Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, obviously, and nor do I own the rights to the song 'Into Dust' by Mazzy Star. This is just for fun.
Breathless and on again
Beside me today
Around broken in two
'Till you eyes shed
Like two strangers
Turning into dust
'Till my hand shook with the way I fear
The motel room was the same as all the others – faceless, mundane with an odd colour scheme of brown and beige. The curtains were a dreadful throwback from the seventies and the bathroom was painted a vile shade of burnt orange. Dean Winchester dropped his bag on the hard mattress and stared blandly at the dismal room. He turned and looked at Sam, who seemed blissfully unaware of his unpleasant surroundings. Dean wondered when he had become so picky; he'd been moving from motel room to motel room for years, paying no attention to the uncomfortable beds or the dirty bathrooms. Now all of a sudden he felt aggravated by it, but then again he felt aggravated by a lot of things lately.
It had been a long day. Dean's shoulders ached from fighting off a werewolf and his back felt sore. If it hadn't been for Sam, he would've been in several pieces by now. He'd been sloppy today, had let his concentration slip and his mind wander, and had nearly ended up dead because of it. He felt embarrassed. He and Sam had barely spoken on the ride to the motel, a heavy silence descending on them both. But the reasoning for it hadn't just been Dean's shameful performance with the werewolf. Still waters ran deep, after all.
Sam sat down heavily on his bed, slipping off his shoes and staring at the wall, his back to Dean. Dean watched him silently, his face passive but his eyes full of a desperation that was almost unnerving in its intensity. Slowly, Sam heaved a long sigh, before standing up. He stood stiffly there for a moment, not turning around.
"I'm gonna go have a shower," he said curtly.
Dean inclined his head slightly. "Ok, man," he said, his voice soft and flat.
The silence was torturous. Sam made his way into the bathroom, the lock clicking stealthily behind him. Dean sighed to himself, before taking off his clothes and lying down on the uncomfortable and probably filthy mattress, wearing just a t-shirt and his underwear. He caught a reflection of himself in a glass on the bedside table and grimaced. He looked like hell. There was a long, angry scratch down the side of his face, and he was sporting a black eye, standing out in shades of green and purple. No wonder the sour-faced woman at the front desk had looked at him with horror when he'd walked through the door and demanded a room.
Dean turned away from his reflection, feeling all at once extremely unhappy. He pulled the blanket tightly to his chest, and gazed miserably at the locked bathroom door.
He's behind there. He's behind there as I saw him before...
Dean shut his eyes tightly, aghast at his own thoughts. This was wrong. It was horribly, brutally wrong and so unfair that it made his head pound with anger; at himself, at Sam, at everything. His nostrils flared with subdued aggression. Had he not felt so sore and exhausted, he'd have happily destroyed the room, broken the windows and ripped the vile curtains from the wall. He felt sick. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be Sam? Why couldn't he have anything normal for once in his hard, unhappy life? Everything was tainted now, even the bond between brothers.
Dean felt his throat constrict with unshed tears. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt one tiny salty tear creep down his temple.
The door clicked unlocked, and Dean felt himself freeze, inwardly cursing himself for feeling like such a wreck. He'd been in the presence of the most evil, unholy things known to man, and yet he felt like a terrified child in the presence of Sam. His Sammy. He felt his stomach knot.
Sam opened the door swiftly, and then turned to look at his brother, who was staring up at him like a lamb to a lion. It was strange to be in this position; to see Dean so vulnerable, his huge, long-lashed eyes placatory and afraid and so full of love for him. Sam bit his lip and had to avert his gaze. Dean was beautiful. Everyone knew it, particularly Dean himself. He'd been such a funny-looking boy, with a nest of uncontrollable blond hair, and those eyes that at the time had looked too big for his face, and a silly half-smile that would show whenever he was nervous or desperate to impress. But right now that smile was nowhere to be found and Sam ached because of it. Usually at this time of night, after a hard days work, Dean would be digging Sam in the arm, tossing back whiskeys from the overly-expensive mini-bar into his laughing mouth and braying loudly at whatever mindless crap was on the cheap TV set, or poring endlessly over their father's books.
