To The Waters And The Wild part 18
5/18/09 10:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:To The Waters And The Wild
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating: hard R
Word Count: 3722
"So, we'll stop in the next town—what is it, Monroe? Last one before Jackson's cabin, right?""
Dean checked the map, followed the thick yellow track outlining their route. "Yeah. It'll be good to stop—my legs think I died a while back. Not to mention my stomach."
"Your stomach rules you, Dean. Don’t let it," Sam said, with mock solemnity.
"Yeah, screw you, bean-pole. You never eat—what do you know about needing food so bad, you're ready to sell your brother to the next traveling band of gypsies for a Devil Dog?"
Sam glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and burst out laughing. "Dude—you'd sell me that short? I'm worth a steak, asshole."
Dean laughed, loud and long, and Sam blushed like a kid, pleased as hell.
For the last few hours, the landscape had been gradually changing from flat to hilly—pines were dominating the skyline, and towns were getting smaller and farther apart. They'd been steadily climbing higher and higher into thickly wooded hills, and the higher they went, for some reason, the safer and happier Sam felt. It was beautiful—dense conifer forest, and everything so green and alive. Dean reflected his mood, happy, singing along with the radio, teasing him, messing with the cassettes in the plastic box shoved under the front seat, just—behaving like Dean would whenever they were on the road—those rare instances when Dean would let him drive without bitching. Sam felt his grin grow with each cassette Dean threw at him and demanded he play 'now, bitch.' Not hesitating to cuss Sam out for not obeying him instantly. It was great; it was so great Sam was almost afraid he was going to do something to fuck it up.
Sam pulled off onto a scenic overlook on the road--it looked out to a waterfall, a pretty impressive sight, they agreed, and got out of the car to check it out.
The rushing waters made a soft background sound, and the lightning smell of running water scented the air. They kind of fell into talking softly as they walked around the overlook—like the way you'd talk in a church and Sam thought it really kind of was, like a church. He felt God there more strongly than he'd ever felt him in any brick and glass structure. Dean had his elbows propped on the thick rail of the post and rail fence, staring over into the river below the falls. He looked like an angel, tips of his hair shining gold in the sun, rainbows shimmering in the mist behind him…it was a ridiculously beautiful picture and even kind of…romantic, and the feeling that swept over Sam was too deep to keep to himself… "Wow."
Dean gazed back, luminous green eyes spearing him. "Yeah. Wow."
Sam walked over next to Dean, leaning his elbows on the rail too. "You—it's really beautiful out here, isn't it?"
Dean's gaze shifted away from Sam's eyes, his happy smile melted, and there was something wary in his eyes. He looked at his feet. "Yeah. Beautiful."
"Dean…"
"Listen, I want—I need—to tell you something. I need to tell you but I'm afraid…"
Sam laughed, breathless, and maybe a little scared, too. "Believe me; I don’t think there's anything in the world that can shock me now."
"Yeah…maybe...." Dean said, leaned against the fence, back to the waterfall. A shift of his gaze, a tilt of his head, and Sam was pressed under the weight of Dean's attention. Coupled with the sound of falling water and the soft breeze, it was hypnotizing, and Sam startled when Dean began speaking in a low, flat voice.
"It was bad in the beginning, when I first came back."
Sam nodded, he was sure the memory was brutally vivid for the both of them. Dean sighed and went on. "At first I thought it was being out of hell that made me the way I was. Afraid all the time. Off center. Everything was so strange, so frightening. I waited for it to go away and…it didn't, you know? For a while, it just got worse." He swallowed and went on. "Hurt, like walking around with your skin off, peeled raw. Everything hurt so much." He laughed bitterly. "I thought I'd had all the kinds of pain there are, you know? Until I touched you. It was…pain's too small a word, y'know? Anyway, after a while, it let up. Little bit by little bit, it hurt less. And then, I started to remember things--about me. About you."
Sam shuddered, not able to move closer, not able to move away. "Yeah."
"Not all good things." Dean shook his head, his face twisted in pain. "I remembered things I used to feel sick about, used to wish I could rip out of me. That one summer that you hated me so much—you didn't want to be near me, you didn’t want me to touch you and I knew you could feel it, this sickness I had." He rubbed his face; his hands coming away dry from reddened eyes. "That's when we didn't share a bed anymore." He grinned and it made Sam's hurt. "It was the best I could do for you, until you left. See? I do remember you leaving." Dean shook his head. "But I don’t remember too much after that. Just you leaving, and then, you coming with me when I needed you back. I remember making that deal, and I remember the deal coming due--hurting, so bad, and why I was hurting—for you, all for you, and then…nothing much." He laughed, a wet, helpless kind of thing, clogged with pain. "Except, fire and blood and—and other things."
