Lost Time Ch. 10
Jan. 2nd, 2013 12:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dime_lioraTitle: Lost Time Chapter 10/27
Wordcount: 6,507
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam
Warning(s): Violence, Sex, Expletives, Mentions of an Abusive Relationship
Notes: Still very AU. If you like this, thank![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sammichgirl, who told me it was time to make it public. :) If you don't it's totally not her fault.
Summary: Sam Burton has an average life, a foul-mouthed sister, and a dream of putting his past behind him. All of that changes when Dean Winchester comes to stay.
First part
Previous part
Dean wakes to the sound of the door slipping open quietly. Bright blue eyes peer at him from the crack, and he holds up one finger before sliding out of the bed. Sam’s still asleep, face relaxed and one arm thrown casually over Dean’s stomach. He lays it gently along Sam’s side and then grabs his pants and shirt. She’s gone when he looks up from dressing, and he wonders if she disappeared from the doorway when he got out of the bed or before. She seems like the type to overlook nudity.
He glances once more at Sam’s peaceful face, free of the shadows Dean’s gotten so used to, and then slides out and follows her onto the porch. The sun has set, how long did they sleep, and Loki's nowhere to be seen. She gestures to the bench and then sits beside him. They’re quiet for a long time, looking upwards together, and Dean’s never felt so at ease under a dark sky before.
She lights up beside him and then after a long drag she speaks. “So how long do we have?”
Reality crashes back down coldly and Dean looks her way. A week. Technically a day less now and how much time will he get in with Sam before he has to leave? Has to chance never coming back? “A week. Dad called. Will we be finished by then?”
Her fingers move through the darkness, her face briefly and dimly lit by the inhale, and then shadowed completely again. “No, but I have a backup plan. You are coming back.” Not a question, not a command, something strangely in between.
“Yes ma’am. As soon as I can.” He'll do it to. He can remember the taste of Sam as if it's still lingering there.
“He hasn’t done this in a long time. Any of this. Go easy on him.” He sees that brief red flash of her face again, the way she looks so serious and solemn, and he nods once to show he gets it.
“I won’t disappear.” He can’t promise that though. It’s a dangerous life, Dean has always known that, and with them closing in on the Yellow Eyed Demon things can only get worse as time goes on. He thinks of the big body sleeping in the back bedroom and his fingers twitch to get back. To touch Sam’s skin again. He wants to ask where the scar came from before he licks the length of it. Wants to taste that skin in its entirety. He’s never been one for half-measures.
Her voice is just as solemn as before, but the tone of it is different now. Hesitant. “Bobby told me a little bit about your mom. I was wondering if you’d like help?”
He jerks once before looking her way. “What?”
Her shoulders shrug, a pantomime so he can see the gesture in the dark, and the cigarette moves to punctuate her words. “Help. I'm a practitioner Dean. I know some shit.”
He bristles for a moment, the old defensiveness coming back. Bobby’s got so many dusty old tomes it’s dizzying and if he can’t find it…but that’s not helpful. Not constructive thinking. After all extra hands can't hurt right? “Is it safe for you to offer this?”
She waves her hand, makes a disgusted noise, and then takes a long drag. “Fuck safe. You coming back depends on ending this vendetta, and Sam's happiness depends on you coming back. I’m in this. One way or another I’m in this.”
He can’t argue that. “Ok. But if it's too dangerous-“
“I need to back off?” There’s amusement now and he peers at her through the darkness. “Dean, trust me when I say I may not hunt but I'm not a stranger to danger. Shit I hate rhyming.”
He can’t help it, he laughs, and then he leans an arm around her shoulder and feels her jump once before settling. “You’re a strange girl. Thank you.” There’s a world of words here all of which Dean wants to use and can’t. He wants to thank her for Sam, for saving Sam and pushing him, for being there, for everything. Instead he lets the two words carry all the weight of his thoughts and from the line of tension he knows she understands.
“My pleasure. Now let’s get inside before I freeze to death.” She pauses for a moment and then stands. “Want me to sleep in my own bed?”
He thinks of Sam lying naked under the sheets. Waiting for him. “Yeah that’d probably be best. Unless you're planning on hopping in with that little guy.”
She laughs once, slaps his shoulder and then heads inside sending one last shot behind her. “Be a gentleman for once. Take him some food.”
Dean follows her command, makes sandwiches and grabs two beers before heading back into the bedroom. Sam’s still asleep, curled on his side now with his face pressed into the pillow Dean was using before he left. Dean indulged himself and watched Sam sleep for several long minutes before the sweating beers became too much and he gently nudged the younger man’s shoulder. Sam blinked awake, eyes peering at him and then taking in the darkness outside the windows.
“Holy shit. How long were we asleep?” He’s rubbing at his eyes, looking all of twelve years old despite his size, and Dean wants to laugh but doesn’t. He’s overwhelmed with how fond of Sam he already is, how fond he could become.
“Long time Sleeping Beauty. I brought you a sandwich.”Sam gives him a dirty look, but takes the sandwich and the beer before wolfing them both down. Dean joins him, and they eat in comfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder in the bed. After they’ve finished Sam puts the bottles down on the desk and pulls sweats out of his dresser. He slides them on and then turns to catch Dean staring at him.
Sam’s ass, Dean is ashamed to admit, is probably better than his. Probably the best he’s ever seen. It’s not like Dean goes around checking out guys' asses, it’s a road he’s taken once or twice but only when curiosity overcame him, and so his basis for comparison is fairly slim. Still he’s seen a fair number of attractive butts and this one takes the cake. He waits for Sam to cross the room again, to rejoin him, and then he reaches over and turns off the lamp he turned on when he came in.
They sit in the dark like that, Dean feeling unsure and overdressed, and the silence morphs from comfortable to strange in what feels like seconds. He feels Sam bump his shoulder, and then the voice he’s starting to know too well comes out in the darkness. “What’s bothering you?”
“I can’t promise I’m coming back Sam.” He pauses, lets that sink in, and then moves forward. “I’m gonna try. I want you to know that, to believe it, ok?”
He’s surprised by a low chuckle. “Are you reassuring me?”
Dean’s almost offended. The chuckle is nice but he knows that tone too well. “Yes. Why the fuck shouldn’t I?”
“I’m an adult Dean. I can handle it if you change your mind. I’m not-“
“Sam.” He says it without thinking about it, something about the darkness or the intimacy of the moment leaving him open enough to express it. “The only thing that would keep me from coming back at this point is death.”
He hears Sam suck in a deep breath, and then large strong fingers grip his elbow with surprising accuracy. “Don’t say that. I know it’s possible but let’s leave it as something we don’t say. Ok?”
It’s shocking really, a Winchester move if ever there was one, and Dean’s momentarily struck dumb. He feels the fingers squeeze harder and then release. He waits a moment for Sam to get it back under control and then taps Sam’s ankle with his sock covered foot. “Ok. Got it. What would you like to talk about?”
“I’m not interested in talking right now. It’s dark, we’re in bed together. I’m assuming Ope is sleeping in her room tonight.”
Dean knows that tone, has used it himself more than once, and he doesn’t bother answering. He turns his head to find Sam’s face right next to his, and he takes advantage of that closeness.
----
If someone asked Sam three weeks ago what he’d wake up to on a Saturday morning he would have said his alarm clock. Standard procedure on Saturdays was to drag Ophelia out onto the road for a run, and then read the paper while devouring cereal. Instead he wakes to Dean, still burning hot and half-dressed. It’s some late afternoon hour, they stayed up until sunrise talking, and now he’s groggy and regretting what this is going to do to his internal schedule.
His knee is better, still ugly but usable, and he makes his way into the kitchen to find Loki drinking hot chocolate.
"So-uh-sleep well?"
Loki's head tilts and he smiles brightly. "Well minus the moaning from your room and all the sexual tension Opey is sending me I slept just fine."
"Don't let her hear you say that." Loki laughs and Sam relaxes back against the china cabinet. "Hey-uh-you wanna see my set-up later?" It's awkward. Childish really, like a little boy asking to show off his action figures, but Sam's never had a friend over. Loki smirks, but it's not unkind.
