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Fic: Being:Sentient - A SPN/Anita Blake ‘verse xover
In this sequel to Being:Sexual, I continue to butcher the rules of both the Supernatural and Anita Blake:Vampire Hunter universes to suit my nefarious plans, so no need for the “That’s not how it happens you h0r!” comments. I know. If it helps, think of it as an AU in both worlds.
Playing fast and loose with the rules of both worlds again. The Ardeur is upon Dean again and Jason isn’t around to help.
Nope. There would be no talking about St. Louis. Sam was pretty sure of that. He’d tried a couple of times and been cut off faster than a syphilitic whore.
Not that he was really anxious to discuss what had occurred behind those locked doors at Guilty Pleasures. The thing was, if he asked Dean questions, that gave his brother carte blanche to ask Sam stuff right back. Stuff Sam was fervently praying Dean was still clueless about.
No, best to leave sleeping dogs lie this time. Sam didn’t need the gory details that badly. Thanks to Jason, before and after, he was privy to the bare-bone facts. Dean had mysteriously fallen victim to a malady known as the ardeur. He’d been a bit vague about why Dean, in particular, had been targeted, but they now knew it had something to do with Anita and her powers and it happening to be within three days of the full moon.
Sam could still hear the ring of Jason’s voice as he’d watched from his post at the door while Dean gathered his clothing. “You must be a pretty powerful sexual being, Dean, for the ardeur to pick you.”
As far as Sam was concerned, it was all a very some hunters seem to have these powers thing and he was just glad his own powers only involved visions of death, followed closely by a splitting headache. He had thought it somewhat strange that Dean didn’t do his usual snooping around to get answers to all his questions, be them of a sexual nature or not, but figured if he’d been the one whammied then fucked by a strange (albeit sexy as hell) guy…well, he probably wouldn’t be wanting to stick around either.
Giving off some kind of aura that makes everyone around you (or at least the highly sexed) horny enough to actually suffer? Well, that was a whole knew level of sadistic as far as he was concerned. He mentally labeled Anita Blake the bitch he hoped he never saw again.
The worst part of it was that Sam knew, once the initial shock had worn off and Dean’d put enough distance between them and Missouri, that he’d never ever never fucking hear the end of the fact that Dean’s sexual nature was strong enough for him to ride the waves of this ardeur.
As if he needed to be reminded.
Jason’s phone number had finally burned a hole in the back pocket of Dean’s faded jeans. It had remained folded in the side pocket of his wallet, along with a condom and three or four other numbers he hadn’t memorized but were too important not to have handy.
He’d pulled out his cell four times since their visit to St. Louis, the well-creased scrap of paper pinched between his fingers while he dialed all but the last number. Then, at the last minute, stuffed it back in his pocket like the big, fat chicken he was.
Dean’s forefinger rested on the button, finally ready to make the connection. More than ready to get some answers now that it seemed the ardeur wasn’t done with him yet.
“Hey, didja get a lead?” Dean jerked his finger back when Sam yanked the Impala’s door open and bowled into the car like an out-of-control semi.
He slammed the phone shut and crumbled the paper in his palm before gripping the steering wheel, grimacing at his brother.
“Can you be easy there, Bigfoot? She’s not as young as she used to be.”
Sam rolled his head away from Dean, probably so he wouldn’t see him rolling his eyes. “Whatever, dude,” Sam said.
Sam shifted and sat up straighter, then turned in the seat toward Dean. “So, did you get the number of that priestess in Manco that Dad told us about? S’at who you were calling?”
Dean took a deep breath, held it for three seconds, then exhaled, all while Sam was chattering at him like a wind-up doll.. With Jason’s number still palmed in his hand, he used it to stuff his cell back in his jacket, along with the paper.
“She wasn’t listed, or at least not under the name Dad gave us.”