Sam was crying. "You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to."
"It's not that," Dean said, "I can't. I want to but the words just…dry up and blow away. I want to tell you Sam, but they. They won’t come. They run together and I can’t get them and it aches inside me how bad I want to tell you. And how bad…I'm sorry that I ever made you hate me. I'm sorry that I was, I used to be…." he dropped his head, and Sam reached out and touched his arm.
"But you know now, right? That I never hated you, Dean. How could I?" Sam's face felt tight with dried tears, and he smeared more tears into his skin with the back of his hand.
Dean shook his head, wiped his sleeve over his pale, dry face. "You don't get it, Sam." He wouldn’t let Sam speak again. "Let's just…let's just move, all right? We've got a few hours of daylight yet."
Sam sighed, nodded and followed Dean to the car. Of course he'd known, from the moment he'd dragged that terrible bundle out of hell, that Dean had suffered horrors he'd never be able to understand. But to know that his suffering hadn't ended when he was home again, that his touch had hurt his brother…that even trying to care for Dean had been torture for him….
Sam blinked wetness from his eyes, and swallowed hard. And then, that summer, Dean's version of it. Sam wanted to do something about that, to change what Dean thought was true about it—but right now, Dean's memories were a stew of broken, half formed links. What if something Sam did now fucked him up even more? It was probably best to let it go for right now…until Dean was stronger….
Back at the car, Sam unfolded the map across the hood of the Impala and Dean leaned over his shoulder. "Okay, we've got one more stop I'm thinking, before we get to the cabin. One more overnight, and then we're home free. Stay at the cabin a few days…hunh." Sam's eyes opened wider. "Time is flying, it's almost September—".
Dean smirked and nodded. "Yeah, I know…your crew's going to be all right without you?"
Sam smiled at him. "Let me worry about the crew, you just worry about what you're going to make for dinner tonight."
Dean lifted eyebrows, and smirked. "Oh, yeah? I don’t think you really want me cooking…but I can tell you what I'd like to eat…."
Sam blushed and jammed the map into his jacket pocket, feeling about twelve and turning nothing into all kinds of crazy stuff.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
The cabin was a pretty thing, set in a small clearing that had been cut out of the woods; the dirt yard of the cabin was edged by rocks picked for their color and shape. Pine trees rose up all around the edges the clearing, and the undergrowth was sprinkled with plants not exactly native to the area, but known for their protective properties. Along with those plants, there were thick beds flanking the porch steps, full of plants he recognized as also being the ingredients in some pretty powerful protective spells.
Right at the side of the cabin was space to park, and a well stocked woodpile. The front porch was wide enough for a table and benches, and Sam smiled, already imagining having dinner in the evening, watching the sun sink. Dean hadn't followed Sam on his walk around the cabin, he was leaning against the car, nose wrinkled like he smelled something bad.
Sam rolled his eyes, and snorted. "Help me unload, Nature Boy," he said, and opened the trunk for the bags. Dragging his bag up on the porch, he saw with approval that a line of protective sigils had been worked into the rails and posts, and around the doorway and windows. He nodded. This was probably the safest place, bar Bobby's yard, that they could be right now.
Sam knelt and lifted the doormat, and nestled under it was the key. He grinned. Kind of let him know what the human population was like around there, if it was safe enough to do that. He started to drop the mat, when he noticed what it had covered, there was a design carved into the porch floor, salt swept into the carving—a devil's trap. He snorted. Safe as houses. "Well, looked like Jackson was serious as hell about protection, hunh? Not much getting in here."
Dean winced and scrubbed at the back of his neck. "Including us, if you don’t get out of the way. Can we get on with it? I'm tired as shit--got a motherfucker of a headache."
Sam nodded. "Yeah…man, I hope there's hot water and lots of it. A shower right now sounds like a perfect dream."
"Um-hm." Dean jittered, bumped Sam's hand over and over as he tried to unlock the door—kept looking over his shoulder. "I don’t know, Sam. I feel weird here. Like something's waiting to—to get at us." He rubbed hard at his forehead. "Geez, my head feels like it's going to blow apart," he muttered.
Sam reached out to Dean, who seemed unaware that he was sweating, pale—so pale he looked green around the edges. "Go on in, I'll get the rest of the stuff." Dean nodded, went to pull himself through the doorway, and hissed.
"Fucking splinters…" He sucked at the palm of his hand, eyes narrowed. They'd gone a stormy olive green, and he stared at Sam accusingly.
