SpN: Public Enemies Book Two (5/?)
7/30/12 06:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Public Enemies Part Two
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, original characters
Rating: NC-17
Total Word Count: 3656
Summary: a 1920s AU *very* loosely based on the film, Public Enemy.
Notes/Warnings: abuse, dub-con, harsh images, morally challenged Sam, troubled Dean. There are hints of abuse, physical and sexual, but nothing terribly graphic. The rating is for the overall fic—it varies according to update. For a large part of the fic, the boys are underage.
follows from Public Enemies Book One
one/ two/ three/four/
The light was on in their little bathroom when Sammy came barreling through the door.
"Aw Dean, you shoulda gone with me, man—when's the last time we went to the movies together, hunh?" He listened for an answer, but Dean was silent, just the water running and the pipes knocking…"Just so you know, I didn't go stag, either—I got paid for baby-sittin' too, can ya believe it? Gloria—y'know, Mr. A's new piece a' tail?"
Sam tossed his jacket at a kitchen chair and loosened his tie. Took a moment to imagine water running over the sweet curve of Dean's ass, gleaming like diamonds on the silk-soft golden hair there, slipping down the dark cleft. Sam groaned deep in his throat as he pictured streams of water sliding over Dean's tight hole, that pretty pink knot. Pictured it pouting around his finger ….
He shook his head hard, knocking the fantasies clear—and realized Dean hadn't answered him. He was either pissed off or greasing the pole. "Hey, dya hear me? Gloria the horse happy whore?" He thought he heard a faint distressed noise and grinned. "She let me shoot her up in the car—" he said that just to rile Dean up. He grinned, a smile that exposed his back teeth, picturing the face Dean was making, how mad it made him for Sam to even get in spitting distance of dope. Not that it wasn't true, he had stuck the nail in the whore's arm, liked watching the blood mix with the horse before sticking it back in her, but he'd lie and swear that he'd said it just to rile Dean, no sense in making him so mad he wouldn't let Sam convince him it was okay to slide his hand into his pants—he missed Dean, his smell, the smooth warmth of his skin. What he'd said must have broke through to Dean finally. Sam got a response. But when it came, it was a word drowning in misery.
"Sammy—"
Sam jumped like he'd been scalded and burst through the bathroom door. His eyes were on the shower and he yelled "Dean!" when he didn't see his brother's shadow on the shower curtain and—
"Sammy…" It was such a small, defeated, terrified sound that Sam gasped in horror, was already crying when he ripped the curtain back to find Dean curled in a ball on the tub floor, shoved up against the faucets and as small as a six foot something guy could get. The water pooled under him was pink; dots tinted a darker color swirled towards the drain.
Sam dropped and pulled Dean out of the tub, and Dean went, so pliable, boneless, that even through Sam's fear, he felt a jolt hit him that went straight to his dick. "Dean—Brother, what's wrong? Please, what's wrong?"
Dean began to rock against him, moaning softly; when he didn't answer Sam grabbed him by the hair, pulled him out of the crook of his neck and shook him. "Brother, you tell me right now what the fuck is wrong!"
"Sam, Sam, I killed a man." Dean looked horrified, frightened, he cringed as he said it, as if Sam would throw him away from him in disgust. He closed his eyes and Sam was grateful because he didn't think he'd be able to hide the fierce burn of instant lust brought at Dean's words—the pounding, shattering, desire and the hellish jealousy he felt. Sam swallowed hard and waited until he knew his voice would hold steady before he spoke again.
"Dean, whatever happened wasn't your fault. Wait, what did happen, you were supposed to be home, you said you was sick." Sam's language, carefully stripped of the street through Dean's nagging and A's encouragement fled him in the roiling stew of emotion filling him. "You lied to me, ya bum—whathafuck!"
"Mr. A. he din' wan' ya t'know 'bout this job," Dean muttered, his words slurring like he was drunk and his ice-cold shoulders shaking under Sam's hands. "Was 'posed to be look-out man—they were gonna bust up Big Moe's booze shipment. Was a double cross, Sammy. G-men came outa nowhere and everybody went in guns blazing…pulled my gat an'…" Dean shuddered and clung to what he thought was the last good thing in the world and Sam curled his hands around the back of Dean's neck, slid them down to rub and stroke the small of his naked back and Sam shook with the desire to fuck his brother right there on the bathroom tiles.
