Title: The darkness drops again; but now I know
Setting: post-season 3, and now AU
Summary: …ever since Sam remembered. Remembered the truth; the truth beneath the cryptic warnings from dad years ago.
Word Count: 1,829
Disclaimer: It's Kripke's sandbox. I'm just borrowing his shovel. Title taken from William Butler Yeats' "The Second Coming"
Hands trail gently over Dean's chest, fingers tracing around his nipples. Playing, pulling, fondling. The light scrape of nail across hardened peak brings a stuttered intake of air into Dean's lungs as he moves into his brother's warm hand.
Dean feels warm. Everywhere Sam touches heats his skin, brings nerves to life in ways he's never felt before. Sam's hand moves onward, across his chest, over his sternum, slow, deep movement across his abdomen. Caressing, marvelling, wanting.
Dean can't come again; even though his sweat has dried and cooled. He's rung out. Strung out, tired, at the end, body satiated and mellowed, all the stress and worry, disbelief and denial has been fucked out of him and it has left him bare.
Sam's explained it to him. Explained everything. And well, it's not like Dean has to worry about an eternity in Hell just yet. Someday…someday he knows he'll probably end up there – is sure he belongs there, now more than ever…ever since Sam remembered. Remembered the truth; the truth beneath the cryptic warnings from dad years ago.
There it was, all laid out, pouring into every recess of Sam's mind, spreading out like poison through his body, bringing every moment, every thought, all in line with what was just beneath the surface.
Always beneath the surface. Hell, the arguments Sam had with dad – Dean's breath hitches as his nipple is enclosed in warm, went suction – the fights…they were just a shadow of the first time it happened. When Dean thinks about it, it should have been a foreshadowing…but who thinks like that? Pairs it with something he didn't think he believed in. Not really anyway.
He lets out a contented sound as Sam rolls him onto his side, spooning up close behind him, holding him, caging him protectively in strong arms, and warm, broad chest. Sam's hand entwines with his, and Dean lets him bring their joined hands up to his chest, resting close to Dean's heart.
Sam's skin is smooth, almost porcelain, but so incredibly soft. Sam's hand in his, his large body draped all along Dean's back, so close, not a space between them, keeping him held, and guarded. Safe. There are a lot of things he's safe from now.
Everything's happened in a blur, he can barely think about the last month, doesn't want to. It's nothing he ever expected to happen, and to still be breathing afterwards, in Sam's arms, Sam's bed. In this new world that's slowly shifting, locking and interlocking with institutions already in place, underground and covert, slow and easy; too few hunters, too many stupid, stupid people. He wonders how many Gordon convinced before he died. Stupid fuck, but he was right in a way.
The world wasn't going to end in ash and smoke though.
His thumb strokes over the skin of Sam's hand, he feels the trail of Sam's lips against his neck before he's pressing warm, wet kisses onto Dean's freckled skin. He's Sam's favourite, Sam said so. He's the only. It's strange how far they had to come for Dean to realize what he's worth. That he means something, for someone like Sam, someone at the very height, to want him like this, to need him, given all the history separating them, to know he's still wanted…
Sam's the same as he was, but different. Always different now. Everything's changed.
Sam's mouth trails up higher, tugs the lobe of Dean's ear into his mouth and suckles. The corner of Dean's mouth crooks into a smile, though his mind is still far away lost in thought.
He supposes…he supposes it makes sense in a way. The nightmares Sam used to have as a child; the fear and the terror driving him upwards in bed, shaking, and trying to slow his stuttered, wet breaths. He'd climb into Dean's bed afterwards, needing comfort, needing to be held, and protected against things he couldn't remember. And that was the thing. He never remembered his dreams. The nightmares that were always the worst, always the most horrifying, always escaped from him. His mind just let them go. As soon as he was awake they receded back, deep into his unconscious. The content of the dreams eluded him, always gone and forgotten once wide awake, but with the panic and fear, and sometimes the anger, always remaining.
Even Azazel made sense. His plans and his ultimate treachery. The control he wanted over something that was never his, the children he tainted with his blood, his tests, the generational loops going back for centuries, if not longer.
Sam's tongue tracing the outer shell of his ear pulls him back from his thoughts. Sam's whispered breath hot against his ear.
His eyes fall closed, the rich, deep timbre of Sam's voice runs down his spine and straight to his cock. He can feel it trying valiantly to twitch back to life.
Sam kisses his ear, and continues his whisper, "Want to know a secret?"
He winds himself closer to Dean, closer than he thought possible and Sam's lips breathe hot, liquid words than burn; Dean's breathing hitches. Halts. He swears he can feel his heart stop. He feels it jump, tightness building, and releasing as he lets out the breath he was holding in; his heart pounds as Sam nuzzles him.
