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Running in Circles

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Sam’s body slams into Dean, full force, tumbling him to the ground. Dean grunts at the impact, the air nearly knocked out of him by a stupid tree root that will leave his ribs sore for days. It doesn’t matter though, not with Sam’s weight already settling over him, large hands pushing Dean’s clothes out of the way, zero patience.

Dean tries to help, gets his jeans open and starts to pull them down. Sam’s hands take over the task, getting the jeans down to Dean’s knees. Then there’s the sound of Sam’s zipper being opened, and Dean can feel the solid muscles of Sam’s body as he drapes himself over Dean from behind.

“Dean.” A hoarse whisper, making Dean shiver with need. “I gotta – “

Please.” Already begging for it, and Dean doesn’t even care. Just bows his back, rubbing his ass against the thick hot length of Sam’s cock like a cat in heat. Offering himself. “Do it. Please.”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation, and no warning before Sam’s long finger stabs into Dean, relentless, forcing its way in to the last knuckle.

“Fuck,” Dean groans and drops to his elbows, buries his teeth in the meat of his forearm to keep from crying out. Jesus, it hurts. But he just has to ride it out, breathe through it, relax. It’s not like he hasn’t dreamed about this for years, imagining what it would be like. Now that his deepest, most shameful fantasy is coming true, he’s not going to bitch about the lack of lube or other unimportant details.

Sam’s fingers — yeah, plural already — are splitting him open way too fast, not giving him any time to get used to the burn. It’s okay. Dean can take the pain; he can take anything if it means he’ll get to have this. “Come on, do it,” he urges, too afraid that if they don’t hurry, the chance will slip through his fingers.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before Sam’s fingers are replaced with his cock, inch after inch sinking in, until Dean feels so full he might just fall apart. It hurts and it feels so good, especially when Sam wastes no time and starts fucking Dean in earnest; brutal thrusts that send violent sparks of pleasure all through Dean’s body, threatening to short-circuit him entirely.

He never thought he’d get to know what it feels like, to have Sam touching him, Sam taking him, having him. It’s better than in his dreams, and Dean thinks he could get lost in it forever. Hell, he could die like this and be happy.

He knows he can’t, though. Can’t lose awareness now. Can’t lose himself to it fully. Not here, not like this.

"Dean, Dean, Dean..." The strain in Sam’s voice, repeating Dean’s name over and over, tells Dean that they're getting close to the finish line, and it takes nothing more than a few strokes of Sam’s hand on Dean’s cock to make sure that they cross it together, Dean spilling over Sam’s fingers, Sam’s seed filling Dean’s insides.

Almost immediately, Sam’s weight is pulling off Dean, his warmth disappearing for a brief moment before his hands are grabbing Dean again, rolling him over. When Dean looks into those hazel eyes, it makes his chest clench so tight he can’t even breathe. Sam’s face is open in wonder, right above Dean’s, bending down for a kiss.

Dean opens the switchblade he had hidden in his jacket sleeve and stabs the incubus in the eye.

“Not gonna let you eat my soul,” he tells the creature as he pulls the knife out with a sickening squelch. He tries to shove the damn thing off, but of course the fucker had to look like Sam when he was at his fittest, a ton of bone and muscle that keeps Dean pinned to the ground. “Fuck.”

“Need a hand?” Benny’s face appears above him, and then the dead body is rolled off, and Benny’s grabbing Dean by the hand and pulling him to his feet. Which doesn't make much sense, because the moment Dean zips up his pants, Benny’s fist sends him back to the ground.

“The fuck?”

“I should be the one asking that, don’t you think?” Benny snarls, angry like Dean’s never seen him before. “What the hell was that, Dean? I come back from a little recon and find you like this? You got some kind of a death wish or what?”

“I had it under control,” Dean snaps back, getting to his feet. “Wasn’t gonna let him kill me.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring,” the vampire throws up his hands. “You sure didn’t have a problem with his dick up your ass though, did you?”

“Shut up.”

“What’s wrong with you, Dean? Am I not enough for you anymore? You need random monsters to scratch your itch for you now? Or is it just that tall, dark and shaggy here is more your type?”

“I said shut up!”

Benny takes a step back, eyes on the axe Dean didn't even realize he's holding. “Whoa, easy, chief.”

