(c)2006 b stearns
As soon as Dean stopped the car, Sam thumped him on the chest to get his attention and kissed him quick and hard before sliding away and getting out. His next action was to take his shoes off one at a time and pitch them into the darkness somewhere to his right.
"What are you doing?" Dean's voice was soft but loaded with incredulous amusement.
"Never liked 'em," Sam said, tiptoeing along the asphalt. "Are you looking at my ass? Shit, ow. " Rocks. The nasty little ones.
Dean looped an arm around Sam's waist and lifted an armful of girl off the pavement, the presumptuous bastard, laughing when Sam called him a showoff.
It was Sam who closed and locked the door, causing Dean to raise his eyebrows while he shrugged out of his flannel. He offered Sam a beer out of the mini-fridge next to the vanity on the back wall, and Sam drank it like he'd been running miles in his girl-shoes. "Okay," Sam said. "The rest of your clothes."
"You first," Dean said with a smirk.
"That's your job ," Sam said. "I know the rules."
Dean's face softened into something Sam wasn't used to and couldn't identify with his beer goggles on. It wasn't lust. It was kind of affectionate and appraising, in a way. Sam liked the look of it no matter what form he was in.
Jesus, he was drunk.
I can do this, I can do this played over and over in his head. Dean had to put his beer down on the dresser because Sam was bent on getting his shirt off. Dean finally helped with a grin.
"Lights on or off?" Dean said, tossing the shirt to one side.
"I'm not that ugly," Sam said staring at the middle of Dean's chest. Seen it all before, with that one scar along his sternum from a near miss with a wraith. And then a few near his ribs on the left side. And one by his hip, from -
Sam hadn't checked to see if his own scars were still intact. That would be a dead giveaway. Dean had seen them all, stitched most of those wounds himself.
While Dean was still smirking at him, he ran for the bathroom. "Off, off they have to be off!"
He stood with his back to the closed door and sighed. Then he had to pee sitting down because, four beers. Missing his dick was really the least of his problems right then.
No scars. He wasn't sure if that was a complete relief or not. What else had changed, or been smoothed over? What other details -
"I'm too drunk to care," he mumbled aloud. Then he stripped all his clothes off because letting his brother undress him would be way too much, more than sex itself. He was going to go out there and get this done . That easy.
He whipped the door open and left the light on because Dean had turned the other lights off and was laying lengthwise on the bed, jeans still on, hands folded behind his head. He sat up when Sam came out buck naked. Then he grinned. "This works."
There was that appreciative look again. Sam didn't much care how he was getting it, just so long as he was getting it. Kind of odd to be standing around naked and getting shy over it when he'd never cared that much before. There was this fumbling, virgin hesitation to the whole thing and if he hadn't suddenly felt so scared he'd have laughed. When Dean held a hand out to him, he simply went. It should have been scarier that crawling right into Dean's lap and starting up right where they'd left off in the car would seem so natural.
For some reason Sam never imagined respectful when it came to how Dean handled women. Flirted, played the game, tried stupid pickup lines. Dean never had to try that hard. That mouth, for starters. From the shape of it to what came out of it, he didn't have to work at much, from pissing someone off to charming a girl this far. It was enough to make Sam roll his eyes until he thought they might roll out of his head. He never saw any of this, this being-handled-like-glass. The gentlest hands over back and hips, catching him behind the knees and pulling him in further while letting Sam set the pace of what was arguably the neediest kiss Sam had ever been involved in.
Power held in check. That's what it was.
Sam put his hands everywhere he dared. He had this one chance to get curious ( go ahead admit it, curious, just this once ) and it would be kind of dumb to waste it. Dean's scars were just a map of everywhere they'd been as long as he didn't think about the pain that had gone with them.
Still, it shouldn't be so easy all the time.
Sam broke away to get some air and went for Dean's belt. "Okay," he said, "...you're gonna have to do better than that."
Dean laughed. He laughed , leaned back and propped himself up on his hands. Sam straddled him and made sure he was eyelashes tickling against his jaw and breath on his throat while he tried to find the manual dexterity to get that belt off. Dean's breathing had quickened but he kept his hands off for a moment, apparently content to let himself be Sam-handled. Sam yanked his belt off and tossed it over one shoulder before leaning in closer to press his mouth to the spot that joined neck to shoulder, sharing the shiver it produced when Dean reciprocated with a smile Sam could feel against his skin. Slightly different skin, different body structure, same hot spots.
