Okay, so I'm going to the deepest circle of fangirl for this one, but I really wanted to write it. The idea popped into my head while doing research on Egyptian Mythology.

This is only going to have two parts. Originally, it was just gonna be a one-shot, but it would be quite a bit to read all in one go, so I split it up.

Anyway! Enjoy after the disclaimer!

Disclaimer: I own the plot, nothing more.

Blue Lotus


Dean and Sam pushed their way through a crowd of people on a busy market street filled with vendors selling miscellaneous items ranging from baskets to voodoo. Neon signs were lighting windows for restaurants, bars, inside shops and the like, inviting anyone within a close proximity to come through. Peruvian bands were stationed on some of the corners, filling the streets with music, giving rise to people dancing in the street. Sam was trying not to fall too far behind Dean, keeping an eye on his brown bomber jacket as they moved through the marketplace. The older Winchester held a brown bag tightly in his hand, keeping it tucked under his arm; every once in a while, he would glance behind him to make sure Sam was still within view. The items in the bag they had purchased at a stand selling items used in Pagan and Wiccan rituals; during the last hunt, a few items had been destroyed in the crossfire and Dean was desperate to replace them before John was due back in three days.

Falling too far behind, Sam lost sight of his brother and began shoving passed people trying to get to him. When he still could not see his brother's jacket, he stopped short, standing on the side of the street, eyes darting around. Standing in spot, it was much more likely for Dean to notice his fifteen-year-old brother was gone and turn around. He moved to the side of the street and shoved his hands into the pockets of his gray hoody, keeping his eyes opened for sight of his brother. Seeing the chance for a possible buyer, one of the street vendors took advantage of the situation and approached him. It was an elderly Egyptian man, dressed in a traditional gallibaya, holding a cloth bag that held the money he had made thus far.

"Ah, good evening, sir," they said, enthusiastic with a heavy accent; though Sam doubted the accent was legit. "You seem like a good person – good judgment," he spoke quickly, wrapping his arm around Sam's shoulders and walking him over to his stand. "I can see you know truth; I promise that the items you see before you are all legit and true Egyptian." Sam's eyes cast over his shoulder, waiting for the man to drop his arm. His eyes scanned the items laid out. Ankhs, scriptures, vials, scrolls and the like were on a red, cloth tarp.

"I'm really not interested," he replied, but the man did not seem bent on taking no for an answer.

"You will be!" He took his arm back and picked up a cloth bag; he opened it and sprinkling a light blue powder onto his hand. "You are a boy of age, making this to be perfect." Sam glanced to it, but still shook his head. "Heka has blessed this, good sir. You can have anyone of your desire."

Sam frowned. "So, what? It's like some Ancient Egyptian love powder?" Sarcasm filled his tone. He looked at the other items, hands fumbling around with an inscribed ankh.

The man held the hand holding the bag up and waved it, keeping the hand that had some of the powder still. "It is not confused with fake magic. From the Nile, it is from the Blue Lotus."

Sam traced his eyes to it, still with little interest. As he was about to tell the man, once again, that he was not interested, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Dean standing behind him.

"Dude, I told you not to fall behind." He looked up at the Egyptian man. "We're not interested in any of your knock-offs. Come on, Sam." He pulled to turn his brother, but the man stopped them.

"I can assure you that they are real, sir. I would not sell you something I would not as quickly sell to my mother."

Dean held his hand and waved it. "No, thanks. We're good." He turned with Sam, but, again, the man called him back. "Look!" Dean spat, spinning around. "Back of—"

The man caught him off guard and Dean was introduced to a face-full of blue powder being blown at him. He started coughing and stepped back to get away from the cloud. Eyes squinting from the powder, his initial response was to hit the man across the face; sensing that was what would happen if he did not intervene, Sam grabbed Dean's arm and started to pull him away. They were shoving passed people to get out of the marketplace; Dean kept rubbing his eyes and coughing every once and a while, which had people avoid them, thinking that he was ill. They finally made it to the edge of the street where it was fairly empty. One of the street bands, that had been playing jazz when they first arrived, was now packing up their instruments.

Dean rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"God, the crap burns," he said, sounding as though he had a cold. He inhaled and looked up, eyes squinting towards the sky. "What the hell was that crap?" He blinked, eyes filling with water from the irritation.

Sam watched his nineteen-year-old brother try to refrain from rubbing his eyes. "Blue Lotus powder," he found himself saying, somewhat surprising himself that he had been paying attention.