There’s a small pang of guilt for treating Benny like this. Dean shoves it down. “Let’s go.”




Benny’s doing his best not to feel hurt about Dean fucking someone else, but it’s not easy. He thought he was doing a pretty good job of keeping Dean satisfied. He gave it to him hard and rough every time Dean demanded it, and gentle and slow in those rare instances when Dean allowed it. They were good together. Amazing, Benny would say.

Clearly, he was wrong. There's something Dean needs, something that Benny isn't giving him.

He just wants to know what it is that he's lacking, what it is that drove Dean into the arms of that incubus. Why it’s eating away at Dean now, making the hunter closed-off and ill-tempered like he hasn’t been in months. Dean’s on edge, always looking for violence. Sometimes it seems like he even forgets why he’s sticking his blades into the poor monsters they capture, the question “Where’s the angel?” more of an afterthought than anything else. It’s ugly. Scary.

Dean’s hurting, and Benny wants to help, and he doesn’t know how.

He can’t just come up and say, “I’m here, I’m listening, so unload your troubles on me, then we can hug and everything will be fine.” That’s not how Dean works, Benny’s figured that out pretty early on. His best course of action is to act like nothing’s wrong and wait until Dean decides to tell him. Because given enough time and space, Dean will always tell him.

Until then, they walk through Purgatory and kill things.




As time passes, the tension between Dean and Benny gradually begins to fade away, Dean’s snippy, single-worded answers slowly turning into full sentences and then, finally, back to their easy, hushed conversations and the good-natured ribbing that helps them pass the time.

Dean’s also made several awkward attempts at apologies for the silent treatment — or at least that’s how Benny interprets the hunter’s insistence on taking the first watch, the offer to fix the torn sleeve of Benny’s coat and make it better than new, and the extra time Dean spends fussing over Benny to make sure he’s okay after every fight. It’s mildly amusing, and really nice, so Benny lets himself enjoy it. (For as long as he can, a voice inside his head adds.)

Also, Dean doesn’t spread his legs for any more monsters, and when he finally spreads them for Benny again, pulling Benny on top of him with an uncertain, almost shy smile as if he’s not sure Benny still wants him, Benny shows him just how much he’s missed him, and just how good they can be together, and everything is forgotten.

Until one night, when they’re huddled together under a rock overhang, sharing warmth, Dean speaks up. “It was Sam.”


“The incubus,” Dean says, staring fixedly straight ahead. “It looked like Sam.”

Benny swallows. “Sam, your brother Sam?”

Dean’s eyes are big and dark when he meets Benny’s gaze. “Yeah. My brother Sam.”

“Oh.” Benny isn’t sure what to make of this news, so he takes his time thinking about it before he speaks again. But really, he can’t not ask. “So you and Sam are, uh…?”

Dean huffs, shakes his head. Gives a sad smile. “No. We’re pretty fucked up, me and Sam, but not like this. This? It’s just me.” He looks away. Benny’s arm is thrown over his shoulders, and he can feel the muscles there tense. Dean is still, but his heart is beating loud and scared rabbit-fast, and Benny doesn’t know what to say.

Finally, it’s Dean who breaks the silence. “You’re not gonna tell me how sick I am? How wrong this is?”

Oh, that’s what Dean was waiting to hear. “No, Dean, I'm not.” So what if Dean desires his own kin? As a vampire with an obvious proclivity to fall in love with humans, Benny ain’t exactly one to talk. "No judgement from me."

“Huh.“ Frowning, Dean casts a quick glance at Benny, as if to gauge if his reaction was genuine.

Instead of trying to assure him with words, Benny uses his arm to draw Dean closer to him. Dean fights it for a brief, barely perceptible moment, before he goes with it, some of the tension leaving his body as he settles more comfortably against Benny's side.

The dark forest around them is still and quiet.

“Thanks, Benny.”

“Sure thing, brother.” He can’t help but wonder, though… “So was it good? Was it worth it?”

“Yes.” Almost immediately followed by, “No. Not really.” Dean sighs, his breath tickling Benny’s neck. “It’s like having a taste of almost what you want, but knowing you're never gonna get the real thing. It's worse than not having it at all, you know?”

“Yeah,” Benny says. “I know.”