Dean’s eyes are black.
It’s scary. Not because Sam is afraid of Demons, certainly not because he fears Dean. it’s programmed in his fucked up brain to never fear Dean, even when he knows Dean doesn’t have any qualms about hurting him. Has hurt him before.
It’s scary because that green is Sam’s compass, he’s dependent on that deep green, and now it’s swallowed in merciless black. The banker seems darker without Dean’s green eyes, the walls grim and the air scarce. Sam stands with his heart in his throat, facing his black-eyed brother.
He’s holding Ruby’s knife in one hand but his mind isn’t focused on it. All of his senses are taken by the syringe in his pocket; the last shot, just one shot and Dean would be alright again. But of course, Sam screwed up and underestimated Dean, and now Dean is free and taunting him, a smile on his face. There’s too much teeth in that smile, self assurance that Dean never had with his conscience intact.
“You don’t have to do this, Sammy.” Dean says, his voice so much deeper, so much smoother. Meant to lure. Sam feels it like hot caress over his skin, and tries to swallow but his mouth has gone dry.
“I do have to,” his voice is shaky, the direct antithesis of Dean’s confident drawl.
“Why? I’m so much happier like this, don’t you want me to be happy, Sammy?” His eyes are green again, his smile softer. He’s pulling the strings perfectly, and Sam wishes he’d be cruel and mocking instead. He can handle ridicule, it’s tenderness that does him in.
“I want my brother back,”
Dean laughs, “I am your brother.”
Sam shakes his head, even though it’s stupid. Keep your eyes on the enemy . Sam forces himself to look at Dean again, at the relaxed line of his shoulders, and his hands by his sides. Not ready for a fight, completely at ease.
“You’re not.” Sam says, stronger this time. He needs to believe it more than to convince Dean, because his brother would never say... “You’re not,” he repeats.
Your very existence sucked the life out of my life.
He needs to think of a way to get closer. He can’t fight efficiently with one arm, but he doesn’t need to restrain Dean, just close enough to give him the last shot; two seconds of an opening. His eyes dart over Dean frantically, but there’s no give, nothing he’d recognize.
“You’re wrong about that,” Dean says “even like this,” Dean points at himself with both hands,“I’d still do anything for you, Sammy.”
Sam sucks a breath. Anything. Then stand still and let me finish this, let me cure you.
“Anything.” Sam glimpses his Dean in that moment of desperation to prove himself, and something in him breaks. The next words are his most selfish yet, and he knows as he feels the air rush out of his lungs to give them voice, as his lips shapes them to give them identity, this will change everything and he regrets them:
Dean isn’t surprised, or disgusted or hesitant. He takes two steps and he’s in Sam’s space, his hands in Sam’s hair and he’s pulling down. Sam’s breath leaves him as their teeth click, and Dean kisses him like he was born for the sake of this kiss. Open mouthed and deep and heartbreaking. Sam whimpers, his hand coming up to cling to Dean’s waist, and Dean pulls him closer, kisses him harder. It’s like drinking poison, knowing full well that it would kill him, but not stopping because it tastes so sweet.
Dean would never have kissed him if he were in his right mind.
The thought is almost enough for him to break the kiss, but his hunter instinct hits faster, and he takes the syringe out of his pocket. Dean winces, moves back but it’s done.
It’s done. Sam has emptied the purified blood into Dean, Dean looks at him with wide eyes and Sam feels himself saying the last words of the spell. Dean steps back from him and starts screaming, the veins his forearms glowing red, then he falls down.
“Dean!” Sam calls, slaps Dean’s face many times. He freaks, shakes Dean hard, his unsteady breath reminds him to check for Dean’s, and when he finds that he’s breathing, that his pulse is steady, he shuts off. His back hits the wall, and he hunches down over Dean, waiting.
It takes an eternity, but eventually Dean stirs. Sam doesn’t need the holy water in his flask to tell him. When Dean sits up and looks at him, Sam knows . He throws the water anyway, and breathes easier when Dean’s indignant glare locks on him. All human, the thin line of his lips and the ever present guilt in his green eyes.
Sam can still tastes him on his tongue. He wishes he can test for sure, if his brother would taste the same now as he did when he was a demon. He licks his lips, Dean’s eyes flick to the movement and then up to him. A second passes, Sam sees the plea in the tired lines of Dean’s face. Let’s not acknowledge it, let’s run from this.
He should apologize but Sam is a coward too. He smiles “Welcome back, Dean.”
Dean locks himself up in his room, he doesn’t come out. Sam takes the food to him and stands there for long moments, half wishing Dean will invite him to eat with him, half wishing he won’t. He is hungry, he kept forgetting to eat in the last six weeks.
Dean gives him an awkward Thank you, and averts his eyes, and it’s as big a dismissal between them as if Dean had right out asked him to leave. Sam breathes easier but his heart hurts.