Sam already had the ever-present map unfolded across his knees. “There’s a town large enough to have a motel about 30 miles north.” He tilted his head out the window, judging the sun’s position. “Not much use staying on the road when we could be researching her in a room. Are you sure Dad said her name was Macy? I thought he said Maizy.”
Dean was hardly listening. He was all too aware of how low the sun sat. For the last two nights, the closer it had gotten to moon-rise, the more his body ached with a longing he recognized as the beginning of the ardeur. It’d been almost a month since they’d put St. Louis behind them. Jason hadn’t said anything about a repeat performance.
It didn’t help that he and Sam had been in each other’s well-worn pockets for the last week and the only privacy he was allowed was in the shower. The thing was, self-gratification just wasn’t cutting it. As soon as they’d checked in last night Dean called dibs on the shower, already looking forward to the relief his own two hands were about to bring.
Right hand tight on his dick, image of Jason sucking him in deep, all the way down. Only thing was, Jason’s face kept flickering in and out, trading places with Sam, and that made Dean’s hand stutter and lose the rhythm several times.
Even when he’d brought in reinforcements, sliding the soapy fingers of his left hand as far as he could reach up his ass… nope. The frustration of earlier was only compounded by the time the water turned cold.
How about: He was fucked. Or wished he was. Whatever.
While Sam was in the bathroom the next morning, Dean finally worked up the nerve to call Jason. He couldn’t put it off…for all the good it did him. Jason left more questions unanswered than not, but it had boiled down to the fact that for reasons he could not (or would not ) disclose, he couldn’t leave St. Louis, even for a few days. And no, going the masturbation route was cheating and the ardeur knew it.
“God damnit, Jason, I can’t do this alone. I’m in the middle of nowhere, I know no one!” Dean hated the desperation that leaked through gritted teeth.
“Hey Dude, you’re so not alone.” Dean didn’t remember Jason sounding so… perky. But then, they hadn’t really sat down and had a proper conversation the last time he’d seen him, either.
The silence beat across the satellite signal that connected them. Jason seemed to be waiting for Dean to figure it out.
“No!” Dean cast a quick glance at the closed bathroom door, but the sound of running water assured Dean his outburst had probably gone unnoticed. “He’s my brother, Jason. You’re more insane than that bunch you hang out with at the club.”
Dean could almost hear Jason smile. “I think you’ll be pretty surprised, my friend, if you just tell Sam what’s up. He’s cool, Dean.” Another pause. “He’ll be cool with it. Remember that night? Do you remember anything other than the ardeur and us fucking?”
Dean was hella confused. What the fuck was Jason talking about? “Fine.”
Jason seemed to take Dean’s bitterness in stride and Dean could have sworn he heard a soft chuckle.
“Yeah, fine, buddy,” Jason quipped. “You’ll do just fine. Just trust him, ok? You won’t be making him do anything he doesn’t want to.”
Beep and silence.
Dean glared at his cell phone like he could will Jason to reconnect and tell him exactly what he needed to do with this thing looming over him. But Jason had hung up on him, the bastard. This was so unfair.
And now the ardeur was becoming a force he couldn’t ignore, couldn’t will away. He was strong, but not that strong. Though he’d hardly even admitted it to himself, much less Jason, what they’d done that night in Guilty Pleasures wasn’t the only thing Dean remembered. Through the haze of lust and need, Dean knew Sam had watched over him, guarding his big brother while he was so vulnerable, so needy.
Dean also remembered that Sam had been pretty obviously affected by watching Dean fucking another man — dirty, filthy sex words pouring out of his mouth as he let a stranger suck his cock and begged to do more. Not that they’d ever discussed it.
So when Sam came out of the shower, damp-heavy towel slung low around his hips, Dean almost whimpered. Almost.
Instead, he delved under the covers of his bed to hide the growing evidence of the ardeur and huffed in frustration as he pounded his pillow into submission. Once curled up and out of sight, he reached down and pressed hard against his cock, trying to turn the yearning ache into a real pain he could ignore. If he had to, he’d just stay in bed until it was over. It couldn’t kill him, right?
