To keep it simple, you do not get to be the oldest living existence from God's petri dish without knowing a few tricks.

However, it seems that one concept still eludes them as Leviathan, something that isn't necessary for the procreation of their own species when there are so many among them to begin with (and, to their knowledge, nothing yet can kill them), as well as something intrinsically human and experimental in nature: Sex.

The pair of Leviathans' journey into and throughout the campus of Eastern Iowa University — rifles popping ammo through the bright and educated and often inebriated minds of the youth — it feels massively uneventful by now. Different town, same goal. Frame and publicize the Winchesters for absolute guilt in first-degree murder country-wide.

Levi-Dean smears a bit of fresh, cooling blood from a laptop screen, using his thumb pad, and then wrapping his lips around that drippy, tangy digit. His green eyes focus intently on the muted footage of a naked, busty woman on her back and screaming red-faced — pleasure? horror? pain? all of the above? — while her male companion above her holds her legs open for a generous view of her smooth, hairless privates and plows his genitalia into hers, quite enthusiastically.

He makes a curious observation as Levi-Sam totes his weapon into a hip holster and stomps on the neck of the only surviving member of the Sigma Delta fraternity, whimpering and attempting to crawl for the basement door, the bone underneath a leathered boot cracking satisfying loud, "They look like they're excreting inside each other, don't they?"

"How unpleasant," his blood-splattered partner answers, visibly wrinkling his nose, and his sub-memories call it cute.

Levi-Dean gives a one-arm shrug, pulling his gaze away from the porno. "They don't look upset about it," he points out. "And for some reason, Dean Winchester would find this activity…" Levi-Sam's great eyebrows furrow, mildly inquisitive but his stare bordering on deep skepticism as Levi-Dean racks his thoughts, finishes, "hot as fuck."

"And how exactly can a Germanic-native word physically encompass the sensation of a boiling temperature?"

"…I don't know."

The taller Leviathan makes a show of rolling his eyes in exasperation, muttering as he heads for the door, "Humans."



Their asphalt surroundings, down road and more road, darkens with the setting of the sun — mud-saturated fields of Iowa slip away with paler, golden fields of wheat. From the passenger seat of the borrowed, customized Impala knock-off, Levi-Dean adjusts his bowed legs, crossing his ankles with his feet propped up on the dashboard.

"I want to try it," he announces, suddenly.

Levi-Sam does not avert his concentration from driving and replies with a monotonous, disinterested, "Try what?"

A dry, condescending snort. "Sex, of course."

"With who, then? With… me?" Levi-Sam turns his head momentarily to frown, less rankled by the 'duh' expression from his fellow Leviathan than he mentally gauged. "So… your form is… harboring an incestuous attraction for the other one as well?"

Levi-Dean sighs, lacing his fingers behind his neck. "These Winchesters… they're…" He leans up from his reclining position as the wheels of the car grind against dirt and rocks, to a parked stop on the shoulder of the highway and headlights flashing off. "strange— What the hell are you doing?" He shoves off an outreaching arm coming for his chest. To this, Levi-Sam appears frustrated. "No, no. Listen. On a bed. Like on the video."

"Actually, it doesn't matter." Levi-Sam informs him with a hint of sarcasm, rubbing at his arm, "Dean Winchester lost his virginity on a pool table, and you said so. You're just picky."

"I want to do it right."




Dinner was a silent, terrified affair. Well, on the perspective end of his dinner.

The couple in motel room #6 of the "Flamingo Inn" left a dwelling, punchy aftertaste of tattoo ink and methamphetamine. After some minutes, he hears the click of the key lock as Levi-Dean strolls inside, smiling ever so faintly and holding up a bulgy plastic bag, jabbing shut the motel door behind him with the toe of his shoe.

Levi-Sam waves his rinsed hands over the draining sink, curling his lips from his human set of teeth and picking out what may have a chunk of scalp. Or maybe an eyelid. "Left you a snack," he says, jerking his finger towards the bathroom's shower stall, maneuvering his way towards the motel bedroom as Levi-Dean pokes his head in. He solemnly eyes the bottom, congealing half of the woman's carcass propped sitting up, black, glittery leggings splayed.

"Not right now," Levi-Dean murmurs, disappearing completely into the bathroom.

"Don't leave it rotting for hours. Golden rule: no monsters exist, remember?"

"After we're done."