Sam was all soft warm curves in contrast to firm, angular planes that fit together perfectly. The mix of familiarity and the new made every nerve ending behave differently. Dean's jeans and boxers came off with the help of two pairs of hands, and then there was full-body contact when they entwined, and Sam paused in amazement.
Everything felt different, and Sam was getting the perspective of what a female arousal pattern felt like. Not a female perspective; he would never really have that, and couldn't say he actually wanted it. He had no right.
Dean, being a good guy. Sam answered by sliding up and along Dean like a cat. Yeah, that shut him up.
Then Dean was awakening every inch of skin with long, slow sweeps of his hands, something that managed to wipe Sam clean of any mental or physical awareness of self. Dean rolled them both gently until they were on their sides, facing, pressed close. Sam moved unconsciously, hips arching into Dean's, and he had to pause again. The where and how were pretty easy; it was the unknown parameter that made him try and wrestle with it. Then Dean had Sam's hips in his hands and nestled closer, invoking old patterns with other loves that Sam pushed away from. He had to stay in the now. And the now was about Dean and that mouth .
No way he was trying to fool himself about it and pretending they were other people. He'd be taking that to the hereafter with him, so no point lying about it to himself in the dark.
Dean had fit their hips together so that pubic bone rested against clit, grinding gently, the heavy length of his cock pressing between Sam's legs and along damp warmth.
Things were building quickly in places Sam wasn't used to. Hands cupped and slid along breasts, Dean's head dropping forward, mouth closing over a nipple. Sam tried not to move but couldn't help it anymore, a slow warmth spreading from the core, kindling and growing in alien ways. He could hear his own breathing, short and sharp, could feel Dean trying to counter his impatience.
So slow, so gentle, and still an inch from too much.
When Dean stopped moving, the moan of disappointment was shared. The molten, melting feeling receded a little, dropping back the other way like a thermometer suddenly brought into a cool room. It felt like loss. Sam didn't realize until then that he'd been doing nothing more than holding onto Dean's shoulders as if trying not to drown. Then Dean was brushing the back of a hand down Sam's abdomen, sliding lower, reaching between them, cupping him in a way that caused a physical start of surprise. Then Dean slid a gentle finger inside , holy shit , and Sam jerked against him with a gasp.
Dean made a hushing sound against his mouth, nibbling his neck, touching, thrusting slowly, testing readiness.
Sam answered with a breathless whimper, a high-pitched sound of need. Oh hell no, did that come out of him? No, he had to make up for that. The exaggerated care Dean took to press Sam onto his back and arch against him left Sam clutching at the sheets in convulsive hands, teeth gritted, eyes screwed tightly shut. Dean pressed Sam's legs apart with a knee, waiting while Sam splayed loose beneath him.
"Okay," Sam said breathlessly. "There'd better be more foreplay than that, you punk."
"You're a handful, aren't you," Dean said, that smile right against Sam's skin again, and goddamn if that wasn't just as hot as - oh, shit. He hadn't thought of it until he felt Dean lean across him and grab something off the nightstand. Hello, at what point did Sam think unprotected sex was going to be okay? Even with Dean, because where hadn't the guy been, first off, and then if he never got his form back and ended up...
No thinking. No thinking about trying to explain anything, no thinking about kids with webbed toes, nothing. He reached out blindly and snagged the foil packet out of Dean's fingers before tearing it open with his teeth. That, he knew what to do with, and it was worth the price of admission to reach down and grab Dean in one solid hand and feel him jump. Sam had never put a condom on someone else before, but hey. The moves were all the same.
"You through?" Dean said.
"Does it feel like I'm done with you?" Sam said.
Bracing himself on an elbow, Dean gripped his cock with his free hand, guiding the head to just touch the opening, dipping inside only enough to get wet. Sam had only enough time to both anticipate and tense at the intrusion when Dean withdrew and used the head of his cock to circle Sam's clit instead.
The idea was almost more than the feeling of it, and Sam's hips arched off the bed, breath held in shock.
Dean pressed him back into the bed, willing him to relax without words. Beyond words.
Dean continued stroking in circles, and Sam felt things build, trying to hold still until he was strung taut and trembling, head thrown back against the pillows. The knot of arousal pulled almost unbearably tight, and then there was this pause.