Fuck, he’d forgotten to ask Jason what would happen if he didn’t feed this consuming hunger tonight. The full moon.
Now the moon was rising and the fire of the ardeur trailed through his blood and Dean thought he might combust right here in their room. He’d sent Sam out to get dinner, hoping he could manage to get his shit under control before he returned. He should have just gotten in the Impala and left.
Dean’d just thought the last couple of nights had been bad. He had no fucking idea whatsoever how he was going to control himself tonight. The memory of sexual desire, smothering him like a hundred yards of silk with burning need, made him shiver. Fuck, he sounded (and felt) like a bodice-ripper romance novel.
Sam was worried about Dean.
He didn’t need a fucking vision to know something was wrong – really wrong with his brother. And now that he knew what it was… damn Dean for the stubborn jackass he was. Every time Sam tried to question him Dean’d either come back with tons of snark and zip information, or even worse, ignored him. He had really hoped Dean would come clean, ask for his help or something. Sam should have known he’d have to take matters into his own hands when it came to Dean.
He balanced the two Styrofoam containers and tray of coffee cups with the bag containing a six-pack and two cokes. Sam had just enough time to rap hard twice on their room door before having to grab at the cups, threatening to tip over out of their flimsy cardboard tray.
“Come on, Dean, open up. I’m gonna drop your dinner here.” Nothing.
Sam set the food down on the sidewalk, pulled the room key out of his jacket and fiddled with the moisture-swollen door until it banged open. He peered into the dimness, barely making out the lump of his brother huddled beneath a felt-pilled blanket. And no wonder. He had the freaking air conditioner turned down to 60.
“God damn it, Dean. You couldn’t get your lazy ass up to open the door for me? Next time go get your own dinner. And if you want it hot, you better come get it because this refrigerator of a room is going to cool it down to subzero.”
Chucking the key onto the dresser, Sam turned back to get their food and beer, kicked the door shut and practically slung the containers down onto the Formica tabletop. By the time he’d pulled off his jacket, toed off his boots and opened his own BLT and fries, it occurred to him that Dean hadn’t done more than shift a bit under the covers since he’d come in.
“Dean?” His brother could be the biggest pain in his ass ever, but he seldom let Sam yell at him without some sort of retort. “You sick, man?” Sam could barely make out the slight shrug of the blanket before Dean’s muffled voice instructed him to “Fuck off.”
“Do you think I don’t know what’s happening? God. How can you be so dense!”
Dean flopped over to face his brother, putting on his best scowl. “Would you just leave me the fuck alone? God, you’re such a pain in my fucking ass,” Dean huffed.
Sam’s harsh laugh rang loudly in the close space of their room. “Dude. You might know the best way to clean and dress a werebear, but you don’t know fuck about me if you don’t think I’ve figured out what’s going on.”
“Oh really, college boy?” The accompanying sneer made Sam step back and raise a hand to stop any further verbal abuse.
Nodding his head slowly, Sam inched back toward the bed. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “really.”
He approached Dean as he would a shy animal. He sat gingerly on the side of the bed, his hand creeping to the edge of the blanket Dean’d kept up to his neck all day. Sam felt that any sudden move on his part would spook Dean like the wild creature he resembled right now.
Dean’s eyes burned and Sam ached to reach out and touch his face, to feel his heated flesh – offer some comfort. A thin sheen of perspiration made Dean’s cheeks glisten and Sam thought it had to be his imagination that Dean’s lips appeared fuller as his brother lay back into the nest of pillows, panting lightly.
“I called Jason.”
Dean stopped his breathy gasps and froze, fixing his overbright eyes on Sam like he was weighing his options on how to best take him down.
“When you wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, I started doing a bit of investigating.” Sam couldn’t stop the little bit of smirk that curled his lips. “It’s what we – what I do – Dean. He was the last number you called on your cell.”
Sam willed Dean to let him help. “I know what you need. I’m here for you.”
