself, you know.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah. But I need to. I don’t get it. It’s like…do you think I’m under a spell?”
“A spell?”
“Yeah. Like…the Faerie king did something to me? To make me…fall for the first guy I talked to after he told me I was chosen for the ritual.”
Sam frowned. “What would that achieve? How would that help him in any way?”
Dean shrugged. “The minute we started talking I felt like I’d known you my whole life. Like you were a missing piece that should’ve been with me all along. Do you…do you feel like that?”
Sam ducked his head. He closed his eyes briefly and then looked up, his eyes pleading. “I don’t want you to go,” he blurted. “I want…us. You and me together; it feels…right.”
Dean’s eyelids fluttered shut, then open, and he cupped Sam’s face in his hands and stared at him. “I want that too,” he promised, “but I don’t know how to make it work. For now, can we just…can we?” he slid forward until his lips were ghosting against Sam’s. He kissed him gently and then pulled back. “Can we just do this? Just us? Two regular guys?”
“Yeah,” Sam breathed. “Yeah we can.”
-X-
Dean was starting to think that Sam had gone out the bathroom window.
Not that his shoulders would fit through it, so really, that wasn’t an option. But maybe the bad guys-Aazim’s goons-had shot him through the bathroom window? No, stupid, Dean chided himself; he would’ve heard the bathroom window shatter. Sam was fine; had to be.
Maybe the goddamn Faeries had kidnapped him?
Shit.
Dean rolled off the bed and padded across the floor to the bathroom door. He rapped on it softly.
“Dude? You okay in there?”
There was a pause and a breath.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Dean frowned. “Okay. But if you don’t hurry the fuck up, I’m gonna start without you.”
Sam chuckled. “That’s fine. So long as you don’t finish without me.”
Dean went back to bed. For good measure he stripped out of his jeans, tee-shirt and boxers and slipped beneath the covers to wait for Sam, his eyes trained on the bathroom door.
“Finally!” he said when Sam emerged. “What the hell were you doing in there?”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Toilet,” he shrugged, and then muttered something that Dean didn’t catch.
“What was that?”
Sam shed his clothes and joined Dean under the covers, propping himself up on one elbow. “Cleaned myself,” he said, his face flushing faintly pink.
Dean stared at him.
“You know?” Sam mumbled. “Back there? Cuz we had burritos and burritos make me… You know what? Never mind.”
Dean scooted closer to Sam and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned forward pressing his lips gently against the younger man’s. Sam relaxed and kissed him back, but let Dean take the lead. The hunter was restrained at first, his tongue licking its way tentatively into Sam’s mouth, tasting and teasing in a way that was almost timid. Sam responded eagerly and Dean was soon plundering his mouth confidently. When they eventually came up for air Sam could feel Dean’s hard-on pressed into his hip and he rocked against it. Dean groaned and rolled on top of Sam, slotting their cocks together and grinding as he kissed Sam hungrily.
“Want you, Sammy,” he gasped. “Wanna be inside you. Wanna open you up slowly and make love to you until you come moaning my name.”
“Yes,” said Sam, his pupils were blown wide. “God, yes.”
“You want that?” Dean ground his dick against Sam’s again. “You’re not just…saying that? Playing along? Giving me what I want?”
“You’re not a client, Dean,” Sam groaned as the hunter sucked a bruise into his neck. “I’ve never thought of you as one.”
Dean lifted his head, his eyes sparkling with desire.
“Gonna make you feel so good,” he promised.
He slid down Sam’s body and then pushed his legs apart, nestling himself between them. He looked up at Sam from underneath his eyelashes and then he wrapped his lips around the younger man’s cock and sucked it into his mouth.
“Nngghh,” Sam said. Dean bobbed up and down, licking and sucking, his tongue running the length of Sam’s dick and swirling around his head. Sam fisted the sheets and panted, his head rolling back and forth against the pillow. Dean pulled off and reached for the lube. He sat back down between Sam’s legs and his face suddenly shadowed.
“You didn’t do this already, did you? In the bathroom?”
Sam shook his head. “Wanted you to do it.”
Dean grinned, satisfied. “Good.”
“Told you, Dean,” Sam said, as Dean snapped open the bottle of lube and coated his fingers liberally, “you’re not a client.”
