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No Stranger

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Sam's lungs are burning when he gets back to the warehouse. Slumped on the floor where Sam left him, Dean is flushed and sweating and gasping for air. Sam crouches, puts his hands on Dean's shoulders so he can look into his eyes. "I couldn't catch her," he says. "She just disappeared."

Dean gives Sam a wry smile, lets out a ragged huff of laughter. "Witches, man. Hell of a sense of humor, that one."

She'd pressed something into Dean's hands, and then she'd run. Dean had gone down almost immediately. All he'd said was, "Hex bag, go", and Sam had taken off after her. "What is it, Dean?" Sam asks. "What'd she do to you?"

Dean looks up at him from beneath long eyelashes. His pupils are dilated, the black almost eclipsing the iris. "Feel like I'm dying, Sammy." He tugs at the neck of his t-shirt, pulls it away from his skin to slide his palm inside. He rubs over his collarbone as his eyes drop to Sam's hand on his shoulder. Then he shuts his eyes and shakes his head. "Oh, this isn't good."

"Tell me where it hurts," Sam says, eyes searching Dean's body for wounds, for blood, for some indication of what Dean might be feeling. He puts his hand on the side of Dean's neck, and he's warm, but not feverish. "Tell me what you need."

Dean's head moves, rubs his jaw over Sam's hand where it touches his skin. "I'm not hurt," he whispers. He laughs again, and then squirms, arching his back and moving his hips. Then his eyes snap open, and he tries to pull away. "You really shouldn't be here, little brother."

"I don't understand." Sam leans closer, holds Dean's face in his hands, forces him to make eye contact. "I'm not leaving you here, so just tell me what she did to you."

Dean's lips part, and his eyelashes flutter. "Sammy," he whines, leaning forward. He licks his lips. "I'm so fucking...that spell, whatever it is, it made me want—need—" He lifts his eyes to the ceiling and huffs out a laugh. "I'm horny, Sam, like, I've never been this desperate, and you'd think I could get off, because I'm no stranger to jerking it, but I tried already and it doesn't work."

Sam's eyes flick down to Dean's waist, and sure enough, his jeans are open. He looks back up, takes in Dean's dilated pupils, his lips, plump, full of blood, slick with saliva, the way he leans into Sam.

Sam jerks back. "Oh."

Dean turns his head away, his mouth twisting into a grimace. "That's not all," he whispers.

"What."

"I know I can get off if someone's with me," Dean says. "And it's killing me to tell you this, Sammy, but I think it's gotta be a dude."

Sam's mind goes blank. "I'm sorry, what?"

Dean looks up. "You heard me." His palms are pressed to the floor, and his whole posture screams desperation. "I can feel it, I need something inside me, that's the only thing that's gonna help." He swallows hard, and his eyes roll back in his head. "It's getting worse, Sam, I feel like I'm losing my mind. I look at you and all I think is how good it'll feel to be under you. So you should leave, because pretty damn soon all I'm gonna be doing is begging you for it."

Sam rocks back onto his heels. "I'm not leaving you here, Dean. If you're losing it like you say you are..."

"Send someone else," Dean says, locking his jaw tight. "Give me a couple minutes and I figure I won't care who it is or how much you paid them, a few more and I won't even know."

Sam's breath rushes out of him. "You want me to get you a hooker?"

Dean tips his head to the side, stretching his neck, but he's breathing hard and his fingernails scratch at the dirty floor like he's just trying to hold on. "Whatever works. Like I said, pretty soon it's not going to matter who you send in here."

Sam tries to think, but there's too much to consider for him to be able to make any sense of it. There's no time to try to break the spell. Sam could go out, find a man willing to do...Dean...for the handful of bills in his wallet. This part of town it probably wouldn't take very long, but there's no way he's going to send a stranger in to take care of his brother, no way in hell. "I'm not getting you a hooker."

"Then you better find some rope, Sammy. Tie me up good." Dean leans forward, palms splayed out on dusty concrete, hangs his head. With every breath he lets out, he groans. "And you're gonna have to gag me. I don't wanna be responsible for the things that are gonna come out of my mouth." He looks up, wild eyed and desperate. "Do it now, Sam."

"How do you know this won't kill you if you try to ride it out?"

Dean bares his teeth, shakes his head. "I gave you options, Sam. Either get someone in here to fuck me, restrain me, or knock me the hell out, because I can't hold on much longer."

"I'll do it," Sam says.

The words just fall out of his mouth. There's no thought process behind it, just an impression, a concept. He doesn't trust anyone more than himself to look after Dean, and he's not going to tie Dean up and watch him suffer through this, he's not going to risk Dean's mind, maybe even his life.

Dean's face falls. "No," he says. "No, Sammy."

Sam crawls across the floor toward him, reaches out. "You said it didn't matter who it was." He touches Dean's cheek, holds him there. "If anyone is going to do this, it should be me."

Dean shakes his head, lets out an anguished moan. "You're about the last person alive it should be."