"I thought you'd never ask."
He studies the hacker before he grabs his own coffee and goes looking for Ophelia. She’s not in bed, not this late, and he finds her in the basement surrounded by books with a notebook open and full of scribbles. He glances at them, doesn’t recognize what her slanted handwriting is recording, and sinks into the comfortable old armchair.
“Sleep ok?” She doesn’t look up from her work when she speaks, drops a green tab on the page she’s reading and then flips the book closed and reaches for another. Sam recognizes the cover but it’s in Italian and he doesn’t speak the language.
“Yeah. Pretty good, you?” He watches her frown over a passage in the book before she closes it and reaches for another. “Is this for your work? Somebody want something really esoteric?”
“Fine. No.” She rubs at her forehead and then looks up with red-rimmed eyes. She hasn’t been to sleep. Sam knows the look. Her eyes are too bloodshot for anything other than a full night of reading. He offers her his coffee and she gratefully accepts. “And no. In that order.” She gives him a careless grin and goes back to reading, her right hand scribbling in the notebook without looking at what she’s writing.
He studies her notes more closely now, and sees that she’s writing names that look familiar. She’s circled the word ‘Enoch’, underlined the word ‘pattern’, and left a question mark beside a page reference with a Latin title next to it. He slides out of the armchair to the floor and picks up one of the books. It’s in English, and it’s about fallen angels.
“Ophelia. What are you doing?” His blood is already starting to run cold, his fingers shaking slightly as he tries to keep it under control. Whatever she’s researching it’s not work related. Sam knows from experience that while people often ask for something original or unique, they rarely want anything as complicated and heavy as the sort of thing she's looking at right now.
“Researching Sam.” She glanced up again and that concerned frown made its appearance. “No big. Promise.”
She gets up long enough to double-click something on his work computer, and Lacuna Coil starts up over the speakers even as she’s sitting back down and pulling the heavy tome back to her. “When are you going to sleep?”
“When I’m done with these notes. Soon. I promise.” She’s lying and he knows it. Knows the look she gets when a project has consumed her ability to care about personal safety. She once went three and a half days without sleeping while she tried to recreate a mural she saw in a movie. She did it for fun, but by the last day of her sleeplessness she was slurring her words and dropping things. She couldn’t remember what the original point was by then, and Sam had to hold her down on the couch until she fell asleep. He’d made her swear to never do that again, and she’d complied.
He pushes himself up off the floor and watches her bent head. “If you’re not asleep in two hours I’m dosing you Ope. I’m not kidding.”
She nods once, distractedly, and then he heads for the stairs. “Hey Sam?”
He looks over his shoulder to see she’s still looking in the book, her hand scribbling furiously. “Yeah?”
“I'm kinda glad Loki's here. It's nice to see you with friends.” He closes the door on the distracted look she’s giving the book.
----
She comes up five minutes before his ultimatum is up and goes past them into her room. Dean has joined the land of the living, or in the case of everyone but Sam and Loki the semi-living, and Sam watches him eat two bowls of Ophelia’s cereal before the green eyes are bright and clear. “What’s today’s plan?”
Loki shakes Ophelia's keys with a mischievous grin. "I'm being given the honor of exploration. I'm betting I'm doing it alone."
"Yes. You are." Dean studied him for a second and then Sam watched his eyes land on the file folder the hacker had brought with him. The one Sam had never bothered going through. It hadn't been that long ago he'd thought Dean was going to kill them in their sleep. Life was…odd.
Loki nods and holds up both hands. "Hey no problem man. I have some things to pick up anyway. Sweets for my sweet." He winks once, and then he's gone. Sam's vaguely concerned for him, and what Ophelia will do if the guy actually tries to get her in bed.
It’s just the two of them and Sam is left holding his bowl and watching Dean study the file folder. When those eyes come back to Sam the seriousness changes into something that reignites the warmth in Sam’s stomach.
“Looks like it’s just you and me Sammy. Anything you want to do?”
Sam considers the offer and then points out the obvious. “Didn't you come here for rest or something?”
Dean’s grin wavers once, a strange look crossing his face, and then he’s grinning again. Bright even against the morning sunlight. “Are there places without a lot of people around here?”
Sam thinks about it, his knee probably not up to anything too strenuous, and then he comes up with an idea. Jeff left his old rods in the garage and Sam hasn’t been out in it in years. “Yeah. I can think of something.” Before he goes to change he grabs the file folder up, crosses the kitchen, and dumps it into the trashcan without opening it. Dean's smile is worth the whole damn world.
----
Sam’s got a bite and Dean looks over from his chair and grins when Sam starts reeling it in. It’s their first bite of the excursion and Sam can’t help his pride. Right up until the fish comes above the water line and he sees that it’s the smallest Bluegill he’s ever spotted. He unhooks it carefully and then throws it back before meeting Dean’s eyes. There’s silence, a long silence, and then Dean starts laughing.
“You’re going to scare the fish away.” He knows it doesn’t help his case that he speaks loudly and slowly to Dean. Which doesn’t matter because the hunter just laughs harder at Sam’s offended look.
The last time Sam was here was with Ophelia and her uncle, and Jeff taught him everything he knows. He remembers the sun that day, bright and directly overhead, and he remembers the way Jeff smiled easily as he explained baiting the hook and waiting out the fish. It's weird to combine that smile with the things he now knows about the man.
It’s peaceful here, the regular fishermen usually come at late hours, so Dean and Sam have the place almost to themselves. It’s too late in the season for swimmers and kids are in school. Dean has brought beer, a fishermen’s best tool he claims, and the two of them are lounged back in patio chairs they brought as they watch their bobbers.
Sam can hear the birds calling, the wind running through the trees, and every now and then he steals glances at Dean’s face. The smile is easy and fixed, the jaw unclenched for once, and Sam’s glad to see it. It’s good to just do this, no need for confessions or tension, just relaxing in the sunlight. It gives him time to breathe, to think, and Sam uses this time to consider nothing instead and enjoy it.
They reel in and cast on a fairly regular basis, checking the bait after nibbles with no real bite. Once or twice Sam leaves his line out long beyond a nibble and just watches the water reflect the sunlight. After a full hour of silence Dean speaks softly. “Hey Sam, this is really nice.”
Sam nods once and then turns to really look at Dean. His face is open, honest, and Sam swallows hard at the sight of it. “Yeah. Really nice.”
He has to turn back and watch his bobber so he doesn’t say anything stupid. He reels in, finds his bait has been stolen, and slides another leaf worm onto the hook before casting out deeply. He’s in the middle of adjusting the positioning of his bobber when he feels the hand on his shoulder, and he turns his face to find Dean right there. The man makes as much noise as a cat when he wants to, and it should be unsettling but Sam finds it ridiculously erotic.
Sam raises an eyebrow, goes to say something sardonic, and finds that he has a mouthful of Dean. He grips the back of Dean’s shirt with one hand, the other still holding his rod while Dean’s talented mouth works his over. There's Dean's tongue questing for entrance, Sam allows it and then tilts his head for a better angle. He feels rough stubble, tastes the lingering remnants of coffee and the overwhelming essence of Dean, and then it’s all gone and Dean is whooping in joy as his line jerks forward.
Sam can’t stop the laugh that escapes him at the childlike glee on Dean’s handsome face. It’s the only fish they catch all day that they can keep and it’s a beauty, can’t weigh less than 12 pounds. Sam never has a chance to beat Dean’s catch, they spend the rest of the day kissing in the sunlight, the cool breeze mitigating Dean’s natural heat.
----
When they get home they find Loki in the kitchen rubbing at his neck and considering a pan full of Hamburger Helper. He looks up from it and gives an abashed smile to the two of them. “Ophelia told me to cook. Catch anything good?”
“Caught a beauty, gonna clean it right now.” Dean touches Sam’s lower back lightly and then grabs the newspaper off the table and goes back outside. He’s left alone with Loki who hasn’t missed the gentle touch.