Dean’s arm appeared from under the layers of covers and it looked like he was going to reach for Sam — before he stilled and yanked his hand back as if burned. “Just go away and I’ll be ok tomorrow. It’s just a fever.”
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
Sam’s grip on the blanket tightened; he stood and yanked the covers back at the same time, revealing Dean’s flushed nakedness. And his supremely hard dick.
“Fuck you, Sam!” Dean yelled hoarsely. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He scrambled for the sheet, tangled around his ankles now. The blanket was already on the floor.
“I’m trying to help you, but first you have to let me.” Sam willed his voice to drop to a soothing monotone and held his hands up innocently. “Dean, I’ve seen what this does to you. How it affects you.” He slowly returned to his place on the edge of the mattress, reaching out now to halt Dean’s mad scramble off the bed. Out of touching range.
His fingertips grazed Dean’s bare hip and he felt the heat flare up his arm. “Stop it, Dean.”
Dean stopped his struggle with the sheet, momentarily frozen in time when Sam touched him. Sam heard him inhale sharply, then let it out with a low moan.
“God, Sam. Don’t touch me,” he pleaded.
Sam’s gaze followed Dean’s hand, thrust between his legs, as if he could hide the evidence. He must have realized how stupid that was and Sam’s breath caught when he saw Dean shove at his erection hard before pulling his hand away and just sit against the pillows, fists clenched and eyes wide, still ready to bolt with a second’s provocation.
Sam saw the blood seep under Dean’s nails as he dug them into his palms and grabbed a hold of his wrists and squeezed. “You can’t stop it. And you can’t fight it…at least not alone. You know what Jason said. The ardeur has to be fed.”
Sam pulled Dean’s stiff body to him, easing the pressure on his wrists but not letting go. When their faces were just inches apart he whispered low and slow into his brother’s ear. “We’ll feed it together.”
It was the moist heat of Sam’s breathy words in his ear that was Dean’s undoing. His hips arched up, his mouth fell open and he closed his eyes against the images of what he wanted to do to Sam. His whole body was reacting, not only to Sam’s words, but to the feel of his fingers wrapped around Dean’s sweaty wrists as he first pulled Dean to him, then supported him.
It’s what they did for each other. What they’d always done.
Dean relaxed his fists and slowly flexed his fingers, ignoring the burn of where his nails had cut into the skin. He moistened his lips, letting his tongue linger over his front teeth, and leaned forward, already feeling the force of the ardeur having its way with him.
He knew he was pouncing on Sam, like a feral cat on a mouse, but he couldn’t stop. His mouth latched onto Sam’s neck as he sucked and licked and bit all around Sam’s jaw before pulling his wrists free and holding Sam’s face firmly between his hands.
Dean stared into Sam’s eyes, looking for some sign that this was a rape, but all he saw was desire, if not as strong as what coursed through his own veins, then at least as welcome.
A fresh wave of lust washed over Dean and he mashed their mouths together, teeth clacking. Sam opened his mouth and Dean felt like he could actually crawl inside of him and be washed clean of all the dirtiness inside.
“I’m sorry…so sorry, Sam.” He pulled Sam to him, letting all the regret and apologies he couldn’t voice speak through the kiss.
Sam’s answer was to stroke along the length of Dean’s body, brushing with fingertips and scraping with nails, until his fingers were combing through the wiry, moist hairs between Dean’s legs.
Dean let go of Sam’s face to slap a hand down on his brother’s with a smack of skin. He pulled Sam’s hand away, then brought it back, wrapping their twined fingers around his dick and squeezing hard.
With eyes closed now and his hand showing Sam the rhythm he wanted, Dean fell back against the pillows and sighed. “Want you naked, Sammy. Want to feel your bare skin…every inch. Need…wanna taste you.” He could hear his words begin to slur with lust.
If Sam’s moan was any indication, he wanted the same thing. Dean thinks they both whined a little when Sam stood up to strip out of his clothes in record time.