Ruffling through the contents of the thin, plastic bag dropped on the white-and-magenta striped, king-sized bed, Levi-Sam tosses some condoms onto the comforter.

"Where did you get these? Gas station?" he shouts.

"Picked them up just now," his partner calls back. "Had a little help from the manager working alone tonight, y'know, before I disabled every available camera in the store and ate him." Levi-Dean's head pokes from the door-frame, grinning broadly. "He may have been more concerned when I told him a second time that I was planning to have sex with my little brother."

A deep-set pair of green eyes narrow when he wiggles something very purple out in the open. "What do you need that for?" Levi-Sam frowns.

"Dean Winchester has a…fascination about women's underwear." Levi-Dean gathers the lacy number into both of his hands, burying his nose in an eerily loving gesture and taking a long whiff of the soft material, eyes fluttering shut. "Like it rubbin' on my junk," he elaborates, almost seeming in ecstasy before breaking character to laugh scornfully.

Levi-Sam, already morphed into a nude state, goes on a sub-impulse from the Sam memories — "Dean, oh god…" — and thrusts Levi-Dean flat against the motel wall, rattling it, and jamming the flat of his tongue against warm lips, wetting and caressing that firm line. Levi-Sam's hands claw up his partner's now bare and muscular side, possessively.



Wearing clothing instead of making it visible is a brand new thing, at least for him.

But Levi-Dean thinks his penis enjoys the feel and catch of the rigid lace on the sensitive tip, oozing little beads of pearly black liquid.

He keeps his chest and one of his cheeks pressed into the mattress they rest on, and arches his pantied ass into the air, damn near like a sacrificial offering. "Does…?" Levi-Sam holds his own penis in one of his hands, glancing over him and sounding uneasy. The specks of human blood that dried on his cheeks, from the earlier massacre, are like dark freckles. They are darker than Dean Winchester's freckles. There's a crawly sensation coming over him — like Levi-Dean wants to gently lick them off.

"…Where does it go for another man?" he asks.


Levi-Dean squirms in place, working the dark purple panties to the side and feeling around between his asscheeks. "I think…" A fingertip locates his anus, slipping inside with some probing. "Here, found it." He slips in another finger, another, widening them and finding more resistance along the way — the experience akin to the sense of fullness, but hardly what he would consider painful. Not much, admittedly, could hurt him. A torn hole in this form is highly inconsequential and merely a temporary annoyance to regenerate the skin together.

When his fingers remove themselves, his partner moves in wordlessly, seizing his hips and ramming himself full length. The motion jolts — "jesusfuck, Sam!" — and a shuddery breath escapes Levi-Dean's mouth. By the time a few minutes pass, he's realizes that he's bored while Levi-Sam's quickening thrusts rock him and the mattress below them.

"Anything happening?" Levi-Sam starts to question, bangs flopping over his face, his voice a far cry from being winded.

The other can barely suppress a yawn into his palm, right cheek denting the ugly, striped comforter.


Contemplative, Levi-Sam halts the rhythm of his thrusts and pulls himself out, disposing off the glow-in-the-dark condom and nudging back in place. "How about now?"

"…yeah, no."



"…maybe we should switch positions?"



By sunrise, they're packed and ready to climb back into the Impala knock-off. The motel shower inside #6 spotless. Levi-Dean noisily burps, head tilted back, flopping an open hand onto the steering wheel. He gazes unbothered with Levi-Sam as two police cars roll up to the gas station across the street. "I think I understand now…"

"Hmm?" Levi-Sam side-eyes him.

"Why there's such thing as human virgins." Levi-Dean insists, "Other than how much of a delicacy they are. The idea of sexual practice is a creation from the humans, and therefore, a representation of their filth—how loud, and messy, and tedious they are."

"Amen to that." The Leviathan share a lightly tapping bro-fist before the shared, automatic gesture registers.

An extremely guilty shade of color crosses over Levi-Sam's face and his partner clears his throat, grinning embarrassed, revving the car's engine.

They're not putting any of this in the report back to their superiors.



Supernatural is not mine, yaddayadda. I had a little too much fun writing and imagining the idea Levi!Dean and Levi!Sam. x3 I should find any fics on them. Thanks for reading~~

SPN Kink Meme prompt:

"The leviathans are curious about sex, so they decide to try it out in their new bodies. They tap into Sam and Dean's kinks and try a few different things out."