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Pairing: Sam/Dean, implied past Dean/Jason (the werewolf)
Word Count: ~7000
Disclaimer: I get nothing but a smile from Supernatural and its characters, which rightfully belong to Kripke and co.
Summary: More adventures of Sam, Dean and the Ardeur. Sequel to Being: Sexual and Being: Sentient, all crossovers with the Anita Blake ‘verse (sans the Anita).
Author’s notes: Reading previous stories in this ‘verse is not prerequisite, but will no doubt help. Besides, I think they’re hot. The Wiki entry for the ardeur may help if you’re coming in mid-stream. Also, major props go to the wonderful Poisontaster who made me write this RIGHT. She so deserves chocolate!
Dean managed to lose Sam just north of Oklahoma City. And damn if Sam hadn’t made it easy as pie for him.
Early that morning…
Sam drummed a beat on the steering wheel from the song in his head. The thundering downpour outside provided backup. He’d give Dean one more minute, then he was going in. It didn’t matter that he knew what Dean was doing in there. It didn’t matter that Dean would be mortified if he knew Sam knew. This was just getting ridiculous and pathetic. It was their fifth stop in twelve hours and Dean didn’t look any closer to having this thing under control than he had the month before.
When he judged Dean had had enough time to take care of business, he strode across the parking lot, getting drenched before he was ten feet from the Impala. He banged on the dented metal door, adding a couple more to the collection.
“Dean!” Bam! Bam! “Come on, dude. We need to get a move on so we can make St. Louis before full moon.”
A grandfatherly looking man crossed the lot to his truck, shooting Sam an odd look. Sam leaned his forehead against the door and lowered his voice. “Dean, come on.”
St. Louis had never seemed so far away. Ridiculous circumstances and frustrating delays made it seem like Fate was conspiring to keep Dean from the relative safety of Guilty Pleasures. And Sam wasn’t worried in the least that Dean could handle this on his own. Nope. Not a bit.
Dean didn’t even acknowledge Sam’s abuse of the door. Fine. He marched into the store to get another key, telling the clerk he thought he heard his brother puking. He tried not to think about what was happening to Dean. As it turned out, he didn’t have anything to worry about. When he returned, key in hand, the bathroom was empty, window gaping like an admission. And who put a goddamned window at shoulder level in a gas station bathroom?
“He’s getting such an ass whipping.”
Now Sam is about as pissed off as he’s ever been at his brother.
“He’s getting such an ass whipping,” Sam mutters as he approaches the warped blue motel room door. Not even waiting to see if Dean will let him in, Sam drops his duffle on the sidewalk and squats down in front of the doorknob. He has the lock picked in less than thirty seconds.
“It’s me,” Sam yells as he eases the door open…only to have it ripped from his hand and slung back to bang against the wall. Dean stands in the doorway holding his gun with both hands, aiming it at what would have been head-height on a normal person. On Sam, the barrel is leveled straight at his heart.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean grinds the words between his teeth, spitting out each syllable. But it isn’t so much Dean’s words as the barely perceptible quivering of Dean’s Beretta pointed at Sam’s chest that tells him all he needs to know.
Sam backs up a step, but adrenaline is a fire that licks at his muscles and boils his blood; he can’t just stand still while Dean–who is at least alive, if not totally okay–holds a gun on him. Sam steps in and blocks upward, knocking Dean’s arms toward the ceiling. The gun goes flying from Dean’s grip, skittering across the floor and under the bed, thankfully without going off.
Sam should have never been able to throw down on Dean like that.
Disarming Dean should be enough, but the last few hours have felt like years and Sam’s building frustration peaks and froths over as he rushes Dean, pushing him back into the room. When next Sam blinks, he’s got Dean spun around and pressed up against the moldy smelling wallpaper.
“Fuck you too, asshole. What do you think I’m doing? Saving your sorry ass…again.”
Sam leans in so that the gruff words are spoken right up against Dean’s ear. He’s expecting a fight of epic proportions from his brother and automatically braces himself. What he gets is a whine from low in Dean’s throat, like a wounded dog.
With the side of Dean’s face mashed into the wall just inches away, Sam sees how Dean’s freckles stand out in stark contrast to the unnatural paleness of his skin. Dean’s eyes are squeezed shut, but it only makes the blue-black smudges of darkness beneath them stand out more vividly. Dean catches his dry and cracking bottom lip between his teeth but Sam can still hear the whimpers of need.
Oh God, what am I doing?
