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moragmacpherson ([personal profile] moragmacpherson) wrote2011-01-24 04:21 pm
Entry tags:

Fic: Once and Future (Supernatural, Sam/Dean, NC-17) for salt_burn_porn

Title: Once and Future
Author: [livejournal.com profile] moragmacpherson
Betas: [livejournal.com profile] callowyn and [livejournal.com profile] sistabro
Rating:: NC-17
Genre:: Slash, PWP
Pairing:: Sam/Dean
Word Count: ~3,400
Timeline: Set a few months after Hookman (1.07)
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW and their associated corporate identities
Contents include: See listings above as well as first time, graphic sexual content
Authors' notes: Written for [livejournal.com profile] salt_burn_porn, for [livejournal.com profile] transfixeddream 's prompt Don't look behind you!. It got a little plotty—hope you don't mind too much. Many thanks to Cally and Sistabro for their quick betas.
Summary: Sam doesn't realize why Dean's acting weird on this hunt until it's too late.

Sam's shoulders ached. "Anytime you feel like joining me, Dean," he said, wiping his sweaty bangs out of his face only to have them fall right back into his eyes.

Dean snickered from his perch on the headstone, his shotgun shifting in his lap. "Why would I do something like that? We gotta get you back into hunting shape, Sammy-boy."

"Sam," he corrected with a huff even as he planted the shovel back in the dirt.

All the same, it was the most Dean-like thing that his brother had said this whole night. Dean had been acting cagey about this case from the start. "Just a vanilla salt'n'burn, Sam. You can sit this one out: you know how much I love interviewing co-eds." Dean had waggled his eyebrows until he got a sigh and an eyeroll from Sam, then straightened his tie and left Sam behind in the motel room, wondering what the hell his brother was up to.

Back in Iowa Dean had been more than happy to let 'college-boy' to take the lead when it came to dealing with the college kids, but then again, those had been frat boys. Victoria McGee had been a Tri-Delt until two years ago, when she'd been murdered by her cheating boyfriend. Her spirit already had two fatalities under her belt.

Sam would have done research while Dean did the interviews, but Dean's addiction to free porn had infected Sam's computer with so much malware that Sam spent the entire afternoon just trying to make his laptop functional. By the time he could turn his internet browser on without being assaulted with ads for live bukkake performances—and Sam needed to have a talk with Dean about that except that would involve saying the word 'bukkake' to Dean with a straight face, so never mind—Dean had been strolling back through the door, suit jacket hanging over his shoulder. "Put the porn away, Sammy, I've already got us all the information we need," he'd said, tossing the print-outs with Victoria's burial place on Sam's chest.

Sam smiled as his shovel hit hardwood. "Got it," he announced to Dean, starting to scrape dirt off the top of the coffin. "Gonna need the crowbar pretty quick."

Dean dug the crowbar out of his rucksack but didn't offer it to Sam. "You sure you can manage, old man? Why don't you crawl out of there, head back to the car, grab the salt, let your big brother take care of the heavy lifting?"

Sam snorted, but his lower back was entirely too happy to take Dean up on the offer. "How'd you forget the salt?" he groaned as he clambered out of the grave. As soon as he was out, Dean hopped down.

"Must've rolled out of my bag. Door's unlocked: it should still be in the backseat. Go fetch, man, walk it off," said Dean. Sam shook his head and leaned the shovel against the headstone before jogging over to the car.

He grabbed the canister from where it had rolled under the driver's seat and headed back to the grave site, where Dean was setting down the gas can. Sam saw Dean pull a box of matches out of his pocket and started jogging faster. "Hey, dude, you forgot something," he called out, waving the salt over his head, but Dean wasn't paying him any mind, too busy trying to strike the match. "Hey, Dean—" Sam started, but both he and Dean were interrupted when the blonde ghost appeared and threw Dean down into the grave. "Dean!" Sam shouted, now running for real.

"Stay back, Sammy!" he heard Dean yell right before a shotgun blast made the apparition disappear.

"The fuck are you talking about, man?" Sam skidded to a halt on his knees and reached down, ignoring the gasoline fumes. "Grab my hand."

Dean looked like he was ready to argue for a moment before he tossed the shotgun up and wrapped his hand around Sam's. Sam grunted with the effort but managed to pull Dean out, rolling off to the side. He was back on his knees and grabbing the shotgun when Dean shouted, "Sam, behind you—don't look!"