Sam sighed. He'd sort it out after he got Dean settled. "Well, let's get inside, and line the doorway and stuff. Even though I doubt anything's cracking that wall of protection outside. Hell, the garden is almost a primer in herb protection. It'd have to be a damn determined demon to break in here."
"Good," Dean snapped and kicked the bag into the living area. "Nice." He winced and growled. "Need a fucking shower now."
"Yeah, go ahead. I'm going to unpack—check out the pantry and see what we have here. Call me if you need me."
Den's head jerked up. "Need you?" He snorted. "Think I can take a shower by myself, dude."
"That's not…you know…*fuck* you."
Dean laughed, and slammed the bathroom door shut. A few minutes later Sam heard the shower start and huffed. Great. Now his head was full of images he really didn't need, or want. He adjusted himself quickly and went to work.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
Night brought soft sounds, good smells…sweet and spicy from the garden, savory and delicious from steaks on the grill. Dean wrapped a few potatoes in tinfoil and tossed them into the coals under the steaks. Sam smiled at him, and tilted the neck of his beer to him, and took a deep drink. He licked his lips and dropped his head, and Dean was staring at him. When he caught Sam catching him, he smiled, rolled the bottle between his hands.
"Sam."
"You like it out here?" Sam said. "I think it's great."
Dean shrugged, and winced a bit. "Nice, just us. I like that."
After dinner, they took closer inventory of supplies, and Sam told Dean he'd need to go back to the little town at the base of the hills and pick up the few things they'd need for the time they'd be there—no more than a couple of days. Dean was to stay in bed—in bed, not messing with the Impala, not puttering around the weapons, not anything but popping aspirin and sleeping.
"I'm not tired," Dean complained.
"Yeah, well, you're practically green and earlier you looked like you were about to puke. We've got a few more days of driving, dude, and I don’t want you getting sick on me."
"Trust me, I wouldn’t get sick on you."
Fucking hell…Dean was grinning at him the same way he used to grin at anonymous waitresses and barmaids across the country. Sam swallowed, his mouth bitter with an acidic tang….
Maybe it was just his sick imagination but he'd swear, Dean was flirting with him.
This was not a good thing. Sam was reading too much into—into nothing. Nothing, but still his mind kept flashing into the past--to that near blowjob in the kitchen. He could see Dean, whining as he dropped to his knees with a broken, lost look…cold fingers dragging at his waist, his chin dragging over the front of Sam's jeans.
Sam shuddered. His dick stiffened, at the same time he felt a tidal wave of guilt. There was no way to deny he was thinking about it—had thought about it. What scared him more was that he wasn't even sure what turned him on about that—Dean on his knees in front of him, or Dean looking so broken, so needy. Jesus. They were a fucked pair—of that at least, he had no doubts.
Dean was out of the shower by the time Sam walked back inside the cabin, he was probably in bed already, and hopefully asleep. The kitchen-living room area was dark but for a small light over the counter in the kitchen. Sam thought about lighting a fire in the huge stone fireplace that made up almost the whole of one wall. It was a little chilly already and if he lit a fire, the loft would trap the heat rising upwards….
Dean was lying on his back in the bed, eyes open wide and staring at the ceiling…his hair was still damp, twisted into spirals against his forehead and Sam wanted to brush them back, the way Dean had always brushed Sam's bangs back and complained how long they were, too long to be safe....he bit his lip, and climbed into bed, and Dean didn't react to his presence. Maybe he was feeling that guilt too, maybe he was just getting sick.
Sam was almost falling asleep when he heard Dean whisper, "Sam," and felt his hand sliding along his arm. Sam blinked hard, moved out from under Dean's hand and turned his back to him. Didn't matter. He still felt Dean; it felt like all the hair on his body was electrified, and his whole skin was aware of Dean. Sam was knotted and cramped with a miserable frustration, he knew he'd be awake for hours, unable to sleep because…because of Dean.
Fortunately for Sam's sanity all those hours of driving, of being so constantly on the move, ganged up on him. His muscles twitched and pinged as they loosened, exhaustion and the heat pushed him down into a miserable kind of sleep.
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
Dean felt--smelled--something wonderful, warm, comfortable--soft skin under his hand, the feel of hard muscle under it,. Familiar. Comforting. As comforting as the smell of gun oil, grease, sweat ground into vinyl. Salt filled his mouth, wet skin under his tongue, he licked, and licked, slow, enjoying the feel of smooth and the burst of salt again…and again…again….