Sam stumbles back, releasing Dean so abruptly he sways against the wall before turning slowly to face Sam again.
“Dean… I’m sorry.” Sam holds a hand out that Dean shrinks from. He’s watching Sam warily, but Sam can still read the hunger behind his dark, angry gaze.
Dean ignores the apology. “I don’t need saving. Can’t you ever just fucking leave things alone?”
Sam clenches his hands at his sides, even though he wants to rub the vein throbbing in his temple. His head aches like a mother, but he tries to put on his best façade of calm anyway.
He relaxes a bit when Dean sighs and walks to the still gaping door. Dean picks up Sam’s bag and slings it into the room. When he’s closed and locked the door, Dean stands with his feet akimbo and arms crossed over his chest. Waiting.
“That’s rich coming from you. I’ll leave you alone when you leave me alone.” God, he sounds like a five year old. “When are you going to realize we’re in this together? So, I’m thinking the answer to your question is oh…never.” Sam rolls his eyes and stares into Dean’s defiant face.
Dean moves to the bed, fingers clasping the footboard so tightly his knuckles make stark white splotches against the tanned skin of his hands. It looks like it’s a chore just for Dean to remain upright. Fuck this shit.
He presses right into Dean’s personal space again. When Sam pokes a finger at his chest, Dean flinches a second time before swiping damp hands through his hair then scrubbing over his face.
“Look at you! You’re wrecked, Dean. And what do you do? Run off…No! You <i>sneak</i> off making me chase your punk-ass halfway across the Midwest. And I sure as hell ain’t gonna let you act like a fucking martyr, now.”
The remaining adrenaline is finally finding an outlet and Sam can’t decide if he wants to hold Dean, punch him…or fuck him.
“I’m going to fight it, Sam. I have to. I can’t let it win again.”
Sam’s ire eases as he searches his brother’s face. Judging by his red-rimmed eyes, Dean’s obviously not slept and Sam’s never seen Dean look so vulnerable, standing there, chewing on nails already bitten down to the quick. Basically, Dean looks ready to crumble and Sam automatically reaches out to steady him. Dean’s reaction is swift and urgent.
“Don’t!” Dean’s voice holds real fear and panic; Sam drops his arm when Dean sidesteps and slides past him to the far side of the bed, careful not to touch. And still Sam has no idea what he’s going to do. He hasn’t thought past find Dean; a vague idea of riding to the rescue, being there for Dean…being what he needs.
Time wasn’t too long ago that Sam honestly thought Dean could want something between them as much as Sam did. When his touches lingered a bit too long for brotherly concern, or he looked at Sam in a way that had him instantly hard and taking extra long showers. But now…
“Don’t touch me. I can’t…” Dean falls heavily onto the edge of the bed and drops his head into his hands.
“I know.” Sam’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I know you can’t, Dean. That’s why I’m here.” The relief Sam felt at finding Dean, is being replaced by a resurgence of the helplessness he felt throughout the search.
Sam had left a shattered bathroom mirror behind at the gas station, then—with no idea how he was going to track Dean down—he’d sat at a rest area 100 miles down the road, trying to think his way through it.
Pulling out his cell phone, Sam could think of only one person who might come close to understanding what was happening with his brother. One person he could talk to. Sam punched in Jason’s work number at Guilty Pleasures.
Jason, who’d immediately recognized the Ardeur for what it was, that night in St. Louis. Jason had known what Dean needed and had given it to him. And now this Ardeur had turned into a curse that was following Dean every full moon with no end in sight.
Sam had seen what it did to his brother. Up close and personal. There was no way Dean could live through this if he didn’t have … someone. First it had been Jason, then Sam. And Sam was determined there would never be anyone else.
“Dean’s run off, gone to ground,” Sam said quickly when Jason answered, pitching his voice over the loud throbbing bass pounding in the background. “It’s almost the full fucking moon and he’s alone and I have no goddamn idea what’s going to happen to him.” Sam was babbling, but couldn’t stop. His head pounded in time with the beat and his eyes burned from too many hours staring at the road.
“Sam, dude, slow down.” Even though Jason was yelling over the noise too, his voice was soothing, calm. “You can find him. You know you can.”
“Huh?” Sam felt numb. “I don’t…I don’t know where he is. Where he’d go.” His voice cracked and he covered his phone with one hand and coughed.
“Yes. You can, Sam. Try. There’s nothing I can do from here, but you and Dean…you have a connection. You can find him if you want to.”