Dean paused too as if knowing where Sam was. Sam had time to realize it was nothing like the spasm he was used to that started in his lower spine and came tearing outward; this was like a rollercoaster, the moment you hovered at the top of a steep incline, the wait just before gravity reminded you where you really belonged. He locked up under it, breath gone, frozen. Then Dean moved a fraction, barely a touch, gliding along the topmost sensitive ridge of the flesh he touched, and everything flared out from the center for one long, downslide of warmth.
Sam breathed again then with a cry, jerking in shock when the first several contractions hit. Dean was inside in one long, pressing stroke, pressing him into the bed with his weight, covering him. He timed each thrust to meet the contractions, and Sam wrapped his legs around Dean's hips and pushed back automatically. He knew this from one side only, wet, slick heat, this rhythm. He came again almost immediately, the same long sweet pause in time followed by the involuntary, rhythmic clench of muscle, a little more intense this time, and the inside of his head knew nothing but Dean inside and the desperate need for air.
"You don't have to keep this up just for me," Sam said in a near-squeak. He was going to die right there if Dean didn't stop and then die if he did and Jesus his next girlfriend was going to benefit from this somehow, all this finding out what it felt like .
"I'm kind of enjoying it too," Dean said, barely breathless but with a tone in his voice Sam had rarely heard, vulnerable and on the edge.
"Just 'kind of'," Sam said, wondering where he was finding two good brain cells to rub together while Dean kept doing that with his hips, fitting just right, everything so warm and building again. "You're gonna have to do better than - "
Dean kissed him again and he shut the hell up. Oh damn, right there, just a little harder and Jesus was he saying that aloud because Dean actually did and shit how many times was that going to happen because instead of rolling his eyes at his brother his eyes were rolling up in his head, that was good. Jesus. And then it got even better because goddamn if Dean didn't get even harder and bigger Sam already knew that but not from his current angle. One short, hard thrust, another, and there was another moment of paused time while Dean shuddered against him and made the sweetest, softest sound in his ear.
When he knew anything again, Sam couldn't manage to loosen his arms, cradling Dean, who was resting part of his weight on him and was still inside him. He just wasn't willing to move. The weight was comfortable, and when Dean tried to move, Sam tightened arms and legs and held on. He had the right to do that, he deserved that bit of indulgence. He was rewarded with a contented sigh and Dean's breath on his shoulder and gentle fingertips along what Dean could reach of Sam, never knowing it was Sam.
After several long minutes of just existing, Sam said, "That was different."
Dean chuckled, a low snort of amusement breathed into the hollow of Sam's collarbone. "Holy shit," he whispered.
"Again," Sam said hoarsely, and Dean laughed outright.
Waking up and finding Dean a breath away in the dark and finding comfort in that right before it all came back to him was what Sam tried to hold onto later. Running his hands through Dean's hair and getting a sleepy hum and not getting smacked away was good, and if this was the only way affection came from his brother, he would take it for now. If it was slow, sleepy kisses and hands tracing curves he'd never have again, if it was another form that was nearly getting worshiped with hands and mouth in the pre dawn hours, it would do.
Sam decided sugar was a requirement right after they woke up the second time, and went out to the soda machine naked. Dean couldn't stop laughing and Sam realized Dean stayed longest with the ones who made him laugh anyway; it was worth it even if no one saw him out there with a handful of quarters and dimes, staring at the machine and trying to decide whether he was in the mood for Dr. Pepper or not. He wasn't drunk anymore and it didn't matter. None of it was going to by morning.
Except it did.
When he awoke again there was no moment of disorientation. He was still in a female form and he knew exactly what the hell he'd been doing.
Sam sat up fast and looked at the amount of daylight that made it in. A glance at the bedside clock told him it was after nine. He was alone and naked and everything including him smelled of Dean in a good clean familiar way. When he moved, something fluttered to the floor, so he got up and snagged it. Motel stationary.
Gone to get coffee and breakfast
The fact that he'd been drunk for most of it wasn't the only reason Sam hadn't panicked. It was temporary and would be over and he'd live through and move on. Now he was panicking, though, because fuck, Dean didn't ask people to hang around.
