Warnings: Language, nudity, sex.
Disclaimers: Ha, Me? Own the Winchesters? Only in my dreams *wink*
Summary: The Winchesters set out on a hunt, unaware the thing they're hunting has its eye on one of them.

A/N: This lil fic decided it wants to be a multi-chap \o/ I'm thinking I should be able to wrap it all up in three 'd by the sweet, tru_faith_lost and rebekahfair Thank you so much, Ladies! *blows kisses* Any remaining faults are my own =)


There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.

Mark Twain


Calloused knuckles rapped on wood. Dean lowered his head, hesitantly leaned into the door and listened.

"Dude?" He shuffled his feet, frowned, "You okay in there?"

There was movement but no audible response. "I talked to Bobby again; we gotta make a move…Sam?" Dean sighed, his patience wearing thin. Scrap that, he was past twitchy, now desperate to jump ship and put this town in the rear view mirror, but that wasn't an option anymore. Bobby made it clear the only way out was to see the hunt through to the end.

The succubus knew their location. So, first things first, they needed to find another motel. Just as soon as he could get his brother out of the damned bathroom. He checked the time again. Sam had taken refuge there over an hour ago, and Dean was getting tired of hearing his own voice echoing against a hollow door.

"Come on, Sammy. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can get out of this town, put this all behind us." He waited a few seconds. Still nothing.

"Dude, if you don't open the door in the next few seconds, I guarantee you'll be eating wood chips." He'd already checked-- two ply wooden door, soft wood frame, basic lock from inside-- so picking it wasn't an option, but he had a shoulder and a steel-toed boot that would work just fine.

Dean took a step back, sucked in a deep breath, then released it when he heard a click. The door handle lowered as the door pushed open.

Sam slowly padded out of the bathroom, head down and fist firmly clenched in the white towel around his waist. He sat on the edge of the bed, unresponsive.

Dean took in his brother's disheveled hair and damp, hunched shoulders, watched him shiver, and sighed. Sam and sex didn't have the best track record. Not that Sam's sex life was any of his business, but when it put his life in danger, Dean made it his business, however awkward that made things. Echoes of Madison's death, Sam's faith and stubbornness mixed in with all that pain, resonated between them; he shook off the memories and wordlessly walked over to Sam's duffle, sifted through for clean clothes.

"Get dressed." Dean dropped the pile of roughly folded clothes beside Sam. His hand rested on the top before he moved off towards the bathroom. He paused, turned to face his brother, lips parted to speak, but nothing came out. For a few seconds he stood motionless--watching. "Look, I know this mess is smothered in awkward." He cupped the back of his neck, eyes shifted from Sam to the floor as he shuddered, "for both of us, dude. But we'll deal with it just like any other job. We stay focused, we'll be fine."


Sam didn't reply. The words reached but went straight through, lingered around him like a mist. He lifted his head when he heard Dean's phone go off behind the closed bathroom door. Figured it must have been Bobby when Dean answered right away.

He remained sitting for another minute, eyes trailing to the pile of clothes. Sam unfolded and threw the shirt over his head, pulled his arms into it. He leaned forward in a comfortable slouch over his knees, looked down at the floor, ran a hand through his wet hair. It wasn't long before a large, damp patch spread on the back of his shirt. It clung to his skin, gave him an uncomfortable chill.

After dressing, he collected his belongings, shoved a crumpled t-shirt and boxers briefs into his bag. He knelt, picked up a pair of socks from the worn carpet and went for his discarded jeans when he saw… them.

He dropped onto his knees, slowly crawled closer. Only inches away from the garment, he stole a quick glance behind, then leaned in. The faintest hint of strawberries tickled his senses and elated parts of his body. Within seconds he was hard, throbbing and aching for release. . He bit his lip and moaned with pleasure. Succumbed to lust, raw and prevailing, his fingers clasped the satin underwear, clenched them with both hands in a tight grip.


"Sam, what are you doing?"

He froze, swallowed.

The voice from behind was close. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there or if Dean could see the furtive attire in his fist. He moved discreetly, with reluctance crumpled the underwear into a ball, shoved them deep into the duffle, instantly felt hollowed out when the connection was broken.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Sam answered defensively. Roughly folding the jeans from the floor, he packed it over the top of his bag.

He got off his knees and side stepped around Dean. "I'm packing, Dean." He dumped the bag at the foot of the bed, using enough force that it recoiled up, spilling some of its contents.

"Uh huh," Dean replied, looking Sam up and down, as he nodded. "I'll bring the car round." He paused long enough to make Sam squirm a little under the scrutiny. It had 'we'll deal with this later' written all over it.

"You do that." Sam snapped.

He relaxed as soon as Dean left the room, gazed down at his bag. With one hand he pushed his jeans apart, prodded timidly before sliding in.


Zeppelin played in the background, low enough Sam could still hear the patter of rain against metal, the dull roar of the engine and the impending 'Sam, talk to me' on the tip of Dean's tongue. He couldn't read minds, but when it came to Dean he could see straight through him. The thought that the feeling was mutual made him squirm. Talking was the last thing he wanted to do.