Sam wasn’t sure Jason’s reassurances made him feel any more optimistic about finding his brother, but nevertheless, he’d sat in the car and meditated until he had a clear picture of Dean’s location. Five hours later he pulled into the town where Dean was holed up.
About time he made that psychic shit work for him.
Now that he’s here, seeing Dean like this again, all he can think about is getting him through it in one piece.
“I’m going to help you.” Sam spreads his hands in a helpless gesture belying his words.
Dean snorts and looks up, then lets his eyes slide away to stare out the window. “Like you helped last time, Sam?”
“You can hate it…you can even hate me, Dean, but it got you through this Ardeur then and we can do it again. God, you’re so fucking stubborn. And hypocritical. Since when is who you have sex with such a big deal?”
“Uh, only when it’s with my brother.”
“So, if we weren’t related, how bad would it be? You can’t always play the Big Brother. Sometimes that’s not what I want. I used to think, maybe, not what you wanted, either.”
Dean doesn’t deny Sam’s words. He just looks like maybe he’s ready to go at it again and Sam braces himself, just in case. He just wishes he knew what to say to get Dean over the brother hang up. He remembers the awkwardness between them that seemed to go on for days after the last moon.
Sam knows that in his heart Dean realizes it’s not his fault, that the Ardeur has to be fed, but he’d hardly spoken to Sam and had refused to look him in the eye for a week. He hadn’t even given Sam the chance to explain how he felt about things. And that’s the clincher. Sam does have feelings about it. Strong ones and they seem to be the opposite of Dean’s.
Yeah, there’s guilt; not just about wanting his brother that way, but for taking advantage of Dean’s need, when the Ardeur came tumbling back into their lives. Sam convinced Dean it was okay, but he knew as soon as it was over, that it wasn’t. Not for Dean, anyway. Their easy going relationship had changed overnight.
“Dean, just let me help…one more time.” Sam puts his whole being into the plea. If he can get Dean past the crisis, he’ll promise anything. They’ll go on to St. Louis as planned, find some answers, do what they can.
“Sam, I can’t do that to you…to us.”
Sam wants to scream at Dean. Tell him he’s not doing anything to Sam. That the only person he’s hurting is himself.
He’d agreed with Dean after the last time that they should head back to Jason and Guilty Pleasures and try to find a clearer explanation of what this Ardeur was, hopefully figure out how to end it.
Then he’d blown it big time.
Three days from the full moon and Dean was packing up for the ride to Missouri. Sam had just returned from the laundromat with their clean clothes.
“You know, we could leave in the morning. There’s no hurry.” Sam dumped the clothes on the bed and began pairing socks.
Dean continued stuffing clothes in his duffle. “Maybe you don’t remember, but last time this thing hit, you made a big old deal about not going with strangers. So this time I’m not. Jason’ll be there.”
Sam stopped sorting and slung the sock in his hand across the bed. “We handled it just fine. If we don’t make it to St. Louis before the full moon, we can handle it again.”
Dean had skipped out the next day.
Sam’s tempted to just tie Dean to the bed to save him the worry.
“Tie me up.”
Sam shakes his head and stares at Dean, not sure he’s heard right. “Huh?”
Dean makes a move as if he’s going to get up, then sinks back with a barely stifled gasp. “You heard me. You have to tie me up. Keep me from… from you…you know.” Dean swings his arms around, encompassing the whole sordid mess.
“Are you that stupid? Does the Ardeur make you brain damaged, too?” Sam takes a step forward only to have Dean throw his hands out in warning, eyes wide with panic.
“I mean it Sam. You help me or I’ll do it myself and you better not try to stop me.”
Sam fights the urge to laugh, the harried, wary look in Dean’s eyes stopping him from pointing out that if Dean can tie himself up, he certainly can—and will, under the influence of the Ardeur—undo the knots.
Dean is scared–terrified–even amidst the oncoming rush of lust and need that suffuses his body like a fever. Seeing Dean like this rips something inside of Sam he can’t even name. His hands ache to hold Dean to him. To rub the knots out of his tense muscles and whisper reassurances in his ear.
To lay him down on the beaten mattress and fuck this damned Ardeur out of him, maybe fuck some sense into him, while he’s at it.
Dean’s shoulders shake with the effort to maintain control. Just the way Dean leans toward him tells Sam it won’t take much…just a touch, a stroke of the skin, and Dean will be helpless, swallowed in the Ardeur. He can have Dean if he wants.