Now he just looked bruised and sad.
Sam couldn't control the sorrow on his face. He forced his lips into a straight line, and walked head down, towards his single bed, his hand tight on the towel around his waist. He slipped into his bed and discarded the towel, realising in retrospect what a cruel thing that was to do. If Dean had done the same thing he doubted he'd have been able to keep his eyes off.
This is sick. Sam thought, once again struggling desperately to crush his emotions. This is fucking disgusting. He's my brother. This simply can't happen. All we have to do is control it.
But it hadn't been controlled and it had happened. Two nights ago, in a motel just like this one, it had happened. It had been earth-shattering, like a bomb going off, like a star exploding. Things had been leading up to it for some time. They were together all the time, practically, relied on each other for everything, ate together, lived together, fought together and then they had slept together. One look had led to one touch which had led to one kiss, followed then by a million kisses, a million touches and a million looks made of liquid gold. Just two unhappy souls on a rainy night in a lonely hotel room, acknowledging something that had long been ignored and pushed down until they were so full of need that it had only been a matter of time until it made itself known.
Which it had, tremendously so. For lack of a more macho word, it had been beautiful. It had been so right, but so poisonously wrong. This particular type of poison, once released, had seeped into their veins and tainted everything, both good and bad. It had thrown life into a glaring technicolour. Everything was now hurled screaming into high focus; every rogue strand of hair that slipped into Sam's eyes, every long eyelash of Dean's, every smile, every frown was magnified to the point where it hurt, where it boiled the blood, incinerated veins and crystallized everything into one magnificently beautiful moment, where everything was as sharp as shattered glass and as gentle and sad as a wounded dove.
Sam lay down, shifting slightly on the hard, lumpy mattress, before turning to look at Dean.
"Your eye looks painful," he said, his voice low.
"It's nothing," replied Dean. "It'll clear up in a few days. No big deal."
Sam blinked. He didn't know what else to possibly say. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, but no words came out. All he wanted to do was talk about the other night, but neither of them dared. To speak about it was to acknowledge it, and to make it truly real. After that there would be absolutely no going back.
Sam watched Dean toss and turn for several minutes, before the blond man finally settled on his back, glaring at the ceiling. Even though Dean looked and was exhausted, he seemed to be fighting against sleep, his eyelids fluttering every now and again with tiredness.
"Dean, man, just go to sleep," said Sam, not unkindly.
Dean's head snapped to the side with a sudden aggression that took Sam aback. The hurt, sad look in his eyes had been replaced by something deeply angry.
"I'm not fucking tired."
Sam refused to be taken in by this attitude. "Dean, come on man, I know you're not." He gave his brother a charming smile. "You can barely keep your eyes open. It's been a long day; just try and get some sleep and you'll feel better in the morning." Sam almost choked on his own words. Nothing would be better in the morning, and they both knew that Dean's foul mood had absolutely nothing to do with the incident with the werewolf this evening.
Dean looked as if he was about to say something, and Sam felt a twinge of anticipation and fear in his stomach. But instead Dean's arm shot over to the cheap lamp, and turned off the light with a resounding snap. Sam felt his heart sink, and sadly turned over, lying stiffly with the bedsprings digging into his ribs. In a sad parallel, Dean laid exactly the same way, only facing the opposite direction from his brother. Both of them had their eyes wide open, both tired and drained beyond words, but desperately choking back the words they wanted to spit out.
The two brothers laid that way for some time, their breathing controlled, their eyes wide open and staring into the blackness. Occasionally a car or a truck would rumble past the motel, illuminating everything in the room and making the shadows contort.
At a crucial moment when yet another truck with its lights on full-beam drove past, Dean turned over, thinking Sam to be facing the opposite direction. He wasn't, and the two of them locked eyes for one stomach-lurching, breathless moment, both their mouths in a round "o" of surprise, eyes impossibly wide and lovely. Then the truck drove on, and the dim light left the room, and all the life went out of everything.