“Sammy. Is this uh-you and he involved?” There's something awkward on Loki's face and it makes Sam tense and despair. His first friend, and this is going to be the end of that.
"Yeah. That a problem?" There's a moment he thinks Loki will say yes, but instead the hacker goes back to smirking.
"Nah man. Less competition for the bondage beauty."
Tension pours out of Sam and he nods before leaving the room. Doesn't want Loki to see how grateful he is. Ophelia’s door is open and her room is empty. He goes straight to the basement to find her in the middle of that book pile again, the frown fixed firmly on her face as she rifles through a book. It’s the history of demons she suggested to Dean, and Sam’s happiness flees at the sight of it.
When she looks up and sees his expression she drops the book, on her feet instantly and touching his face. “Sam? What’s wrong? Did Dean do something?”
“No. No I’m fine. Why are you researching demons?”
She glances once at the books, back at him, and then away. “Uh. I told Dean I’d help him. That may not be a story I should tell you.” She goes for a smile and it looks harsh and unnatural. Her hands rub at his arms for several long seconds. “Does that bother you?”
“Not at all.” A lot. “Just wish you’d take better care of yourself.”
He slips away from her, heads back upstairs and sits at his laptop so he can finish that last paper. Focuses so hard he’s afraid he’ll break something even as his shaking hands type rapidly. She sticks her head in after several terse paragraphs are done and studies him silently for a long time before speaking. “Dinner’s ready.” Her head disappears out of the doorway and Sam follows her into the kitchen where Dean is already washing his hands and chatting almost amiably with Loki about his catch.
“Put up quite a fight didn’t it Sammy?”
Ophelia’s eyes catch his and one eyebrow brushes under the line of her bangs. She’ll have to get a haircut soon because she hates when her bangs cross the line into her eyes. He realizes he’s never answered Dean’s question and everyone is staring at him.
“Yeah. Big fight.” Loki rolls his eyes as he drops garlic bread on the table. Dean nods encouragingly and then takes the thread of the story back up.
“So there I am struggling with the biggest Largemouth Bass you’ve ever seen…”
Sam can’t focus on dinner, or the conversation, or anything really other than the stack of books in the basement. There’re two aspects that bother him really, but one significantly more than the other. Ope’s secrecy is disturbing but not completely unforeseen. She's kept the secret of her family's business from him since they met after all. Which is something they're eventually going to have to argue about, because it should piss Sam off. A lot. It doesn't though. Considering the number of secrets he's been hiding from her all this time it isn't really fair to be angry at her.
But Dean needs to know about demons? What could he possibly need to know? She’s been running through those books like someone’s life depends on it, and the only person she acts like that for is Sam. Which means either Sam’s missing something, or this research has to do with him. What does Dean know about his past exactly?
Sam’s been vague, as vague as possible, and Ope can’t share the biggest secret he has. She doesn’t know it. He tries to focus in on the conversation, it’s switched to Jeff’s old motorcycle, but he loses the thread too fast as his head spins away. Could Dean have been snooping and put it all together? There hasn’t been time for that, and Dean doesn’t know Sam’s old name. Doesn’t know where Sam was when he gave in to Brady or any other set of details necessary for that amount of research. There’s no way.
He jumps when a hand touches his shoulder, and then Ope’s voice cuts through his fog. “Sam. Dinner’s over. Get up.”
Sam looks around to see Loki is gone and Dean is studying him without looking directly at him. He gathers his plate and heads for the sink to do dishes but Ophelia’s little hands direct him away. “Bed time Sammy. Get some rest. Loki's taking me to the bar tonight to relax. I'll probably come back alone. Get the shovels ready." He gives her a weak smile and tries to ignore her look of concern.
Dean stays in the living room while Sam struggles through the last of his paper and then fools around on the internet. He hasn’t sifted through the bookmarks in days and he considers the little button before ignoring it in favor of using Google.
He types in Brady’s name and finds the familiar articles, Honors Student Goes Missing, and then he jumps again when a larger and stronger hand touches his shoulder this time. The look he gives Dean is guilty, and he fights to hide how frightened he is.
Dean studies the picture on the screen with a look of discontent. The business man haircut Brady kept to make himself less suspicious, more trustworthy, blue eyes like ice chips, and the strong jaw line that Sam found so irresistible at first and so terrifying at the end. That jaw that powered those teeth that…
He feels the hand on his shoulder squeeze once, briefly, and then Dean’s voice is practically an extension of the squeeze in Sam’s ear. “Don’t go back there. Is that where you’ve been all night?”
Sam shakes his head but he’s not sure what he’s saying no to. “What’s Ophelia researching?”
There’s silence for a long time and Sam is too afraid to turn around. He can feel the muscles of his shoulder trembling under the weight of Dean’s hand. He’d like to lie to himself and say that it’s just nerves, that he’s not acting like a battered spouse right now, but his skin is stretched too tight and he can barely breathe.
When Dean answers there’s a note of hesitation in his voice. “My mother was killed by a demon in my little brother’s nursery when I was four. She’s looking for which one it might be to give my father and me an advantage. Why Sam?”
Sam shakes his head once, fears only partially allayed, and then stands as quickly as he can. His knee gives a twinge of warning, slow down asshole, and he moves away from Dean and starts sorting through textbooks aimlessly. “I was wondering what had her so obsessed.” She’s doing it for Sam though, and he knows that. It’s not that she doesn’t like Dean so much as there’s no way Dean has burrowed that far under her skin this quickly. Even Sam gets attached more quickly than she does.
But if she thought it would bring Dean back faster, or help him be better to Sam, or keep him safe then she’d sacrifice everything for something as small as a demon’s name. Which is an unfair thought because it’s the demon that stole Dean’s life and that makes it a big thing. Sam should be happy that she’s helping, he knows full well what she’s capable of, but that glacier that’s taken up residence in his stomach just won’t go away.
Dean rubs his hand over his mouth for a minute and then looks away. “If you’re going to lie to me Sam you should try harder. I’m a con man for a living.”
“You’re a hunter for a living.” It’s both an accusation and an admonition. Dean’s good at putting himself down. Sam’s been able to see that since the beginning. He watches one eyebrow quirk, a strange look pass over Dean’s face, and then Dean is jovial and light-hearted again.
“You got that right. Want to tell me the truth now?”
“Not really.” Sam leaves the room before this can become another forced confession, and Dean doesn’t follow.
----
When Sam finally comes back Dean is waiting for him, the room pitch black, and he can hear Sam rustling around in the dark across the room before cold skin slides against his and Sam is there in the bed. It only takes a second to realize Sam is naked, and he knows it’s probably a diversion tactic, but Dean is hard almost instantly. Sam’s fingers dance along his thigh, each one long and graceful, as if Dean’s skin is a set of piano keys Sam can manipulate a tune out of.
He lets each finger work its way up, travel along 'til they’ve just about reached their destination, and then he grips them to stop them just before they get to his groin. It’s not that Dean doesn’t appreciate the gesture, sex has often been his way to avoid talking about things, but this is important.
Because he’s had time to think while Sam’s been gone, to analyze, and damn if he doesn’t realize that Sam thought Ophelia’s research was related to himself. He’d love to let it go, to simply let Sam distract him with pleasure, but first he has to know why Sam’s afraid of Ophelia looking into demons. What that could possibly have to do with Sam.
Dean knows they’re alone up here, and he waits for Sam’s fingers to pull against his grip before he speaks. “Tell me the truth Sam.” It’s not supposed to sound so harsh but Dean’s restraining himself as well as Sam. The kid is always so cold, and Dean wants to cover him, blanket him and warm him up, but this has to come first.
He can’t see more than Sam’s dim outline in the dark room, but he feels the trembling start up again. It makes Dean feel terrible, to cause Sam to be so nervous and afraid, and fuck he’s in so much trouble here. When Sam finally responds it’s so quiet Dean has to strain to hear it. “Brady was a demon.”
He releases Sam’s hand and feels it pull away from him before he’s grabbing Sam and pulling him into his own warmth. Sam shakes hard, a leaf in a strong wind, and Dean strokes gently along his back even as he’s making soothing noises. He feels the dampness of tears against his neck where Sam’s face is pressed.