~~~~~o0o~~~~~
Sam woke up with a groan, his dick hard as iron and pressed damp against his shorts. Another long, wet lick smoothed up the back of his neck, and the little nip at the top of his spine made him shudder. He rocked back against Dean—and jerked awake.
"Dean—" Sam tried to move, but Dean had wrapped himself around him so tightly he couldn't. Dean surrounded him—the heat, the scent, the feel of Dean against him was making Sam's head swim. The incredible, amazing, frightening thing about it all was that it *felt* exactly like he dreamt it would. It *was* amazing—it was perfect--and it needed to stop. He wanted it so fucking much but—he needed to stop Dean now. This, whatever was happening, had to be a flashback, Dean was having—a nightmare, something. Sam couldn't let him do this, taking advantage this way was too fucked up and just plain wrong.
"Forget it—we both want this." Dean's hand pushed its way in under the band of his boxers, Sam instinctively arched into the touch. He wanted desperately to shove Dean's hand lower; Sam wanted to feel his fingers tangled in the coarse hair around his dick—
"Dean! We can't—"
"No. Turn around." Dean's hands were plucking at him, teasing, pulling, trying to coax him into turning. "Sam, come on, turn around. It's okay…."
Sam sobbed, "No, I can't. You'll have to—to make me—I can't move." He heard the little chuckle Dean breathed into his back, a softly whispered, "well, okay,"
Dean was a lot stronger than Sam remembered, it took very little effort for him to turn Sam until they were facing, arrange their limbs until they touched all along the length of their bodies. Sam breathed in, out, and risked opening his eyes—found himself an eyelash away from Dean's eyes and so close all he could see was a ring of emerald fire rimming huge dark pupils, so deep, and so black….
He was trapped, imprisoned…he was weak, and Dean took control.
The first touch, fingers gliding lightly over his dick, made him sigh, the second stronger, more confident touch, made him groan. Dean was whispering something Sam couldn't quite make out, but the soft fluttering of his lips against Sam's skin was thrilling, and the pull, stroke and tease of Dean's hand on his dick was maddening. Sam's hands flew up to grasp Dean's shoulders and he cried out for Dean to slow, to stop, and Dean just worked him harder.
"Sam, gonna come? You gonna come?" Sam felt Dean's dick dig into his thigh, the broad hot head felt huge, grinding into the crease of his thigh, slipping in the wet he was leaking---Sam bit his lip, wanting to live forever in that moment, and then Dean tightened his hand and pumped him, bit him, sucked at the thin skin right under his ear and it made everything Sam thought of as real and right, burn away like fog in sunlight….
It smelled like summer in the room, it smelled like steel and rust, like oil and come and sweat. Sam blinked and inhaled rapidly, was he dreaming? Was this real, he couldn't tell anymore, it was too much. Too…everything he'd ever wanted. The faint smell of wet vinyl made his dick throb…dreaming, yes, he was sure of it now. He was in the backseat of the car, dreaming he was under Dean and Dean was taking everything Sam had to give. Soft lips tickled his ear, warm breath brushed over it. Dean's voice in his ear, in his heart. "I love you. I need you. I want you."
This was what he'd wanted his whole life, why he'd begrudged Dean any moment he spent with *anyone* else, including Dad. Why he'd hated anything that came between them…and also why he'd run as far as he could from Dean. The conflicting actions made sense then. It was what he needed to do, to keep from going insane. Now…now, he was going crazy and he didn't give a shit anymore. Dean was fucking him, was going to come any minute, Sam knew that because he *knew* what Dean sounded like when he was coming. Hell, he'd spent his fucking formative years leaning against the bathroom door and *listening* to his older brother jerk off—Sam groaned and laughed like he was losing his mind and Dean joined him, laughing into Sam's neck until Sam moaned, "God, just make me come---"
Dean went still and the light in his eyes went deadly—he pushed in under Sam's chin, and bit him, hard, so hard. Any shred of control Sam had left fled—he fucked his brother's hand like it was the last thing he'd ever do in life, spread his legs to trap Dean's hips, let him rub against him faster, slicker, and harder. Sam was so close to coming, biting down on his hand to strangle the shout that wanted out—
Dean groaned, "There's no one to hear but you and me, stupid," and Sam came, screaming until his throat gave out. "Yeah, like that—"Dean gasped and came with him, spilling fast and hot against Sam's belly, his lips moving against Sam's neck. Sam came back to himself and realized that what Dean was murmuring into his skin was one word, repeated until he finally drifted off.
"Yours, yours, yours."
part 19
TBC
Fandom:SpN
Author:roxy
PairingsDean/Sam
Rating: hard R
Word Count: 3722
"So, we'll stop in the next town—what is it, Monroe? Last one before Jackson's cabin, right?""
