Exactly How It Should Be and oh, brother, you gave me strength; while brother, you brought me fear

Title: Exactly How It Should Be
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Word Count: 782
Summary: For mickeym with love. The boys, a hill, some pie.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

“No. You shall not,” Dean stresses, the lax weight of his body mashing Sam further into the tree.

Sam hmms, thumb turning the page, the other quietly playing against the short stubble of Dean’s hair. “Thou art more cranky and unpleasant.”

“Hey!” Dean complains, squirming against Sam’s chest, a sharp shoulder blade to the clavicle. “If you’re gonna read it, read it right.”

Sam’s laughter drifts warm across his own hand, the place where his fingers touch Dean’s necklace. “Then shut up and let me.”

With a discontented twist of the hips, wiggling to find a better position, Dean whines, “You always do this to me. Lure me up here with the promise of pie and blowjobs, and then it’s all salads and Shakespeare. Bait and switch, Sammy! Bait and switch.”

Sam grins, strokes his brother’s neck unfazed, Dean folded low enough for Sam to see his pout. “I’d feel sorry for you, if I didn’t already know half the sacrifices I’ve had to make.”

Dean sighs, deep breath he blows out before flipping Sam the bird, “Fine, fine, then. As you were, Norma Rae.”

Dean’s taken to referring to him as movie heroines, lately, a more fitting arsenal than he has with the literary, that’s for sure, but it still does nothing to dampen Sam’s mood. “Rough winds so shake the darling buds of May; and Summer’s lease has all too short a date.”

“Don’t even know what the hell that means,” Dean grumbles, cutely, and it’s a look Sam can’t resist. He leans over him, shielding his eyes from the blazing sun and kisses the moue of his grumpy mouth. “Sometimes,” he says against Dean’s lips, “too hot the eye of heaven shines.”

Dean’s smirk is ridiculous. “Wait a minute. Did you just call me hot?” He reaches up to lay his palm on the back of Sam’s neck, dry ridges of Dean’s hand on Sam’s damp skin, and pulls him down into the warm, wet slide of his mouth.

A breeze picks up from the North, rattles the leaves in the trees, an apple falling heavy from its branch to rest near Dean’s knee. Rolling a little, sliding forward, Dean’s hand covers the exposure at Sam’s collar, and all Sam can do is look at him, give him a steady smile. “If you’re trying to distract me, it’s not gonna work, you know?”

“I’d quit,” Dean teases, all the subtly of a back alley whore, wiles of one hand already busy at Sam’s crotch, “if I was even slightly convinced.”

“You came an hour ago,” Sam scolds, gently biting down into Dean’s bottom lip, then pulling back to settle happily against their tree. “Now, where were we?”

Dean huffs, gone from seductive to irritable in about two seconds, folding his arms across his chest like a bad-tempered child. “Whatever, Sammy. You’re no fun!”

Sam bumps his knee, jostles his brother, and pulls a plastic knife and a Tupperware container out of his pack. “Well… if I’m no fun then—“ he says, prying open the lid to cut off a small piece of pie. “Guess I’ll just have to enjoy this myself.”

Cherry filling drips from his fingers, sugar-sweet red, and before Sam has a chance to bring them to his own lips, Dean intercepts. Two strong hands on Sam’s wrist, pulling his fingers close, sucking them inside the hot circle of Dean’s parted mouth.

“Mmm,” Dean moans, letting Sam go, releasing him from the glide of his tongue, “that’s good pie, Sammy.” Dean chews with his mouth open, nothing more than mush and crust, and Sam grins down at him, knowing better than anyone, Dean’s next move. “You want some?”

Shaking his head, Sam smirks, then looks away, “I give up on you.” He leans down, kisses his brother; licks the sugary taste, tart and syrupy, from the back of Dean’s tongue. “You are so gross, you know that?” he scoffs, leaning back, berry-sweet flavor sticking his lips together.

“But you want more, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam whispers, smile never fading, setting another piece on Dean’s tongue. They share it this time, noticeably more disgusting than the last, partially chewed, both their spit, but it’s still good and Sam relents, finally dropping his book alongside his hip. “Never make it through a damn one of these, will I?”

“The sacrifices you have to make, Sammy,” Dean grins, a sight more blinding than a thousand suns, and Sam can only shake his head, brush the hair off his brother’s forehead, place a soft kiss there. One for every day they’ll spend like this-- together.

And Sam says, “It’s no sacrifice at all.”

Title: oh, brother, you gave me strength; while brother, you brought me fear
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 for dark subject matter, sex
Word Count: 2590
Summary: “Who sent you, huh? Who sent you to be my whore?”
A/N: For the person who asked for evil!Sam, consort!Dean, and something dark.

Dean stood naked, pressed against the window, his body held without ropes or hands.

“Look,” Sam grunted, twisting Dean’s head to the side. The sky burned like a nuclear blast. The city was on fire. “What did you think?” Sam asked, moving in front of him, features hidden in shadow. “Did you think you’d come here, sacrifice yourself to me, and I’d stop?”