Dean wants to go to Texas, go back in time really, and be the one who kills Brady. Bleeding to death was too kind a fate for the son of a bitch. He holds Sam 'til the trembling stops and then pitches his voice so it's as soothing as it can be. “No Sam. Not a demon. Just an evil son of a bitch. There’s a difference Sammy.”
He feels Sam shake his head, unable to get more words, and so he grabs Sam’s chin and tilts it upwards so he can find Sam’s lips in the dark. It starts chaste, comforting, and turns into more. Sam’s tears have stopped, but Dean licks the salty tracks off of Sam’s sharp cheekbones before going back to his mouth. It changes from comfort to lust almost too fast for Dean to follow. One second the two of them are wrapped around each other and Sam’s shaking, the next Dean is over him and Sam is breathing hard and fast like he’s been running.
Dean could spend years doing just this, kissing Sam, feeling the long and hard lines of him, but he doesn’t have years. He has days, days until he has to wave goodbye and drive off from all of this, and Dean plans on living those days to their fullest.
His hands travel the lines of Sam’s chest, rub once over hardened nipples and he sucks the gasp from Sam’s mouth before moving lower to the sharply defined hipbones. Sam’s so big under him, tall and long, but Dean feels larger than Sam at this moment. He thrusts forward once, his erection brushing against Sam’s through the thin layer of his boxer briefs. Dean doesn’t want to stop there though, to simply let it be them rubbing off against each other.
He kisses his way down Sam’s chin to the long column of his throat, bites gently at Sam’s collarbone the way he did before and hears Sam gasp this time. His fingers are still moving along Sam, touching every inch of skin as his mouth follows their path and attaches briefly to one nipple. He tastes every inch of Sam’s torso, tongue skimming along tanned and cold skin and leaving trails of fire.
When he finds the line of the long scar he licks it before kissing it and Sam cries out loudly and arches underneath him. He plans on asking about that another time, but he has a feeling he knows where it came from. When he tastes Sam’s hipbones he hears a keen, an actual keen, and then he finds Sam’s erection and breathes over it gently.
He waits for Sam to thrust upwards, to request it silently, and then he licks along the shaft and over the vein 'til he gets to the head. He sucks it in, swells a little more at the mixture of taste and Sam’s helpless little moan, and then goes to work.
Dean doesn’t have experience with blowjobs in this sense. He’s never gone down on a guy before, never wanted to really, but he knows what he likes and he can use that as a set of directions. He keeps a steady suction going, grips the base, moves it in counterpoint to his mouth. Sam’s making these sounds, and Dean has trouble concentrating for every second of them. It was like this the first time too, each noise breathless and strangled as if Sam is trying to stay silent. Dean hates that, wants to hear Sam’s pleasure, and so he ups the ante and swirls his tongue before scraping his teeth against the bundle of nerves at the head.
Sam’s cry is perfect, exactly as Dean imagined it would be, and those long fingers give up their death grip on the sheets and grab his short hair. When Sam speaks it’s a choked whisper. “Dean. Dean. More.”
He’s not sure what more he can do, doesn’t know what Sam wants, until Sam lifts his hips slightly and finds Dean’s fingers wrapped around his shaft, lowers them, whimpers softly. Dean realizes all too quickly exactly what Sam wants.
He’d thought that would take a while, certainly wasn’t expecting the offer tonight, but he’s never been one to pass up a good thing. He can hear Sam struggling with something, the nightstand Dean thinks, and the scrape of a drawer opening and suddenly Sam’s gone from his mouth and cursing as he digs through the contents of the drawer.
Dean bites his lip so Sam won’t hear the laughter bubbling up in him, slides his boxer briefs off as quickly as he can, and then somehow Sam finds his hands and puts a bottle of lube in one and a condom in the other. Dean’s hard enough so he takes care of the condom first and then pops open the lube bottle. It only takes a little, Dean knows there’s such a thing as too much, and then he’s back down with Sam’s cock in his mouth and one finger rubbing gently at Sam’s entrance. This is a process he knows very well, and he takes his time before he even penetrates with the first finger.
It’s the feel of that, breaching Sam’s body for the first time that reminds Dean it’s been years since Sam has done anything like this. He doubts Brady was gentle and kind, wonders if Sam has ever had a sexual encounter that didn’t end with pain, and then he pushes that thought away and focuses on opening Sam up.
He takes his time, moves his mouth to kissing Sam’s thigh, his hipbones again, the junctures of his thighs, and the whole time Sam is steadily gaining volume as he begs and pleads for Dean to get the fuck on with it. He’s up to three fingers by the time he gives in to Sam’s request, slicking himself up once and then shifting Sam onto his side so that Dean can hold one long leg up, with Sam’s bad knee still on the mattress taking no weight and no strain.
He pushes in slow, hears Sam suck in a sharp breath, and stops halfway in. It’s tight, so tight Dean can barely think, and more importantly he’s finally found something on Sam’s body other than his mouth that is really warm without effort. He waits until Sam pushes back against him, and then he buries his face in the soft curls at the back of Sam’s neck as he thrusts forward all the way and buries himself in Sam’s body.
It’s incredible really, and much to Dean’s chagrin he knows that everything he’s thinking is a cliché and a girly one at that. It’s like coming home, the other half, blah, blah, but Dean can’t avoid how true all the romantic and flowery phrases are. He’ll never say them out loud, sticks to panting Sam’s name, to encouraging Sam to move more and more, but he can think them without anyone ever knowing.
Dean lets the pace build but remains very careful about Sam’s injured knee. It’s hard because his instincts are screaming for him to change positions, to move Sam onto his knees and simply fuck him into the mattress and Dean is usually a creature of instinct when it comes to these things.
It’s at some point in this long train of thought that he realizes Sam’s touching himself, and that won’t do because honestly it’s Dean’s job to please Sam. Has been since that first kiss, and he takes Sam’s velvety cock in his hand and grips it tightly. He strokes slow and long, following the pace of his thrusts, and gives a flick of his wrist at the head despite the awkward angle. Sam’s sounds are full and deep now, coming from his throat as he comes undone in Dean’s hand. Dean keeps going, pushes Sam over the edge and then fucks into him at least a half dozen more times before he’s following Sam’s example and tumbling into orgasm.
They stay like that a long time, Dean’s face in the sweaty hair at the base of Sam’s neck, his hand covered in Sam’s rapidly cooling release, and his dick buried in Sam until finally Sam moves away. There’s a small gasp as Dean withdraws, rustling, and then Dean’s hand is grabbed and Sam’s rubbing it briskly with a towel Dean can only assume he got from the laundry basket. The condom is pulled off with shaky efficiency, and where it goes Dean couldn't even begin to guess.
They lay together in the dark, foreheads pressed solidly against one another, and Dean breathes in as Sam breathes out. They don’t discuss it, don’t talk about what’s just happened or what it means, they just lay there breathing like that until Dean knows Sam is asleep. When he’s sure Sam’s gone he kisses the forehead once, and then follows Sam into slumber.
Wordcount: 6,507
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam
Warning(s): Violence, Sex, Expletives, Mentions of an Abusive Relationship
Notes: Still very AU. If you like this, thank
sammichgirl, who told me it was time to make it public. :) If you don't it's totally not her fault.Summary: Sam Burton has an average life, a foul-mouthed sister, and a dream of putting his past behind him. All of that changes when Dean Winchester comes to stay.
First part
Previous part
Dean wakes to the sound of the door slipping open quietly. Bright blue eyes peer at him from the crack, and he holds up one finger before sliding out of the bed. Sam’s still asleep, face relaxed and one arm thrown casually over Dean’s stomach. He lays it gently along Sam’s side and then grabs his pants and shirt. She’s gone when he looks up from dressing, and he wonders if she disappeared from the doorway when he got out of the bed or before. She seems like the type to overlook nudity.