With a movement so fast that it made them both jump, Sam slapped the light on, and both brothers sat up, blinking at each other, their eyes stinging in the harsh light.
"Sam, what the hell?" cried Dean, shielding his eyes, his face adorned with a scowl that was charming in its confusion.
"Dean, we can't just fucking ignore this!" Sam's voice was on the verge of a shriek. Dean couldn't bring himself to look at his brother; hearing the distress in Sam's voice was enough. He kept his bright green eyes firmly on the floor, too afraid to look up and see the feeling etched on his brother's face.
"Ignore what, little brother?" he replied, his voice toneless and dull.
Sam's face was a picture of disbelief. "Ignore what? Ignore what?! Are you kidding me?" His mouth hung open, gaping at Dean's expressionless face. Dean chose not to reply, but instead. Sam shot out of bed, clad only in his underwear, his tall body wiry and defined in the low light of the bedside lamp. Dean couldn't bring himself to look – to look at the body that had thrilled him only two nights ago, the body that made him weak and sick in the head.
"Dean," cried Sam. "Dean, please, don't do this. Don't just keep everything inside. We need to discuss this. We have to talk about this!" Dean tore his gaze from the floor and stared agog at the desperation in Sam's face. Sam's eyes were over-bright with tears, highlighting that startling hazel colour that Dean loved so much, and that reminded him of fallen leaves in autumn.
Dean felt sick. "There's nothing to talk about." His voice cracked on the last word, and he turned away. Looking at Sam made him feel too many things at once. Revulsion, anger, confusion and overwhelming waves of lust mingled with love. It all combined to equate to an emotional kick to the face.
Sam made a small, appalled sound. "Nothing to talk about? Jesus, Dean, I knew you were fucked up but this takes it to a whole other level." His scorn was well-directed and Dean shot out of his bed, and stormed towards Sam, his green eyes narrowed and full of such intense rage that Sam almost took a step back.
"Don't you even start with me, Sammy boy," Dean snarled, pointing a finger at Sam's face. "You just keep pushin', and I'll kick your sorry ass from here to-"
"Yeah, that's right, Dean – you just keep pushing all your shit deep down where you never have to think about it until its staring you in the face. Go on! Why change the habit of a fucking lifetime!"
"I'm warning you -"
Sam laughed in his brother's face, radiant in its fury. "Can't admit it, can you? Can't admit to being anymore fucked up than you already are!"
This was the final straw. Dean swung, and punched his brother so hard in the mouth that Sam spun on the spot, before landing heavily on the floor. The moment Sam hit the ground, Dean regretted it. He put his hands to his mouth, his eyes tormented. "Oh, Sammy," he whispered. "Oh, Sammy. I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to..."
Sam turned and looked his brother straight in the face. A tiny rivulet of blood slid from his lip down his chin. He didn't glare, or shout, or cry. He just looked shocked, his face a picture of hurt. Neither of them said a word. The silence was deafening. Dean felt a tight, nauseous knot in his stomach. The ticking of the clock seemed impossibly loud. Every second felt like a decade.
Sam didn't get up, but just stayed there on the floor, looking up at his brother. In a fit of panic, Dean rushed into the bathroom, returning with some toilet paper. He squatted down on the floor with Sam, and dabbed lightly at the trickle of blood on Sam's face, his emerald eyes full of remorse for what he had done.
"I'm so sorry," Dean repeated, his voice soft now, all the anger gone from it. "You know I didn't mean it."
Sam shot Dean a look that hit him as sweet and hard as a shot of morphine. "I know," he said. "I know."
Dean's face crumpled, his lips quivering. Several fat tears spilled out of his eyes and tumbled down his cheeks. He gave a rasping sob, standing quickly to his feet and turning his back on Sam, still clutching at the crumpled tissue he'd used to clean up Sam's bleeding lip.