Dean rubbed his middle finger against Sam's hole and then pushed his way inside. Sam’s groan was muted and bitten off and Dean liked that; liked that Sam wasn’t giving him a performance; wasn’t trying to be sexy and seductive. Dean withdrew his finger just a little and then pushed in again; and then again. That was all it took for the muscle to relax and Dean gave Sam a second finger, eliciting another groan. Dean took his time working Sam open, occasionally crooking his finger and rubbing at his sweet spot, but mostly just making sure that his ass was well-lubed and pliable. He stopped every now and then, his fingers buried deep, and moved up Sam’s body, taking his cock into his mouth and swallowing and licking, or moving up to his nipples and pinching, biting and sucking, until Sam was breathless and needy. Then Dean settled back between Sam’s legs and focused on fingering him until Sam was pushing down on his hand trying to bury him deeper. Dean kissed him then and Sam opened up for his gentle, loving kisses just as sweetly as Dean had opened up for Sam’s demanding, claiming ones. Finally, when Dean didn’t think either of them could take the sensual teasing for one more second he snapped on a condom and coated it with lube. He pushed Sam’s ridiculously long legs over his shoulders, nudged his cock against Sam’s hole and then leaned over him.
“Look at me Sam.”
Sam opened his eyes and held Dean’s gaze as the older man pushed into him, slowly and gently. There was no pain, not after the careful way he’d been opened up, but the stretch was exquisite and Sam couldn’t help the low groan that fell from his throat. Dean stilled immediately.
“You okay?”
“Awesome. Don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” Dean promised. “Not unless you want me to.”
“Keep going,” Sam urged. “Need you to fuck me.”
Dean leaned down and planted a wet kiss on Sam’s mouth.
“Not gonna fuck you,” he said, “told you what I’m gonna do,” and then he continued his inexorable slide into Sam’s ass. When he was fully seated, Dean pushed Sam’s legs off his shoulders and lowered himself on top of the younger man, his head resting next to Sam’s on the pillow. He nuzzled against Sam’s neck and then bit him gently again, sucking at the mark contentedly as he reached down and grasped Sam’s still-hard, leaking cock. Lazily, he began to thrust and Sam was soon matching his thrusts into Dean’s hand with Dean’s thrusts into Sam’s ass. Unlike Dean’s last time on top, which had been a desperate downhill race to the finish line, this coupling was tender and unhurried. After a while Dean stopped worrying at Sam’s neck and they exchanged sloppy kisses for an eternity, before Dean laid his head down next to Sam’s again and concentrated on rolling his hips and nailing Sam’s prostate. Sam was dangerously close to the edge now, and he wasn’t sure what the rules were; if there were any rules.
“Dean,” he gasped, “think I’m gonna come.”
“Want you to,” Dean said, his voice muffled by the side of Sam’s head, and that was all it took. Sam’s orgasm ripped through him with the ferocity of a hurricane and senseless words of pleasure bubbled out of his mouth as he wrapped his arms around Dean’s back and tried to pull him deeper inside, thrusting his own ass up and squeezing, squeezing as his vision whited out and Dean shouted and Sam felt the hunter’s cock pulsating deep inside of him. Sam floated bonelessly on waves of euphoria. His stomach and chest were sticky and his ass ached but he didn’t care. The scent of semen and sweat was strong and Sam thought vaguely that he should be disgusted by it but mostly it just smelled good; like him and Dean and right.
Dean groaned and pulled out of him, looking happy and sated and then he froze and reached down, swiping his fingers across Sam’s cheek. Sam was surprised when Dean’s fingers came away wet; was even more surprised when he realized that his own eyes were streaming with tears.
“You okay?” Dean asked.
Sam nodded. “Dunno why I’m crying.”
“I do,” Dean smirked, “It’s cuz you’re a great, big girl, Samantha.”
Even with eyes that were glassy with tears, Sam still managed an epic bitchface. “Tell me that again next time I’ve got this,” he grabbed his cock, “buried in your ass.”
Dean glanced down at Sam’s bigger-than-average dick and blushed ever so slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck briefly and then went and disposed of the condom.
“Seriously though,” he said, tossing Sam a towel and then throwing himself down next to him on the bed, “you honestly okay?”
“Better than okay,” Sam wiped himself clean. “I liked that you didn’t want to just fuck me. Most people, even the people who weren’t paying, they just wanted to fuck me.”
“Yeah, well, I ain’t most people,” Dean said with a shrug. “Don’t get me wrong,” he added, “I like a good hard fuck as much as the next guy. Probably more, actually. But sometimes it’s nice to just…you know…show the other person how much you care about them.”
Sam nodded. And wondered how the hell he was ever going to let Dean leave.
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April 25th 2002 (cont…)
Dean hid in the bathroom for twenty minutes, at first just sitting on the closed lid of the toilet with his head in his hands, and then flicking through a well-thumbed copy of Busty Asian Beauties that he’d stashed behind the cistern when they’d first checked into the motel. For some reason ogling ‘Mei Lin 32H’ as she thrust her tits out and pinched her nipples felt stupidly like cheating, so Dean tossed the magazine onto the floor, ran a hand across his eyes and shied away from analyzing just exactly what it meant that a skin mag was making him feel uncomfortable.
