pairing. (pre-) Sam/Dean
notes. For batoutofkansas. 1950 words, with most grateful thanks to belovedsnail.
summary. Sam's cursed. Dean doesn't really mind.
The motel sheets were fluffy, white, sunshine streaming in, bird chirping, picket fence-
-it was pretty fucking annoying is what it was. Sam groaned, stuck his head under the nearest pillow and tried to drown out the sound of morning: traffic, car alarms, coffee pots, alarm clocks, Dean in the shower jerking off, the tv next door, everything.
Didn't work. Sam flipped over, screwed his eyes shut and tried thinking about boring things. Like the Queen, or maybe the Malleus Maleficarum. Or something. Anything.
Dean came out of the shower and Sam looked instinctively. Towel wrapped around his hips riding low like it wasn't meant to, skin all wet and slick, flushed red with heat and steam.
Sam's mouth went dry; he licked his lips. Let his eyes shudder up and get a good look - a good real long look 'cause when was the last time he saw his brother (goddamnit, his brother) looking like this? Uhh...
"Dean," Sam said, and his voice sounded all choked out: "Dean, I think something's wrong with me."
Dean rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling beseechingly. "Not again."
"Okay, so, let's go over this one more time. I got out of the shower and...?"
Sam was securely fastened to the bedpost with Dean's handcuffs, the ones he'd stolen off whichever cop was the last one to arrest him. It didn't actually help, because that meant Sam was tied to the bed and well.
Sam cleared his throat and tried to stop tugging at the cuffs.
"Okay, so, that cambion? Two hunts back, the one in Green River? I think it did something to me, because-" Sam bit his lip and cut off the rest of his words.
"-now you want to roll over for big brother, huh?" Dean supplied helpfully. Sam buried his hands as much as he could, or he would have if it wasn't for the handcuffs. "And you're pretty sure it's the cambion, right? Because you've never ever felt like that before, and of course it has to be a demon. With you so far?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "Absolutely."
"Huh," Dean said. "Easy enough to fix, right?"
"Oh god," Sam said.
It really was easy to fix. Cambions were demons, like incubi or succubi except generally not quite as damaging. Usually their effects were dealt with in one of two ways: first, kill it. Or second, make out with the object of affections. Easy, straightforward, simple. Usually this was a plan Dean could get behind but this time he took a good hard look at Sam's flushed skin and tried to push down his unease.
Sam's hands slid down the bare skin of Dean's back, nearly dipped underneath the fabric of Dean's boxers.
"Mmmm, Sammy, don't even think about it," Dean voice was muffed against Sam's throat, "I'm just doing you a favour so you don't get crabs, mmk?"
Sam bucked against Dean's hips. "Don't tell me you aren't enjoying it too."
"Okay, I won't."
Simple, easy hunt. A ghost, not even one that was hurting anybody, just one that was in the way. Dean held his gun and his flashlight in the right formation, sure that Sam was at his back.
Dean shifted, rolled back and turned, caught a glance at Sam bent at the waist and dryheaving as if he' be sick but there was nothing to cough up.
"Sam? Sam!" He backed up towards his brother, grabbed Sam's shoulder and tried to push him up straight. "What?"
"Shit, Dean- I think it's the fucking curse, goddamnit." Sam slid down the wall, had his head between his knees. "Dean, I need-"
Dean sighed and stuck his weapon back in his waistband, bent down and puckered up.
"Damnit, Dean, you look like a fish."
"You gonna get it over with or what?"
Sam sighed, nodded, kissed his brother really really fast and made a face afterwards. Dean stood up straight, gave Sam a hand up without touching any of his skin.
"You good to go?"
"Yeah, yeah I think so."
"Good. Let's get rid of this son of a bitch." Dean knocked the hammer back on his shotgun, and Sam followed.
Sam's eyes glazed over. "Give me your mouth," he said. Dean backed away a little, edged up towards the bar, against (Cindi?)'s warm soft skin.
"You drunk, Sam?" Dean said, half laughing half nervous. "I'm not a girl."He moved further, tried to shake off the hand Sam hand on his forearm without making it obvious.
"Give me your mouth," Sam said again, he bent in like he wasn't going to take no for an answer. Dean shifted at the last second, let Sam take a nosedive onto his shoulder.
"My brother's wasted," he offered in explanation to no one in particular, wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder and manhandled him back up straight. "I'm gonna take him home."
Sam waited until they were outside before he let the curse or whatever it was take over him, before he simply growled against Dean's throat and took what he needed, what Dean offered.
Sam broke off a while later, maybe too long later. Hard, gasping for air - he was about to apologize but Dean wouldn't let him.
"We can keep looking," Dean suggested quickly. "Try to find something, try to figure out a way to break it for real."
"Okay, Dean," Sam said, and he leaned back against his brother.