But at what price? To himself or to Dean? Taking advantage of the situation runs counter to everything that Sam’s ever believed. If Dean truly doesn’t want Sam to touch him – to be with him – well, Sam knows when he’s beaten or at least when to retreat and regroup.
“Okay. Okay, I’ll do it. Just calm down.”
Sam takes the cotton rope Dean hands him and knows this has been his plan all along. Go off by himself like a wounded animal, tie himself up to protect the innocents around him, and just ride it the fuck out. Like the goddamned cowboy he is.
Dean goes in the bathroom, but leaves the door open. Sam hears him undressing, can see Dean’s reflection in the mirror as he carefully steps out of his jeans–folding them way more carefully than is his normal habit–and places them on the closed commode lid.
All Sam wants to do is pry loose Dean’s tight grip on control. But he doesn’t move. When Dean comes back into the bedroom, Sam’s still standing at the side of the bed, the ropes dripping through his fingers. But he can’t resist one last try…
“Dean, you don’t have to go through it like this.” Sam holds the rope out. “You know this isn’t right. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Dean shoots him a withering glance, strides to the bed and sits on the edge, stiff back to Sam. Sam drinks in the sight of his smooth skin, Dean’s shoulders and spine sculpted in all the right places. He longs to reach and just touch. Just a touch. Instead, he takes a shuddering breath and turns to begin working the rope through the rungs of the head and foot boards.
Dean swings his legs up onto the bed and scoots to the middle, raising his arms over his head, refusing to meet Sam’s eyes. “I can hear you thinking, Sam. Just forget it. I’m not going to – me and you, Sammy – it’s just…”
Dean sucks in a breath when Sam’s hand brushes over his wrist before wrapping the rope snugly around it. Sam catches a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and turns his gaze to Dean’s lap where his erection is twitching beneath the thin black cloth of his boxers.
“We don’t know what this will do.” Sam clears his throat and checks his work even while trying to reason with Dean. “Even Jason doesn’t know what will happen if the Ardeur isn’t fed.” Sam gives the ropes a final, testing tug, then flops down at the bed’s foot. “This is dangerous, Dean.”
“Don’t care.” Dean’s voice drops to a mumble and he keeps licking his lips. Sam is half-mesmerized by the action and turns away in time to watch Dean’s arm and leg muscles flex against the confining rope. “Guess…we’ll find out what happens.”
The sight of Dean, mostly naked and tied to the bed is twisting Sam up inside. The atmosphere in their room is charged with the Ardeur and Sam’s own lust. The hairs on his arm dance and each sense seems more acute. A voice he’s been trying his damnedest to ignore echoes in his head: You can have him. He won’t really stop you. Sam is positive that only the lurking fear – and trust – in Dean’s eyes stop him from pushing… from taking. If Dean would just give one sign he felt something.
Sam turns away and picks up the ice bucket.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” Night is falling and the cool air relieves some of the heat radiating off of Sam. When he returns with the ice, Dean is laying eerily still with his eyes closed. Sam can’t help himself.
Dean’s eyes fly open and immediately pierce through the dimness of the room to watch Sam approach the bed.
Sam pops an ice cube in Dean’s mouth, watching him suck on it to relieve his parched throat. Sam’s throat feels nearly as dry and he crunches one of his own. “You really expect me to sit here and watch you go through this?”
Dean rolls his head to the side, looking directly at Sam. He bares his teeth in a travesty of his usual cocky smirk. “I wasn’t really expecting an audience. But hey, feel free to come and go.”
Sam snorts and paces around the bed, rubbing his fatigue-burned eyes. It’s too dangerous to sit this close to Dean; whether it’s the Ardeur or something else, the compulsion to touch is crippling “If you think I’m leaving you here like this, the Ardeur has already cooked your brain to mush.”
Dean makes a frustrated noise and turns his face away, toward the wall. Sam drags the room’s only chair to the bedside and half-falls into it with a sigh. Fuck. Even with this precautionary distance between them, Sam imagines he feels the heat rolling off Dean’s body in waves. He shifts uncomfortably in the chair, trying to adjust his pants without actually touching himself.
There’s nothing to do but wait.
Sam is surprised that, even half-hard with the tension crackling tautly between them, he falls into a doze, only jerking awake when Dean moans, deep and belling. Sam straightens hastily in the chair and looks out the window.
The moon has risen, faint silver echoing up into a pearl gray sky. Sam turns back to his brother and watches Dean writhe on the sheets, eyes unfocused and glazed over with longing. As if even the touch of Sam’s eyes is enough to set him off, Dean makes a strangled noise of plaintive hunger that Sam knows damn well won’t take kindly to being leashed to the bedpost.