He considers getting drunk for one second, but he’s too tired, he’d probably sleep without help. The hangover isn’t worth it. After he brushes his teeth and lies down, he remembers that he didn’t eat and decides he can’t bother. Dean will be there in the morning, they can get breakfast together.
The second he closes his eyes, his mind flashes back to the feeling of Dean’s lips against his. The softness of them, the contrast of the roughness of his stubble and the way his fingers felt in Sam’s hair. He inhales, and it’s like he’s still in that moment, Dean’s scent, Dean’s warmth, his taste. God, Sam has been good for so long, why did he do this to himself?
Now he’ll have to go on, knowing how kissing Dean feels like and not being able to feel it again.
He turns to his side and starts counting his breaths, firmly keeping his mind empty. It takes him a long time to fall asleep.
They go back to normal, more or less. They eat together and discuss hunts, and Sam would be able to pretend it didn’t happen if it weren’t for how Dean avoids his eyes. How he only looks at Sam when Sam isn’t looking, glances like he’s stealing. Sam does the same, but for different reasons. He looks at Dean’s mouth because he can’t help not to, Dean looks at him to judge if he will bring it up.
They hunt. Sam marks the days with how much he can move his bad arm. He can sense that Dean wants to do his motherhening, but he’d have to get close to Sam and he’s been doing very little of that lately. Sam feels like he’s got an infectious disease, and the irony is; Dean probably wouldn’t avoid him if that were true.
For Dean’s sake, he tries his best not to bring it up. That wasn’t Dean, Dean wouldn’t have kissed him if he weren’t a demon. But Sam still feels like he should apologize, like he took something he shouldn’t have. He did. Maybe a part of him wanted to challenge that confident Anything that Dean threw, but another part knew that Dean meant it and it was his only chance to ask for a kiss and get it.
Because Dean was a demon, and because Sam had an excuse. He can say that he was just trying to get Dean closer. He’d be lying but it’s convincing enough. And he needs to fucking apologize because it’s eating Dean alive and Sam can see it. He should just dismiss it and be done with it.
He steels his resolve and walks out of his hiding. Dean is sitting in the library, flipping through a magazine but his heart isn’t in it. He’s got a far away look in his eyes.
Dean flinches, then trying to mask it he takes too long to close the magazine and place it on the table. He turns his head a bit, not exactly looking at Sam, just somewhere over his shoulder.
“I wanted to apologize,”
“Sam,” Dean warns.
“No, I shouldn’t have. I--”
“You needed an opening, it was actually smart. I...I shouldn’t have,” Dean mimics, “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Dean, you were a demon. You wouldn’t have done it otherwise,”
“I thought you meant it,” Dean says, and pales. Like the words got out without him meaning to. Sam blinks, feels slow.
“You kissed me because you thought I meant it?” He emphasizes the me, wants to deliver it all without having to say it. Me, your brother, me a man, me the burden. Me, just Sam.
“I thought you meant it,” Dean repeats, but this time it’s lower, raspy. Like it hurts. I thought you meant it.
Sam did mean it. And Dean kissed him for only that.
“Kiss me,” Sam surprises them both, he’s shaking. They have nothing to hang this on. No Whiskey, no black eyes, no broken arm. Nothing. Just them.
“Dean, I mean it. Kiss me.”
Dean marches to him like he can’t bear the distance between them, and the force with which he kisses Sam nearly knocks him off his feet. Sam’s back hits one of the shelves and Dean presses right in, pushing his thigh between Sam’s legs, cupping his face, sliding his hands further up into his hair. He tastes the same, sour and bitter and real, he feels solid, he smells like leather and gun oil. Sam’s lungs are of fire, but he clings. Almost lightheaded, short of breath and can’t spare the brain to care.
He whimpers when Dean pulls back.
“Kiss me,” he says. Dean groans, kisses him and keeps kissing him. Sam whispers, “Kiss me,” every time their lips detach, and Dean comes back to him like he’s feeling this ache too. Dean kisses him everywhere, his cheeks and nose and chin. He kisses under his jaw and down his neck to his collarbone, then helps Sam out of his shirt and kisses over Sam’s heart.
It’s like giving himself up to Dean, a small part for each kiss, and Sam loses them willingly, small pieces of his soul and heart with every touch of lips until he has nothing left to give. He holds on to Dean’s shoulders as Dean leans down to kiss over his abdomen, licks into his navel then along the edge of his jeans. Dean drops to his knees, locks eyes with him and places his hands on Sam’s fly. He stops there, and Sam’s breath hitches when Dean tilts his head to the side. A question. Sam nods, and Dean closes his eyes, plants a soft kiss right over the bulge of Sam’s dick.