He actually started struggling into his own clothes first until he remembered they weren't his again yet. He grabbed last night's clothes from the bathroom and tried to wipe his mind of anything that had gone on, and it wasn't working. Oh, he was never gonna live with this and be okay. No way. No shoes, where were the - oh goddamnit. Threw the shoes out in the 'lot somewhere...no. Dean had gone back out to get them at some point because there they were, by the door.
When he opened the door, Sam was terrified Dean would be just getting back and he'd have to face him in daylight.
He couldn't run in those damn shoes, but he tried. The car was half a mile up the road out of sight and he couldn't get there fast enough. It felt like running away, like a walk of shame. It was too hard to think about just yet.
It was waiting for him by the car. Same androgynous shape, same washed out eyes, same outfit. If you looked fast and didn't keep looking, it was a college kid you could pass anywhere. It was leaning against the passenger side, watching him come with a weirdly expressionless stare. Sam tried to keep all the details, how it moved, how it stood, how solid it was, because he'd have a chance to take a crack at it sooner or later. He really didn't even care what it was anymore except that the knowledge would get him closer to taking it apart.
"Why the fuck am I still like this?" he said, stopping only a couple of feet away.
It didn't bother to straighten, just kept gazing at him with unblinking interest like a snake. "You don't seem happy, Samuel John."
"I kept up my end of the deal," Sam said. "Change me back." He punctuated the demand by undressing as he talked, because the clothes had stayed the first time he'd been changed and it was going to be really damn uncomfortable the other way around.
"The original deal was that you do something to him," it said, unphased. "It was about what you'd be willing to do to him, Sam. Just because I turned you female didn't mean that was the end all, be all. The first thing you did was pick him up like any one nighter and figure that was all that was required."
"What the hell was I supposed to think?" Sam said. "What the fuck did you change me for, then?"
"Gave you an excuse, didn't it," it said.
Sam kept breathing slow, trying to keep his temper down. It wasn't working. "Excuse for what," he said flatly.
"You've always just wanted something of him," it said. "Not something of his. Something of him, to take away as your own. He never had any idea it was you. Why would you assume that it would be that easy?" It grinned at him. "You're gonna have to do better than that."
Sam ran his hands through his hair. Attacking it wouldn't do any good. It wouldn't have bothered with the whole thing if it just meant to kill him. It could have turned him into anything. A tree. A tree to sit and think and watch people go by, for centuries.
"You just assumed that was all that was required of you," it said. "You, all tortured over sleeping with your brother. You, the only one with any knowledge of what was going on. I asked you what you would be willing to do to him to save him. Not much unpleasant about what went on, now, was there."
He shook his head. "What the fuck do you want?"
"It's 11 o'clock, Sam," it said. "You still have an hour. You'd better hurry. He might need a little...convincing, the way you are now."
There was nothing different about being changed back; it didn't hurt any less, he still didn't scream, and he was sure not even a skinwalker or werewolf had to endure anything like it. The next he knew was gravel biting into his hands and knees, his real hands and knees. A thin thread of blood trailed between his chin and the gravel from where he'd bitten his lip on the way back. The world was loud and cold and the air stung his skin.
"You can't," he said as soon as he could. "You can't just...you've got a reason for doing this. What do you really want?"
"It doesn't even matter, except whether or not you'll do it," it said. The voice seemed to be coming from far away. "That's the point. What are you willing to do?"
"There's nothing to even keep you from just killing us when you're done," Sam said, against his better judgment. He was tipping his hand and he didn't even care anymore. He made it to his feet and was grateful to be towering over the thing. "You know we'll find out who and what you are and how to kill you. I'm not letting you get away with this."
"You have to for now, though," it said. "To be safe. Don't you? Oh, and to answer your earlier question. Why. You really should know what you're prepared to do, for that one. It's not always about you and your brother catching and burning things, Sam. Sometimes, you need to be reminded what it's like to be caught."
Sam opened his mouth to ask it why again, and froze. Jesus, the things that were occurring to him were awful.
"You had something to get past before you could go on. And any truly good hunter knows what it's like to be prey," it said. "You had both forgotten. That kind of hubris needs a little tempering, sometimes."
"What kind of hell do I get sent to for killing something like you?" Sam said softly.
It straightened slowly to face him. He felt the faint burn across his shoulders again and knew he was right.
He finally knew what he was dealing with.
Time's almost up. Sam looked up and it was gone.