Dean was a healthy young man, with a healthy sexual appetite. He liked sex with women; he like sex with…well…Sam, anyway. He liked the mutual exchange of pleasure; he liked to take control and push all of his partner’s buttons; and he liked to relinquish control-to hand his body over to a partner that he trusted, knowing that he could depend on that partner to make him feel oh so good and, more importantly, to stop if he said stop.
Dean wasn’t attracted to Gwyn Ap Nudd and he didn’t trust him for shit. He didn’t want to let the Faerie king fuck him and yet he was going to; and he was completely tied up in knots about it.
Sam had tried to help; not only did the kid have a swag of funny stories about tricks and hooking, he was also a treasure-trove of information about sex without any kind of emotional investment: “If a trick treats you like a convenient hole, then you need to think of him as a convenient dildo…one that you don’t have to work in and out of your ass yourself.” “Sometimes I used to just let my mouth run…the trick’d think he’d earned himself some dirty talk; honestly, it was almost always for my benefit. ‘C’mon baby, fuck my ass, harder baby, make me cum,’-yeah, that’s for me.” “Eighty percent of the time, they’re more freaked than you are. You do this day in, day out. They don’t. Most of the time, they need you to be in charge; to be the professional who leads them through it. Of course, it’s different when you’re still really young…”
Dean ground the heels of his palms into his eyes and then ran his hands through his hair. Okay. Enough already with the chick flick moment. Sammy had survived worse. If Sam could do it, he could do it. Besides, he had more immediate worries right now, like money. Dean went and washed his hands and face and then breezed out of the bathroom with a shit-eating grin on his face. Sam was still sitting at the table, a look of compassion stretched across his face. He looked as if he was about thirty seconds away from asking Dean if he wanted to talk about it and, yeah, so not happening.
“C’mon Sammy,” Dean said, “We gotta go earn some money.”
“How?” Sam asked, scrambling to his feet, grabbing his jacket and following Dean out into the car park.
“You got your hustling, I got mine. Works better with a wing man though.”
“A wing man?”
“Yeah. It’s better if there’s two of us. That way if I get made and there’s a fight, someone’s got my back.”
Sam nodded. “Sure. I’ve got your back, Dean. No problem.”
-X-
They took the Impala down the Bayshore Freeway to Redwood City. The trip only took twenty minutes but Sam enjoyed the chance to have more than a two minute run in the Impala; it was one hell of a nice car. And it made a nice change to be sitting upright in the front seat of a classic automobile, rather than ass up in the back, or with his head in the driver’s lap.
Dean pulled off the Freeway and into the car park of the New Harbor Bar and Grill. It wasn’t much from the outside, just a rundown red-brick building with a dulled neon sign advertising its name and the fact that it had Budweiser on tap, as well as a jukebox and pool tables.
“Okay,” Dean said, “you remember the drill? I’ll go in first, get a drink, get a pool table and start messing around. You’ll give me five minutes and then come in. You’ll get a drink and then find somewhere to sit.”
“Right,” said Sam, “and then you’ll come across and ask me if I want to play pool. It’s important that no-one realizes we know each other. I remember the play, Dean.”
“Okay,” Dean grinned and pushed open the car door. He pasted on a sloppy grin and weaved his way into the bar.
Sam waited the obligatory five minutes and then followed, pulling on the dominant persona he used with shy, flustered tricks who didn’t really know what they wanted. Inside, the place looked like every classic dive bar Sam had ever been in. The lighting was dim-the only illumination in the joint being provided by the TV screens showing Keno, the flashing jukebox (currently playing Sweet Home Alabama) and the big, rectangular lights over the pool tables which advertised Bud Light in garish blue. The walls and floor were polished painted concrete, the tables and chairs were plastic and the whole place stank of beer and hopelessness. Sam gave a chin nod to the bored-looking bar tender and made his life easy, asking for a beer, whatever was on tap.
“We got Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Lite and Fat Tire.”
“Bud’s fine, thanks.”
Sam looked around. There were maybe eight or nine men in the place, most of them sitting alone, their liver-spotted hands nursing tumblers of hard liquor and the occasional pint glass of Vodka Redbull, despite the fact that it wasn’t even midday. There were also a couple of construction guys in steel-toed boots and orange safety vests eating meatball subs and fries and washing the fatty grilled food down with bottles of Miller Chill. And then there was Dean. Dean was acting like he’d been up all night drinking, getting high and generally blowing his way through his pay check. As Sam found himself a table and settled down to drink his beer, he watched Dean perform and really, he didn’t see anything to dissuade him from his earlier notion that Dean would make a good stripper. He wasn’t being overtly sexual-in a blue collar bar like this that could be a risky proposition-he was just a good looking, extroverted guy who was very comfortable in his own skin; and it attracted attention. One of the construction workers was watching Dean with the kind of intensity that Sam would’ve played up to, if he’d been working.