"Not your fault, Brother," he said, pressing his mouth to the crown of Dean's head. "Not your fault. A's fault," he muttered into the brylcreme and sweat scented hair. Sam became aware that there was another smell, a bright metallic scent. He recognized it, the tangles in Dan's hair…clotted blood. He scraped his hands over Dean's head, checking quickly—not Dean's. Sam took a deep, steadying, breath. "Hey. Dean." He tilted his brother's head back and met glazed eyes, a blink sent tears down Dean's cheeks, and then, his lax mouth shuddered and tightened. When he spoke again, his voice was steadier, some color back in his face. He said, "Shot one of Moe's mooks. He came at me, I blinked and he was right in front of me, pointed that iron at my eye so I shot. We're good shots, Sammy, fast." and Sammy nodded to the truth of that. "I blew out his eye and the back of his head and blood and brains went everywhere—hit the wall behind him and all over me—"
Sam groaned and tipped Dean into him, covered his mouth with his own.
Dean shuddered and jerked and tried to pull away but then, Sam felt something in his brother break all the way through and he let Sam kiss him. He muttered against Sam's mouth, "I'm a killer, I killed a man," and Sam kissed him harder, taking his words away. The inside of Dean's mouth was hot, and silky wet, Sam licked all over the inside and imagined he tasted it, the blood of the man Dean killed, on his gums, trapped against the roof of Dean's mouth, on the wet, rough texture of his tongue. He moaned and caught Dean's tongue in the tip of his teeth, teased with the possibility of pain and then sucked it, sucked on the tip like it was a cock head, teased with the point of his tongue; let it slide out slowly from between his teeth. Dean was moaning now, sure he was. Sam knew he was a good kisser; he practiced on dozens of nobodies for this, his only chance to snare Dean completely, snag him like a little rabbit in a noose trap. Make sure his soul was meshed so deeply with Sam's he'd never get loose and this killing—he wanted to thank Assasi just as much as he wanted to kill him.
Dean's head dropped back, his eyes on Sam, nearly all pupils they were, blown and glazed from what had happened, what they were doing. Dean's square, sturdy palm, the hand that Sam could easily swallow in his own, crept into Sam's lap like a little mouse and settled tentatively over Sam's hard-on. "Lou said—said I was made, he said I was blooded," and Sam snatched at Dean's hand, shoving it away as his dick twitched and emptied into his boxers. Before he could draw a breath, before Dean could think, Sam dropped to his knees and took Dean's barely half-hard dick in his mouth. Dean twitched and gasped, "No."
Sam opened his throat and let Dean slide in, back, back until he fought to hold it, his throat spasmed with the invasion. He swallowed, and swallowed, his tongue washing the underside, and he groaned at a new taste, the taste of Dean, pre-come thick and sweet and warm—Dean cried out and pumped his hips forward, caught in the grips of coming. His hands came down on the back of Sam's neck and pulled him closer. Sam gagged, his eyes shedding water even though he'd screwed them tight at the first savage clench of his throat around Dean. He looked up and Dean looked horrified. "Sam—I hurt you, you—"
Sam closed his eyes, trapped Dean where he was and came again.
Dean was on his knees the minute Sam let him go, scrubbing the tears away, crying himself, begging Sam for forgiveness, cursing himself and swearing that he'd never, never touch him again, that he deserved to have been shot this night instead of the nameless gunsel, until Sam grabbed a thick handful of his hair and yanked, hard. He felt hair popping loose in his grip and growled out Dean's name.
"Dean. Be quiet now. Shut up and listen to me. You're going to wash, clean yourself and pull yourself together. You're going to talk to Lou, Louie, he’ll stand up for you, you know that. Besides, Assasi's not gonna hurt you—he'll probably make you his button-man—shut up," he hissed when Dean tried to protest. "What else are you going to do? What are you smart enough to do?"
Dean caved right in front of him, curled in on himself and dropped his hands. They curled into loose fists in his lap, slid in a slick trail of come dappling his thigh. Dean tried to cover it, and sighed when Sam took his hand and wouldn't let him. "Yeah, yeah…I know, Sam. I know."
Sam slid his fingers around in the tacky mess running down the inside of Dean's leg. He gave Dean a small, soft smile. Said, "It'll be a chance to make money, Dean, real money. Enough to take care of you. Take care of me." He tilted Dean's mouth up to his with wet fingers, pressed small, chaste kisses to Dean's lips until Dean kissed him back. "I love you, Brother, love you so much," Sam said.
Dean made a small, soft noise, a sob that disappeared in Sam's mouth.
"Let's get you clean," Sam said. He turned away to clean the tub, fill it with fresh hot water and smiled and smiled.
* * * * * *
It was early in the morning when there came a steady pounding on their door. Dean jerked awake, blinking in the weak sunlight peaking through the sloppily drawn curtains. He was muzzy-headed, not really sure why he was in bed with Sam, tacky and naked...until it hit him like a loaded glove, smack in the kisser. His breath came fast and thin. He'd…Sam…him and Sam. And he'd wanted it, wanted Sam like that….
The pounding at the door snapped him back to the here and now. Dean barely got a chance to unwrap himself from Sam and throw some pants on before the door flew open and Lou and a few of his guys crowded into the kitchen. Dean stood there with his pants half done up and cursed to himself. This was it. His final fuck-up, staring him in the face.