"What have we done, Sammy?" he gasped, tears flowing now. "What have I done?"
Sam stood to his feet, trembling, and wrapped his arms around his older brother. Dean turned into the embrace, weeping. It was heartbreaking for Sam to see his ever-strong elder brother so distressed. Sam buried one hand in his brother's golden hair, hushing him as if he were a child. It was a bizarre change in roles. Dean rested his head in the crook of Sam's neck, gasping with sobs.
"It's ok," whispered Sam, not believing his own words. "It'll all be ok."
Dean pulled away. "How will it? How can we ever fix this? We've done something awful."
Sam's face fell. "I didn't think it was awful," he said, quietly. "What we did was wrong, Dean, horribly wrong, but I could never see it as awful."
Dean shut his eyes tightly and covered his face with one hand. "We slept together, Sam. We're brothers. I fucked my own little brother." Several more fat tears slipped from his tightly closed eyes. "How could we have done this?" He looked Sam straight in the eye, as if pleading for him to answer his question.
Sam sighed, and sat heavily down on the bed, his head hung. "I don't know, Dean. It just happened. It was just one of those things."
"One of those things?" snapped Dean. "Brothers fucking each other are not just one of those things." He growled at no one in particular and sat down next to his brother. They exchanged exhausted looks, but one which lingered for slightly too long. Dean studied Sam's long, beautiful face; his sweet doe-eyes, his tousled dark hair that tumbled around his face, his high, sharp cheekbones. He had a hint of sunburn on his nose. Sam reached out and brushed the new cut on Dean's face. Dean felt something ripple sharply inside his chest; a feeling that was halfway between excruciating and bliss.
"Does it hurt?" said Sam, his voice almost intolerably sweet.
"A little." The sharp pain from the cut and the gentleness of Sam's hands made Dean's head spin. "Sammy," he whispered. "Don't... please..."
But it was too late. Sam tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes half-closed, gazing dreamily at Dean's handsome, bemused face. Dean shuddered with nerves and anticipation. Sam moved closer, and initiated a clumsy, bumpy kiss. Dean inhaled sharply, his stomach feeling as if it would burst from the butterflies that had seemingly filled it. They pulled apart and stared at each other; breathing hard as if they'd both run a mile. Sam studied Dean's perfect face; his green eyes wide open and serious, his mouth slightly open. There was a bit of moisture on his full lips, and they were flushed with blood. Sam pulled his brother towards him, their heads bumping together. Neither of them spoke, but the hammering of their hearts in their chests was audible. The both were shaking slightly.
"Sammy," hissed Dean. "This isn't right. You know it's not."
"I know. But I want to."
Sam's gaze was piercing. Dean felt himself melt and his pulse quicken in his veins. "I do too," he croaked.
"Will you regret this?"
Dean paused, and then ran a long, callused hand through Sam's chestnut hair. "No," he said. "Never."
Sam's taciturn expression transformed into a bright smile, like a dark valley suddenly lit up by a ray of sunlight. Dean still looked nervous. "Dean, I know this is wrong and so do you, but it doesn't feel wrong." He exhaled slowly. "I think this happened because... because we've never had a normal life. I mean, how could we? Being dragged from town to town by dad, growing up the way we did, then seeing all the things we have. We've relied on each other for so long that it just kind of morphed into something else. And even though society says it's wrong, I don't care."
Dean smiled, and nodded mutely. There were no words.
"I love you, Dean." The words were unbearable to hear, impossible to think, but they were right. They meant more than a million declarations of love from girls. Nothing could compare to them. And the fact that they were coming from Dean's own brother, his own little Sammy... it didn't lessen the meaning of those words and the weight of emotion and love behind them. It only increased its worth.
"You know I love you, Sammy." Dean pulled Sam towards him, a strong, tanned arm encircling his waist. "Wrong or right, I fuckin' do."