His lids felt heavy; he wanted-needed to close them. His body melted against the passenger door, head resting on the cool glass. Sleep he could do, that felt comfortable. He thought about supple lips, naked breasts, and golden locks of hair against his bare chest.

"How you feeling?"

Sam roused, shifted uncomfortably . "I told you, Dean, I'm fine!"

"Yeah, heard you before. I thought maybe I'd get the truth this time."

Sam sighed, lifted his arms expressively and dropped them in dejection. "What do you want me to say?"

There was a scratchy silence between them.

Dean responded. His tone, blank. "You know what, Sam? That's fine. You don't have to tell me anything. You're probably not thinking straight, anyway."


Dean opened and closed his mouth, shook his head.

"Is that what you and Bobby have been discussing?"

Dean picked up on the hints of acrimony in his voice. "Bobby and I are trying to figure a way to save your ass."

He wiped his mouth with one hand before he spoke again.

"Bobby said you're vulnerable at the moment. She latches to emotions, Sam, like the friggin' Creeper pickin' out spare parts, and now that she's already had a taste...She'll be back. But we'll be ready."

"How?" Sam spat.

"She's a demon, so we kill her or send her back to whatever pit she came from. Bobby's checking out the logistics. "

Sam nodded, looked out the window. He should have been relieved, perhaps even reassured. He felt none of these, only unease and apprehension. Sleep called, he listened. It wasn't long before his eyes closed.


Dean shut the engine off.

He sat and stared at the motel office for a couple of seconds, turned his attention to Sam who was slouched against the passenger seat. The kid looked exhausted. His eyes might have been closed, but he'd watched Sam sleep enough to know he wasn't resting, not really. He couldn't remember when they'd last had a decent night's sleep. Sleep free from succubui, demons, and death. Judging by the way his own eyes stung, it'd been too long.

Sam had already fallen asleep when he returned from reception. Bobby mentioned that Sam was bound to feel drained after…after the first encounter with the succubus. Guess having your life essence being sucked from your body can have that effect. "Jeeze, kiddo, can't catch a break, can ya?" Dean placed a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder, held out the keys in front of Sam with the other hand. "Here, room one fourteen."


The room didn't look that different from the last. Paler colors, broader shades of beige mottled with dirt, but other than that, practically a mirror image of their previous cheap motel room. That didn't bother Dean too much. They weren't planning on staying in this one long.

He watched Sam settle onto one of the beds.

"She'll attack in your sleep." Drowsy eyes looked up at him, and Dean couldn't make out if Sam was registering any of his words.

"I'm gonna take first watch. We'll safeguard the room, wait out the night, and hopefully by morning, Bobby will have something for us."

Dean began salting the windows and doors, placing a ring around Sam's bed and a bottle of holy water on the bedside table.

"You hungry? I'll order pizza."

"Not hungry," Sam replied as he sank deeper under the covers.

"Well, I am." He huffed.

The pizza came without hassle. He ate half and kept the rest for Sam.


Three hours passed. He'd cleaned the weapons, done some research, and called Bobby. Come the fourth hour he'd repeated all but the calling Bobby part, had to agree with the guy that research was hard if you kept getting interrupted every hour. After wearing a hole in the worn carpet, he checked his weapons again and rechecked the salt lines before going into the bathroom. Sam was still asleep, so he took Bobby's advice and opted for a quick shower, loosen up a bit.

He didn't bother closing the bathroom door all the way. The mirror worked well as second pair of eyes into the room.

He stood under the shower, let the warmth of the water work over his muscles. It felt good. He was almost relaxed right up until he felt the dip in temperature, followed by a sickening knot in his stomach. Something was wrong. We-are-fucking-screwed-wrong. Physical confirmation played out instantaneously. The bathroom door splintered, creaked then violently slammed shut. The sheer force shattered the mirror.

Instinctively he crouched, arms over his head, while razor-edged shards of glass sprinkled the floor. His eyes scanned the room for something, anything he could use in a pinch, snatched at a towel, and stretching himself out, threw it over the jagged glass. Three steps got him to the door just as the light flickered violently. It peaked with a buzzing surge of power that blew the bulbs, blanketing the room in darkness. He wiped the trickle of blood spilling over his eyes. Not that it made any difference in the pitch black.

He shouldered the door only managing to slide on the towel, landing his bare side in a prickly bed of glass. He winced and grit his teeth against the sting. In full hunter mode, he tried the door again with more force. She'd gotten into their room, through all the barriers. How? He didn't know, but he must have missed something. He hit the door hard again, ignoring the sharp ache pulsating his right side.

"God dammit, Sam."

Dean cried out through the door.




The third time he was sure he heard her call his name. Sam opened his eyes, saw her in all her glory, full view of…everything. Her smooth bare legs were on either side, feet pressing against his thigh as she stood over him. She looked different; her beauty even more captivating, nearly enough to hurt his eyes, naked body perfect in every way. Behind her, a translucent display of pastel colored wings spanned wide. Each tip sported a creeping tail that curled round his calf.

I want you.

She lowered, straddling him. Her hands gently brushed over his skin. She kissed him on the neck, whispered softly into his ear, "And now, you're mine."


Thanks for reading. Good, bad, ugly, I wanna know. Reviews are love.