Dean checked the map, followed the thick yellow track outlining their route. "Yeah. It'll be good to stop—my legs think I died a while back. Not to mention my stomach."
"Your stomach rules you, Dean. Don’t let it," Sam said, with mock solemnity.
"Yeah, screw you, bean-pole. You never eat—what do you know about needing food so bad, you're ready to sell your brother to the next traveling band of gypsies for a Devil Dog?"
Sam glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and burst out laughing. "Dude—you'd sell me that short? I'm worth a steak, asshole."
Dean laughed, loud and long, and Sam blushed like a kid, pleased as hell.
For the last few hours, the landscape had been gradually changing from flat to hilly—pines were dominating the skyline, and towns were getting smaller and farther apart. They'd been steadily climbing higher and higher into thickly wooded hills, and the higher they went, for some reason, the safer and happier Sam felt. It was beautiful—dense conifer forest, and everything so green and alive. Dean reflected his mood, happy, singing along with the radio, teasing him, messing with the cassettes in the plastic box shoved under the front seat, just—behaving like Dean would whenever they were on the road—those rare instances when Dean would let him drive without bitching. Sam felt his grin grow with each cassette Dean threw at him and demanded he play 'now, bitch.' Not hesitating to cuss Sam out for not obeying him instantly. It was great; it was so great Sam was almost afraid he was going to do something to fuck it up.
Sam pulled off onto a scenic overlook on the road--it looked out to a waterfall, a pretty impressive sight, they agreed, and got out of the car to check it out.
The rushing waters made a soft background sound, and the lightning smell of running water scented the air. They kind of fell into talking softly as they walked around the overlook—like the way you'd talk in a church and Sam thought it really kind of was, like a church. He felt God there more strongly than he'd ever felt him in any brick and glass structure. Dean had his elbows propped on the thick rail of the post and rail fence, staring over into the river below the falls. He looked like an angel, tips of his hair shining gold in the sun, rainbows shimmering in the mist behind him…it was a ridiculously beautiful picture and even kind of…romantic, and the feeling that swept over Sam was too deep to keep to himself… "Wow."
Dean gazed back, luminous green eyes spearing him. "Yeah. Wow."
Sam walked over next to Dean, leaning his elbows on the rail too. "You—it's really beautiful out here, isn't it?"
Dean's gaze shifted away from Sam's eyes, his happy smile melted, and there was something wary in his eyes. He looked at his feet. "Yeah. Beautiful."
"Dean…"
"Listen, I want—I need—to tell you something. I need to tell you but I'm afraid…"
Sam laughed, breathless, and maybe a little scared, too. "Believe me; I don’t think there's anything in the world that can shock me now."
"Yeah…maybe...." Dean said, leaned against the fence, back to the waterfall. A shift of his gaze, a tilt of his head, and Sam was pressed under the weight of Dean's attention. Coupled with the sound of falling water and the soft breeze, it was hypnotizing, and Sam startled when Dean began speaking in a low, flat voice.
"It was bad in the beginning, when I first came back."
Sam nodded, he was sure the memory was brutally vivid for the both of them. Dean sighed and went on. "At first I thought it was being out of hell that made me the way I was. Afraid all the time. Off center. Everything was so strange, so frightening. I waited for it to go away and…it didn't, you know? For a while, it just got worse." He swallowed and went on. "Hurt, like walking around with your skin off, peeled raw. Everything hurt so much." He laughed bitterly. "I thought I'd had all the kinds of pain there are, you know? Until I touched you. It was…pain's too small a word, y'know? Anyway, after a while, it let up. Little bit by little bit, it hurt less. And then, I started to remember things--about me. About you."
Sam shuddered, not able to move closer, not able to move away. "Yeah."
"Not all good things." Dean shook his head, his face twisted in pain. "I remembered things I used to feel sick about, used to wish I could rip out of me. That one summer that you hated me so much—you didn't want to be near me, you didn’t want me to touch you and I knew you could feel it, this sickness I had." He rubbed his face; his hands coming away dry from reddened eyes. "That's when we didn't share a bed anymore." He grinned and it made Sam's hurt. "It was the best I could do for you, until you left. See? I do remember you leaving." Dean shook his head. "But I don’t remember too much after that. Just you leaving, and then, you coming with me when I needed you back. I remember making that deal, and I remember the deal coming due--hurting, so bad, and why I was hurting—for you, all for you, and then…nothing much." He laughed, a wet, helpless kind of thing, clogged with pain. "Except, fire and blood and—and other things."