The bed shifted and Dean slitted his eyes open, watching through his lashes as Sam crawled up from the foot of the bed, all hard lines and flat planes of tanned skin. He batted lightly at Dean’s hand, wrapped tightly around his hard-on.
“I’m here now, Dean. It’s ok.” Soothing words washed over Dean, not cooling the ardeur, but rather easing the fear that this would never end and his life would never be the same. With Sam there to help, he could do it.
Dean thought maybe he was drooling a little at the sight of Sam’s balls swinging lazily between his legs as he kneeled over Dean, knees parted for balance. He swallowed and wiped at his mouth before he could talk.
“God, Sam. So beautiful. I have to touch you. Can I…?”
And before he could finish, Sam was over him, lying across Dean’s flushed body in a way that had them touching, chest to knees.
“All you want. Always wanted you to…”
Sam words trailed off, as he decided there were better uses for his mouth. He laved across Dean’s nipples until they pebbled up, then caught them between his teeth and tugged until Dean was literally writhing beneath him, his legs shifting restlessly as he tried to wrap them around Sam’s hips.
“Shhhh. Shhhhh. I’ve got you.” Sam continued his journey south, stopping to swirl his tongue in the dip of Dean’s belly, then running nails along the treasure trail of hair that led to Dean’s cock, now poking at Sam’s chin.
A scene from the club flashed through his memory and Sam remembered how Jason had spoken to Dean. And how Dean had reacted.
“Gonna suck you now, baby. God, you smell so good. Like lust and dirty sex.” Sam buried his nose in the nest of dark curls and rubbed his cheek against Dean’s dick before licking the head then mouthing at it with carefully covered teeth.
Dean grunted and thrust up, giving Sam no time to back off. Before Sam could wrap a hand around the base, Dean’s cock was down his throat and Sam was gagging until his eyes teared and he had to sit back until the coughing ceased.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry, Sam. Sammy. Are you ok?” It seemed the sight of his brother choking on his cock was enough to temporarily make Dean forget his own predicament, but Sam recovered quickly and was back between his brother’s legs, this time licking and stroking a bit more carefully.
“’m fine.” Sam grinned crookedly, this time laying a hand flat across Dean’s stomach, fingers splayed, while jacking him with the other and sucking as much as he could into his mouth.
A moment later, Dean’s whole body tensed and he reared up beneath Sam’s hands and came hard and loudly. Caught off guard, Sam swallowed what he could and let the rest dribble down his chin and around Dean’s still hard erection.
That first climax might have taken the edge off for Dean, but it only made Sam more eager. He was tasting Dean, kissing him, loving him – doing more than even his dreams had allowed him to hope.
Sam allowed himself free reign as he licked the last traces of Dean’s orgasm from his stomach before tracing patterns with his tongue along and around Dean’s balls until they rested against his forehead and he was surrounded by the scent of nothing but animal musk, sex and more Dean than he’d ever known.
When Dean curled a hand behind Sam’s neck and tugged him up, Sam eagerly scooted up, dragging his body along Dean’s until their cocks nestled together and he covered Dean’s lips with open-mouthed, sloppy kisses.
“Taste yourself? Your come in my mouth – so good,” Sam moaned and shoved his tongue in Dean’s mouth, scraping across his teeth and nipping at his bottom lip in case Dean didn’t get the point, which seemed to be just fine by Dean.
Oh God, he’d forgotten the beast. Dean thought he’d imagined the memory of teeth and claws and a growing hunger – not for sex, but food. Sex was the food.
Once more he felt the growing urgency to sink his teeth into the tender flesh all around him, lap at warm blood until he climaxed again. Dean scrunched his eyes shut and shuddered beneath Sam, pushing the beast back down until he could trust himself to wrap Sam in his arms, knowing he would not hurt him.
“Dean.” Sam’s face was inches above his now and he tried hard to focus on his words. “What do you need? What do you want?”