"I don't trust anyone else to take care of you." Sam drags his thumb over Dean's lower lip, red and swollen from where he's been biting it. "Tell me, Dean. Do you want me to do it? I need to hear you say yes."

Dean's tongue slides out of his mouth, glides over his lower lip. "Yeah." He nods, drops his eyes in a kind of weak resignation, and when he speaks, the words are barely audible. "Sammy, please."

Sam nods, then he looks around. The warehouse is abandoned, covered in years worth of dust, not the kind of place anyone should be having sex in. But there's not much they can do about that now. "Okay. I don't want to hurt you. I don't suppose you have any—"

"Weapons bag." Dean's already working off his jeans, taking his boxers down with them.

Sam reaches for it, finds a half empty tube of lube in a side pocket. "I'm not even going to ask why there's lube in this bag, Dean."

Dean manages a shrug as he kicks off his jeans and boxers. "Never know when you're going to get a chance for a little alone time when you live in each other's pockets." He peels off his shirt, drops it into the dust. "Come on then, Sammy. Don't let me turn into a mindless slut." Dean crawls across the dusty floor, stark naked, completely unashamed, and there's something in his eyes that's a little feral.

Sam's been aware of his own simmering arousal for a while, but it starts to develop a little urgency of its own. He's thought about this. It's a little hard not to when fans of Chuck's books shove it in their faces every couple of years, but it's always been with an element of the ridiculous, the belief that it would never ever happen in a million years, so he might as well laugh about it.

He's not laughing now.

Dean slides his hand up Sam's thigh. "Come on, Sammy," he says. "Show me what you got in there." Then he bites his lip, looks away. "You're gonna regret not gagging me."

It's hard to breathe, the air is thick and warm, and Sam can smell Dean's arousal. "No," he says, as his hands go to his belt. It comes free with a rattle and he yanks it out of the loop. "It's okay."

Dean's eyes drop, and his hands move to the fly of Sam's jeans. "Oh yeah," he moans, rubbing his hand over the length of Sam's denim-covered cock while he pushes against Sam's chest, forcing him to lean back so he can straddle his thighs. "I need it, Sammy, I need it now." His fingers work the button of Sam's jeans, fumble over the zipper.

Sam's pulse pounds in his ears as Dean's fingers graze over his dick, trapped behind the zipper of his jeans. The fact that this is Dean, that it's his brother touching him, that it's another man touching him, and that Dean can hardly consent right now—it's all overwhelming. There's so much wrong, and yet, it feels so good, and Sam's got to wonder whether the spell that's affected Dean hasn't bled out somehow, to affect him, too.

He knocks Dean's hand away, opens his jeans. The backs of his knuckles graze the underside of Dean's dick when he pulls his own out, and he opens his hand, wraps his fingers around the both of them.

Dean gasps and looks down. His eyes widen when they fall on Sam's hand, wrapped around their cocks, and he groans. "Fuck, Sammy, you're huge." His hips move, grinding himself down onto Sam's thighs, and then he rises up on his knees. "Need it in me, Sammy."

Sam reaches for the lube, tries to make his mind cooperate. While he's messing around with the lube, getting his fingers slicked up, Dean's touching his cock, calloused fingers sending sparks right to his core. He pulls Dean to him, one arm around his waist, slick fingers sliding down into the crack of Dean's ass, gliding over his hole.

Dean jerks when Sam pushes, eyes and mouth flying open, a grunt punched out of his chest. "Give me your cock," he growls, grinding his own against Sam's stomach as he lifts himself, holding Sam's dick steady as he readies himself to sink down on it.

"I'm gonna hurt you," Sam says. "Stop, Dean, I need to—"

"Can't wait." Dean pushes down on the head of Sam's dick, but there's not enough slick. "Gotta fuck me, Sammy, gotta do it now."

Sam grabs Dean by the hips, forces him to be still. "Just let me..." He slides his hand over his own cock, spreading the slick from his fingers over himself, then he reaches for the lube again. He uses too much, because Dean won't wait, and he actually wants to lay Dean out and take his time, make him beg for it as he stretches him open one finger at a time, but Dean's clawing at him now, letting out grunts and moans and whines as he rubs against Sam's stomach.

"Okay," Sam says, dipping his head to look into Dean's eyes. There's no reason there, Dean's iris almost completely black, his cheeks flushed, his mouth open as he takes quick, shallow breaths. "Slow," he says. "This is going to hurt."

Dean's fingers dig into the meat of Sam's shoulders like claws. Sam holds him with one arm wrapped around his waist, the muscles in his arm burning as he tries to hold Dean up, slow him down. Dean pushes, and Sam's not even sure if he's going to fit, if he's going to be able to get inside without hurting Dean, really hurting him.

Dean drops his head, face screwed up like he's in pain, then his body just gives, and Sam can't think past the pressure, the all consuming heat. He's inside Dean, inside his brother, and as he looks down and sees a single tear as it's squeezed out of the corner of Dean's eye, he cries out in anguish.