“Dean—” Sam’s voice is hoarse and grating, unfamiliar to him.
Dean shakes his head – a sharp, curt gesture that smears the sweat beading on his brow onto the pillowcase in dark blots. “No.” His voice is equally harsh, trembling over even that single syllable. “No.”
The rope creaks with another jerk as Dean arches his hips into nothing but air, mouth opening soundlessly. Sam wants to lick a line down the corded muscles straining in Dean’s neck.
It occurs to Sam that this might the time for the judicious use of drugs, but he isn’t sure how—or if—that would affect the Ardeur coursing through Dean’s veins. Jason and the others in St. Louis talk like the Ardeur is a sentient being. Something you can’t trick or bargain with. He won’t take the chance.
Dean whines and thrashes on the sheets some more, pulling the corners loose from the worn mattress.
This isn’t how it should be, Sam fumes. His thumbs thrum a loud tattoo on the wooden arms of the chair while his knee bounces to the same rhythm. Dark circles bordered by a thin ring of green stare back at Sam, agonized, half-insane. Dean pants through his mouth like a wild animal and the room smells thick and cloying to Sam.
Remembering the outrageous heat of Dean’s skin and needing something to do with himself, Sam gets up to get a cool cloth from the bathroom.
“Sammy.” The single word is rough and low, like Dean’s been screaming for hours. Sam freezes, almost afraid to look at Dean.
He bites his lip hard, trying not to voice his ever growing frustration over Dean’s stubbornness. “Dean. Don’t…” His voice falters as he turns around and he shakes his head roughly. “Don’t ask me to just sit here and help you do this to yourself anymore. I can’t take it. You can’t take it. This isn’t working.”
Sam doesn’t trust himself to get closer than the edge of the bed. If he touches Dean, neither of them will stop and as much as he wants it, this isn’t how he wants it to go down. However, Sam can’t stop the rushing blood from filling his cock as he looks down at his brother, tethered helpless to the bed posts and literally dying to be fucked. It’s as if the Ardeur is circling around them, embracing them both in its hold.
Dean’s height is more in body than legs. His length from shoulders to pelvis is easily as long as his legs, all lithe, whipcord muscle. His struggles have worked his boxers down his slender hips until the head of his dick peeks over the waistband, wet, angry red framed by brown, curly hairs. The muscles of his stomach ripple and flex with each surge of the Ardeur.
Sam has to shake himself free of the hunger to focus on Dean’s growling pleas for release.
“Sammy…can’t take it… please.”
Sam gets to the bed in two long strides and bends to untie the ropes. Finally!
“No.” Dean huffs the word out, then looks confused. “Don’t know what to do.”
“Dean. That’s enough. You can’t do this.” Sam unties Dean’s legs and reaches for his wrists.
“Gotta have…. Please….guh….hands, just your hands….”
Sam works at the rope trying to free his brother so they can feed the Ardeur – together – but his fingers just fumble at the knots that have tightened with each pull of Dean’s arms.
Viscous drops of pre-come from the slit of Dean’s cockhead puddle in the dip of his belly, drops rolling down his sides.
“This is fucking bullshit,” Sam proclaims and finally pulls the knife from its sheath at his back, making short work of the stubborn rope. He drops the knife on the floor and reaches for Dean.
“No, Sam! Don’t you dare…oh God…please…” Dean’s eyes squeeze shut and Sam follows the shudder that wracks his brother from broad shoulders all the way down to his toes, curling into the crumpled sheets. Despite his contradictory words, Dean latches on to Sam’s wrist, holding his hand tightly.
Sam frames the wet skin of Dean’s face with his free hand. “Listen to me.” But, Dean only groans and turns his head to suck Sam’s thumb into the searing heat of his mouth. Sam’s breath catches then stutters in his throat while his cock throbs in time to Dean’s suckling.
“Dean, you fucking idiot,” Sam mutters, mostly to himself.
Sam watches him helplessly for a moment, his own lust temporarily tamped by the desire to help his brother. When he pulls his thumb from Dean’s mouth, he soothes his brother’s protests with a hand laid gently on Dean’s chest.
“I’m just going to get a washcloth. I’m coming right back. I’m right here.” Dean reluctantly lets him go before curling in on himself, one hand shoved between his legs.