None of them made a move once they were in the place, no one said a word. The silence stretched out as Louie just stared at Dean for a long minute—something almost like fatherly and worried in his eyes. He pulled at the suspenders stretched over his belly before heaving out a gusty sigh. "Get dressed. The boss wants ta see ya. Now. Not you, Sam," he barked, pointing at Sam. "You stay your ass in here."
"What? What?" Sam yelped from the bedroom door, yanking on an undershirt and trying to button his pants at the same time. "What the hell, Louie?"
"Puddy…it's better you stay here. Just—stay. Dean, tell 'im to stay put."
Dean pushed past Sam back into their room, dressed quickly as he could, yanked a brush through his hair and hoped it was good enough. Sam grabbed him and straightened his tie, muttering, "I'm coming with, so nuts to you an' Louie."
"Sam, for once in your life, do what I stay. Stay here. Stay safe." Dean shoved the Colt Assasi had given him into the shoulder holster and licked dry lips. "Please."
"But—A wanted this! He made it happen, he can't take Dean, Dean did what he wanted—"
Dean stalked back out to the kitchen, grabbed his hat and jerked his chin at Louie. Sam was all over his back, babbling about Assasi and not making much sense and why couldn't he just shut up when Dean needed him to….
Louie just shook his head and looked sad, like Sam was raving. He glanced back to Dean, tilted his head towards Sam and walked out of the apartment, shooing his men out with him. "Two minutes, Dean, the boss is waitin'."
"Sam…just…fuck. Stay here, okay? Just stay." He took a step towards the door, took a deep breath, and turned back to Sam, grabbed the collar of his undershirt and yanked him forward. He kissed Sam, a deep, wet, desperate kiss that left him light-headed and on impulse bit down, hard enough to break skin. Sam staggered back, gasping, his eyes wide and glittering. His lower lip was flushed dark pink and swelling a bit. He swept his tongue over it, licked up a drop of blood and shuddered. Dean stared at him, run through with a spike of horror—shame that he'd done that, made his brother bleed, but Sam cursed and pushed him away when he tried to apologize.
"Please, Sam…I love you, okay? And…"
"Don’t say it, damn it! Don’t you say it!" Sam whirled back into the bedroom and slammed the door.
"God help us," Dean muttered, scrubbed his face to the point his cheeks felt burnt and walked out the door, ran almost into Louie who was waiting on the landing. "Here I am, ready as I'll ever be, I guess."
"Nothin's gonna happen to ya, Dean-O. Promise."
Dean laughed. He'd have felt a whole lot better if Louie'd sounded more convinced.
* * * * * *
"Dean, what happened out there?" Assasi tilted his head back, and stared down his nose at Dean. His face held no clues as to what he was thinking but Dean had a pretty good idea. He clenched his hands, his fuckin' tie felt like a noose around his neck. He wished like hell he could loosen the damn thing, or unbutton his collar…Dean bit the inside of his cheek. Pay attention, you dope, this is yer fuckin' *life* on the fuckin' line….
Louie stepped up, angled himself so that he was halfway sort of shielding Dean from Assasi's glare. He looked almost as nervous as Dean felt, but he brought himself up to his full height and stared right back at A. "Mr. Assasi, sir, Dean din' do nuttin' wrong. He saw my guys were in it, an' he jumped in, like a standup guy. He done good." Louie looked at Dean and nodded firmly, before confronting A again. "I'll stand up for 'im, like I'd stand up for anya my soldiers. I—"
"Louie…?"
"Yessir, Mr. A?"
"Scram."
Louie stood open-mouthed, cut a glance at Dean and Dean swallowed hard. Didn't move an inch, waiting with Assasi until Louie shut the door quietly behind him.
Dean was still standing in front of A's desk, and Assasi came around it to stand in front of Dean. Dean dropped his head and waited for…whatever came next. Could be anything. Could be just a beating and then whisky passed around the crew, and he'd have a few new scars but he'd walk away from it. Or it could be something more permanent; A might take a finger, a thumb…an eye. And then it'd be back to working for Boggs or worse and hopefully just him and not Sam, too. Or maybe the long ride, out past the railroad tracks and ending in a shallow grave. He knew all about that Long Ride, he'd been the driver a couple of times on those runs and it still crawled under his skin…until what he'd done that night with Lou's guys, it used to wake him up at night, them mooks crying, shitting themselves, in the graves they'd dug for themselves. He'd never had to watch the kill shot….
So. What happened to him next depended on how badly he'd fucked up and how bad he'd queered Assassi's plans to drive Moe Kennedy into the ground. Dean stared at the tips of his shoes and prayed to something, someone, that his baby brother would come out of it all okay. That he wouldn't take it into his stubborn, fool head to try and avenge Dean for…whatever happened.