Sam’s laugh was even uglier than the scene down below.

“Who sent you, huh?” Sam’s hands fell from Dean’s face, but Dean still couldn’t move, invisible restraints forcing him against the wall of glass. Sam’s mouth touched, the fire of it deadly against his skin, Sam’s spit like an inferno of heat on Dean’s lips. “Was it Bobby?” Sam panted. “Was it Castiel?” His teeth, so much sharper than before, scraped the bony curve of Dean’s jaw. “Who sent you to be my whore?”

Everything felt black—his mind, his memories, the soot on his skin, his voice – soft and singed. “Doesn’t matter.”

“God, you fucking martyr,” Sam growled, pushed away, flung Dean onto the bed without a touch. Just a careless arrangement of his limbs. Pain from the landing. “I made so many excuses for you. When I left, I thought I must have been wrong. No way you were this weak, Dean. This pathetic! But just look at you!”

Dean wanted to hide—his nakedness, his shame, from the hatred in Sam’s eyes—but the invisible chains still held him.

“I should throw you down there. Feed you to the dogs,” Sam snarled, storming towards him again, Sam’s knee dropping the mattress, while Dean’s eyes went wide and flickered anywhere but to Sam’s body.

“Go ahead,” Dean breathed, fighting for every word. “Hand me over. Give me to Lilith. I’m sure you’d love that.”

Sam coughed an unexpected laugh, and slid next to him on the bed, his elbow bent around his shin. “Jesus, are you serious?” Sam pivoted his head on the point of his own knee. “Did they tell you anything real? How do you not get sick of being manipulated all the time?” Sam’s posture made it clear there was no right answer, so Dean’s mouth stayed shut. “I killed Lilith a month and a half after I left you, you idiot. So much for you being the only one who could do it, right?”

Dean blinked, tried to keep back the fleck of emotion trying to work through. Another broken promise. It’s you, Dean. You’re the only one that can stop her. The only one who can save them. They’d been preaching it for years. After he’d pulled himself off that motel floor, brushed away the glass, got himself together. All that was left was the solidity of Cas’ voice, the cold, palpable words, You’ll do the Lord’s work now. Months of them stringing him along with the promise that he’d be worth something, someday.

Even that-- lies.

A rough hand shoved through Dean’s hair, but gentle fingers threaded it apart. “Why didn’t you ever listen to me?” Sam’s eyes lost their flare, fizzled to black. “All I wanted was for you to trust me. To believe in me. To listen to me. But you never did. You listened to everyone else—Dad, Bobby, the fucking angels, the demons, everyone we were supposed to help, but you never listened to me.” The light touch turned awful, a handful of his hair tugged out by the roots, and Sam physically trying to break Dean’s neck by turning it. “Bet you wish you had, now.”

“Go on,” Dean gasped and Sam’s hand fit around his throat, just like before, squeezing the air from his lungs. “Go—on.” Sam fisted tighter, black spots growing in the corner of Dean’s eyes. Barely enough to whisper, “Kill me.”

Sam let go, leapt from the bed, Dean’s unfocused eyes incapable of reading the expression on his face. The bonds fell away, releasing him, letting Dean curl in on himself, letting him pull the sheets up to cover his body. The tears came fast—silent and hot. Sam was right. He’d wished a million things different over the past two years. Now, he only wished himself dead.

And what kind of freak did it make him that he still wanted it to be Sam who ended it?

“You came here as a toy, hoping I’d kill you.”

Dean wrapped an arm around his head, tried to make himself small—tried to disappear.

“Answer me!” Sam shouted, the echo shaking the room, the whole building, maybe the entire state.

“I don’t know,” Dean breathed, everything so confused—an image of hunters, a table, the promise he could have Sam, be with Sam, die by Sam’s hand. Bobby in an even more distant memory with fear in his eyes, saying, One life for millions.

Sam unearthed him, pulled Dean by the arm from the safety of the bed, and slammed a palm to his chest. Then it was the two of them, Sam sharpening the images, melting the spellwork designed to keep the truth concealed. It dripped away like candle wax, Sam impatiently brushing it aside, seeing Dean strapped down, thrashing. Sixteen people surrounding him. A gift they’d leave in front of a Devil’s gate for Sam to find.

Where Sam’s hand had been, a five fingered welt blistered Dean’s skin, but Sam was no longer there. He paced the room, moved things from his path with an angry wave of his hand. Sam’s movements spelled rage, no doubt about it, so when the transformers outside of their room started to burst, bright, arcing showers from above, Dean wasn’t surprised.

Sam’s stop was sudden, right foot on the heel, left on his toes. He pivoted around, and only then did Dean remember they were both naked, frighteningly so. “The Trickster called this one years ago.” Sam picked through Dean’s clothes, turning out his pockets, patted all the lining. “They’re trying to track me through you,” Sam said, obviously feeling Dean’s eyes on him, his back and ass and the flex of his thighs served up with zero modesty.

Sam slammed what looked like a tiny resister onto the table beside the bed and crushed it, shattered it to nothing but filamented bits. “It’s amazing what happens when you flip the first switch.”