"Blue Lotus," Dean muttered, wiping the water under his eyes as he grabbed Sam's shoulder and gave him a light push to start walking. "Sounds like some kinda sex drug." He rubbed the corner of his eye, moving the lid without actually rubbing his eye. "Shit, damn itch. I need to get this crap out of my eyes."

Outside of the marketplace, there was a fountain turned on, lights underneath the water radiating different colors. It was half a block from the motel they had been staying at, which Sam noted to wait instead of doing what Dean was thinking of. His brother paid him no heed and moved to the fountain, leaned over the edge, cupped his hands in the water and splashed it onto his eyes, trying to wash the powder out. Sam's face was overcome with disgust and disbelief.

"You realize people probably urinate in that, right?"

Dean pulled up, contemplating it; water dripped off of his face, lightly dripping onto the edge of the fountain below. He peered over his shoulder to look at Sam, shrugging. "Too late, now." Sam rolled his eyes as Dean stood straight. "Besides," he wiped the water from his face, "I think I got most of it."

Sam merely shook his head as a crooked grin graced his face. He moved away from the fountain, checked his pocket to make sure the brown paper bag was still in his possession, patted Sam on the shoulder and began walking back towards the motel. This time, Sam stayed next to him, but that was mainly because they were talking about random matters, mainly when their father would come back and what they intended to do in the meantime, and because of Sam's growing concern when Dean kept rubbing his eyes, moving to rub his temples. He said he was fine when Sam kept asking if he was okay, but his little brother was still concerned even after they were back in the room to the motel.

Dean tossed the bag on the bed the moment they were through the door and tossed off his jacket, releasing an exhale as though he was overheated.

"Damn, it's hot in here. Is there and air conditioner in this place?" He looked to Sam who was now standing next to a built-in system that was under the window.

"How far you want it down?"

"As far as it can go."

Sam shot him a look. "It'll be freezing!" Seeing Dean's expression, Sam released a sigh and complied. It kicked on and he stepped away from it.

Dean nodded thanks, right before he shook and held his head, rubbing his temple with his palm. Sam's look was uneasy.

"You okay?"

Dean nodded his head, switching to rubbing his eye. "Yeah. Just that damn powder I think gave me a headache." He inhaled and cleared his throat, bringing his hand down and blinking. He gave it a moment and seemed to be fine, but he quickly went back to rubbing his eyes, this time with both hands. "Goddamn it! Where the hell's that guy get off?"

"You gonna be all right?" Sam reiterated, but Dean just nodded his head again.

"I'll be fine; don't worry about it. I gotta get this crap off of me, though," he said as he grabbed clothes from his black duffle bag. He looked to Sam, his eyes red from a combination of the irritation of the powder and from rubbing them. "Get the stuff put away, all right?" He seemed content when Sam gave the affirmation and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Sam looked at the brown bag on the bed and released a sigh. He snatched it and walked to the green bag that held weaponry and other items wrapped in clothes. He took the items out, made sure they were properly secured so as not to crack or break, and tucked them back where the originals had been.

While he waited for Dean to get out of the shower, he moved and flopped down onto the bed. He twisted to grab the pillow sitting against the headboard to have something to lie on after he turned the television on and flipped through channels. He set the remote next to him once the channel settled on something interesting: a program on National Geographic discussing the findings of burial sites in founds in Egypt. The room was filling with cold air, leaving him to grab the comforter and use part of it to cover himself. The television show was nearly halfway over when Dean finally stepped out of the bathroom, clad in his jeans and white t-shirt; his eyes seemed distant, pupils dilated as he looked around the room. It appeared to take him a moment to register Sam was lying on the bed, not paying him much attention. When he did not hear anything from his brother, Sam glanced at him and sat up, tossing the cover off of him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, noting the almost clueless look in the other's eyes. Sam knitted his eyebrows together when Dean just stared blankly at him, as though he did not understand why Sam was even in the room. "Dean," he started, climbing off of the bed. "Are you feeling okay?" When Dean continued to stare at him without saying a word, Sam crossed the room to stand in front of him, face riddled with concern. "Dean?"

Dean kept looking at him and it was then that Sam realized Dean's entire body was tense, his jaw clenched tightly as a slight tremble rattled through his body; his shoulders were up with the same ferocity they would be up as though he was trying to fight back an urge to hit something. When Sam called his brother's name one more time, he reached out to touch his arm. The moment contact was made, Dean jerked his arm back, expression becoming hostile as he grabbed Sam's upper arms and turned to shove him against the wall of the room. Sam stood stunned at the reaction, eyes wide. Once the initial shock wore off, he brought up his arm to grab Dean's wrist to twist it and pull him off. Before he was able to get that far, Dean used his hand to grab Sam's wrist and bang his hand and arm against the wall, sending a painful shock through his arm. His grip was tight, digging into his brother's arms the more Sam tried pulling away.

