Dean woke up slowly, the blinds keeping most of the early morning sunlight at bay; a warm weight lay against him, arm draped across his stomach, breath grazing his neck. A very insistent erection rested snuggly along his hip bone; Hansel was as bad as he was at being ready to go first thing. The man had an appetite to rival Dean's; Bobby had laid the law down after the first week, putting all areas of the house and grounds off limits to sex except for Dean's bedroom (with the door shut), the bathroom (door shut AND locked), and the Impala (out of sight of the house). With Gretel sleeping in the other guest room and Sam bunking on the couch, the place was full to bursting and Dean grudgingly agreed with the restrictions, just to keep the peace. Didn't mean he hadn't talked Hansel into trying a few unusual places when the others were gone, but the man was fairly henpecked … or sister-pecked? … so when Gretel had raised an eyebrow, he'd fallen right in line.

Fortunately, Dean had shut the door last night when he'd tumbled into bed, a few beers shy of being really drunk, intent on debauching the sleeping resident only to find that Hansel was awake and did most of the plundering instead. Not that Dean minded being thoroughly ravaged; no, indeed, he was perfectly happy with the outcome. It had been a while before either of them had fallen asleep, thus the late hour of the morning. Now, Dean had a different kind of wakeup call in mind; he turned his head and let his eyes roam down the naked back, the curve of the mighty fine ass. Hansel's face was angled his way, cheek smashed into the pillow, hair spiky and chasing in all directions. Reaching his free arm out for the lube, Dean squeezed some into the hollow of Hansel's back; he snorted a little and wiggled, succeeding in making his cock even harder as he sleepily rutted against Dean's hip bone. Dragging his fingers through the gel, Dean parted his own legs, shifting Hansel over a little, and ran his fingers over his stirring cock, slicking it up with a few languid strokes before he delved further to circle the tight muscle. Angling his hips up, he eased the tip of the first finger in, pushing through the burn of the stretch. Another slow move and Hansel's balls rested on Dean's thigh, the friction of Dean's movements causing Hansel to mutter in his sleep, hand absently clutching at Dean's waist.

It wasn't the first time Dean had opened himself up, but he'd usually been alone then; watching for Hansel to surface and become aware of what he was doing was much more intimate and erotic. As he worked each finger in, he didn't try to stop the little moans that he made, the harsh sound of his own breath, the little gasps. Keeping his eyes on Hansel's face, he focused on the friction of their bodies rubbing together, knew the moment when Hansel went from boneless sleep to half awake, felt his hand began to creep down to Dean's slick cock, the first tentative brush of fingers over the leaking head, the whisper of kisses burying in his neck. Three in and turning, he hit that spot and jumped, giving a husky cry as pleasure pulsed through him, and Hansel's eyes opened.

"Damn, that is so fucking hot," he muttered, levering himself up, gaze scorching as he watched Dean's hand moving, his own languidly brushing along the underside of Dean's cock. Back up to Dean's face, he focused on the parted mouth, Dean's tongue running along his teeth between groans. With a sensual smile, he brought his mouth down to Dean's, swallowing all the blissed out noises and causing more of his own. His tongue danced with Dean's, in time with his hand on Dean's cock, a lazy kind of waltz with no hurry to finish. Dean could have stayed that way, fingers inside himself, Hansel's hand pumping him and tongues tangled, and, for a while, they did, just enjoying their bodies and the dreamy sensation as tensions coiled, unhurried and effortlessly. When he knew they were ready, Dean flipped Hansel over onto his back, green eyes meeting blue-grey ones as he open a condom packet and rolled it down over Hansel's so far untouched – and definitely aching - cock. Positioning himself, Dean straddled Hansel and, using his hand as a guide, lowered himself down slowly, taking a long time to loosen up even more; Dean savored the way Hansel's eyes rolled back, how his hands dug into Dean's thighs, each experience still so new. It was the best aphrodisiac Dean had ever found, watching his Candy Boy fly apart.

"Fuck, Dean," Hansel moaned, biting his lip, a clear tell that he wasn't going to last long.

"That's the idea. A slow and easy morning ride. I get to be on top and you get to be inside. Best of all worlds." Dean sat up as he moved, rising on his knees and sinking back down, a little further each time, holding Hansel still, doing all the work, deeper and deeper until Hansel's cock slid against Dean's prostate, and his head fell back at the sensation. He kept going until Hansel completely filled him, hard and hot and so damn good that he couldn't help but groan his name, fall forward onto his hand and start truly fucking him in earnest. Hansel growled when Dean's face came within reach, yanking him down into a demanding kiss as hips met hips, up from the bed to slam into Dean pressing back down, over and over again. At some point, Hansel's hands moved to Dean's ass, spreading him further apart and taking control, thrusting with abandon as Dean cried out his own orgasm, spurting between their chests, letting Hansel's tongue take the sound of his whimpers and swallow them whole. Riding out Hansel's need, Dean nipped at Hansel's lip, sucking it in as the other man pulsed a few more times and then came inside of him.

"Damn. Slow and easy don't seem to be in our vocabulary." Hansel laughed as Dean rolled off of him, flopping onto his back. "I do like riding though … or being ridden, I guess."

"Hey, don't get used to it. I'm thinking, giving me 20 or 30 minutes, and I'll have you up against the wall in the shower, begging …" Dean said, still out of breath.

"I'll take as much as I can get before …," Hansel trailed off, not finishing the sentence. They both knew that if they finally found a way, Hansel and Gretel would be gone; they had agreed without agreeing to not talk about it. Well, enough was enough, Dean thought.

"Look, you know that we're doing all we can, but there's no guarantees." Dean lifted up on an elbow. "You might not ever get back."