He glances once more at Sam’s peaceful face, free of the shadows Dean’s gotten so used to, and then slides out and follows her onto the porch. The sun has set, how long did they sleep, and Loki's nowhere to be seen. She gestures to the bench and then sits beside him. They’re quiet for a long time, looking upwards together, and Dean’s never felt so at ease under a dark sky before.
She lights up beside him and then after a long drag she speaks. “So how long do we have?”
Reality crashes back down coldly and Dean looks her way. A week. Technically a day less now and how much time will he get in with Sam before he has to leave? Has to chance never coming back? “A week. Dad called. Will we be finished by then?”
Her fingers move through the darkness, her face briefly and dimly lit by the inhale, and then shadowed completely again. “No, but I have a backup plan. You are coming back.” Not a question, not a command, something strangely in between.
“Yes ma’am. As soon as I can.” He'll do it to. He can remember the taste of Sam as if it's still lingering there.
“He hasn’t done this in a long time. Any of this. Go easy on him.” He sees that brief red flash of her face again, the way she looks so serious and solemn, and he nods once to show he gets it.
“I won’t disappear.” He can’t promise that though. It’s a dangerous life, Dean has always known that, and with them closing in on the Yellow Eyed Demon things can only get worse as time goes on. He thinks of the big body sleeping in the back bedroom and his fingers twitch to get back. To touch Sam’s skin again. He wants to ask where the scar came from before he licks the length of it. Wants to taste that skin in its entirety. He’s never been one for half-measures.
Her voice is just as solemn as before, but the tone of it is different now. Hesitant. “Bobby told me a little bit about your mom. I was wondering if you’d like help?”
He jerks once before looking her way. “What?”
Her shoulders shrug, a pantomime so he can see the gesture in the dark, and the cigarette moves to punctuate her words. “Help. I'm a practitioner Dean. I know some shit.”
He bristles for a moment, the old defensiveness coming back. Bobby’s got so many dusty old tomes it’s dizzying and if he can’t find it…but that’s not helpful. Not constructive thinking. After all extra hands can't hurt right? “Is it safe for you to offer this?”
She waves her hand, makes a disgusted noise, and then takes a long drag. “Fuck safe. You coming back depends on ending this vendetta, and Sam's happiness depends on you coming back. I’m in this. One way or another I’m in this.”
He can’t argue that. “Ok. But if it's too dangerous-“
“I need to back off?” There’s amusement now and he peers at her through the darkness. “Dean, trust me when I say I may not hunt but I'm not a stranger to danger. Shit I hate rhyming.”
He can’t help it, he laughs, and then he leans an arm around her shoulder and feels her jump once before settling. “You’re a strange girl. Thank you.” There’s a world of words here all of which Dean wants to use and can’t. He wants to thank her for Sam, for saving Sam and pushing him, for being there, for everything. Instead he lets the two words carry all the weight of his thoughts and from the line of tension he knows she understands.
“My pleasure. Now let’s get inside before I freeze to death.” She pauses for a moment and then stands. “Want me to sleep in my own bed?”
He thinks of Sam lying naked under the sheets. Waiting for him. “Yeah that’d probably be best. Unless you're planning on hopping in with that little guy.”
She laughs once, slaps his shoulder and then heads inside sending one last shot behind her. “Be a gentleman for once. Take him some food.”
Dean follows her command, makes sandwiches and grabs two beers before heading back into the bedroom. Sam’s still asleep, curled on his side now with his face pressed into the pillow Dean was using before he left. Dean indulged himself and watched Sam sleep for several long minutes before the sweating beers became too much and he gently nudged the younger man’s shoulder. Sam blinked awake, eyes peering at him and then taking in the darkness outside the windows.
“Holy shit. How long were we asleep?” He’s rubbing at his eyes, looking all of twelve years old despite his size, and Dean wants to laugh but doesn’t. He’s overwhelmed with how fond of Sam he already is, how fond he could become.
“Long time Sleeping Beauty. I brought you a sandwich.”Sam gives him a dirty look, but takes the sandwich and the beer before wolfing them both down. Dean joins him, and they eat in comfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder in the bed. After they’ve finished Sam puts the bottles down on the desk and pulls sweats out of his dresser. He slides them on and then turns to catch Dean staring at him.
Sam’s ass, Dean is ashamed to admit, is probably better than his. Probably the best he’s ever seen. It’s not like Dean goes around checking out guys' asses, it’s a road he’s taken once or twice but only when curiosity overcame him, and so his basis for comparison is fairly slim. Still he’s seen a fair number of attractive butts and this one takes the cake. He waits for Sam to cross the room again, to rejoin him, and then he reaches over and turns off the lamp he turned on when he came in.
They sit in the dark like that, Dean feeling unsure and overdressed, and the silence morphs from comfortable to strange in what feels like seconds. He feels Sam bump his shoulder, and then the voice he’s starting to know too well comes out in the darkness. “What’s bothering you?”
“I can’t promise I’m coming back Sam.” He pauses, lets that sink in, and then moves forward. “I’m gonna try. I want you to know that, to believe it, ok?”
He’s surprised by a low chuckle. “Are you reassuring me?”
Dean’s almost offended. The chuckle is nice but he knows that tone too well. “Yes. Why the fuck shouldn’t I?”
“I’m an adult Dean. I can handle it if you change your mind. I’m not-“
“Sam.” He says it without thinking about it, something about the darkness or the intimacy of the moment leaving him open enough to express it. “The only thing that would keep me from coming back at this point is death.”
He hears Sam suck in a deep breath, and then large strong fingers grip his elbow with surprising accuracy. “Don’t say that. I know it’s possible but let’s leave it as something we don’t say. Ok?”
It’s shocking really, a Winchester move if ever there was one, and Dean’s momentarily struck dumb. He feels the fingers squeeze harder and then release. He waits a moment for Sam to get it back under control and then taps Sam’s ankle with his sock covered foot. “Ok. Got it. What would you like to talk about?”
“I’m not interested in talking right now. It’s dark, we’re in bed together. I’m assuming Ope is sleeping in her room tonight.”
Dean knows that tone, has used it himself more than once, and he doesn’t bother answering. He turns his head to find Sam’s face right next to his, and he takes advantage of that closeness.
----
If someone asked Sam three weeks ago what he’d wake up to on a Saturday morning he would have said his alarm clock. Standard procedure on Saturdays was to drag Ophelia out onto the road for a run, and then read the paper while devouring cereal. Instead he wakes to Dean, still burning hot and half-dressed. It’s some late afternoon hour, they stayed up until sunrise talking, and now he’s groggy and regretting what this is going to do to his internal schedule.
His knee is better, still ugly but usable, and he makes his way into the kitchen to find Loki drinking hot chocolate.
"So-uh-sleep well?"
Loki's head tilts and he smiles brightly. "Well minus the moaning from your room and all the sexual tension Opey is sending me I slept just fine."
"Don't let her hear you say that." Loki laughs and Sam relaxes back against the china cabinet. "Hey-uh-you wanna see my set-up later?" It's awkward. Childish really, like a little boy asking to show off his action figures, but Sam's never had a friend over. Loki smirks, but it's not unkind.
"I thought you'd never ask."
He studies the hacker before he grabs his own coffee and goes looking for Ophelia. She’s not in bed, not this late, and he finds her in the basement surrounded by books with a notebook open and full of scribbles. He glances at them, doesn’t recognize what her slanted handwriting is recording, and sinks into the comfortable old armchair.
“Sleep ok?” She doesn’t look up from her work when she speaks, drops a green tab on the page she’s reading and then flips the book closed and reaches for another. Sam recognizes the cover but it’s in Italian and he doesn’t speak the language.
“Yeah. Pretty good, you?” He watches her frown over a passage in the book before she closes it and reaches for another. “Is this for your work? Somebody want something really esoteric?”
“Fine. No.” She rubs at her forehead and then looks up with red-rimmed eyes. She hasn’t been to sleep. Sam knows the look. Her eyes are too bloodshot for anything other than a full night of reading. He offers her his coffee and she gratefully accepts. “And no. In that order.” She gives him a careless grin and goes back to reading, her right hand scribbling in the notebook without looking at what she’s writing.