"Dean! Stop!" he shouted, face showing the pain his brother was causing. "What the hell's wrong with you?" Dean did not verbally respond and leaned down to press his mouth to Sam's neck, biting and sucking at the skin. "Get off!" Sam brought up his leg to deliver a hard kick to his brother's stomach, making him let go and pull back, arms wrapping around his abdomen. Sam quickly moved away from Dean's reach, eyes wide as he watched Dean groan.

The older Winchester brought his head up to look at Sam with a creased forehead as his eyebrows went up, looking remorseful. "Sammy," he spoke, sounding almost like a whine. His pupils started to go back to normal, face showing painful regret. "I'm sorry. I don't"—he swallowed and jerked his head away, clamping his eyes shut—"know what's going on." He moved his hand to hold his head. "God, my head hurts. Feels like my brain's going to explode." Sam's jaw was tight as he watched his brother sounding as though he was about to cry – something he had never heard in his voice.

Swallowing hard, he tried to approach him again, this time with caution. Hand shaking, he reached out again to set it on Dean's shoulder. His brother turned to look at him, eyes red, expression pained. "It's the powder, Dean," he drew out, trying to keep his voice even. He was not even one hundred percent certain that was what it was, but it was the only thing that made sense. "The steam from the shower probably made your skin absorb it," he found himself explaining the only logical explanation.

Dean groaned loudly and faced the floor, still hunched over. Sam looked at him, worry still blatant on his face. Dean took a few deep inhales; blowing out the last one, he spoke, "Sam"—Sam nodded and made a noise in his throat to signal for him to continue—"I'm sorry." Sam pressed his eyebrows together as Dean looked back up at him, pupils completely dilated.

Sam immediately stepped backwards, shoulders going back in a defensive stance. Before he was even able to turn, Dean was standing straight and took a step towards him, grabbing his wrist and pulling his brother to him. Sam's initial response was to swing his arm and elbow him in the larynx, the same way he would get away from a demon; but Dean grabbed his arm just as he got it close and twisted it behind his back. He bent down to bite Sam's neck again, this time deeply inhaling his scent when his mouth made contact. When Sam began jerking his other wrist to pull it free, Dean did the same thing as he had done with his other arm; he switched it to his other hand, holding both of his brother's wrists tightly behind his back with only his left hand. The gap between them was not far enough for Sam to kick again, but he did try to bring his knee up. Still, Dean was too close. He started yelling at Dean to stop, jerking to get free. Dean used his free hand to grab Sam's groin and give it a harsh squeeze before he began unbuttoning and unzipping his brother's jeans.

"Dean! Don't!" he shouted at him, body twisting in unnatural positions as he tried to get away.

He was able to free his left hand, but the moment he did, Dean lifted up and gave Sam a harsh shove towards the bed. Sam tried to keep his balance as his legs hit up against the end of the bed, but his footing faltered and he wound up falling backwards onto the mattress. He scrambled to a sitting position to move off, but Dean was on top of him before he even had the chance. He went to kick him, but Dean was straddling his hips, keeping his legs trapped. He grabbed his wrists when Sam tried to punch him and pinned them to the bed. Just as he had done before, he switched to holding them with one hand above his brother's head. Despite Sam constantly twisting underneath him, Dean started tracing his mouth down his neck and collarbone, his other hand continuing to try and take the restraints of Sam's jeans off.

"It's not you! Dean!"

For a moment, the realization seemed to set in and Dean pulled up, trying to fight the urge coursing through him. He stared down at Sam, eyes glazing over as his pupils started to become smaller. The strength of his grip burrowed it into Sam's head that, whatever part of him Dean was trying to fight, the logical side was losing. He jerked his head, pupils growing large again, his eyes narrowing.

"Shut up!" he yelled at him, stunning his younger brother. He grabbed Sam's face with his free hand and leaned down, face millimeters away. "Shut. The fuck. Up."

With that said, he shoved their mouths together; his hand released its grip on Sam's face and, instead of working with his now undone jeans, started unzipping Sam's hoody and ran his hand up his shirt, baring his abdomen. Sam lifted up, trying to move to the side and roll out from under his brother's weight, the same tactic he was taught to do if someone or something ever had him pinned in a similar circumstance. Unfortunately, Dean was used to those methods, having taught them to Sam himself. The aggravation at Sam's attempts to free himself was blatant on his face, so he grabbed Sam's shoulder and flipped him onto his abdomen. He started pulling off Sam's hoody and, to continue, he had to release his grip on the other's wrists, to which Sam was hoping to use to his advantage. However, his plan failed, whereas the hoody constricted his arms and Dean used the clothing to bind his forearms and tie them behind his back. He started kicking, yelling until his face was red for Dean to stop, that it was not him and to fight it.