Dean doesn't stop, keeps sinking down, until his ass rests, heavy, on Sam's thighs. Only then does he still, drops his head onto Sam's shoulder, and each breath he exhales is a groan, deep and rough and broken.

"God," Sam says, wrapping his arms around Dean, holding him to his chest, sliding a hand up and down Dean's lower back. "God, Dean. Oh my god."

The only answer Dean gives him, are his lips, hot and damp, on his throat, still groaning as though he can't stop, and with each, his body tightens around Sam's dick.

Sam slides his hand up the back of Dean's neck, cradles his head in his hand. "Are you okay?" he pants, and he holds tight to Dean as he gets his knees beneath him. He shifts inside his brother, thrusting just a little deeper.

Dean moans, tosses his head, and his eyes flutter open, fix on Sam's face. "S'good, Sammy." He moves his hips, grinds down on Sam's dick, and his eyes fall shut again. "So good." He does it again, the movement stronger this time. "So fucking good."

Sam gasps for air as he tries to stay in control. It's intense, too much, the heat, the tight hold Dean has on him, and the friction every time Dean shifts threatens to drive him crazy. "I must be hurting you, god, Dean. It's gotta hurt."

Dean hums, low and filthy, and his lips turn up in a tight smile. "Like a motherfucker, Sammy, you huge freak." He grunts as he pulls his feet underneath him, planting them on the floor behind Sam's hips, pushing up, grinding back down.

"Fuck," Sam gasps. "Fuck, Dean." Tension fuses his spine, sends shivers like tiny sparks spreading out over his skin. "Holy fucking shit, Dean. I'm gonna come."

Dean's eyes snap open, and Sam can see it there, the taunt, the teasing glint, but the words don't come. Instead, he lifts his chin, and he presses an opened mouthed kiss to Sam's lips.

It'll make for some interesting questions when this is all over, but Sam moans into Dean's mouth, slides his tongue in against Dean's. He gets a hand free, slides it between them, starts to fist Dean's cock.

Dean grunts into Sam's mouth with every roll of his hips, with every stroke of Sam's palm over his dick. He gets tighter inside, then breaks the kiss, stares at Sam wide-eyed and manic. "Do it, Sammy," he says. "Come in me, fill me up." He tosses his head back on a moan, and his hips stutter. His cock jerks in Sam's hand, and wet heat spills over Sam's fingers.

Sam's hips jerk, and he pushes forward, tipping Dean down onto his back without pulling out. He catches himself on his hands, Dean beneath him. Sam thrusts deep, stills for a moment to savor each spasm as Dean continues to tighten around him.

Dean seems to barely notice the change in position, face screwed up and looking like something halfway between pain and pleasure, crying out in one long, drawn out moan. Then he goes limp, his head falling to one side, his eyes closed. But he's tight, so tight around Sam's dick, and Sam pulls back, thrusts back inside, again and again, as he chases his own orgasm.

It hits him hard, fast, punching a grunt out of him. Fire spreads up Sam's spine, and he can't stay quiet when he comes, letting out an anguished roar as he jerks and fills Dean's ass. Everything goes slicker inside, and Sam stills deep inside Dean's body, comes until he feels like he's wrung completely dry.

His heart hammers in his chest, pounds in his ears, takes a long time to slow. Finally, he calms, his heart slows, and he can hear Dean's breath over his own pulse. He slides backward, lifting himself off Dean and away. His softening cock slips free of Dean's body, trails wetness across Dean's thigh, and Dean opens his eyes, looks up at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

Sam turns away, tucks his dick back into his jeans and zips up. He stares into space as the weight of what he's just done comes rushing back.

"Sam?"

Sam stares into the emptiness of the vast, abandoned warehouse. "Are you okay?"

Dean lets out a humorless laugh. "I didn't lose my mind," he says. "I'm a little bruised, and I'm not gonna be able to sit down for a week, but it's better than the alternative, so I'm gonna call it good." He pauses, and then, "Sammy, I—"

"I'm sorry," Sam says. "Dean, I'm so—"

"No." There's the sound of a zipper being drawn up, then Dean's hand comes down on Sam's shoulder, pulls him around. "You only did what I asked you to do, Sam. Rather it was you than some stranger, right?"

Sam's face twists up as he fights all the emotions warring inside him. "I'm sorry I couldn't catch her. Stop it before it went that far."

Dean shrugs. He looks wrecked, exhausted. Broken. "We'll hunt her down. We'll get her."

Sam blinks. "What? Why? It's over. Why would you want to risk going after her, when she might hit us with something worse next time?"

Dean stares up at him with a mixture of bemusement and disbelief. "What we did..." He swallows hard. "I want payback, Sammy." He drops his head. "Besides. What if it's not over? What it that was just... A reprieve, or whatever. What if it starts again."

Sam stoops down, picks up the discarded bottle of lube off the floor, stuffs it into Dean's bag and hauls the whole thing onto his shoulder. "Then we'll deal with it," he says. "And we'll get her." He takes Dean by the arm and leads him out of the warehouse.