His body warms, is scorching all over, leaching heat from his fallen brother's solid form. The heat sooths, it purifies, melts into his skin and burns straight to the core.
He sweats and Sam's cock is hard again behind him.
It doesn't take much. Sam's fingers against his red, swollen hole, pushing in without resistance, opening him even after he had been so thoroughly spread before. His fingers are long and graceful, touching him inside burning him from the inside out, leaving his mark. A small groan escapes from his lips, as fingers push against his prostate, rubbing, massaging; warming him. His nipples are hard, aching in the air, they weren't always so sensitive.
His cock responds and slowly starts to fill.
Sam's fingers leave him empty, wanting, but the sticky head of Sam's cock glides over his hole, wetting him. The first burning push slides past his rim, his ass is wide open, and his muscles spread further as Sam sinks deeper into him, uniting them.
He is fully inside and Dean clenches around him. Feeling him, every vein on his cock that throbs in time to his heartbeat, Sam's balls press against his own, what should be coarse pubic hair is soft like silk against him. Sam's hand trails up over his hip, as he presses a thigh between Dean's legs, ankle hooking around shin. Dean is held, pressed tight, as Sam rocks into him; hard, thick cock nudging that spot inside of him. He feels full, he burns.
He is beloved.
He feels pressure along his dick, knows it's Sam's doing, his balls are tugged and teased, invisible hands pull and fondle, as Sam's physical hand grips dark bruises into his hip. Dean has his mark upon him. He knows he is tight inside, Sam has told him so, so tight, so beautiful, so perfect, mine, mine, mine. Sam fucks slowly this time. Earlier, it had been hard and punishing, he is still sore inside, feels the sear and burn of overworked muscle as Sam pushes himself in, and out, in, and out, Dean's dick is aching, red, and hard but he doesn't touch – his body is Sam's.
His body jerks, sweat pools, as Sam slides up inside of him, cock caressing inside, pleasure bordering on pain. Dean hisses through his teeth, and doesn't hold back the moan as Sam's hand leaves his abused hip and wraps firmly around his dick. Sam touches him with purpose, gliding up along the shaft, thumb stopping to swirl around the leaking head, smearing pre-come from his slit, and spreads it down around his circumcision scar. Dean's balls draw up, as Sam's hips start to thrust in counterpoint to his hand now stroking Dean rhythmically.
Sensation pours through his body, his hands grip at the bed sheets, soaked with sweat and sex, reaching blindly behind to grip Sam's rutting hip, the curve of his ass. He feels himself tense, body stilling, hugging Sam's cock deep within his body as he comes hot and sloppy over his brother's fist, sticky scent of semen wet and thick in the air.
Once, twice, Sam fucks into him three more times before he's spilling hard into Dean, seeding him, claiming him. He doesn't pull out, just wraps his arm around Dean's waist and pulls him tighter against his chest. Dean pants as he recovers from orgasm, his anal walls still flutter lightly around Sam's still half-hard member, slowly softening as he nips at Dean's shoulder, teeth marking skin, tongue soothing the bite.
An invisible hand curls under Dean's chin and tilts his face, Sam's lips press against Dean's, hot tongue sliding out to taste lips, teeth, and tongue.
Sam tastes like smoke and firewood.
He goes back to Dean's neck, as the phantom touch leaves his face. Sam's mouth is wet against his sex warmed skin.
Dean breaths deep and stares out across the room. Through partially opened curtains, he watches dawn break.
A new day, a new hunt. There are still things out there that need to be put down. Werewolves, restless spirits, ghouls, and chupacabra, things that won't bow to Sam - don't recognize him.
But demons do. Hell does.
He didn't know things would turn out this way, but see…
…see, thing is, Dean's loyal. He's always been loyal. His entire life was nothing but one giant training session to be whatever Sam needed. He was told to protect Sam - ordered. Dean's never betrayed him, and in the end he will always, always choose Sam, always put him above all others. And now is no different. No matter what. Dean loves him.
Sam said he'd never been loved like this before. No one's ever loved him more than God – not until Dean. And that makes Dean special, perfect to Sam, favoured, worthy of his love. He set Sam up on a pedestal, worshipped him from below, and for that, Dean was elevated above all others beneath him, to stand behind him and bask in the beauty of his light.
Lying there, Dean thinks back to Sam's –to Lucifer's– early whispered words.
"I'd end the world for you."
And as fucked up as it is, it's the most loved he's ever felt.
A/N: Originally posted April 29, 2008 over on Live Journal; way before Season 5 aired.