He wanted to bite and lick and fuck and wallow in Sam. He settled for a low growl before flipping them over in a way that left Sam’s legs splayed open so he could lay between them, grinding down like he wanted to meld right into Sam.
Sam grunted but spread his legs wider and rocked up into Dean’s erection, letting Dean clasp him loosely by the wrists and pull them over his head until Dean heard Sam’s nails scratch against the headboard.
“Fuck me,” Sam gasped. “Take me like you need it, Dean. Do it.”
The beast let out a loud roar and Dean bit down on Sam’s shoulder, drawing blood, which was quickly lapped up before moving down, sucking, biting, laving his tongue. Dean buried his nose in the light hairs beneath Sam’s upraised arm and inhaled sharply.
“Gotta be in you, Sammy. Please… I’m so sorry.”
And at the same time Dean was begging his brother’s forgiveness his hand was reaching between Sam’s legs, stroking along the sweaty crease of his ass. “Please tell me you have lube.”
The first time Dean could tell Sam was pretty uncomfortable. His erection faded to half-mast, but he refused to release his hold on Dean. Sam’s ankles locked around Dean’s spine, holding him tightly and letting a stream of dirty sex talk flow out of his mouth.
“Don’t you dare!” Sam pulled Dean down to kiss him. When Dean tried to resist, Sam tightened his muscles and tilted his hips to shove Dean deeper inside him. “Fuck me, Dean,” he commanded.
Dean was helpless against this onslaught, all the while the beast inside howled its pleasure, and soon he couldn’t even hear Sam any longer. Dean’s whole being existed to feed the hunger and quench the ardeur. His hips pistoned roughly against Sam’s ass and he was vaguely aware of Sam’s death grip on his forearms, keeping him grounded up to the moment his second orgasm spilled over him and into his brother.
Dean collapsed atop Sam, panting, tongue lolling out like a big satisfied dog. His skin still buzzed with the ardeur, partially sated but far from finished. Dean was pretty sure the first time had not been this bad.
Sam grunted and wiggled beneath him, trying to squirm around into a comfortable position. Dean raised up and rolled over, allowing the cool air-conditioned air to sweep over both their sweating bodies.
“I hope you’re not done.” Sam’s voice sounded like he’d chewed and swallowed oyster shells.
Dean let his head loll to the side and caught his breath as blood began to fill his cock again. Just looking at Sam’s face, open and wanting, was enough to have him ready again.
“Not on your life…or your ass. God, Sam…” Dean sucked his lower lip between his teeth, knowing Sam didn’t want him to apologize again, but feeling he needed to say something. Make sure it was all still okay between them.
Sam’s simple smile, shallow dimples creasing his face, was enough – for now.
“I want you to fuck me.”
Sam’s eyes widened and Dean noticed he wasn’t having any trouble flying at full-mast now. “Are you sure?” Sam moistened his lips and leaned toward his brother. “Dean?”
“I want to feel you, too, Sammy. If… If you want to.”
Sam reached down to the floor for the lube, groping around a bit until he found the small tube under one of the pillows that hadn’t managed to stay on the bed. He turned back to Dean and sat up on his knees.
“Roll over?” The question, spoken soft and tentatively, flamed the ardeur and Dean couldn’t believe he could possibly be so ready to go again.
He raised his face for one more deep kiss before flipping over onto his knees, offering himself to Sam.
Sam’s slick fingers hovered over the heated skin of Dean’s hip. He dragged callused fingers over the smooth globes of Dean’s ass, gaining confidence until he was massaging the firm flesh, working his thumb toward the center with each stroke.
“Come on, Sam!” Dean’s voice was strained, his breath loud in the room, even over the rattling gasps of the AC. He squirmed beneath Sam’s hands, maneuvering himself so that Sam’s fingers pressed into him. Another five minutes passed and he was still at only two fingers and Dean growled.
“I…I don’t want to hurt you.”
“God damn it! Fuck. Me. Sam. I want it. I want to feel your cock sliding right up my ass. Do it, already!”