“Dean,” he whines, his voice shot to hell. Dean hums, attaches his lips just above Sam’s waistband and sucks hard. It hurts, but it’s so good Sam arches into it. Dean keeps it up, kissing bruises into his skin, slowly dragging his jeans and underwear down. Dean’s teeth scrap over the newly revealed skin, Sam’s hip bones then down over the crease of his thigh, the inside of it where Sam’s paler and softer. Dean is too slow, kissing over Sam’s thighs like he doesn’t want to leave any patch of skin untouched. Sam’s so hard he’s aching, and Dean keeps his torturous pace. He throws Sam’s clothes aside, and Sam shivers. Dean is sitting on his haunches, looking up at Sam but he’s fully clothed and Sam’s nakedness feels deeper than bare skin. Dean leans closer, kisses Sam’s dick, the precome sticking to his lips, connects them to Sam even as he pulls back.
Dean hitches one of his legs up, and he crawls closer, buries his face between Sam’s cheeks. Sam whimpers, feeling Dean’s hot breath over his hole, Dean’s stubble . Dean kisses him there too, so many sweet, barely there kisses that Sam can’t help but whine.
Dean doesn’t hurry his pace, starts licking at Sam’s hole leisurely, humming and nipping over the rim. Sam’s legs shake, and he grips the shelves hard as Dean starts eating him out in earnest. Long licks, and fucks of his tongue and Sam moans out. A finger enters him, and he almost falls down, his legs feel like jelly and Dean doesn’t stop, groans as he pushes his finger all the way in, his breathing picking up.
“Dean, Dean, I can’t.” Dean’s answer is a bite over the swell of his ass, and a well aimed fuck of the now two fingers in him. Sam yelps, tries to angle his hips down but he has no leverage, only one leg on the ground and the other over Dean’s shoulder.
“I’m gonna fall,” he breathes out, and the next second, Dean pulls his fingers out, places his leg down and gets up. They’re face to face now, and Sam can see how red Dean’s lips has gotten, shiny with spit. He kisses him, moans at his own taste in Dean’s mouth, hopes he’ll always be there.
The kiss turns frantic, Dean shoving his tongue into Sam’s mouth, licking over his teeth like he’s trying to memorise every ridge. Dean’s hand slides over his flanks, then around, clutching at his ass and pulling the cheeks apart. He groans into Dean’s mouth, and Dean gets it, hooking Sam’s leg over his hip and pressing closer. His fingers are back inside Sam, and Sam lets out a relieved breath.
Dean thrusts into him, both of them moaning at the feeling. The denim too much on his dick. Sam removes his hands from where they were clutching Dean’s shirt, and opens his fly. Dean breaks the kiss and looks down as Sam lines them up together.
“Fuck, Sammy.” he rasps, “look at that gorgous dick, little brother ain’t little at all,”
Sam feels himself blushing, feels heat pooling in his belly. Jerks his hand and Dean hisses, fucks his fingers faster. Sam throws one arm around Dean’s neck, clings to him as he jerks their dicks together. Huffing and whining into Dean’s ear. He can’t seem to help these choked off noises falling out him, and he hopes Dean is too busy to remember them later.
“Sammy,” Dean breathes, “wanna fuck you,”
Sam moans, nods frantically. Dean angles his fingers, fucks deeper, harder. Right . Sam wants to warn him, but he can’t speak anything other than halfs of Dean’s name. He comes, clenching around Dean’s fingers. Dean curses, fucks them in again. Sam keeps jerking them off, slide smoothed with his own release. Dean bucks into his hand, once, twice then he comes, hot, white ribbons falling over Sam’s hand and stomach.
Sam stares,gulps. He lifts his hand, covered with both their releases and places his index in his mouth.
“Fuck, you tryin’ to kill me?”
It tastes different than his own come, and Sam moans around his finger. Sucks two of them in to get more of Dean’s taste. Dean growls, pulls Sam’s fingers out of his mouth and replaces them with his tongue. Sam lets his jaw drop, lets Dean lick into him, taste himself on Sam. Dean gentles the kiss then breaks it off, pulls his fingers out of Sam and puts Sam’s leg down.
They lock eyes. Sam feels his face going hot, Dean smiles at him. He cups Sam’s face with his clean hand, brushes his thumb over Sam’s cheekbone.
“You look gorgeous like this, Sammy. Naked and flushed. Should see yourself,”
Sam ducks his head, but what he’s feeling isn’t shame, not even close to it. He’s preening.
Dean plants a kiss on his forehead, probably tiptoeing. Sam smiles.
“You gonna freak out?” Dean asks, pulling him closer. It occurs to Sam that they’re just standing their, hugging. Him fully naked and Dean with all his clothes on and dick out. Must be ridiculous.
“Are you?” Sam says. Dean shakes his head, pulls back. Tucks himself in then offers his hand to Sam. Sam takes it, Dean entwines their fingers.
“So, about the fucking.” Dean says, his way of answering.
Sam snorts, “Horny bastard,” His own reply.
Dean grins, lifts their clasped hands, kisses over Sam’s knuckles. Then he drags him to his room.