He darts into the bathroom, soaking a towel through with the coldest water he can coax from the aged pipes and rushes back to Dean’s side, sponging across pink, flushed skin. The Ardeur is burning Dean alive.
Dean is past being able to coherently protest, alternating between making soft, pained mewls at each swipe of the cloth and shuddering until his teeth clack. Sam doesn’t know if it’s that moment when he makes his decision or whether it’s been made since the moment he picked the door lock, but there’s no more time and no options left. He tugs at Dean’s shoulder and rolls him onto his back, easing him flat across the rucked mattress. “Shhhh. I got you, Dean. Please, I’m begging you – tell me this is okay. Can I…?”
A hand, tan and still strong, fastens onto Sam’s forearm so he knows there’ll be bruises. “Sam…” The single word is pared down to the essence of Dean, full of pleading and promise, denial and fierce will. “Didn’t want you to have to…but, please.” Dean’s face scrunches up and Sam can’t tell if it’s pain or just the hunger making it almost impossible for Dean to talk.
It hurts his heart that Dean is so opposed to this and yet there’s no other option left to them and Dean knows it as well as Sam does. Sam would like this to be better, sweeter, with Dean lucid and clear, but even so, Sam’s mind is made up. Dean can rant and rave ’til the cows come home, or sit in stony silence for-freaking-ever; Dean can hate him if he has to, but Sam isn’t going to allow him to die. Not when he can stop it.
Sam swings a leg over Dean’s hip, pinning him to the mattress. The hard line of Dean’s cock brands Sam’s thigh with its heat. Dean reaches out, like he wants to touch Sam’s face and his hand is shaking and his expression is uncertain. Come on, Baby. Touch me. Sam wills Dean to make the first move. Show him it’s alright.
“I got what you need, baby. I got you.” Sam continues to shush and whisper. “Dean, can I…? God, please tell me this is alright.”
Dean pulls his hands back, stretching his arm out to the side, still striving for control. But, he nods to Sam. It’s a timid gesture and Sam is reassured more the look in Dean’s eyes, now not so blown and full of fear.
Sam tugs the waistband of his brother’s boxers carefully down and Dean finally allows himself to touch, with eyes shut and hands fumbling across Sam’s skin artlessly. When Sam tugs and coaxes enough to slide the shorts off and Dean’s cock is free, it springs up once, then bounces down to tuck tightly against Dean’s stomach, taut and gorgeous.
“Sammy, I need…I need.”
With Dean now naked, Sam clumsily shimmies out of his own clothes, tossing them to the side. When bare skin touches skin, Sam flinches at how much hotter Dean feels. Dean has given up all pretense of resistance and clings to Sam, rubbing himself shamelessly against Sam’s body from head to toe, desperate for contact.
“Easy. I got you,” Sam repeats, not that Dean seems able to pay much attention to words. Sam lifts himself up and straddles Dean’s hips again, wrapping his own warm hands around Dean’s slippery wrists. “Tell me what…tell me, Dean.”
Dean just rocks his head side to side, his hips squirming and straining against Sam. Sam’s erection presses at the base of Dean’s dick. Sam almost misses Dean’s reaction because he’s lost in jolt of electricity that shoots through him when they touch. When he looks down at Dean, though, there is need, acceptance and most importantly, trust. “Yeah, that’s it, baby. We’ll get there.”
Sam slides down Dean’s legs until he’s nose to cock, swallowing down his nervousness. It isn’t like they haven’t done this before, but Sam’s wanted it…Jesus, it feels like forever. And just like last time, he can’t help but feel like he’s been given a gift.
His hands are at Dean’s hips, still trying to keep Dean from moving around too much while he licks up the length of Dean’s cock till he reaches the tip. He wraps his lips around the swollen head, still using his tongue to stroke and tease, then swipes with his tongue again, from balls to crown.
Dean’s hips rear hard enough to unseat Sam’s position and he has to quickly back off to keep from doing permanent damage to Dean’s cock with his teeth. It’s obvious that Dean needs more than a soft mouth right now. Okay, then.
Sam rolls to the side and wraps his hand around Dean’s dick, massaging and squeezing in all the right places.
“Guh” and a moaning rendition of “fuuuuuck” is the extent of Dean’s vocabulary while Sam efficiently jacks him off. Sam tries to keep himself focused: this isn’t about pleasure or what Sam wants. It’s about getting Dean off as quickly as possible and saving his life.