“Yo, dude,” Dean said, weaving his way across to Sam. “You wanna play pool?”
Sam shrugged. “Just in here for a quiet drink, man.”
Dean plucked a fifty dollar bill out of his wallet and waved it at Sam. “C’mon buddy. I’ll make it worth your while!”
Sam narrowed his eyes, made a show of taking in Dean’s obviously inebriated state and then agreed. Dean played…not badly, as such, but like a decentish player whose hand-eye co-ordination was shot. He lost convincingly and made a show of being genuinely surprised.
“Was a fluke,” he slurred at Sam, “I demand a re-match!”
Sam shook his head. “Like I said, I only came in for a quiet drink. Besides, I believe in quitting while you’re ahead. Maybe you should do the same? Or at least…quit while you’re only fifty bucks down?”
“Pfff,” Dean waved a hand at him, “you’re no fun. You just got lucky and you know it!”
Sam shook his head and returned to his seat.
“Anybody else brave enough?” Dean called out.
One of the older men agreed to a game and Sam settled down to watch. He sipped at his beer and picked up a brochure marked with water rings that advertised the week’s activities at New Harbor Bar and Grill: Tanked up Tuesday had half price drinks from 5.00pm to 8.00pm, Wednesday was karaoke night, Thursday was Beer Pong and on Friday nights girls in lingerie and six inch heels sold raffle tickets which could win you five free drinks. Sam grinned. This was definitely Dean’s kind of place; even the jukebox played his kind of music; mostly hard rock, but also some country and some oldies too. Sam went across and chose Highway to Hell for Dean. The jukebox only took quarters but Sam still had a stash of them that he’d collected for the luggage locker at the station so he didn’t have to go and get change from the bartender like he’d seen a couple other people do.
Sam settled back down to watch Dean and he was surprised when the construction worker who’d been eyeing Dean off earlier came and sat down next to him, his bottle of Miller clutched in his hand. Sam looked around, but the guy Bob the Builder had been eating lunch with earlier had gone.
“Can I do something for you?” Sam asked.
The guy raked his eyes over Sam.
“I saw you lookin’ at his ass,” he said, nodding towards Dean.
“Is that a fact?”
The guy nodded. “Boy like that…he don’t need a kid like you. He needs a real man.”
“A man like you, huh?”
The guy shrugged and Sam licked his lips thoughtfully. What had Dean said earlier? You have your hustling, I have mine. Hmm.
“Okay,” he said, pulling out his wallet and slapping a fifty dollar bill down on the table, “Fifty bucks says you can’t get into his pants.”
Dean chose that moment to lean over the pool table, his jeans stretched tight across his ass, which wiggled temptingly as he lined up his shot.
“You’re on.”
Sam and his companion watched in silence as Dean narrowly beat the old guy at pool and then Bob the Builder sidled up to Dean and started chatting him up. Dean, all easy smiles and low-key flirtation talked him into a game of pool, for a price of course. The guy lost, but didn’t seem too perturbed. He’d flirted with Dean, with varying degrees of subtlety, throughout the whole game and Dean had flirted back, just enough to be distracting. With the game over, and his fifty dollars safe in Dean’s wallet, the guy really turned up the heat, backing Dean up against the edge of the table, his hands against his chest and his lips seeking Dean’s.
“Dude,” Dean growled, “back the fuck off.”
“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that. You know you want it.”
Sam got up from the table and came up behind the man. He had no doubt that Dean could handle him, but Sam was supposed to have Dean’s back.
Dean kneed the guy in the groin and then shoved him away.
“Fucking cock tease,” the man spat, doubling over.
Sam tapped him on the shoulder. “Looks like you got shot down, dude,” he said. “You owe me fifty bucks.”
Dean raised an eyebrow and Sam grinned.
“I don’t owe you jack shit,” the man spat.
“What’s going on?” Dean asked.
Sam pointed at the man. “This dude bet me fifty bucks he could get into your pants.”
Dean drew himself up to his full height and spun his pool cue threateningly. The guy took an involuntary step backwards and hit a wall of muscle. Sam grasped his arms and pinned them back and suddenly, the guy realized that he was in trouble.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, “Let me get my wallet.”
Sam let him go and he pulled out a fifty and then paused, his lips pursed. He waved the fifty at Dean. “I could give this to that dude,” he inclined his head toward Sam, “or we could go out back and I could give it to you instead?”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “What d’you think fifty bucks gets you?” he asked.