"Yeah. Honestly, with Gretel here, there are … things to like about this time. Hot showers. Toilets. Television. Refrigerators. Air conditioning." Hansel smirked at Dean. "Sexy guys who don't mind a morning ride. But I know my sister; until we've exhausted all options, she won't be happy with giving up."

"I'd probably feel the same way," Dean admitted. "Just know that if you don't make it back, well, we could certainly use more experienced hunters with all the weird shit that's been happening lately. Cases are piling up." Stretching, Dean rolled out of the bed. "Not that I like you or anything. You're just a pretty good fighter that's all. And the fucking is a decent perk, I'll grant you."

A pillow hit him squarely in the back. "Decent? Pretty good? I could wipe the floor with your ass in both scenarios."

Dean looked back and grinned. "Oh, really? Going to have to put your mouth where the action is then, Candy Boy."

"A salad? Are you kidding me? Leftover pizza is the lunch of champions," Dean argued, pulling his plate from the microwave and taking it to the table.

"I'm trying everything at least once," Hansel replied, forking up a bite of the Caesar salad he and Sam had made. "It's not bad."

"Dude. It's lettuce. No taste and no grease. Man cannot live on rabbit food."

Gretel tried to focus on the words before her, tiny spiderlike script in medieval German, a 12th century text, but she hadn't slept much last night and the letters all slid together. At least she could read it; the spell that had brought them here seemed to give them the ability to understand, read and speak almost any language. They'd tested it out by watching movies in German first, then other languages, and Gretel was happy to know she was still fluent in her native tongue. A bonus was discovering that they could read almost any text, even older ones like the book she was holding. Made researching much easier. She turned her attention back to the page and kept going, determined not to be distracted again.

For the last two months, they'd tried every spell or incantation they could find to no avail. They'd consulted psychics and shamans and libraries full of books, but nothing had panned out so far. Most had agreed that traveling back in time was beyond magical means; they were down to looking for monsters and mythological creatures with powers. Bobby had a lead on a house in London where people routinely disappeared, letters from the past popping up from time to time. Sam was working on a text that suggested angels, honest-to-god archangels, might be able to do it, but no one had seen one of them in two thousand years. At the moment, Gretel was reading about gods and goddesses and their spheres of influence. All in all, the prospects were getting dimmer by the day.

"Hey, I made you a salad. You need to eat." Sam sat the bowl down on the table, adding a glass of iced tea, a drink Gretel had discovered that she loved. He had on his worried face, and she could see Hansel watching her over his own plate, that familiar look of concern in his eyes.

"Thanks," she flipped the page and kept reading; the cushions on the couch sank down as Sam sat next to her. It took a few minutes, and Sam clearing his throat, to realize that he was waiting to talk to her. "Sorry, I tend to get a little caught up in things."

"I noticed," he said with a smile. He was really very handsome; she'd have to be blind not to see it, given their close proximity lately. The way he relaxed in the seat when he drove the car, his very nice set of abs on display when he didn't put on a shirt, forgetting she was there – oh yes, she'd noticed. "Look, I have something for you. If the whole going back in time thing doesn't work out."

He handed her a large manila envelope, and she shook the contents out onto the open book. Some pieces of paper and plastic with pictures and names. She carded through them – Gretel and Hans Stoker, Gretchen and Herbert Stevenson, Gerda and Harald Straub – certificates of birth, driver's licenses, all types of documentation.

"Those should stand up to any scrutiny. You'll be able to get jobs or keep hunting or whatever you want to do." Sam paused, gauging her reaction. "Just in case."

Fingers trailed across the pictures, remembering when they'd made them for quick identification, how Bobby had explained the need for the pieces of paper that made them legal and part of this time. She thought of new inventions and electricity, movies and the internet. Vampires and werewolves and ghosts and all the others that preyed on the innocent, creatures she'd never heard of before. So many differences and yet the monsters remained, still taking children and adults and leaving behind trails of blood.

"Oh, no. Eat your green stuff and leave my pepperoni alone," Dean said to Hansel as he turned back from the fridge, two cold bottles of beer in his hand, one for each of them. Her brother wrinkled his nose and stole whole slice instead.

"And don't you touch these books with those greasy hands, boys," Gretel called. Hansel rolled his eyes at her, and she let herself really see him, the lessening of the shadows beneath his eyes, the real smile that covered his face, the ease with which he teased Dean. Carefully folding up the documents, she slowly slid the book off of her lap and onto the floor, leaving it open; reaching over she grabbed her tea and took a sip. "You know, there are a lot of things to recommend this time. Maybe it won't be a travesty if we never find a way. Seems like there's lots of witches and other things that need killing here. And I could get used to having a hot bath whenever I wanted." The corners of Hansel's mouth turned up in a slight smile, and he gave her his best 'I really fucking love you, sis' look.

"Well, speaking of things to kill, I just got a call from Rufus. Seems there may be a big nest of vamps up near Springfield. Got some cattle killing and missing people reported in Dawson and Buffalo. If you think you're ready, the four of you could probably handle it," Bobby offered as he walked in from the other room.

Sam looked at Dean who nodded then all eyes turned to Gretel. "I am getting rusty with all this reading and research. A milk run sounds about right."

"Vamps aren't easy," Bobby warned.

"When have we ever taken the easy way out?" Hansel asked his sister; they exchanged looks, sharing the familiar stirring of adrenaline at the thought of getting back in the saddle.

"We'll leave in an hour, then," Dean decided, rising from the table. "Let's get baby packed."

Gretel reached down to close the book on the floor, glancing at the biggest words on the page:

'A Summoning Spell for Chronos'

Yeah, she'd have to get back to that later. There were monsters to kill.