And Sam did. He centered his cock, which he was pretty sure could hammer nails, at Dean’s entrance and realized he just couldn’t go slow anymore.
When he was lined up, Sam tried to ease through the tight muscles. Had every intention of taking it easy. However, once the flared head of his cock slipped in, Dean took matters into his own hands and leaned back on Sam’s dick in one smooth, steady move.
“God! Yes!” Sam was reduced to monosyllables; Dean had gone totally primal.
Dean fucked himself on Sam until Sam gripped him by the hips and held him mostly immobile as he finally got it. With his fingers digging into Dean’s hip hard enough to guarantee bruises, Sam slammed into Dean’s ass then slowly pulled out until the head of his dick just rested inside the clenched ring of muscle. Then he rammed himself to the root until his balls slapped between Dean’s legs.
The room filled with animal rutting sounds and neither brother was aware of anything but the place between them where they were joined — a physical symbol of what they’d always meant to each other.
When Sam felt his climax swell, he dug his nails harder and pushed forward, mouthing Dean’s shoulder blade and chewing at his neck. He whispered a soft chant of “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” in Dean’s ear until his face contorted from one final thrust and he felt warm come backing out, flowing down Dean’s legs and his own.
Sam blinked the rivulets of sweat out of his eyes and shoved his damp hair back, never letting his mouth leave Dean’s skin. His legs quivered from the aftermath of adrenaline and physical exertion.
Dean’s shifting movements became more frantic. Sam slid off to the side and pulled his brother over. Dean’s hand was jacking himself fast, hard and rough. He looked desperate to come. Without the weight of Sam holding him down, Dean’s whole body tensed and now arched up, as if that would make it better…faster.
“I’m here. Still gotcha,” Sam murmured and replaced Dean’s hand with his own. “Gonna be good, Dean.” His stroke was slower than Dean’s. He ended the long pull up the length of Dean’s cock with a rough brush across the crown and a smooth twist before moving his hand back down. The steady rhythm seemed to calm his brother somewhat, so Sam maneuvered himself between Dean’s legs and took a few seconds to admire the look of him, sprawled and wanton, wanting and needing Sam like he’d never felt before.
With his other hand, Sam ran a nail along the inside of Dean’s thighs, dragging along slick skin until he could massage the firm flesh behind his balls, slipping his fingers once more inside Dean, the way made easy by come and sweat.
“Come on, baby. Come for me now. Gonna be so good.” Sam continued a stream of encouragement and nonsensical words, caught up in the magic of finally being able to do the things he’d only dreamed of till tonight.
When Dean finally came, it actually looked painful to Sam. Red stains around his mouth told Sam Dean’d bitten his bottom lip which was still caught between his teeth. His neck was corded with taunt muscles and the strain of his orgasm, while his fists clenched the messy sheets in a white-knuckled death grip.
“God, yeah. So fucking beautiful.”
Sam slipped his fingers free and began massaging along Dean’s thigh, still milking the last bit of come from his finally softening cock. When he looked up again, Dean’s eyes were fixed on him, intense but not so bright anymore.
He couldn’t tell if it was regret, gratitude or simple awe – or possibly a combination of all. Sam knew Dean considered the ardeur a curse, and maybe it was. But for him, it had unlocked a door between them that he wasn’t about to let close again.
All he could do now was show Dean, the only way he could, what that meant to him.
When Dean turned the car onto the highway, headed back the way they’d come, Sam frowned and checked the map again.
“Where are we going now? We still have that job to do for Dad?”
“We’re going back to St. Louis.”
Sam waited for more, but apparently Dean had said all he was going to for the time being. But Sam understood. He knew as well as Dean that this could happen again — probably would — and they needed more answers, more information. And there was only one place to get them.
“You’re not fucking Jason again,” was all Sam said before slipping his sunglasses on and laying his head back to enjoy the ride.
Continued in Being: Scared