"Hey," Assasi said and Dean jumped, flushed and felt like a fool for doing it. He'd missed whatever Assasi'd said to him but Assasi repeated it patiently.
"I said, gimme your gun."
A fist of ice lodged in Dean's throat. So it was gonna be like that. He looked down and pulled his gun free of the holster and smoothed his jacket back into place. He looked A right in the eyes as he passed over the pretty little Colt, warm and smooth in his palm and he'd killed a man with it, and not even to protect Sam, just to save his own skin…and what a waste that was, since Assasi was about to punch his ticket. He kept his eyes firmly on Assasi's. He might be a stupid fuck-up, but he wasn't no pussy. A wasn't going to shoot him on his knees.
Just as the butt hit A's hand, Dean heard a commotion out in the hall, yelling and thumping, and he groaned, "Sam, you idiot…"
Assasi smiled at him. "Sounds like Puddy's gotta some kin'a beef out there."
"Yeah. Well." Dean swallowed, watched the hands that had gripped his shoulders and palmed the back of his neck work the action on his—the Colt. He blinked away a bead of sweat, forced his breathing still, forced himself to ignore Sam screaming his name out in the hall, Louie yelling for his crew to take him down and hold him. He licked his lips and begged Assasi, "Don't hurt him. Don't hurt Sam. Please."
"It was supposed ta be a milk run. No mess, no fuss, snatch the booze and scram but. Man got shot. Made it messy, eh?" A gave him that head-tilt look, that long, deep stare that worked it's way right into Dean's soul. "Whataya think's gonna happen here, Dean?" he waved the gun, and then ejected the clip. "This has gotta disappear. You don' wan' this no more." He dropped the gun on his desk. "We'll get ya a new one. Don' worry 'bout it. Welcome to the Family." He pressed his thumb against Dean's forehead, slid it softly to his temple and finally laid his palm against Dean's cheek. "You're my solider now, full-blooded solider. We're tied, you an' me."
Dean blinked, heard A's words from a fuzzy distance. He tried to understand what just happened…A didn't want to kill him. Sam was safe. Safer. And he hadn't fucked up as bad as he'd thought. He heard Sam, still screaming his name in the hall, and his eyes tracked back to A, who smiled like Dean was his well-loved son. He pulled Dean close, kissed his cheek and murmured, "You're at my side, right behind Louie, from now on. Now go stop your brother from skippin' alla way off the tracks…go celebrate. Whatever you decide to do, it's all on me." He winked and stepped back, pushed Dean towards the door. "Go, mio soldato."
* * * * * *
Dean barely shut the door on Assasi's study before Sam launched himself down the length of the hallway, ignoring Louie and his crew trying to hold him back. His hair was wild, in his face, in his eyes—his tie half undone and twisted up under his collar and he had a long red welt on one cheek. Dean glared at Louie and his men but they were in the same ragged shape as Sam. At least the kid out up a good fight, Dean thought, and couldn't help the grin that wanted to break through.
Sam slammed into Dean, and almost knocked him down. He grabbed Dean, threw one arm around Dean's neck, grabbed for Dean's face with his free hand. "Dean! Brother—you okay? He didn't hurt you none, did he? Lemme see," he babbled and wrenched Dean's chin from one side to the other, eyes blazing. He ran his hands down Dean's ribs, his arms, ignoring Dean trying to bat his hands away.
"Lay off, Sam, geez. I'm all right—leggo, willya!"
"Dean." Sam said and his voice cracked. He leaned so his forehead was pressed against Dean's, wrapped his hands around Dean's wrists. He breathed a sigh of relief and said again, "Dean." And pressed his mouth to Dean's.
Dean stood stock still, frozen in shock. Sam's mouth on his, a touch no stronger than the brush of a moth's wing but still. He'd kissed him, and there was no way to mistake it for the kind of kiss it was, no matter how soft. Sam had kissed him, right in front of Louie's men. Louie's men…who weren't in the hall anymore.
They were alone, and Dean figured Sam had known that when he kissed him but Dean hadn't, and he'd let it happen. Sam opened his eyes and gazed at Dean. "I wasn't sure…I was pretty sure, but…you're okay, Dean."
Sam threw both his arms around Dean's neck and pressed his face in the very soft bit of skin between Dean's collar and his jaw, nuzzled in and Dean's eyes fell closed. "Yeah, Sammy, I'm okay."
part 6
TBC
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, original characters
Rating: NC-17
Total Word Count: 3656
Summary: a 1920s AU *very* loosely based on the film, Public Enemy.
Notes/Warnings: abuse, dub-con, harsh images, morally challenged Sam, troubled Dean. There are hints of abuse, physical and sexual, but nothing terribly graphic. The rating is for the overall fic—it varies according to update. For a large part of the fic, the boys are underage.
follows from Public Enemies Book One
one/ two/ three/four/
The light was on in their little bathroom when Sammy came barreling through the door.