"Please!" he shouted, voice somewhat muffled by being half-shoved into the pillow.

Dean pressed himself to Sam's back, eyes closed as he took in the scent of his hair, one hand holding his shoulder while the other began pulling Sam's jeans down. He had to lift himself slightly off of Sam to get his jeans just to his knees, but it was far enough. He looked down, face strangely calm. "God, you're so fucking cute, Sammy," he said softly as he lightly ran his hand up the back of Sam's thigh, amused at his brother's body tensing beneath him.

Sam's breath hitched in his throat when he felt Dean press his groin against his backside. "Dean, don't do this!" His entire face was red as he began pleading for Dean to stop, but to no avail. He could hear the sound of jeans being undone and was about to become hysterical. "No!" He started screaming, trying and saying anything to get through to Dean at what he was about to do. Dean pressed his length against Sam's buttocks, releasing a deep-pitted groan. Before he even continued, it sunk into Sam's head how badly he was crying and rapidly begging over and over for him to stop. His words fell flat as Dean moved, positioned himself and, in one harsh and rough movement, completely shoved himself inside his brother, forcing a loud yell from his brother's throat.

"It hurts!" his voice shook violently.

With no preparation, with no lubricant, the dry skin on Dean's groin scraped the insides of the tight rectum, not even giving it a chance for the muscles to relax as he nearly pulled out only to shove himself right back in. Sam felt as though his insides were being split in half, the pressure from the force mounting in his stomach. Dean pressed his hand between Sam's shoulder blades as he kept pulling out and shoving crudely back in, not paying any attention to the skin scraping skin or the pain his brother was experiencing beneath him. Sam's cries went unheard and he only continued to plead for Dean to stop.

In the middle of taking a sharp inhale, he could hear Dean muttering "so good" over and over. Sam squirmed, trying to bend his legs to sit on his knees so he could move away, but the combination of Dean pressing down on his back and the weakness he was experiencing in his legs, his attempts failed. He bit back the urge to shout out again when he finally managed to curl his knees underneath him and dig them into the mattress to gain a little bit of leverage. His face was contorted in pain, his chin set on the pillow as tried to pull away, but Dean only took advantage of his position and moved his hands to grab his hips, forcing him to be pulled back as he burrowed himself as deeply as he could. The shout that Sam had been trying to hold back was released, broken and shaking, calling out Dean's name again and again.

A thousand and one things he had been trained for, trained to get out of, how to fight back, what to do, and this was not one of them – it was never even a consideration in anyone's mind.

"D-ean"—his breath caught in his throat, coming out broken—"pl-ease—!" He tugged at the hoody binding his arms, only gaining a pain shooting through his shoulder from twisting it in the wrong direction.

Blood began dripping down the inside of his thighs and the feeling sickened him as he felt it trickle down his leg. Dean leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his chest and stomach, eyes shut, groaning as he thrust in. Pulling and leaning back, he pulled Sam with him, holding him on top of him, arms tightly around his stomach, leaving the fifteen-year-old to fall against him, body trembling. Despite the pain and the consistent begging for it to stop, Sam's body unwillingly aroused from the sensitive prostate being stimulated again and again. He shook, throat turning raw from the constant yelling and head falling back onto Dean's shoulder. The oldest seemed so focused, hitting inside him in awkward angles, making shock radiate up and down Sam's spine. Sam felt pressure build up in his stomach from the pain and he still tried to push away, but Dean kept him mounted in the same position, with no hints of letting up.

"…my stomach…."

His voice trailed out in the mixture between a whisper and a whine. The only response he received was Dean muttering the same thing.

Somewhere between the continuous thrusts and cries, Sam had stopped fighting, his body going limp as it moved in-sync with Dean's actions. There were several positions that he had been moved into, each time he was not given the slightest bit of reprieve. His insides burned and his stomach felt as though it would burst at any moment, but the only thing he could think to do was to let whatever was in the powder leave Dean's system. Not that his lack of energy helped any. It had gotten to the point that, even if the chance to get away presented itself, he would not have the vitality to do it. He did not remember it stopping before falling out of consciousness, his body too fatigued to stay cognizant.

Well...is this a go or not? Lol. The second part will be up within the next few days...if anyone wants it up. xD