Sam was crying. "You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to."
"It's not that," Dean said, "I can't. I want to but the words just…dry up and blow away. I want to tell you Sam, but they. They won’t come. They run together and I can’t get them and it aches inside me how bad I want to tell you. And how bad…I'm sorry that I ever made you hate me. I'm sorry that I was, I used to be…." he dropped his head, and Sam reached out and touched his arm.
"But you know now, right? That I never hated you, Dean. How could I?" Sam's face felt tight with dried tears, and he smeared more tears into his skin with the back of his hand.
Dean shook his head, wiped his sleeve over his pale, dry face. "You don't get it, Sam." He wouldn’t let Sam speak again. "Let's just…let's just move, all right? We've got a few hours of daylight yet."
Sam sighed, nodded and followed Dean to the car. Of course he'd known, from the moment he'd dragged that terrible bundle out of hell, that Dean had suffered horrors he'd never be able to understand. But to know that his suffering hadn't ended when he was home again, that his touch had hurt his brother…that even trying to care for Dean had been torture for him….
Sam blinked wetness from his eyes, and swallowed hard. And then, that summer, Dean's version of it. Sam wanted to do something about that, to change what Dean thought was true about it—but right now, Dean's memories were a stew of broken, half formed links. What if something Sam did now fucked him up even more? It was probably best to let it go for right now…until Dean was stronger….
Back at the car, Sam unfolded the map across the hood of the Impala and Dean leaned over his shoulder. "Okay, we've got one more stop I'm thinking, before we get to the cabin. One more overnight, and then we're home free. Stay at the cabin a few days…hunh." Sam's eyes opened wider. "Time is flying, it's almost September—".
Dean smirked and nodded. "Yeah, I know…your crew's going to be all right without you?"
Sam smiled at him. "Let me worry about the crew, you just worry about what you're going to make for dinner tonight."
Dean lifted eyebrows, and smirked. "Oh, yeah? I don’t think you really want me cooking…but I can tell you what I'd like to eat…."
Sam blushed and jammed the map into his jacket pocket, feeling about twelve and turning nothing into all kinds of crazy stuff.
The cabin was a pretty thing, set in a small clearing that had been cut out of the woods; the dirt yard of the cabin was edged by rocks picked for their color and shape. Pine trees rose up all around the edges the clearing, and the undergrowth was sprinkled with plants not exactly native to the area, but known for their protective properties. Along with those plants, there were thick beds flanking the porch steps, full of plants he recognized as also being the ingredients in some pretty powerful protective spells.
Right at the side of the cabin was space to park, and a well stocked woodpile. The front porch was wide enough for a table and benches, and Sam smiled, already imagining having dinner in the evening, watching the sun sink. Dean hadn't followed Sam on his walk around the cabin, he was leaning against the car, nose wrinkled like he smelled something bad.
Sam rolled his eyes, and snorted. "Help me unload, Nature Boy," he said, and opened the trunk for the bags. Dragging his bag up on the porch, he saw with approval that a line of protective sigils had been worked into the rails and posts, and around the doorway and windows. He nodded. This was probably the safest place, bar Bobby's yard, that they could be right now.
Sam knelt and lifted the doormat, and nestled under it was the key. He grinned. Kind of let him know what the human population was like around there, if it was safe enough to do that. He started to drop the mat, when he noticed what it had covered, there was a design carved into the porch floor, salt swept into the carving—a devil's trap. He snorted. Safe as houses. "Well, looked like Jackson was serious as hell about protection, hunh? Not much getting in here."
Dean winced and scrubbed at the back of his neck. "Including us, if you don’t get out of the way. Can we get on with it? I'm tired as shit--got a motherfucker of a headache."
Sam nodded. "Yeah…man, I hope there's hot water and lots of it. A shower right now sounds like a perfect dream."
"Um-hm." Dean jittered, bumped Sam's hand over and over as he tried to unlock the door—kept looking over his shoulder. "I don’t know, Sam. I feel weird here. Like something's waiting to—to get at us." He rubbed hard at his forehead. "Geez, my head feels like it's going to blow apart," he muttered.
Sam reached out to Dean, who seemed unaware that he was sweating, pale—so pale he looked green around the edges. "Go on in, I'll get the rest of the stuff." Dean nodded, went to pull himself through the doorway, and hissed.
"Fucking splinters…" He sucked at the palm of his hand, eyes narrowed. They'd gone a stormy olive green, and he stared at Sam accusingly.