Bob the Builder licked his lips, his eyes fixed on Dean’s. “A blow job?”
Dean’s face was a mask of calm. “Wasn’t the bet that you could get into my pants?” he asked huskily.
The builder’s eyes widened. “You’d do that for fifty?”
Dean shook his head.
Bob the Builder swallowed and pulled out a second fifty. “Does that get my cock in your ass?”
Dean’s eyes flicked to Sam’s. “What d’you reckon, Sammy. Should I let this guy take me out back and fuck me for a hundred bucks?”
“Wait, what?” the construction worker’s eyes darted from Sam to Dean and back again. “You know this guy?”
Sam nodded and then turned to Dean. “I’d make him shell out for a motel room.”
The guy’s eyes narrowed. “You…you fucking hustled me! Both of you! Fucking whores!” And he spun sharply and punched Sam hard in the face. Sam’s head snapped back and he missed the way Dean launched himself at the construction worker, slamming the pool cue into his ribs and then going to town on him and dropping him fast. When Sam’s vision cleared Bob the Builder was on the ground, the hundred dollars still clutched in his hand. Sam snatched it from his fingers and then he and Dean beat a hasty retreat on account of the bartender having reached for the telephone.
Once they were outside, Dean broke into a grin and then whooped loudly.
“That was fun!”
As soon as they were in the car, though, and pulling back onto the freeway, Dean’s expression became serious.
“Are you okay, Sam?” he reached across and tentatively touched Sam’s reddened cheek.
Sam nodded. “I’ve had worse, believe me.”
Dean’s expression darkened. “I know,” he said, “and I still wish I could beat the living snot outta everyone who ever laid a finger on you.”
Sam smiled; his smile broadening when Dean snatched up an AC/DC cassette tape and rammed it into the cassette player.
“Hey, Dean?”
“Huh?”
“Would you actually have done it?”
“Done what?”
“Gone out back with that guy?”
Sam could feel Dean’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.
“No,” Dean said. “I mean, you were there. And we’re…well it would’ve been a dick move.”
Sam nodded. “What about in a few months from now. You’re over the other side of the country and you get a similar offer. Would you?”
Dean was silent for a very long time. “I dunno, Sammy,” he said finally. “Maybe? It’d probl’y depend how strapped for cash I was and how hot the guy was. If he was somebody I’d maybe hook up with anyway then…maybe. I guess it makes some sort of sense to get paid for it instead of giving it out for free. It’s not like I’m ever gonna have a long-term partner, not being on the road all the time.”
Sam looked at him steadily. “You could settle in one place, you know. Just go out on jobs as they come up.”
Dean barked out a laugh. “I wouldn’t know how to,” he said, “I’ve been on the road my whole life. I wouldn’t know how to do the white picket fence thing. No, better to face facts, Sammy. I ain’t husband or partner material.”
Dean’s tone was forcibly cheerful but Sam didn’t miss the flash of sadness that crossed his face; it was mirrored on his own.
-X-
They had lunch in a café by the bay. Or at least Sam called it a café; Dean called it a douched-up diner, but when Sam said they could go somewhere else if Dean wanted, Dean just waved him off and said that he wanted to take Sam somewhere nice for lunch. And the food was good, if a little pricey.
After lunch they hustled their way through another three bars and by the time they headed back to Palo Alto they’d raked in five hundred dollars; not bad money for five hours work. On a good night, walking the street, Sam could earn six or seven hundred dollars in five hours, but by the end of it he’d have an aching jaw or a sore ass and his working conditions would’ve been cold and uncomfortable. Today had been spent in the comfort of warm bars, and the money had been easy to make. Aside from a dull throbbing ache to his cheek where he’d been punched at the first bar, Sam felt great.
Dean’s cell phone rang as they re-entered the motel room and he juggled bags of Mexican takeout to answer it.
“What you got for me Bobby?”
Sam took the takeout from Dean and started laying it all out on the table.
“Hold on, hold on,” Dean said, “I’ma put you on speaker phone. Okay. Sam’s here too.”
“Hi Bobby.”
“Sam,” Bobby cleared his throat. “So, uh, I’ve been lookin’ into ways to kill a Faerie and the critters sure are hard to put down. Decapitation with an iron sword or an iron bullet to the heart oughta do it, but pretty much anything less, there’s a good chance they’ll recover.”
“We already knew that Bobby. Any idea how I smuggle a weapon that’s deadly to Faeries into the Faerie Realm and into the presence of the Faerie king? For bonus difficulty points, I’ll be doing it while naked.”