But it was too late. Sam had swung around, weapon cocked, and came face to face— "Jess?" he gasped, lowering the gun instinctively. But it wasn't Jess, couldn't be—then she was grabbing him by the shoulders and ramming his head into a tombstone, and then everything was black and Sam didn't have to think at all.

~*~

Consciousness, when it arrived, came with a headache that put every hangover Sam had ever experienced to shame. "Oh god," he moaned, bringing up a hand to clutch his head.

He was stopped by a firm grip around his wrist. "Dude, took me like an hour to get those stitches in, you're not fucking them up. You know head wounds bleed like a motherfucker." Sam cracked his eyes open and saw his brother giving him a small, lopsided smile before setting Sam's hand down by his waist, fingers grazing Sam's side. "Here," Dean said, throwing a few cubes from the ice bucket into a washcloth and pressing it against the epicenter of the pain. "You feeling nauseous?"

Sam winced a little at the cold but shook his head, "No, I'm good." To his surprise the movement didn't exacerbate the pain.

"Good. You remember much of the last sixteen hours?"

Sam blinked. Last sixteen hours? "Uh, no."

"You whined like a little bitch the whole time," said Dean, running a thumb along Sam's hairline. Sam found himself leaning into the touch. "Had me a little worried." Dean coughed and pulled away. "'Course, I should know it'd take more than some vengeful spirit to crack that thick skull of yours." The bed springs squeaked as Dean got off the bed, and Sam missed the warmth on his side immediately.

"Dean—" Sam started, but Dean shook his head, pulling a bottle out of the med kit.

"Doctor Winchester prescribes two percocet for you and at least four hours sleep for both of us," said Dean, dropping the pills in Sam's right hand. When Sam hesitated, Dean just raised one eyebrow. Sam put the pills in his mouth and accepted the glass of water Dean put in his hand next, drinking most of it after he swallowed the pills. "Awesome," said Dean, sitting down hard on the other bed and pulling off his boots before flopping down on the bed.

Sam placed the glass on the nightstand, still staring at his brother. "Dean, why didn't you tell me?"

Dean's head twisted on the pillow, guilt flashing in his wide green eyes before he shook himself and turned back to face the ceiling. "Go to sleep, Sam. We'll talk in the morning." He turned onto his side, facing away from Sam, cutting off any further discussion. Sam settled back on the bed, holding the ice pack to the bump on his scalp, and listened to his brother breathe. Before the drugs dragged him down, though, he could've sworn he heard Dean whisper, "Sorry, Sammy."

~*~

Two weeks later and they still hadn't talked about it. It wasn't that Sam hadn't tried, but Dean was a master of deflection—always had something to say about the current hunt, or the crap on the radio, or a complaint that he was hungry and needed to eat. But Sam had a plan, and tonight he'd brought back a bag of Chinese takeout and a half a case of beer to the motel room. "Special occasion?" Dean asked as Sam piled the containers onto the table.

"Nah," Sam said, dumping out the sauces and napkins before tossing the bag into the trash. "'S cheaper than drinking PBR at a bar and I just felt like having a night in."

Whatever suspicion lurked in Dean’s face was chased off by the aroma of cashew chicken. "Hey, it's your dime," said Dean, popping the tops off of two of the beers and handing one bottle to Sam. They settled in on the couch to eat and watch Die Hard on cable.

"Fucking censors cut it all to hell, man," Dean bitched for the thousandth time as he opened his fifth beer. "'Yippee kay-yay, my friend,' just isn't the same."

Over the last two hours they'd gravitated towards each other like they always seemed to. Sam planted a hand over Dean's knee, using it as a balance point to set his second, half-drunk, beer onto the table. Sam left his hand there, unthinking, until the credits rolled and then he easily beat Dean in a wrestling match for the remote, turning the television off before Dean could find something else to distract them with. Seeing as he already had Dean pinned underneath him, Sam figured he could dive right in. "So how come you didn't tell me about Victoria McGee, Dean?"

Dean scowled. "I fucking knew it. Wooing me with imported beer and Chinese food so you could have one of your goddamn chick-flick moments. Ain't fucking happening, buddy." Dean twisted his hips, trying to buck Sam off, but alcohol had dulled his reflexes and Sam just settled over him again, tightening his grip on Dean's shoulders. "Dammit, Sam!"