"Aw Dean, you shoulda gone with me, man—when's the last time we went to the movies together, hunh?" He listened for an answer, but Dean was silent, just the water running and the pipes knocking…"Just so you know, I didn't go stag, either—I got paid for baby-sittin' too, can ya believe it? Gloria—y'know, Mr. A's new piece a' tail?"
Sam tossed his jacket at a kitchen chair and loosened his tie. Took a moment to imagine water running over the sweet curve of Dean's ass, gleaming like diamonds on the silk-soft golden hair there, slipping down the dark cleft. Sam groaned deep in his throat as he pictured streams of water sliding over Dean's tight hole, that pretty pink knot. Pictured it pouting around his finger ….
He shook his head hard, knocking the fantasies clear—and realized Dean hadn't answered him. He was either pissed off or greasing the pole. "Hey, dya hear me? Gloria the horse happy whore?" He thought he heard a faint distressed noise and grinned. "She let me shoot her up in the car—" he said that just to rile Dean up. He grinned, a smile that exposed his back teeth, picturing the face Dean was making, how mad it made him for Sam to even get in spitting distance of dope. Not that it wasn't true, he had stuck the nail in the whore's arm, liked watching the blood mix with the horse before sticking it back in her, but he'd lie and swear that he'd said it just to rile Dean, no sense in making him so mad he wouldn't let Sam convince him it was okay to slide his hand into his pants—he missed Dean, his smell, the smooth warmth of his skin. What he'd said must have broke through to Dean finally. Sam got a response. But when it came, it was a word drowning in misery.
"Sammy—"
Sam jumped like he'd been scalded and burst through the bathroom door. His eyes were on the shower and he yelled "Dean!" when he didn't see his brother's shadow on the shower curtain and—
"Sammy…" It was such a small, defeated, terrified sound that Sam gasped in horror, was already crying when he ripped the curtain back to find Dean curled in a ball on the tub floor, shoved up against the faucets and as small as a six foot something guy could get. The water pooled under him was pink; dots tinted a darker color swirled towards the drain.
Sam dropped and pulled Dean out of the tub, and Dean went, so pliable, boneless, that even through Sam's fear, he felt a jolt hit him that went straight to his dick. "Dean—Brother, what's wrong? Please, what's wrong?"
Dean began to rock against him, moaning softly; when he didn't answer Sam grabbed him by the hair, pulled him out of the crook of his neck and shook him. "Brother, you tell me right now what the fuck is wrong!"
"Sam, Sam, I killed a man." Dean looked horrified, frightened, he cringed as he said it, as if Sam would throw him away from him in disgust. He closed his eyes and Sam was grateful because he didn't think he'd be able to hide the fierce burn of instant lust brought at Dean's words—the pounding, shattering, desire and the hellish jealousy he felt. Sam swallowed hard and waited until he knew his voice would hold steady before he spoke again.
"Dean, whatever happened wasn't your fault. Wait, what did happen, you were supposed to be home, you said you was sick." Sam's language, carefully stripped of the street through Dean's nagging and A's encouragement fled him in the roiling stew of emotion filling him. "You lied to me, ya bum—whathafuck!"
"Mr. A. he din' wan' ya t'know 'bout this job," Dean muttered, his words slurring like he was drunk and his ice-cold shoulders shaking under Sam's hands. "Was 'posed to be look-out man—they were gonna bust up Big Moe's booze shipment. Was a double cross, Sammy. G-men came outa nowhere and everybody went in guns blazing…pulled my gat an'…" Dean shuddered and clung to what he thought was the last good thing in the world and Sam curled his hands around the back of Dean's neck, slid them down to rub and stroke the small of his naked back and Sam shook with the desire to fuck his brother right there on the bathroom tiles.
"Not your fault, Brother," he said, pressing his mouth to the crown of Dean's head. "Not your fault. A's fault," he muttered into the brylcreme and sweat scented hair. Sam became aware that there was another smell, a bright metallic scent. He recognized it, the tangles in Dan's hair…clotted blood. He scraped his hands over Dean's head, checking quickly—not Dean's. Sam took a deep, steadying, breath. "Hey. Dean." He tilted his brother's head back and met glazed eyes, a blink sent tears down Dean's cheeks, and then, his lax mouth shuddered and tightened. When he spoke again, his voice was steadier, some color back in his face. He said, "Shot one of Moe's mooks. He came at me, I blinked and he was right in front of me, pointed that iron at my eye so I shot. We're good shots, Sammy, fast." and Sammy nodded to the truth of that. "I blew out his eye and the back of his head and blood and brains went everywhere—hit the wall behind him and all over me—"
Sam groaned and tipped Dean into him, covered his mouth with his own.