Bobby cleared his throat again. “Uh, well. I did actually have an idea that, well it wouldn’t kill Gwyn Ap Nudd, but it should mean that he stops re-enacting the Abduction of Creiddylad. See what I figure is, the Faerie king, he ain’t actually summoning the Goddess for the rite and-”
“And we piggy back off of the energy he raises,” Dean interrupted, “and I insist on opening the channel to the Goddess myself, do it right, then let her know what’s been goin’ on and hope she’s pissed enough to kick Gwyn’s ass.”
There was silence on the other end of the cell phone.
“Sam already came up with that plan,” Dean added.
“Oh,” said Bobby. “Sam?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Nice work, son.”
Sam could feel his face heating up. “Thanks,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, “you’re both awesome. I’m still literally screwed, though.”
He went over to the bar fridge and snagged a couple of beers, passing one to Sam before sitting back down and unwrapping his burrito.
“I’ll keep workin’ on it,” Bobby said gruffly. “In the meantime, I got something for you that should help with the demon.”
“Demon?” Sam spluttered, “As in…demon?”
“Y’all have had the monsters are real talk, right?” Bobby said dryly.
“Yeah,” said Sam, “but it’s not like he gave me a list of what’s real and what’s just myth. So demons, huh? That’s some pretty heavy shi…stuff.”
Bobby snorted. “When they break outta hell they ain’t corporeal, gotta find themselves a person to possess. The lore says if you say the name of Christ in Latin the demon will flinch. The lore also says holy water’ll burn ‘em and they can be trapped by a symbol called a Key of Solomon, otherwise known as a Devil’s trap. I’ve sent a picture to your Hotmail, Dean.”
“Okay,” Dean was nodding along as he wrote down what Bobby was saying in an old, leather-bound journal. “So what’s the Latin word for Christ?”
“Christo,” said Sam.
“You speak Latin, Sam?” Bobby sounded surprised.
“He’s gonna be a lawyer,” Dean said proudly, “lawyers gotta know all about habeas corpses and in flagrante delicto and all that legal Latin stuff.”
“It’s corpus, Dean,” Sam corrected, “Habeas corpus. It’s a writ requiring a person under arrest to be brought before a judge or into court.”
Dean barely restrained an eye roll. “Thank you Matlock. So, Bobby, you got anything else on the demon? Are you still tracking it?”
“Yeah. Seems to have stopped about where you’re at. I can’t tell how close…but I’d say it’s most likely in Palo Alto. You might wanna take precautions; make sure your room’s safe.”
“Okay, Bobby. Will do. Thanks for your help.”
The boys finished eating and then Dean asked Sam if the computers in the Stanford library were connected to the internet.
“Of course they are. Why?”
“Wanna get this Devil’s trap picture off my Hotmail.”
Sam nodded. “We got a phone line in this room?”
Dean nodded.
“Then I can just plug my modem into that, get a dial-up internet connection and we can access your Hotmail from here.”
“Really?” said Dean. “You can do that?”
Sam grinned. “How did you ever survive without me, you Luddite?”
-X-
Bobby had sent them pictures of two types of Devil’s trap. One was a combination of The Grand Pentacle and The Fifth Pentacle of Mars, which formed a Heptagram when put together. It was so complex that the idea of having to paint it on the floor or the ceiling of the motel room made Sam a little nervous. In contrast, the second Devil’s trap was a lot simpler. It was a standard pentacle, with five symbols in between each of the pentagram’s points.
“I vote we go with that one,” Sam said.
Dean agreed.
Sam learnt then what Bobby had meant by ‘making sure the room was safe’. While Dean carefully drew a Devil’s trap on the ceiling above the door with a thick, black marker pen, he got Sam to lay salt lines across all the possible entrances into the room and bring several flagons of holy water in from the trunk of the Impala.
The Impala’s trunk was a revelation. In addition to the holy water, Sam had vaguely expected to find spare car parts, oily rags, miscellaneous tools, a First Aid Kit, a can of gasoline, perhaps, and maybe the odd skin mag or two in the trunk. He hadn’t expected to see an arsenal of specialized monster fighting weapons, although when he thought about it some more, he realized that Dean had to keep his tools of trade somewhere and when Dean had given him a combination and told him that it opened a special compartment in the trunk, well, he should’ve twigged that there was going to be more than water, gasoline and spare parts in there. There were shotguns, salt rounds, big bags of salt, flagons of holy water, several cans of gasoline, knives, machetes, rosaries, ropes, various blades, stakes, and all sorts of other kick-ass monster-slaying stuff that Sam couldn’t have named if his life depended on it. Sam quickly and surreptitiously liberated the holy water from the trunk and hurried inside. Dean had finished drawing the Devil’s trap and had double-checked Sam’s salt lines, touching them up here and there. They decanted the holy water into various smaller bottles and left them spread about the room and then Dean sat Sam down on the edge of the bed and tentatively touched his cheek.