Sam leaned in close enough to smell the booze on Dean's breath. "Why did you try to hide it from me? Did you think I was gonna freak out or something?"

Dean grimaced then bit out, "Yes!" Sam pulled back a few inches but didn't let up his grip at all. "And I was right, too!"

"Maybe I wouldn't have freaked if I had a little warning,” Sam hissed. “That could've been Jess' fucking twin sister.”

Dean stared back at him, a hint of panic still in his eyes, before looking away. "I know. Just—you're just starting to get back in the swing of things, y'know? I didn't want to rub it in your face, everything you lost back at Stanford." He wriggled a little underneath Sam, and Sam squeezed Dean's hips between his knees to stop him. Dean gave him a dark look. "I could’ve handled it. No point letting you get all emo about some stupid ghost." His gaze flickered back to Sam for a moment, honest fear in his eyes. Sam did let up a bit then, not enough to let Dean escape, but enough to give them both room to breathe. He needed Dean to open up, not to shutter himself off in panic.

"What're you so scared of, man?" he asked, absently rubbing his thumb along Dean's shoulder, feeling the tension in the muscles.

"Nothing," replied Dean too quickly, and Sam could hear the everything underneath it. "I just don't need you running off on me, that's all."

Don't want you to leave again, is what Sam heard. He huffed out a laugh and leaned forward again, letting his forehead rest against Dean's. "Not gonna leave you, man," he whispered. Dean would make fun of him later, he was sure, but it was what he knew Dean needed, click flick moment or no. After another moment's thought, he pressed a soft kiss to Dean's brow.

Dean tensed underneath him and Sam prepared for the inevitable kick-off. Instead, though, he felt something stirring below. Dean's arms jerked in his grip and Sam stared down at his brother, realizing exactly what Dean was afraid of, what he really needed.

"Yeah, whatever. Get off—" Dean started, but Sam cut him off by pressing his lips over Dean's mouth.

This time Sam did get thrown off the couch. "What the fuck, Sam?" Dean demanded as Sam pushed up off the floor. He needed to grab Dean before his brother managed to make it to the door and he did, pushing Dean up against the wall. "Stop it," Dean warned, but Sam pressed against Dean until their bodies were flush, the undeniable evidence of Dean's need hard and throbbing against Sam's thigh. "It's wrong," Dean protested, muscles straining to push Sam away from him, but unable to look Sam in the eye as he said it.

Sam took Dean's chin in his hand, using his weight to hold Dean in place. "It’s okay, Dean." Sam pressed another kiss to his brother's stubbornly held jaw. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmured, sliding his other hand under Dean's shirt to hold him by the soft, hot skin of his back.

"Don't—" Dean choked, shivering at Sam's caress. He tilted his head up and Sam saw the moment he made his decision. Then Dean pressed his lips hard against Sam's, thrusting his tongue into Sam's mouth as he drew his hands up to bury his fingers in Sam's hair. Sam moaned as Dean quit pushing to get away and started pulling him closer. "Better not be kidding me about this," Dean groaned when they finally broke apart for air.

"I'm not—not kidding, not leaving," Sam said, torn between the urge to hold Dean tighter and to get rid of the clothes between them. Dean made the decision for him, tonguing along Sam's pulse point while his nimble fingers worked open the buttons of Sam's shirt. Sam sort of wanted to applaud his patience but decided that popping open the snap of Dean's fly would be more productive. A flick of his wrist and he had the zipper down and then it was just a matter of reaching in—

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean moaned as Sam ran his thumb along the crown of his cock, pressing his hips into the touch. All patience was forgotten and it was a dizzying frenzy of motion as Dean made quick work of Sam's clothing, shoving his shirts up and over Sam's head. Sam had to release his grip on Dean's dick to finish the maneuver, but as soon as the shirts were off, Dean was pushing Sam's jeans and boxers down his hips while leaning back in for another kiss.

The licks inside Sam's mouth were gentle and teasing in comparison to the way Dean's fingers dug into Sam's ass, grinding into him so that their hard dicks slid against each other in a way that made Sam's breath catch in his throat. Sam had experimented with guys in college but he had no idea that Dean—Dean knew what he was doing. Sam tore his mouth away. "Bed," he said, and Dean nodded, his eyes half closed as his lips chased after Sam's.