Sam sighed. He'd sort it out after he got Dean settled. "Well, let's get inside, and line the doorway and stuff. Even though I doubt anything's cracking that wall of protection outside. Hell, the garden is almost a primer in herb protection. It'd have to be a damn determined demon to break in here."
"Good," Dean snapped and kicked the bag into the living area. "Nice." He winced and growled. "Need a fucking shower now."
"Yeah, go ahead. I'm going to unpack—check out the pantry and see what we have here. Call me if you need me."
Den's head jerked up. "Need you?" He snorted. "Think I can take a shower by myself, dude."
"That's not…you know…*fuck* you."
Dean laughed, and slammed the bathroom door shut. A few minutes later Sam heard the shower start and huffed. Great. Now his head was full of images he really didn't need, or want. He adjusted himself quickly and went to work.
Night brought soft sounds, good smells…sweet and spicy from the garden, savory and delicious from steaks on the grill. Dean wrapped a few potatoes in tinfoil and tossed them into the coals under the steaks. Sam smiled at him, and tilted the neck of his beer to him, and took a deep drink. He licked his lips and dropped his head, and Dean was staring at him. When he caught Sam catching him, he smiled, rolled the bottle between his hands.
"Sam."
"You like it out here?" Sam said. "I think it's great."
Dean shrugged, and winced a bit. "Nice, just us. I like that."
After dinner, they took closer inventory of supplies, and Sam told Dean he'd need to go back to the little town at the base of the hills and pick up the few things they'd need for the time they'd be there—no more than a couple of days. Dean was to stay in bed—in bed, not messing with the Impala, not puttering around the weapons, not anything but popping aspirin and sleeping.
"I'm not tired," Dean complained.
"Yeah, well, you're practically green and earlier you looked like you were about to puke. We've got a few more days of driving, dude, and I don’t want you getting sick on me."
"Trust me, I wouldn’t get sick on you."
Fucking hell…Dean was grinning at him the same way he used to grin at anonymous waitresses and barmaids across the country. Sam swallowed, his mouth bitter with an acidic tang….
Maybe it was just his sick imagination but he'd swear, Dean was flirting with him.
This was not a good thing. Sam was reading too much into—into nothing. Nothing, but still his mind kept flashing into the past--to that near blowjob in the kitchen. He could see Dean, whining as he dropped to his knees with a broken, lost look…cold fingers dragging at his waist, his chin dragging over the front of Sam's jeans.
Sam shuddered. His dick stiffened, at the same time he felt a tidal wave of guilt. There was no way to deny he was thinking about it—had thought about it. What scared him more was that he wasn't even sure what turned him on about that—Dean on his knees in front of him, or Dean looking so broken, so needy. Jesus. They were a fucked pair—of that at least, he had no doubts.
Dean was out of the shower by the time Sam walked back inside the cabin, he was probably in bed already, and hopefully asleep. The kitchen-living room area was dark but for a small light over the counter in the kitchen. Sam thought about lighting a fire in the huge stone fireplace that made up almost the whole of one wall. It was a little chilly already and if he lit a fire, the loft would trap the heat rising upwards….
Dean was lying on his back in the bed, eyes open wide and staring at the ceiling…his hair was still damp, twisted into spirals against his forehead and Sam wanted to brush them back, the way Dean had always brushed Sam's bangs back and complained how long they were, too long to be safe....he bit his lip, and climbed into bed, and Dean didn't react to his presence. Maybe he was feeling that guilt too, maybe he was just getting sick.
Sam was almost falling asleep when he heard Dean whisper, "Sam," and felt his hand sliding along his arm. Sam blinked hard, moved out from under Dean's hand and turned his back to him. Didn't matter. He still felt Dean; it felt like all the hair on his body was electrified, and his whole skin was aware of Dean. Sam was knotted and cramped with a miserable frustration, he knew he'd be awake for hours, unable to sleep because…because of Dean.
Fortunately for Sam's sanity all those hours of driving, of being so constantly on the move, ganged up on him. His muscles twitched and pinged as they loosened, exhaustion and the heat pushed him down into a miserable kind of sleep.
Dean felt--smelled--something wonderful, warm, comfortable--soft skin under his hand, the feel of hard muscle under it,. Familiar. Comforting. As comforting as the smell of gun oil, grease, sweat ground into vinyl. Salt filled his mouth, wet skin under his tongue, he licked, and licked, slow, enjoying the feel of smooth and the burst of salt again…and again…again….
Sam woke up with a groan, his dick hard as iron and pressed damp against his shorts. Another long, wet lick smoothed up the back of his neck, and the little nip at the top of his spine made him shudder. He rocked back against Dean—and jerked awake.