He studies her notes more closely now, and sees that she’s writing names that look familiar. She’s circled the word ‘Enoch’, underlined the word ‘pattern’, and left a question mark beside a page reference with a Latin title next to it. He slides out of the armchair to the floor and picks up one of the books. It’s in English, and it’s about fallen angels.
“Ophelia. What are you doing?” His blood is already starting to run cold, his fingers shaking slightly as he tries to keep it under control. Whatever she’s researching it’s not work related. Sam knows from experience that while people often ask for something original or unique, they rarely want anything as complicated and heavy as the sort of thing she's looking at right now.
“Researching Sam.” She glanced up again and that concerned frown made its appearance. “No big. Promise.”
She gets up long enough to double-click something on his work computer, and Lacuna Coil starts up over the speakers even as she’s sitting back down and pulling the heavy tome back to her. “When are you going to sleep?”
“When I’m done with these notes. Soon. I promise.” She’s lying and he knows it. Knows the look she gets when a project has consumed her ability to care about personal safety. She once went three and a half days without sleeping while she tried to recreate a mural she saw in a movie. She did it for fun, but by the last day of her sleeplessness she was slurring her words and dropping things. She couldn’t remember what the original point was by then, and Sam had to hold her down on the couch until she fell asleep. He’d made her swear to never do that again, and she’d complied.
He pushes himself up off the floor and watches her bent head. “If you’re not asleep in two hours I’m dosing you Ope. I’m not kidding.”
She nods once, distractedly, and then he heads for the stairs. “Hey Sam?”
He looks over his shoulder to see she’s still looking in the book, her hand scribbling furiously. “Yeah?”
“I'm kinda glad Loki's here. It's nice to see you with friends.” He closes the door on the distracted look she’s giving the book.
----
She comes up five minutes before his ultimatum is up and goes past them into her room. Dean has joined the land of the living, or in the case of everyone but Sam and Loki the semi-living, and Sam watches him eat two bowls of Ophelia’s cereal before the green eyes are bright and clear. “What’s today’s plan?”
Loki shakes Ophelia's keys with a mischievous grin. "I'm being given the honor of exploration. I'm betting I'm doing it alone."
"Yes. You are." Dean studied him for a second and then Sam watched his eyes land on the file folder the hacker had brought with him. The one Sam had never bothered going through. It hadn't been that long ago he'd thought Dean was going to kill them in their sleep. Life was…odd.
Loki nods and holds up both hands. "Hey no problem man. I have some things to pick up anyway. Sweets for my sweet." He winks once, and then he's gone. Sam's vaguely concerned for him, and what Ophelia will do if the guy actually tries to get her in bed.
It’s just the two of them and Sam is left holding his bowl and watching Dean study the file folder. When those eyes come back to Sam the seriousness changes into something that reignites the warmth in Sam’s stomach.
“Looks like it’s just you and me Sammy. Anything you want to do?”
Sam considers the offer and then points out the obvious. “Didn't you come here for rest or something?”
Dean’s grin wavers once, a strange look crossing his face, and then he’s grinning again. Bright even against the morning sunlight. “Are there places without a lot of people around here?”
Sam thinks about it, his knee probably not up to anything too strenuous, and then he comes up with an idea. Jeff left his old rods in the garage and Sam hasn’t been out in it in years. “Yeah. I can think of something.” Before he goes to change he grabs the file folder up, crosses the kitchen, and dumps it into the trashcan without opening it. Dean's smile is worth the whole damn world.
----
Sam’s got a bite and Dean looks over from his chair and grins when Sam starts reeling it in. It’s their first bite of the excursion and Sam can’t help his pride. Right up until the fish comes above the water line and he sees that it’s the smallest Bluegill he’s ever spotted. He unhooks it carefully and then throws it back before meeting Dean’s eyes. There’s silence, a long silence, and then Dean starts laughing.
“You’re going to scare the fish away.” He knows it doesn’t help his case that he speaks loudly and slowly to Dean. Which doesn’t matter because the hunter just laughs harder at Sam’s offended look.
The last time Sam was here was with Ophelia and her uncle, and Jeff taught him everything he knows. He remembers the sun that day, bright and directly overhead, and he remembers the way Jeff smiled easily as he explained baiting the hook and waiting out the fish. It's weird to combine that smile with the things he now knows about the man.
It’s peaceful here, the regular fishermen usually come at late hours, so Dean and Sam have the place almost to themselves. It’s too late in the season for swimmers and kids are in school. Dean has brought beer, a fishermen’s best tool he claims, and the two of them are lounged back in patio chairs they brought as they watch their bobbers.
Sam can hear the birds calling, the wind running through the trees, and every now and then he steals glances at Dean’s face. The smile is easy and fixed, the jaw unclenched for once, and Sam’s glad to see it. It’s good to just do this, no need for confessions or tension, just relaxing in the sunlight. It gives him time to breathe, to think, and Sam uses this time to consider nothing instead and enjoy it.
They reel in and cast on a fairly regular basis, checking the bait after nibbles with no real bite. Once or twice Sam leaves his line out long beyond a nibble and just watches the water reflect the sunlight. After a full hour of silence Dean speaks softly. “Hey Sam, this is really nice.”
Sam nods once and then turns to really look at Dean. His face is open, honest, and Sam swallows hard at the sight of it. “Yeah. Really nice.”
He has to turn back and watch his bobber so he doesn’t say anything stupid. He reels in, finds his bait has been stolen, and slides another leaf worm onto the hook before casting out deeply. He’s in the middle of adjusting the positioning of his bobber when he feels the hand on his shoulder, and he turns his face to find Dean right there. The man makes as much noise as a cat when he wants to, and it should be unsettling but Sam finds it ridiculously erotic.
Sam raises an eyebrow, goes to say something sardonic, and finds that he has a mouthful of Dean. He grips the back of Dean’s shirt with one hand, the other still holding his rod while Dean’s talented mouth works his over. There's Dean's tongue questing for entrance, Sam allows it and then tilts his head for a better angle. He feels rough stubble, tastes the lingering remnants of coffee and the overwhelming essence of Dean, and then it’s all gone and Dean is whooping in joy as his line jerks forward.
Sam can’t stop the laugh that escapes him at the childlike glee on Dean’s handsome face. It’s the only fish they catch all day that they can keep and it’s a beauty, can’t weigh less than 12 pounds. Sam never has a chance to beat Dean’s catch, they spend the rest of the day kissing in the sunlight, the cool breeze mitigating Dean’s natural heat.
----
When they get home they find Loki in the kitchen rubbing at his neck and considering a pan full of Hamburger Helper. He looks up from it and gives an abashed smile to the two of them. “Ophelia told me to cook. Catch anything good?”
“Caught a beauty, gonna clean it right now.” Dean touches Sam’s lower back lightly and then grabs the newspaper off the table and goes back outside. He’s left alone with Loki who hasn’t missed the gentle touch.
“Sammy. Is this uh-you and he involved?” There's something awkward on Loki's face and it makes Sam tense and despair. His first friend, and this is going to be the end of that.
"Yeah. That a problem?" There's a moment he thinks Loki will say yes, but instead the hacker goes back to smirking.
"Nah man. Less competition for the bondage beauty."
Tension pours out of Sam and he nods before leaving the room. Doesn't want Loki to see how grateful he is. Ophelia’s door is open and her room is empty. He goes straight to the basement to find her in the middle of that book pile again, the frown fixed firmly on her face as she rifles through a book. It’s the history of demons she suggested to Dean, and Sam’s happiness flees at the sight of it.
When she looks up and sees his expression she drops the book, on her feet instantly and touching his face. “Sam? What’s wrong? Did Dean do something?”
“No. No I’m fine. Why are you researching demons?”
She glances once at the books, back at him, and then away. “Uh. I told Dean I’d help him. That may not be a story I should tell you.” She goes for a smile and it looks harsh and unnatural. Her hands rub at his arms for several long seconds. “Does that bother you?”
“Not at all.” A lot. “Just wish you’d take better care of yourself.”