“Should’ve put ice on this,” he said.
Sam shrugged. “It barely even hurts.”
“Still. It’s gonna bruise.”
Dean’s fingers running gently up and down his jawline felt really nice, so Sam kept quiet.
“I need to take care of you,” Dean said.
“I can take care of myself, you know.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah. But I need to. I don’t get it. It’s like…do you think I’m under a spell?”
“A spell?”
“Yeah. Like…the Faerie king did something to me? To make me…fall for the first guy I talked to after he told me I was chosen for the ritual.”
Sam frowned. “What would that achieve? How would that help him in any way?”
Dean shrugged. “The minute we started talking I felt like I’d known you my whole life. Like you were a missing piece that should’ve been with me all along. Do you…do you feel like that?”
Sam ducked his head. He closed his eyes briefly and then looked up, his eyes pleading. “I don’t want you to go,” he blurted. “I want…us. You and me together; it feels…right.”
Dean’s eyelids fluttered shut, then open, and he cupped Sam’s face in his hands and stared at him. “I want that too,” he promised, “but I don’t know how to make it work. For now, can we just…can we?” he slid forward until his lips were ghosting against Sam’s. He kissed him gently and then pulled back. “Can we just do this? Just us? Two regular guys?”
“Yeah,” Sam breathed. “Yeah we can.”
-X-
Dean was starting to think that Sam had gone out the bathroom window.
Not that his shoulders would fit through it, so really, that wasn’t an option. But maybe the bad guys-Aazim’s goons-had shot him through the bathroom window? No, stupid, Dean chided himself; he would’ve heard the bathroom window shatter. Sam was fine; had to be.
Maybe the goddamn Faeries had kidnapped him?
Shit.
Dean rolled off the bed and padded across the floor to the bathroom door. He rapped on it softly.
“Dude? You okay in there?”
There was a pause and a breath.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Dean frowned. “Okay. But if you don’t hurry the fuck up, I’m gonna start without you.”
Sam chuckled. “That’s fine. So long as you don’t finish without me.”
Dean went back to bed. For good measure he stripped out of his jeans, tee-shirt and boxers and slipped beneath the covers to wait for Sam, his eyes trained on the bathroom door.
“Finally!” he said when Sam emerged. “What the hell were you doing in there?”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Toilet,” he shrugged, and then muttered something that Dean didn’t catch.
“What was that?”
Sam shed his clothes and joined Dean under the covers, propping himself up on one elbow. “Cleaned myself,” he said, his face flushing faintly pink.
Dean stared at him.
“You know?” Sam mumbled. “Back there? Cuz we had burritos and burritos make me… You know what? Never mind.”
Dean scooted closer to Sam and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned forward pressing his lips gently against the younger man’s. Sam relaxed and kissed him back, but let Dean take the lead. The hunter was restrained at first, his tongue licking its way tentatively into Sam’s mouth, tasting and teasing in a way that was almost timid. Sam responded eagerly and Dean was soon plundering his mouth confidently. When they eventually came up for air Sam could feel Dean’s hard-on pressed into his hip and he rocked against it. Dean groaned and rolled on top of Sam, slotting their cocks together and grinding as he kissed Sam hungrily.
“Want you, Sammy,” he gasped. “Wanna be inside you. Wanna open you up slowly and make love to you until you come moaning my name.”
“Yes,” said Sam, his pupils were blown wide. “God, yes.”
“You want that?” Dean ground his dick against Sam’s again. “You’re not just…saying that? Playing along? Giving me what I want?”
“You’re not a client, Dean,” Sam groaned as the hunter sucked a bruise into his neck. “I’ve never thought of you as one.”
Dean lifted his head, his eyes sparkling with desire.
“Gonna make you feel so good,” he promised.
He slid down Sam’s body and then pushed his legs apart, nestling himself between them. He looked up at Sam from underneath his eyelashes and then he wrapped his lips around the younger man’s cock and sucked it into his mouth.
“Nngghh,” Sam said. Dean bobbed up and down, licking and sucking, his tongue running the length of Sam’s dick and swirling around his head. Sam fisted the sheets and panted, his head rolling back and forth against the pillow. Dean pulled off and reached for the lube. He sat back down between Sam’s legs and his face suddenly shadowed.
“You didn’t do this already, did you? In the bathroom?”
Sam shook his head. “Wanted you to do it.”
Dean grinned, satisfied. “Good.”
“Told you, Dean,” Sam said, as Dean snapped open the bottle of lube and coated his fingers liberally, “you’re not a client.”