A heavy moment hung in the air, hovering like the sword of Damocles. Dean leaned in and pressed his lips against Sam's. This kiss was different from the last; it was hard, almost brutal, and filled with feeling. Sam opened his mouth slightly, his tongue probing into Dean's mouth. Dean groaned slightly in the back of his throat, returning the kiss with relish, and pulling Sam down onto the bed, straddling his legs. Sam pushed himself slightly up onto his elbows, enjoying the heavy weight of his brother on top of him. Dean pushed Sam down again, clearly the aggressor in the situation. Sam couldn't help but grin into the kiss, and Dean grinned back. They paused, just gazing at each other, lost in the terrible beauty of what was occurring. It was terrifying, but true beauty often was.
Sam leant up and kiss his brother's neck, occasionally biting and sucking the delicate skin. Dean gasped, and clutched the back of Sam's head, almost blown away by how incredible such a simple action could be. Sam paused, and smirked at the already obvious bulge in Dean's underwear. Dean smiled, embarrassed.
"Sorry," he muttered.
To Dean's utter surprise, Sam reached his hand out and slipped it inside his underwear, grabbing hold of Dean's hard cock. Dean felt his head swim with desire, and gawped at his younger brother like an idiot. Before he knew it, Sam had him on his back, and had removed the offending undergarments to reveal Dean's fully erect penis jutting up towards his stomach. Sam slowly rubbed his fingers over the head, playing with the dewed moisture, lubricating it. Dean gasped, his face flushed red.
"Oh God, Sammy," he choked.
Sam didn't respond. He tugged at Dean's t-shirt, removing it, staring down at his brother's beautiful body. It was less tanned than his own, but no less muscular. Dean was stocky rather than wiry, like a statue of a Greek god. Sam smiled, before leaning down to thrust his tongue into Dean's mouth, one hand rubbing Dean's shaft slowly up and down. Dean groaned, clawing at Sam's underwear. With one swift move, he pulled out Sam's hardened cock, enjoying the look of startled lust on the younger man's face. He growled like an animal, leaning forward and biting Sam's left nipple. Sam shuddered with pleasure, before gasping as Dean moved slowly down his body. Dean slowly ran his tongue along Sam's length, before taking him in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the head. Sam moaned, gasping with pleasure, clutching at Dean's hair. He thrust himself into his brother's mouth, almost to the point of making Dean gag. The feeling of Dean's tongue and his hot mouth around his cock was almost too much. He breathed as if he were out of breath.
"Dean, oh my God, I think I'm going to-"
Dean quickly moved himself away from Sam's cock, kissing him hard, allowing Sam to taste himself. It was impossibly hot. Neither of them had ever been more aroused in their lives.
"Not yet, Sammy," said Dean. Sam looked crestfallen, and Dean grinned. "I'm going to fuck you first." He removed Sam's underwear, discarding them without a second look.
Sam kissed him hard, groaning into the kiss. Dean stopped and spat on his hand, pushing Sam back onto his back. He reached between Sam's legs with his wet fingers, probing inside him. Sam gasped. He had expected pain, but instead it felt incredible. Dean's fingers moved swiftly against Sam's perineum, causing Sam to cry out with pleasure.
"Oh fuck, Dean, please. Please fuck me."
Dean gave a low, throaty laugh. "All in good time, little brother. Don't rush me." He planted a teasing kiss on Sam's inner thigh, before nipping at the delicate skin. Sam twisted under it, almost driven mad with need. Dean spat again, inserting a second, then a third finger into his brother's ass. Sam's face was contorted with pleasure now, his cries were loud. Dean couldn't help but wonder what the people in the room next door were thinking. Sam's cock jerked with every movement Dean made, a pearl of moisture beading at the head. Dean smirked, before licking it off.
"Dean," Sam begged. "Please."
"Yes! Fuck, I can't take much more."
Dean turned Sam onto his side, moving his long legs out of the way. The top of Dean's cock was slick with his own moisture, and he rubbed it along the shaft, before spitting twice more to prevent Sam feeling any pain. He moved closer to Sam, positioning himself by his brother's ass. He could feel Sam shaking with desire, and reached around, stroking his cock, making his brother almost sob with pleasure.