He slips away from her, heads back upstairs and sits at his laptop so he can finish that last paper. Focuses so hard he’s afraid he’ll break something even as his shaking hands type rapidly. She sticks her head in after several terse paragraphs are done and studies him silently for a long time before speaking. “Dinner’s ready.” Her head disappears out of the doorway and Sam follows her into the kitchen where Dean is already washing his hands and chatting almost amiably with Loki about his catch.
“Put up quite a fight didn’t it Sammy?”
Ophelia’s eyes catch his and one eyebrow brushes under the line of her bangs. She’ll have to get a haircut soon because she hates when her bangs cross the line into her eyes. He realizes he’s never answered Dean’s question and everyone is staring at him.
“Yeah. Big fight.” Loki rolls his eyes as he drops garlic bread on the table. Dean nods encouragingly and then takes the thread of the story back up.
“So there I am struggling with the biggest Largemouth Bass you’ve ever seen…”
Sam can’t focus on dinner, or the conversation, or anything really other than the stack of books in the basement. There’re two aspects that bother him really, but one significantly more than the other. Ope’s secrecy is disturbing but not completely unforeseen. She's kept the secret of her family's business from him since they met after all. Which is something they're eventually going to have to argue about, because it should piss Sam off. A lot. It doesn't though. Considering the number of secrets he's been hiding from her all this time it isn't really fair to be angry at her.
But Dean needs to know about demons? What could he possibly need to know? She’s been running through those books like someone’s life depends on it, and the only person she acts like that for is Sam. Which means either Sam’s missing something, or this research has to do with him. What does Dean know about his past exactly?
Sam’s been vague, as vague as possible, and Ope can’t share the biggest secret he has. She doesn’t know it. He tries to focus in on the conversation, it’s switched to Jeff’s old motorcycle, but he loses the thread too fast as his head spins away. Could Dean have been snooping and put it all together? There hasn’t been time for that, and Dean doesn’t know Sam’s old name. Doesn’t know where Sam was when he gave in to Brady or any other set of details necessary for that amount of research. There’s no way.
He jumps when a hand touches his shoulder, and then Ope’s voice cuts through his fog. “Sam. Dinner’s over. Get up.”
Sam looks around to see Loki is gone and Dean is studying him without looking directly at him. He gathers his plate and heads for the sink to do dishes but Ophelia’s little hands direct him away. “Bed time Sammy. Get some rest. Loki's taking me to the bar tonight to relax. I'll probably come back alone. Get the shovels ready." He gives her a weak smile and tries to ignore her look of concern.
Dean stays in the living room while Sam struggles through the last of his paper and then fools around on the internet. He hasn’t sifted through the bookmarks in days and he considers the little button before ignoring it in favor of using Google.
He types in Brady’s name and finds the familiar articles, Honors Student Goes Missing, and then he jumps again when a larger and stronger hand touches his shoulder this time. The look he gives Dean is guilty, and he fights to hide how frightened he is.
Dean studies the picture on the screen with a look of discontent. The business man haircut Brady kept to make himself less suspicious, more trustworthy, blue eyes like ice chips, and the strong jaw line that Sam found so irresistible at first and so terrifying at the end. That jaw that powered those teeth that…
He feels the hand on his shoulder squeeze once, briefly, and then Dean’s voice is practically an extension of the squeeze in Sam’s ear. “Don’t go back there. Is that where you’ve been all night?”
Sam shakes his head but he’s not sure what he’s saying no to. “What’s Ophelia researching?”
There’s silence for a long time and Sam is too afraid to turn around. He can feel the muscles of his shoulder trembling under the weight of Dean’s hand. He’d like to lie to himself and say that it’s just nerves, that he’s not acting like a battered spouse right now, but his skin is stretched too tight and he can barely breathe.
When Dean answers there’s a note of hesitation in his voice. “My mother was killed by a demon in my little brother’s nursery when I was four. She’s looking for which one it might be to give my father and me an advantage. Why Sam?”
Sam shakes his head once, fears only partially allayed, and then stands as quickly as he can. His knee gives a twinge of warning, slow down asshole, and he moves away from Dean and starts sorting through textbooks aimlessly. “I was wondering what had her so obsessed.” She’s doing it for Sam though, and he knows that. It’s not that she doesn’t like Dean so much as there’s no way Dean has burrowed that far under her skin this quickly. Even Sam gets attached more quickly than she does.
But if she thought it would bring Dean back faster, or help him be better to Sam, or keep him safe then she’d sacrifice everything for something as small as a demon’s name. Which is an unfair thought because it’s the demon that stole Dean’s life and that makes it a big thing. Sam should be happy that she’s helping, he knows full well what she’s capable of, but that glacier that’s taken up residence in his stomach just won’t go away.
Dean rubs his hand over his mouth for a minute and then looks away. “If you’re going to lie to me Sam you should try harder. I’m a con man for a living.”
“You’re a hunter for a living.” It’s both an accusation and an admonition. Dean’s good at putting himself down. Sam’s been able to see that since the beginning. He watches one eyebrow quirk, a strange look pass over Dean’s face, and then Dean is jovial and light-hearted again.
“You got that right. Want to tell me the truth now?”
“Not really.” Sam leaves the room before this can become another forced confession, and Dean doesn’t follow.
----
When Sam finally comes back Dean is waiting for him, the room pitch black, and he can hear Sam rustling around in the dark across the room before cold skin slides against his and Sam is there in the bed. It only takes a second to realize Sam is naked, and he knows it’s probably a diversion tactic, but Dean is hard almost instantly. Sam’s fingers dance along his thigh, each one long and graceful, as if Dean’s skin is a set of piano keys Sam can manipulate a tune out of.
He lets each finger work its way up, travel along 'til they’ve just about reached their destination, and then he grips them to stop them just before they get to his groin. It’s not that Dean doesn’t appreciate the gesture, sex has often been his way to avoid talking about things, but this is important.
Because he’s had time to think while Sam’s been gone, to analyze, and damn if he doesn’t realize that Sam thought Ophelia’s research was related to himself. He’d love to let it go, to simply let Sam distract him with pleasure, but first he has to know why Sam’s afraid of Ophelia looking into demons. What that could possibly have to do with Sam.
Dean knows they’re alone up here, and he waits for Sam’s fingers to pull against his grip before he speaks. “Tell me the truth Sam.” It’s not supposed to sound so harsh but Dean’s restraining himself as well as Sam. The kid is always so cold, and Dean wants to cover him, blanket him and warm him up, but this has to come first.
He can’t see more than Sam’s dim outline in the dark room, but he feels the trembling start up again. It makes Dean feel terrible, to cause Sam to be so nervous and afraid, and fuck he’s in so much trouble here. When Sam finally responds it’s so quiet Dean has to strain to hear it. “Brady was a demon.”
He releases Sam’s hand and feels it pull away from him before he’s grabbing Sam and pulling him into his own warmth. Sam shakes hard, a leaf in a strong wind, and Dean strokes gently along his back even as he’s making soothing noises. He feels the dampness of tears against his neck where Sam’s face is pressed.
Dean wants to go to Texas, go back in time really, and be the one who kills Brady. Bleeding to death was too kind a fate for the son of a bitch. He holds Sam 'til the trembling stops and then pitches his voice so it's as soothing as it can be. “No Sam. Not a demon. Just an evil son of a bitch. There’s a difference Sammy.”
He feels Sam shake his head, unable to get more words, and so he grabs Sam’s chin and tilts it upwards so he can find Sam’s lips in the dark. It starts chaste, comforting, and turns into more. Sam’s tears have stopped, but Dean licks the salty tracks off of Sam’s sharp cheekbones before going back to his mouth. It changes from comfort to lust almost too fast for Dean to follow. One second the two of them are wrapped around each other and Sam’s shaking, the next Dean is over him and Sam is breathing hard and fast like he’s been running.
Dean could spend years doing just this, kissing Sam, feeling the long and hard lines of him, but he doesn’t have years. He has days, days until he has to wave goodbye and drive off from all of this, and Dean plans on living those days to their fullest.