Dean rubbed his middle finger against Sam's hole and then pushed his way inside. Sam’s groan was muted and bitten off and Dean liked that; liked that Sam wasn’t giving him a performance; wasn’t trying to be sexy and seductive. Dean withdrew his finger just a little and then pushed in again; and then again. That was all it took for the muscle to relax and Dean gave Sam a second finger, eliciting another groan. Dean took his time working Sam open, occasionally crooking his finger and rubbing at his sweet spot, but mostly just making sure that his ass was well-lubed and pliable. He stopped every now and then, his fingers buried deep, and moved up Sam’s body, taking his cock into his mouth and swallowing and licking, or moving up to his nipples and pinching, biting and sucking, until Sam was breathless and needy. Then Dean settled back between Sam’s legs and focused on fingering him until Sam was pushing down on his hand trying to bury him deeper. Dean kissed him then and Sam opened up for his gentle, loving kisses just as sweetly as Dean had opened up for Sam’s demanding, claiming ones. Finally, when Dean didn’t think either of them could take the sensual teasing for one more second he snapped on a condom and coated it with lube. He pushed Sam’s ridiculously long legs over his shoulders, nudged his cock against Sam’s hole and then leaned over him.
“Look at me Sam.”
Sam opened his eyes and held Dean’s gaze as the older man pushed into him, slowly and gently. There was no pain, not after the careful way he’d been opened up, but the stretch was exquisite and Sam couldn’t help the low groan that fell from his throat. Dean stilled immediately.
“You okay?”
“Awesome. Don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” Dean promised. “Not unless you want me to.”
“Keep going,” Sam urged. “Need you to fuck me.”
Dean leaned down and planted a wet kiss on Sam’s mouth.
“Not gonna fuck you,” he said, “told you what I’m gonna do,” and then he continued his inexorable slide into Sam’s ass. When he was fully seated, Dean pushed Sam’s legs off his shoulders and lowered himself on top of the younger man, his head resting next to Sam’s on the pillow. He nuzzled against Sam’s neck and then bit him gently again, sucking at the mark contentedly as he reached down and grasped Sam’s still-hard, leaking cock. Lazily, he began to thrust and Sam was soon matching his thrusts into Dean’s hand with Dean’s thrusts into Sam’s ass. Unlike Dean’s last time on top, which had been a desperate downhill race to the finish line, this coupling was tender and unhurried. After a while Dean stopped worrying at Sam’s neck and they exchanged sloppy kisses for an eternity, before Dean laid his head down next to Sam’s again and concentrated on rolling his hips and nailing Sam’s prostate. Sam was dangerously close to the edge now, and he wasn’t sure what the rules were; if there were any rules.
“Dean,” he gasped, “think I’m gonna come.”
“Want you to,” Dean said, his voice muffled by the side of Sam’s head, and that was all it took. Sam’s orgasm ripped through him with the ferocity of a hurricane and senseless words of pleasure bubbled out of his mouth as he wrapped his arms around Dean’s back and tried to pull him deeper inside, thrusting his own ass up and squeezing, squeezing as his vision whited out and Dean shouted and Sam felt the hunter’s cock pulsating deep inside of him. Sam floated bonelessly on waves of euphoria. His stomach and chest were sticky and his ass ached but he didn’t care. The scent of semen and sweat was strong and Sam thought vaguely that he should be disgusted by it but mostly it just smelled good; like him and Dean and right.
Dean groaned and pulled out of him, looking happy and sated and then he froze and reached down, swiping his fingers across Sam’s cheek. Sam was surprised when Dean’s fingers came away wet; was even more surprised when he realized that his own eyes were streaming with tears.
“You okay?” Dean asked.
Sam nodded. “Dunno why I’m crying.”
“I do,” Dean smirked, “It’s cuz you’re a great, big girl, Samantha.”
Even with eyes that were glassy with tears, Sam still managed an epic bitchface. “Tell me that again next time I’ve got this,” he grabbed his cock, “buried in your ass.”
Dean glanced down at Sam’s bigger-than-average dick and blushed ever so slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck briefly and then went and disposed of the condom.
“Seriously though,” he said, tossing Sam a towel and then throwing himself down next to him on the bed, “you honestly okay?”
“Better than okay,” Sam wiped himself clean. “I liked that you didn’t want to just fuck me. Most people, even the people who weren’t paying, they just wanted to fuck me.”
“Yeah, well, I ain’t most people,” Dean said with a shrug. “Don’t get me wrong,” he added, “I like a good hard fuck as much as the next guy. Probably more, actually. But sometimes it’s nice to just…you know…show the other person how much you care about them.”
Sam nodded. And wondered how the hell he was ever going to let Dean leave.
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