By the time it'd come around the the third month of this- curse or whatever, they'd decided that Sam just wouldn't bother asking anymore. They both knew that Sam needed it, and they both knew that Dean would give it to him. Asking just meant that they would have to think about it, and that really wouldn't do if they could avoid it at all.
It did things to Sam, though. Knowing that he could touch his brother whenever he wanted to, for any reason at all. Sam wasn't particularly touchy-feely or anything, but he was hardly adverse to contact, especially contact with someone as solid as Dean.
And so when he dug his hands into Dean's back pockets, when he pressed his palm against Dean's ribs when they sparred, when he tugged on Dean's amulet to bring Dean's mouth in kissing range; that wasn't really his fault. Not at all.
"Sam," Dean paused and reconsider whatever it was that he was saying. "Sam, this has got to stop."
Sam shook his head. "Look, Dean - I don't think it's a curse." He broke off, thought for a little. "I think it's more like... a need? Like if I can't just touch you or something, my stomach's going to turn inside out. It's like - It's like I need you, Dean - I mean it's physiological, psychological - whatever. Like an addiction, a habit I can't crack."
Dean nodded carefully, moved to stand in front of Sam. "Sam, does it bother you? I mean, I'm always right here, and you can't get away and I know you want to."
There was a disconnect somewhere in this conversation but Dean didn't want to see it.
Sam laughed, something low harsh and bitter. "No, no I don't want to." He turned and faced the wall, paused before he went over the his bed and sat down. "I mean, there is something about Stanford that I really want, but honestly, Dean?" Sam shifted, made sure to catch Dean's eye. "Honestly, I never really wanted it without you."
Dean gagged, so to speak. "Sam, I'm gonna die of a saccharine overdose, seriously." He pivoted on his heel and went back to his bed, sat to face Sam. "You have to decide what you want, Sam. I have no problem doing this for you - God knows it's hardly the worst thing I've had to do - but I'm not gonna if you're just going to up and leave when it's all said and done. I'm not gonna be your little ... hit or whatever. if you want this, you're going to have to start asking."
"Okay," Sam said. "I'm asking."
Dean let out a breath, long and slow on the exhale. "What are you asking for exactly, huh?"
The room was quieter that it should have been, and the sounds of rushing traffic were too loud. A window was open, and the curtain moved in the breeze just a little, like a wisp of air was moving it back and forth.
Sam stopped evaluating the room, squared his shoulders and made up his mind.
"I'm asking for you, Dean." As soon as he said it he felt stupid, like he need to justify himself, like he needed to do something to make it good for Dean too. "I mean- I'm asking for you, Dean, not like I've asked for you to do stuff for me, or give stuff up, or something." Sam waved his hands helplessly: "I just want you."
Dean rolled his eyes, gave Sam that altogether too familiar oh my god, why are you so stupid look. "You could have just said that before, you know." He got up, pushed Sam down and over, slid in bed beside him, took up all the covers. "Could have saved us a whole lot of time."
Sam stuck his elbow in Dean's ribs, made him arch back in automatic response. "Yeah, I love you too."
Sam woke up, softly nuzzled at his brother, touched his mouth to the nape of Dean's neck. Spread out and pressed his shoulder and chest down on Dean's back, wiggled his hips against Dean's ass. Sam's cock was morning hard and leaking; insistent. Dean still slept, arched his back a little for more contact without even knowing it. Sam smiled against Dean's skin, pressed a kiss again and trailed his hands down Dean's sides, weight into the bed. He could feel miles and miles of Dean's bare skin under him - he was covering his brother like a blanket.
"Sam?" Dean whispered, groggy and half asleep.
"Yeah?" Sam answered, eyes closed and teeth at Dean's earlobe. "Yeah?"
"Morning," Dean said, almost laughing. He reached underneath, wrapped his fist around his cock as much as he could. Sam followed suit, fucking against Dean's ass before fingering at his hole, slick open and more relaxed than Sam would have thought.
Dean made a 'mmmph!' sound, pushed back. "C'mon, get a move on."
"Stop being so impatient." Sam settled his hips against Dean's ass, pressed in slower than he had to.
"I wouldn't if you'd get a move on."
"God, Dean, you're such a slut."
"Virgin," Dean taunted back.
"Saved it for you, sweetheart."
"I bet you did, too," Dean said, face muffled. "Bet you were gonna cry, too, if you weren't so-"
"-afraid of your macho butch self? You gonna shut up and take it or am I going to have to-" Sam jerked a little, settled in deeper than he had any right to be.
"Sam," Dean said, and that's all he said for a long, long time.
Sam woke up and he felt satisfied, happy, content; Dean's left arm was under his head and Dean's right arm was across his chest. Dean moved around a little, stuck his thigh in between Sam's; his whole body tilted towards him.
This is good, he thought, this is perfect.