Sam winces when Dean finally climaxes because the look on Dean’s face is not bliss or satisfaction. Sam has always thought of Dean as beautiful. The universe graced him with a perfect combination of features that makes people stare at his brother with either longing or envy. Now, those features are twisted and malformed with what looks like pain. But as Dean’s orgasm ebbs, there is clearly relief, as well, and Sam breathes again.
“Better?” Sam speaks softly trying to maintain an atmosphere of calm through his voice.
Dean just jerks his head in a quick nod and licks his lips again. Sam gets more ice and holds it while Dean sucks on it. The sight of his lips pursed around the crystalline cube is more than Sam can take. He rolls his shoulder, trying to dislodge his rising lust.
Sam pulls the ice from Dean’s mouth, holding it between thumb and forefinger over Dean’s chest, letting the cool liquid drip across his pecs. Dean catches his breath but there’s also the hint of a smile gracing his lips.
“Feels good,” he mumbles and closes his eyes.
The ice is melting fast. Sam strokes the dripping cube along Dean’s sternum, swirling it to run over a brown, peaked nipple. Dean inhales sharply and wiggles his hips.
Sam leans over, taking the cold nub in his mouth, holding it lightly between his teeth while flicking his tongue until Dean has one hand wrapped tightly in Sam’s long hair and the other running wild over the parts of Sam’s body he can reach.
When he cuts his eyes down the length of Dean’s body, he sees his hard, straining cock. Still hard. Dean hadn’t even gone soft after that first climax. Sam tries to control the skipping flip of his heart. Dean may have tried to deny what they’d both known as soon as he’d let Sam in the room, but it’s all been leading to this. He feels in his gut that Dean has affirmed they both want the same thing…..
Sam hops off the bed and hurries to the bag still sitting near the door. Lube and condoms are tucked between two pair of jeans. Dean’s eyes are open now, tracking Sam back across the room to the bed, but Sam isn’t sure Dean actually sees him. He holds the lube up in Dean’s line of sight and tries to smile, stomach fluttering. “Got something for you.”
Dean licks his lips and Sam thinks he sees a ghost of the old Dean grin, but another wave of need washes over him and it’s gone, replaced by the visible ache to be touched.
Sam feels like he’s being swept up in the Ardeur with Dean. His skin feels electric, stretched tight across muscle and bone. He can almost feel Dean’s need, a tangible thing caressing him.
He covers Dean’s mouth with his own and the kiss is hard and messy, meant to distract and redirect. Sam finds himself tumbling down awkwardly as Dean reaches up and tugs on his arms, pulling him in and holding on tightly as he takes charge of the kiss.
Sam moans low in his throat trying to keep the presence of mind to pull the tube of lube from between them before it busts open. Dean growls as Sam drags his mouth away, clutching and bucking insistently, demandingly.
“I have to get ready,” Sam protests. “I swear it won’t take long. Just a little…” Before Sam can finish the sentence Dean snatches the tube from his hand and rolls them over until their positions are reversed. Either Dean has finally succumbed to the inevitable and accepted that Sam is the one who’s going to get him through this or the Ardeur has made the decision for him. Either way, Sam just knows he wants Dean and Dean needs him and that’s pretty much all there is.
“Me. Let me.” Dean unscrews the cap with his teeth and spits it out onto the dingy tan carpet. Sam gasps, legs spreading for Dean as the rough tone of Dean’s words goes straight to his cock.
Dean’s slick fingers root between Sam’s legs until he finds his opening. There is no tender coaxing to his touch, but it’s still good to Sam. Going straight to two fingers, Dean slicks Sam up inside, curving a finger up to slide across his prostate. Sam’s pretty sure it’s unintentional, but it feels fantastic nonetheless.
“Okay. Do it, Dean. I’m ready. Just fuck me.” Sam’s clipped words are accompanied by his hands, fondling and stroking the inside of Dean’s thighs. Before he can reach his goal though, Dean flips him over in a quick maneuver born of strength and desperation. Ready to bust out of his skin, Sam gets that.
On his knees, Sam can’t wait for Dean to fill him. He doesn’t expect gentle, but he’s not ready for the sharp pain of penetration with little warning, either.
“God!” Sam’s cry reverberates off the walls but it only seems to spur Dean on.
Dean’s hips are already pumping, driving deeper with each thrust and Sam just buries his head in his arms, biting his tongue until the sharp pain and metallic taste of blood is a distraction from the slap of their bodies and Dean’s urgent grunts.
Sam tries to adjust his position – maybe make it easier for them, but Dean tightens his grip and Sam’s attempted shift only results in a warning growl behind him.