His hands travel the lines of Sam’s chest, rub once over hardened nipples and he sucks the gasp from Sam’s mouth before moving lower to the sharply defined hipbones. Sam’s so big under him, tall and long, but Dean feels larger than Sam at this moment. He thrusts forward once, his erection brushing against Sam’s through the thin layer of his boxer briefs. Dean doesn’t want to stop there though, to simply let it be them rubbing off against each other.
He kisses his way down Sam’s chin to the long column of his throat, bites gently at Sam’s collarbone the way he did before and hears Sam gasp this time. His fingers are still moving along Sam, touching every inch of skin as his mouth follows their path and attaches briefly to one nipple. He tastes every inch of Sam’s torso, tongue skimming along tanned and cold skin and leaving trails of fire.
When he finds the line of the long scar he licks it before kissing it and Sam cries out loudly and arches underneath him. He plans on asking about that another time, but he has a feeling he knows where it came from. When he tastes Sam’s hipbones he hears a keen, an actual keen, and then he finds Sam’s erection and breathes over it gently.
He waits for Sam to thrust upwards, to request it silently, and then he licks along the shaft and over the vein 'til he gets to the head. He sucks it in, swells a little more at the mixture of taste and Sam’s helpless little moan, and then goes to work.
Dean doesn’t have experience with blowjobs in this sense. He’s never gone down on a guy before, never wanted to really, but he knows what he likes and he can use that as a set of directions. He keeps a steady suction going, grips the base, moves it in counterpoint to his mouth. Sam’s making these sounds, and Dean has trouble concentrating for every second of them. It was like this the first time too, each noise breathless and strangled as if Sam is trying to stay silent. Dean hates that, wants to hear Sam’s pleasure, and so he ups the ante and swirls his tongue before scraping his teeth against the bundle of nerves at the head.
Sam’s cry is perfect, exactly as Dean imagined it would be, and those long fingers give up their death grip on the sheets and grab his short hair. When Sam speaks it’s a choked whisper. “Dean. Dean. More.”
He’s not sure what more he can do, doesn’t know what Sam wants, until Sam lifts his hips slightly and finds Dean’s fingers wrapped around his shaft, lowers them, whimpers softly. Dean realizes all too quickly exactly what Sam wants.
He’d thought that would take a while, certainly wasn’t expecting the offer tonight, but he’s never been one to pass up a good thing. He can hear Sam struggling with something, the nightstand Dean thinks, and the scrape of a drawer opening and suddenly Sam’s gone from his mouth and cursing as he digs through the contents of the drawer.
Dean bites his lip so Sam won’t hear the laughter bubbling up in him, slides his boxer briefs off as quickly as he can, and then somehow Sam finds his hands and puts a bottle of lube in one and a condom in the other. Dean’s hard enough so he takes care of the condom first and then pops open the lube bottle. It only takes a little, Dean knows there’s such a thing as too much, and then he’s back down with Sam’s cock in his mouth and one finger rubbing gently at Sam’s entrance. This is a process he knows very well, and he takes his time before he even penetrates with the first finger.
It’s the feel of that, breaching Sam’s body for the first time that reminds Dean it’s been years since Sam has done anything like this. He doubts Brady was gentle and kind, wonders if Sam has ever had a sexual encounter that didn’t end with pain, and then he pushes that thought away and focuses on opening Sam up.
He takes his time, moves his mouth to kissing Sam’s thigh, his hipbones again, the junctures of his thighs, and the whole time Sam is steadily gaining volume as he begs and pleads for Dean to get the fuck on with it. He’s up to three fingers by the time he gives in to Sam’s request, slicking himself up once and then shifting Sam onto his side so that Dean can hold one long leg up, with Sam’s bad knee still on the mattress taking no weight and no strain.
He pushes in slow, hears Sam suck in a sharp breath, and stops halfway in. It’s tight, so tight Dean can barely think, and more importantly he’s finally found something on Sam’s body other than his mouth that is really warm without effort. He waits until Sam pushes back against him, and then he buries his face in the soft curls at the back of Sam’s neck as he thrusts forward all the way and buries himself in Sam’s body.
It’s incredible really, and much to Dean’s chagrin he knows that everything he’s thinking is a cliché and a girly one at that. It’s like coming home, the other half, blah, blah, but Dean can’t avoid how true all the romantic and flowery phrases are. He’ll never say them out loud, sticks to panting Sam’s name, to encouraging Sam to move more and more, but he can think them without anyone ever knowing.
Dean lets the pace build but remains very careful about Sam’s injured knee. It’s hard because his instincts are screaming for him to change positions, to move Sam onto his knees and simply fuck him into the mattress and Dean is usually a creature of instinct when it comes to these things.
It’s at some point in this long train of thought that he realizes Sam’s touching himself, and that won’t do because honestly it’s Dean’s job to please Sam. Has been since that first kiss, and he takes Sam’s velvety cock in his hand and grips it tightly. He strokes slow and long, following the pace of his thrusts, and gives a flick of his wrist at the head despite the awkward angle. Sam’s sounds are full and deep now, coming from his throat as he comes undone in Dean’s hand. Dean keeps going, pushes Sam over the edge and then fucks into him at least a half dozen more times before he’s following Sam’s example and tumbling into orgasm.
They stay like that a long time, Dean’s face in the sweaty hair at the base of Sam’s neck, his hand covered in Sam’s rapidly cooling release, and his dick buried in Sam until finally Sam moves away. There’s a small gasp as Dean withdraws, rustling, and then Dean’s hand is grabbed and Sam’s rubbing it briskly with a towel Dean can only assume he got from the laundry basket. The condom is pulled off with shaky efficiency, and where it goes Dean couldn't even begin to guess.
They lay together in the dark, foreheads pressed solidly against one another, and Dean breathes in as Sam breathes out. They don’t discuss it, don’t talk about what’s just happened or what it means, they just lay there breathing like that until Dean knows Sam is asleep. When he’s sure Sam’s gone he kisses the forehead once, and then follows Sam into slumber.
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no subject
Date: 2013-01-04 02:28 am (UTC)I feel like I'm missing something big with Ope. Like...there's just more about her, why she's so invested, beyond just being an awesome person who saved Sam. Or maybe she's just that awesome. I mean, she knows about hunters and the life, but still, something else is puzzling me and I can't figure it out.
I need to hug Sam. I said it before, but my God, he's so very traumatized, and still hasn't worked through it, I think he's just buried a lot of it.
Dean is so gentle, so loving, so tender. He's really opened his heart to Sam - I wonder if he even knows it. I think he might - and he doesn't seem scared. Cautious, but not scared.
OMFG. I just had a thought! Was Brady a demon? 'Cause if he was, he didn't die when Ope thought she killed him. Which means he is still out there. And is probably coming for Sam. Or was he really just human? In which case, what the hell kind of drug did he give Sam? What exactly did he and Sam do together that was so awful?
(am I your only audience for this story? I feel like I've got a front row seat all access pass. LOVE it!)
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Date: 2013-01-04 03:29 am (UTC)There's a thing there with Ope, and I had a prologue that was supposed to explain it, and then I wanted things to be mysterious longer. So I'm having to work it out later in the story.
Brady? People should trust Sam's judgment more. I'll say that right now and leave the rest for later.
You may indeed be my only audience. :) I haven't unlocked this, and my friends list is fairly small. I don't know if I'll ever make it public honestly. On the other hand I've edited the next...five or six chapters and I'm feeling like dropping them all tonight, because I really love your feedback. :D
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Date: 2013-01-04 03:49 am (UTC)I mean, don't let me stop you! :D
Or I could you know, just go sit over here like a bump on a log and patiently wait.
Ha. I'm so not patient.
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Date: 2013-01-04 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-11 06:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-11 06:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-21 01:52 am (UTC)Your storytelling has such a lovely pace. The slow build of Sam and Dean, very hot! And the reveal of the storyline, a bit here, a bit there, keeping the suspense up. Just perfect!
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Date: 2013-01-21 02:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-13 05:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-07-14 01:46 am (UTC)So glad you like it, and thanks for commenting!!