Dean shuddered and jerked and tried to pull away but then, Sam felt something in his brother break all the way through and he let Sam kiss him. He muttered against Sam's mouth, "I'm a killer, I killed a man," and Sam kissed him harder, taking his words away. The inside of Dean's mouth was hot, and silky wet, Sam licked all over the inside and imagined he tasted it, the blood of the man Dean killed, on his gums, trapped against the roof of Dean's mouth, on the wet, rough texture of his tongue. He moaned and caught Dean's tongue in the tip of his teeth, teased with the possibility of pain and then sucked it, sucked on the tip like it was a cock head, teased with the point of his tongue; let it slide out slowly from between his teeth. Dean was moaning now, sure he was. Sam knew he was a good kisser; he practiced on dozens of nobodies for this, his only chance to snare Dean completely, snag him like a little rabbit in a noose trap. Make sure his soul was meshed so deeply with Sam's he'd never get loose and this killing—he wanted to thank Assasi just as much as he wanted to kill him.
Dean's head dropped back, his eyes on Sam, nearly all pupils they were, blown and glazed from what had happened, what they were doing. Dean's square, sturdy palm, the hand that Sam could easily swallow in his own, crept into Sam's lap like a little mouse and settled tentatively over Sam's hard-on. "Lou said—said I was made, he said I was blooded," and Sam snatched at Dean's hand, shoving it away as his dick twitched and emptied into his boxers. Before he could draw a breath, before Dean could think, Sam dropped to his knees and took Dean's barely half-hard dick in his mouth. Dean twitched and gasped, "No."
Sam opened his throat and let Dean slide in, back, back until he fought to hold it, his throat spasmed with the invasion. He swallowed, and swallowed, his tongue washing the underside, and he groaned at a new taste, the taste of Dean, pre-come thick and sweet and warm—Dean cried out and pumped his hips forward, caught in the grips of coming. His hands came down on the back of Sam's neck and pulled him closer. Sam gagged, his eyes shedding water even though he'd screwed them tight at the first savage clench of his throat around Dean. He looked up and Dean looked horrified. "Sam—I hurt you, you—"
Sam closed his eyes, trapped Dean where he was and came again.
Dean was on his knees the minute Sam let him go, scrubbing the tears away, crying himself, begging Sam for forgiveness, cursing himself and swearing that he'd never, never touch him again, that he deserved to have been shot this night instead of the nameless gunsel, until Sam grabbed a thick handful of his hair and yanked, hard. He felt hair popping loose in his grip and growled out Dean's name.
"Dean. Be quiet now. Shut up and listen to me. You're going to wash, clean yourself and pull yourself together. You're going to talk to Lou, Louie, he’ll stand up for you, you know that. Besides, Assasi's not gonna hurt you—he'll probably make you his button-man—shut up," he hissed when Dean tried to protest. "What else are you going to do? What are you smart enough to do?"
Dean caved right in front of him, curled in on himself and dropped his hands. They curled into loose fists in his lap, slid in a slick trail of come dappling his thigh. Dean tried to cover it, and sighed when Sam took his hand and wouldn't let him. "Yeah, yeah…I know, Sam. I know."
Sam slid his fingers around in the tacky mess running down the inside of Dean's leg. He gave Dean a small, soft smile. Said, "It'll be a chance to make money, Dean, real money. Enough to take care of you. Take care of me." He tilted Dean's mouth up to his with wet fingers, pressed small, chaste kisses to Dean's lips until Dean kissed him back. "I love you, Brother, love you so much," Sam said.
Dean made a small, soft noise, a sob that disappeared in Sam's mouth.
"Let's get you clean," Sam said. He turned away to clean the tub, fill it with fresh hot water and smiled and smiled.
It was early in the morning when there came a steady pounding on their door. Dean jerked awake, blinking in the weak sunlight peaking through the sloppily drawn curtains. He was muzzy-headed, not really sure why he was in bed with Sam, tacky and naked...until it hit him like a loaded glove, smack in the kisser. His breath came fast and thin. He'd…Sam…him and Sam. And he'd wanted it, wanted Sam like that….
The pounding at the door snapped him back to the here and now. Dean barely got a chance to unwrap himself from Sam and throw some pants on before the door flew open and Lou and a few of his guys crowded into the kitchen. Dean stood there with his pants half done up and cursed to himself. This was it. His final fuck-up, staring him in the face.
None of them made a move once they were in the place, no one said a word. The silence stretched out as Louie just stared at Dean for a long minute—something almost like fatherly and worried in his eyes. He pulled at the suspenders stretched over his belly before heaving out a gusty sigh. "Get dressed. The boss wants ta see ya. Now. Not you, Sam," he barked, pointing at Sam. "You stay your ass in here."
"What? What?" Sam yelped from the bedroom door, yanking on an undershirt and trying to button his pants at the same time. "What the hell, Louie?"