As Dean approaches his second orgasm, Sam feels battered and used, but checks any sounds that might indicate discomfort to Dean. After all, he’s the one who wanted this.
A moment later Dean slows into a lazy rocking, hands lying lightly, lovingly over Sam’s back. He leans down and kisses the back of Sam’s neck, then nuzzles behind his ear.
“Thank you,” Dean whispers. He hasn’t bothered to pull out and his come feels like a finger tickling Sam’s balls before dripping down his thighs. But now that Dean’s dick is no longer jabbing his insides, the long and deep strokes are making Sam’s fading erection react and take notice once more.
His cock fills once more, hard and fast, leaving Sam with a light-headed detachment. Dean is no longer fucking him with the psychotic frenzy of the Ardeur but there’s a low, humming rumble coming from somewhere behind Sam and he has to twist his head around to see.
Dean’s head is thrown back and his eyes are shut, lost in some kind of post-coital abandonment, but he still moves slow and smooth in Sam and his hands roam freely over Sam’s buttocks, his thighs, up across his back to his shoulders. His mouth works and Sam strains to hear what Dean is saying. It sounds very much like “Mine.”
Sam drops his head back down to his crossed arms and tentatively shoves back against Dean, testing. This isn’t just sex. So much more than just helping his brother. Dean reacts by digging the fingers of one hand into Sam hip and jerking him back hard onto his dick, pulling a startled gasp from Sam. With the other hand Dean runs a thumb from the point where their bodies are joined up to Sam’s spine, then drags it back down, pulling Sam’s asshole open, the skin tight and tingling while Dean fucks into him.
“Mine.” The word is clear now, despite the gruffness of Dean’s voice.
“Yours.” Sam answers with voice and body, rocking back into the rhythm Dean is setting. He reaches between his legs and starts to stroke his cock, then feels Dean’s hand over his, squeezing, adding his own touch.
Dean easily slides in and out, picking up the pace. He straightens, leaving Sam to finish himself and Sam grunts with the force of each thrust.
Sam’s too blissed out to mind the few twinges when Dean slams particularly hard or tightens his grip until Sam can feel the blood rising to the surface of his bruised skin. It’s fucking, it’s healing, it’s salvation. He just doesn’t know whose anymore.
Unsurprisingly, Sam is ready to come before Dean, but not by much. As Sam’s orgasm starts to build, his hand is moving so fast and holding so tightly that his arm starts to ache, adding just one more sensation to the whole visceral package. He’s stopped any pretense of trying to keep up with Dean’s movements, letting his brother hold him up however he wants him.
The stuttering sounds Sam makes counter the noise of skin slapping skin and Dean’s harsh pants. Then the rushing blood in his ears is all Sam hears and he’s coming so hard he feels it in every fiber of his body.
He can barely support himself, but Dean seems to be handling things just fine. Seconds later Sam hears a fierce howl of triumph and stiffens as Dean slams in deep one last time before pulling Sam back into his lap. Dean’s body is quivering and he’s still making jerky little movements that Sam thinks he’ll feel into next week, but the solidness of Dean’s body against his back, arms wrapped tightly around him is worth it all.
Several minutes later and all the little aches and pains he endured–and even ignored–during sex are making themselves known. Dean’s forehead rests on his shoulder and Sam flexes his muscles to get Dean’s attention.
“Let’s lay down.”
Dean nods but he doesn’t move, so Sam gathers his own strength and starts to pull off and roll out of Dean’s lap. Immediately, Dean’s hands tighten like steel bands. Sam starts to realize that maybe the Ardeur isn’t just about sex.
Just when he’s ready to try again, Dean pulls them over–still connected–onto their sides. The air reeks and Sam feels gross. All of that’s a secondary consideration, though, for the onslaught of guilt and shame Dean’s probably getting ready to dump on them both.
“Stop.” Dean huffs the word on the back of Sam’s neck before Dean noses into his sweaty hair, inhaling deeply.
“Not doing…gngh!.” Dean squeezes Sam in tighter and snorts right up against his ear.
Sam wants to believe it. He really does. But he knows Dean. Knows it’s probably just the endorphins speaking and there’s no way it’s that easy. At the same time, he’s not inclined to question Dean further at the moment. He supposes he can even lay in their combined sweat and spunk a few minutes longer if it means having Dean willing and compliant against him.
As Sam dozes off, he feels Dean slip free of his body and just press back against him, wrapping his leg over Sam’s hip. They’ll move to the clean bed when they wake up.