In the clumsy journey to the bed, Sam managed to kick his pants the rest of the way off while Dean stripped off his own clothes. After they tumbled onto the bed, Sam pulled away for a moment to give Dean a good long look: from his slim hips, up his muscled torso, to his tentative smile, back down to the amulet dangling from his neck. Never took it off, not since he was twelve, and Sam's breath caught again.

Dean had stopped smiling. "You want this, right?"

Sam shook his head, smiling. "Of course, I want you," he said, leaning down to take Dean's nipple between his teeth while his hands once again found Dean's dick. Sam stroked Dean firmly with his right hand while his left moved lower to cradle Dean's balls. They twitched at the contact, feeling heavy in his hand as he rolled them in his palm.

Sam grinned against Dean's chest when Dean whimpered, "Please, Sam," his nails digging into Sam's shoulders. Feeling suddenly possessive, Sam tightened his hold on Dean's cock while teasing Dean's nipple with his teeth and tongue for a few more seconds before licking a long trail along Dean's stomach, over his navel, and further down. He paused for a moment to nibble at the smooth skin of Dean's hip before raising his head up and sucking the head of Dean's cock into his mouth. "Jesus Christ!" shouted Dean, his hips thrusting up, but Sam took his hip bones in his hands, pressing his brother down into the mattress as he continued to tease the crown with his tongue.

Sam licked into the slit, savoring the taste of precome while Dean's hands wrapped in his hair, Dean now reduced to incoherent babbling. Opening his mouth wider to take a deep breath, Sam then adjusted the angle so that he could take Dean's dick deeper, sucking at the smooth skin until he felt curly hairs brushing against his nose. He could feel Dean's thighs shaking against his shoulders and the hair pulling became almost painful. "Fuck, Sammy," Dean gasped as Sam moaned around his cock while swirling his tongue over the pulsing vein.

After a few seconds, Sam let Dean pull him off and he looked up at his brother. Dean's pupils were wide and there was sweat pouring down his face. Sam ran his thumb along Dean's balls again and watched Dean heave in a breath. "Want you," Sam said, looking Dean in the eye while repeating the motion. "Want all of you," he said before sucking Dean's dick back in his mouth, stroking the base with his hand until he could take it all the way down.

Dean's body thrashed underneath him, but Sam wasn't going to let him get away now. He kept up the suction, rolling Dean's balls in his hand, now slick with precome and drool. Dean's whimpers grew choked as Sam's fingers ventured lower, brushing over the pucker of his hole. Breathing through his nose, Sam hummed around Dean's cock again as he pressed his finger slowly inside of Dean, curling it upward to find Dean's prostate.

He almost had to pull away as Dean's hips jerked up, but Sam wiggled again and then Dean was shouting as he came, hard and bitter, down Sam's throat. Sam lifted his head a little to swallow, cleaning Dean's dick with his tongue, chasing every bit down. Dean's hands fell away from his hair and Sam felt every last bit of tension slip away from his brother's body. He released Dean's limp cock from his lips before he crawled up Dean's body to kiss his slack mouth. "Told you I wanted you," he murmured.

Dean shifted beneath him. "Need to—need to," he said, and his hands skimmed over Sam's sides, drawing Sam's attention back to his own, still-throbbing cock.

Sam shook his head. "Let me," he said, taking Dean's hands and placing them on his hips before slotting his cock into the slippery join of Dean's thigh and hip. It was hot and slick, just what Sam needed and he rocked his cock into the groove. Dean groaned and Sam kissed him, fucking his tongue into Dean's mouth even as he pistoned their hips together. He was so close, but it was only when Dean's fingers crept over his ass to caress his balls from behind that Sam finally let go, splashing their stomachs with come that just made the slide of their hips slicker and easier.

Sam laughed giddily as he rolled off of his brother, only giving Dean a moment before he turned onto his side and wrapped his arms around him. He set his jaw into the groove of Dean's shoulder so that he could lick at the sweat on Dean's neck. Dean sighed and pressed into the hold, angling his neck to expose more of his throat to Sam. "You're not leaving then," he murmured, the words slow and lazy with sleepiness.

Sam pressed another kiss to Dean's jaw. "Nope." He nuzzled his face against Dean's hair. From where Sam was looking, the view looked pretty damn good.

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