"Puddy…it's better you stay here. Just—stay. Dean, tell 'im to stay put."
Dean pushed past Sam back into their room, dressed quickly as he could, yanked a brush through his hair and hoped it was good enough. Sam grabbed him and straightened his tie, muttering, "I'm coming with, so nuts to you an' Louie."
"Sam, for once in your life, do what I stay. Stay here. Stay safe." Dean shoved the Colt Assasi had given him into the shoulder holster and licked dry lips. "Please."
"But—A wanted this! He made it happen, he can't take Dean, Dean did what he wanted—"
Dean stalked back out to the kitchen, grabbed his hat and jerked his chin at Louie. Sam was all over his back, babbling about Assasi and not making much sense and why couldn't he just shut up when Dean needed him to….
Louie just shook his head and looked sad, like Sam was raving. He glanced back to Dean, tilted his head towards Sam and walked out of the apartment, shooing his men out with him. "Two minutes, Dean, the boss is waitin'."
"Sam…just…fuck. Stay here, okay? Just stay." He took a step towards the door, took a deep breath, and turned back to Sam, grabbed the collar of his undershirt and yanked him forward. He kissed Sam, a deep, wet, desperate kiss that left him light-headed and on impulse bit down, hard enough to break skin. Sam staggered back, gasping, his eyes wide and glittering. His lower lip was flushed dark pink and swelling a bit. He swept his tongue over it, licked up a drop of blood and shuddered. Dean stared at him, run through with a spike of horror—shame that he'd done that, made his brother bleed, but Sam cursed and pushed him away when he tried to apologize.
"Please, Sam…I love you, okay? And…"
"Don’t say it, damn it! Don’t you say it!" Sam whirled back into the bedroom and slammed the door.
"God help us," Dean muttered, scrubbed his face to the point his cheeks felt burnt and walked out the door, ran almost into Louie who was waiting on the landing. "Here I am, ready as I'll ever be, I guess."
"Nothin's gonna happen to ya, Dean-O. Promise."
Dean laughed. He'd have felt a whole lot better if Louie'd sounded more convinced.
"Dean, what happened out there?" Assasi tilted his head back, and stared down his nose at Dean. His face held no clues as to what he was thinking but Dean had a pretty good idea. He clenched his hands, his fuckin' tie felt like a noose around his neck. He wished like hell he could loosen the damn thing, or unbutton his collar…Dean bit the inside of his cheek. Pay attention, you dope, this is yer fuckin' *life* on the fuckin' line….
Louie stepped up, angled himself so that he was halfway sort of shielding Dean from Assasi's glare. He looked almost as nervous as Dean felt, but he brought himself up to his full height and stared right back at A. "Mr. Assasi, sir, Dean din' do nuttin' wrong. He saw my guys were in it, an' he jumped in, like a standup guy. He done good." Louie looked at Dean and nodded firmly, before confronting A again. "I'll stand up for 'im, like I'd stand up for anya my soldiers. I—"
"Louie…?"
"Yessir, Mr. A?"
"Scram."
Louie stood open-mouthed, cut a glance at Dean and Dean swallowed hard. Didn't move an inch, waiting with Assasi until Louie shut the door quietly behind him.
Dean was still standing in front of A's desk, and Assasi came around it to stand in front of Dean. Dean dropped his head and waited for…whatever came next. Could be anything. Could be just a beating and then whisky passed around the crew, and he'd have a few new scars but he'd walk away from it. Or it could be something more permanent; A might take a finger, a thumb…an eye. And then it'd be back to working for Boggs or worse and hopefully just him and not Sam, too. Or maybe the long ride, out past the railroad tracks and ending in a shallow grave. He knew all about that Long Ride, he'd been the driver a couple of times on those runs and it still crawled under his skin…until what he'd done that night with Lou's guys, it used to wake him up at night, them mooks crying, shitting themselves, in the graves they'd dug for themselves. He'd never had to watch the kill shot….
So. What happened to him next depended on how badly he'd fucked up and how bad he'd queered Assassi's plans to drive Moe Kennedy into the ground. Dean stared at the tips of his shoes and prayed to something, someone, that his baby brother would come out of it all okay. That he wouldn't take it into his stubborn, fool head to try and avenge Dean for…whatever happened.
"Hey," Assasi said and Dean jumped, flushed and felt like a fool for doing it. He'd missed whatever Assasi'd said to him but Assasi repeated it patiently.
"I said, gimme your gun."
A fist of ice lodged in Dean's throat. So it was gonna be like that. He looked down and pulled his gun free of the holster and smoothed his jacket back into place. He looked A right in the eyes as he passed over the pretty little Colt, warm and smooth in his palm and he'd killed a man with it, and not even to protect Sam, just to save his own skin…and what a waste that was, since Assasi was about to punch his ticket. He kept his eyes firmly on Assasi's. He might be a stupid fuck-up, but he wasn't no pussy. A wasn't going to shoot him on his knees.