Slowly, Dean entered his brother, struggling to stop himself coming straight away. Sam was so tight, and so warm, and so unbearably beautiful that it was almost too much. He stopped, controlling himself. Sam whimpered, desperate to be fucked.
Dean couldn't take it much longer. With one savage thrust, he pushed himself inside his brother. Sam cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure overcoming him. It felt incredible, having his brother's hard, thick cock pulsing inside him. Dean moaned, pulling Sam closer to him, biting his shoulders, his ears and his back. With each thrust, the pleasure got stronger. It was mesmerizing. It was so wrong, so terribly wrong, but felt so right, so beautiful, and so intense that neither of them cared. All there was at that moment were each other, Dean inside Sam, gasping with joy, going deeper and harder, clutching at his smooth, tanned skin, whispering in his ears how much he adored him, how tight he was, how incredible it felt, while Dean gripped his brother's cock at the same time, teasing and stroking it.
Sam screamed with pleasure. "Oh fuck, Dean, oh fuck, don't stop, don't stop." Dean kissed Sam's neck with the ferocity of an animal, thrusting in and out of his brother's tight ass.
Finally, Sam came, spurting his seed all over his own stomach and chest, his body convulsing with the intensity of his orgasm. The spasms in turn gripped Dean's cock even tighter. Dean gave a scream of pleasure. "I love you, Sammy. I always did."
He came violently in his brother, the orgasm so powerful that he almost blacked out. He withdrew himself from Sam, shuddering, his pupils huge and dilated in his beautiful face. Sam turned and faced Dean, studying every inch of his perfect oval face. He kissed his brother on the forehead, tasting sweat, salty in his mouth, astonished at the burst of feeling that seemed to explode from his chest. It was a love so intense that it made his head spin. Looking at Dean, right now, after experiencing the most intimate thing a person ever could, he couldn't imagine a life without him.
Dean's eyes fluttered open, still shaking from his orgasm. He allowed Sam to pull him into an embrace, feeling astonished at how at peace he felt, how sated. He looked up at Sam, losing himself entirely in the beauty of his perfectly calm face, his gentle dark eyes and the poignant crescent smile of his lips.
"I love you, you know," said Dean, his voice barely a whisper. Sam smiled softly.
They lay like that for a long time, just staring, not speaking, before exhaustion finally overcame them, and they drifted off to sleep, still lying in each others arms. The rain pattered at the windows, like an ancient lullaby. Neither of them stirred until morning. When they finally awoke, it was still the same old world, with the same problems and evils and joys, but with a ray of sunshine in their souls. It would be a secret joy, but that made it all the more potent, all the more special. When they had showered, dressed and left the motel in search of the next evil to destroy, Dean paused. They had just gotten into the car. He looked at Sam, who turned and looked at him, then he smiled. A real smile. Not the usual crooked, half-smile that he often did to win over girls in bars or to get his own way, but a smile that reached his eyes, and lit up his whole face like a firework. Sam returned the smile, his eyes glowing, his face suffused with joy, then to his utter, utter surprise, Dean leaned over and kissed him, just once, on his forehead. Sam flushed red at this surprisingly touching gesture.
"My Sammy," he said.
Then he revved the engine, put the car into gear and drove, shaking off the dust of the old loneliness that had plagued their lives for so long, and moving on to something better, something so pure and powerful that it couldn't possibly be wrong.
The rain had stopped.
I could possibly be fading
Or have something more to gain
I could feel myself growing colder
I could feel myself under your fate
Under your fate
It was you breathless and tall
I could feel my eyes turning into dust
And two strangers turning into dust
Turning into dust
This is just a one-shot, but I'd love it if I could get some feedback on this, not only because it's my first ever Supernatural fic, but because it was also the first sex scene I've ever written, ha! Thanks in advance.