"Dean—" Sam tried to move, but Dean had wrapped himself around him so tightly he couldn't. Dean surrounded him—the heat, the scent, the feel of Dean against him was making Sam's head swim. The incredible, amazing, frightening thing about it all was that it *felt* exactly like he dreamt it would. It *was* amazing—it was perfect--and it needed to stop. He wanted it so fucking much but—he needed to stop Dean now. This, whatever was happening, had to be a flashback, Dean was having—a nightmare, something. Sam couldn't let him do this, taking advantage this way was too fucked up and just plain wrong.
"Forget it—we both want this." Dean's hand pushed its way in under the band of his boxers, Sam instinctively arched into the touch. He wanted desperately to shove Dean's hand lower; Sam wanted to feel his fingers tangled in the coarse hair around his dick—
"Dean! We can't—"
"No. Turn around." Dean's hands were plucking at him, teasing, pulling, trying to coax him into turning. "Sam, come on, turn around. It's okay…."
Sam sobbed, "No, I can't. You'll have to—to make me—I can't move." He heard the little chuckle Dean breathed into his back, a softly whispered, "well, okay,"
Dean was a lot stronger than Sam remembered, it took very little effort for him to turn Sam until they were facing, arrange their limbs until they touched all along the length of their bodies. Sam breathed in, out, and risked opening his eyes—found himself an eyelash away from Dean's eyes and so close all he could see was a ring of emerald fire rimming huge dark pupils, so deep, and so black….
He was trapped, imprisoned…he was weak, and Dean took control.
The first touch, fingers gliding lightly over his dick, made him sigh, the second stronger, more confident touch, made him groan. Dean was whispering something Sam couldn't quite make out, but the soft fluttering of his lips against Sam's skin was thrilling, and the pull, stroke and tease of Dean's hand on his dick was maddening. Sam's hands flew up to grasp Dean's shoulders and he cried out for Dean to slow, to stop, and Dean just worked him harder.
"Sam, gonna come? You gonna come?" Sam felt Dean's dick dig into his thigh, the broad hot head felt huge, grinding into the crease of his thigh, slipping in the wet he was leaking---Sam bit his lip, wanting to live forever in that moment, and then Dean tightened his hand and pumped him, bit him, sucked at the thin skin right under his ear and it made everything Sam thought of as real and right, burn away like fog in sunlight….
It smelled like summer in the room, it smelled like steel and rust, like oil and come and sweat. Sam blinked and inhaled rapidly, was he dreaming? Was this real, he couldn't tell anymore, it was too much. Too…everything he'd ever wanted. The faint smell of wet vinyl made his dick throb…dreaming, yes, he was sure of it now. He was in the backseat of the car, dreaming he was under Dean and Dean was taking everything Sam had to give. Soft lips tickled his ear, warm breath brushed over it. Dean's voice in his ear, in his heart. "I love you. I need you. I want you."
This was what he'd wanted his whole life, why he'd begrudged Dean any moment he spent with *anyone* else, including Dad. Why he'd hated anything that came between them…and also why he'd run as far as he could from Dean. The conflicting actions made sense then. It was what he needed to do, to keep from going insane. Now…now, he was going crazy and he didn't give a shit anymore. Dean was fucking him, was going to come any minute, Sam knew that because he *knew* what Dean sounded like when he was coming. Hell, he'd spent his fucking formative years leaning against the bathroom door and *listening* to his older brother jerk off—Sam groaned and laughed like he was losing his mind and Dean joined him, laughing into Sam's neck until Sam moaned, "God, just make me come---"
Dean went still and the light in his eyes went deadly—he pushed in under Sam's chin, and bit him, hard, so hard. Any shred of control Sam had left fled—he fucked his brother's hand like it was the last thing he'd ever do in life, spread his legs to trap Dean's hips, let him rub against him faster, slicker, and harder. Sam was so close to coming, biting down on his hand to strangle the shout that wanted out—
Dean groaned, "There's no one to hear but you and me, stupid," and Sam came, screaming until his throat gave out. "Yeah, like that—"Dean gasped and came with him, spilling fast and hot against Sam's belly, his lips moving against Sam's neck. Sam came back to himself and realized that what Dean was murmuring into his skin was one word, repeated until he finally drifted off.
"Yours, yours, yours."
part 19
TBC
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(no subject)
5/20/09 12:25 am (UTC)Very hot, and so intense. More than a tad on the wrong side, but all the better for it.
Nicely done, darling :)
(no subject)
5/20/09 01:12 am (UTC)Thank you so much!!!!!!