Just as the butt hit A's hand, Dean heard a commotion out in the hall, yelling and thumping, and he groaned, "Sam, you idiot…"
Assasi smiled at him. "Sounds like Puddy's gotta some kin'a beef out there."
"Yeah. Well." Dean swallowed, watched the hands that had gripped his shoulders and palmed the back of his neck work the action on his—the Colt. He blinked away a bead of sweat, forced his breathing still, forced himself to ignore Sam screaming his name out in the hall, Louie yelling for his crew to take him down and hold him. He licked his lips and begged Assasi, "Don't hurt him. Don't hurt Sam. Please."
"It was supposed ta be a milk run. No mess, no fuss, snatch the booze and scram but. Man got shot. Made it messy, eh?" A gave him that head-tilt look, that long, deep stare that worked it's way right into Dean's soul. "Whataya think's gonna happen here, Dean?" he waved the gun, and then ejected the clip. "This has gotta disappear. You don' wan' this no more." He dropped the gun on his desk. "We'll get ya a new one. Don' worry 'bout it. Welcome to the Family." He pressed his thumb against Dean's forehead, slid it softly to his temple and finally laid his palm against Dean's cheek. "You're my solider now, full-blooded solider. We're tied, you an' me."
Dean blinked, heard A's words from a fuzzy distance. He tried to understand what just happened…A didn't want to kill him. Sam was safe. Safer. And he hadn't fucked up as bad as he'd thought. He heard Sam, still screaming his name in the hall, and his eyes tracked back to A, who smiled like Dean was his well-loved son. He pulled Dean close, kissed his cheek and murmured, "You're at my side, right behind Louie, from now on. Now go stop your brother from skippin' alla way off the tracks…go celebrate. Whatever you decide to do, it's all on me." He winked and stepped back, pushed Dean towards the door. "Go, mio soldato."
Dean barely shut the door on Assasi's study before Sam launched himself down the length of the hallway, ignoring Louie and his crew trying to hold him back. His hair was wild, in his face, in his eyes—his tie half undone and twisted up under his collar and he had a long red welt on one cheek. Dean glared at Louie and his men but they were in the same ragged shape as Sam. At least the kid out up a good fight, Dean thought, and couldn't help the grin that wanted to break through.
Sam slammed into Dean, and almost knocked him down. He grabbed Dean, threw one arm around Dean's neck, grabbed for Dean's face with his free hand. "Dean! Brother—you okay? He didn't hurt you none, did he? Lemme see," he babbled and wrenched Dean's chin from one side to the other, eyes blazing. He ran his hands down Dean's ribs, his arms, ignoring Dean trying to bat his hands away.
"Lay off, Sam, geez. I'm all right—leggo, willya!"
"Dean." Sam said and his voice cracked. He leaned so his forehead was pressed against Dean's, wrapped his hands around Dean's wrists. He breathed a sigh of relief and said again, "Dean." And pressed his mouth to Dean's.
Dean stood stock still, frozen in shock. Sam's mouth on his, a touch no stronger than the brush of a moth's wing but still. He'd kissed him, and there was no way to mistake it for the kind of kiss it was, no matter how soft. Sam had kissed him, right in front of Louie's men. Louie's men…who weren't in the hall anymore.
They were alone, and Dean figured Sam had known that when he kissed him but Dean hadn't, and he'd let it happen. Sam opened his eyes and gazed at Dean. "I wasn't sure…I was pretty sure, but…you're okay, Dean."
Sam threw both his arms around Dean's neck and pressed his face in the very soft bit of skin between Dean's collar and his jaw, nuzzled in and Dean's eyes fell closed. "Yeah, Sammy, I'm okay."
TBC
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7/31/12 12:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
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7/31/12 06:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
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7/31/12 11:59 am (UTC)Poor Dean ! So many worries....... I'm torn between loving and hating Sam. Not sure if he cares how much he and A are messing with his poor brother's head and heart.....
BTW ....spelled "soldier " as 'solider' a couple of times...... though Dean is 'solider' than most guys... :) Love this tale.........
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7/31/12 02:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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7/31/12 07:24 pm (UTC)That was an incredibly intense chapter; you drew the emotion out so well. It's so intriguing the way that Dean is being manipulated - but also the way that he can never see the truth clearly for himself, because he has a completely warped view of his own worth.
The ending was awesome - that frightening little realisation of Dean's that he hadn't stopped Sam from kissing him, even though he hadn't known that they were alone. His vulnerability is making him get in deep and fast, all his resistance broken down...
Wonderful stuff, baby! As always, waiting for more. But at least now I have Come the Night to keep me going (finally got around to reading it!) ♥
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8/15/12 04:22 am (UTC)As always, bb, excellent.
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