Dean looked up at him, Sam watching him sympathetically through the light sweep of his lashes. Something safe and glowing beginning to spread through his chest, replacing the deep, dark ache, and Dean reached out like he could catch it, hold on to its whickering flicker.

Dean’s hand came to rest on the cut of Sam’s hip, the slope of his abs, and Sam shut his eyes, touching Dean’s fingers. When his eyes reopened, Sam let his other hand trail along Dean’s cheek, cup his chin. The warming heat inside of Dean swelled. “I can kill demons, angels,” Sam whispered. “I could call God down from his throne. But there’s this one thing I could never destroy.”

The pain in Dean’s chest started to acidify, dragging like a matchhead across phosphorous, stripped off and torn away from his soul. Dean cried out, something thick with ichor rushing up his throat. He leaned forward, slapping his other hand to Sam’s skin, tried to gasp Sam’s name, but a viscous line of oil ran from his mouth, pooling in a crude puddle near their feet.

“I possess everything dark.” Sam’s hands were soft, holding him lowered. “When I call, it has no other choice but to follow. I didn’t know how to help you, then—after Hell, after Alistair. I didn’t know what he’d left behind.” Loathing, horror, shame. “But I do, now.”

The black ribbon ran, bled to dry, and Dean finally coughed until it felt like he’d suffocate; Sam turning the mass into ash. “That’s inside you?” Dean gasped, looking up into the fire of his brother’s eyes, both agony and relief filling his chest. He felt—rebuilt. Unsullied. New. Terrified that whatever Sam had pulled from him might be festering inside Sam – had been for all these years – with the same black misery.

“Before. Drinking Ruby’s blood. In the panic room. For a while after.” Sam knelt down between Dean’s knees. “Not anymore. All that’s left inside me, now, is power and impulse.”

“God, Sam.” Dean closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to his brother’s, tears coming without the poison of pain.

“Monsters can still do good,” Sam chuffed and Dean thought back to the guy trying to live a normal life, trying to sustain an evil hunger without killing his wife. Another time Dean hadn’t listened.

Dean shook his head, letting it slip to Sam’s shoulder. He’d felt nothing coming here. Nothing when he’d slid to the floor and swore his allegiance. Nothing when he’d crawled forward and nuzzled Sam’s cock through his jeans. Nothing when Sam had stripped him bare and forced him, devoid of any mercy, to suck him slow. For twenty one months he’d felt nothing but the desperate urge to die.

Sam’s lips stuck, dragged wet up Dean’s throat, tongue a silver point against his skin. “I could hold you to your oath—” Sam murmured, his thumb drifting over Dean’s cheek. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean felt the burning impact of that wish, “—but I won’t. You can go. But I’ll warn you, Dean. There’s nothing left for you out there. That’s not to say there never will be. But I still have to do what I have to do.

“You’ll be safe, though. You’ll always be safe because both sides agreed.”

Sam’s other hand rubbed the spur of Dean spine. Dean thought maybe he could fall asleep like this, finally rest, burrow deeper into Sam’s endless strength. “There’s only one way I can let you stay,” Sam whispered and an electric surge began to form from Sam’s words.

Dean lifted his head, rolling onto his hip, giving his brother the view of his back. He spread his legs, crooked his left knee, hands clinging to the comforter like it might ease the leopard-fast sprint of his heart. He thought of the surrender this act required, how he’d have to give something that would make him so tainted he would never find forgiveness again. How safe it might feel—finally belonging to Sam.

Sam’s fingers swept the muscle of Dean’s back. “You’re grateful, I understand. But you don’t know what you’re asking.”

Sam turned to go, to pull away—maybe evaporate—and Dean shot around, grabbing Sam’s wrist. “Please!”

The terror there must have been enough to stop him. “You didn’t care before and I wanted to punish you. I could be so cruel to you, Dean.” Sam shook his head. “Go while you can.”

For the first time in his life, Dean would have begged to hear all the words Sam’d ever wanted to say. The quiet things in shared motel rooms, when Dean had told him to quit. To find the nail-edge of reason and to cling to it. Push until Sam just took, consequences be damned.

“Please,” he whispered again, dragging Sam’s hand to his body.

“Do you know what it’ll be like? You’ll give me more than your body, Dean. You’ll give me everything. There’s no salvation after this. Like every dark thing, you’ll go where I go, you’ll do as I say. You won’t ever have a choice.” Sam leaned forward, his mouth hovering near Dean’s ear. “You’re still good, Dean.” Sam swiped his hair back. “Despite what you think, how ruined you think you are, you’re still good. Heaven never has to know you fell.” Sam’s eyes grew storm-dark. “And as far as the hunters go, I’ll deal with them myself.”

Dean leaned his weight on his shoulder, pushed up, and stole a kiss from his brother’s unsuspecting mouth. Sam, who looked like his world was falling apart. Like it had only been held together by the thought of doing this on his own—living alone. Sam, who looked like maybe in ten minutes, he wouldn’t be held responsible for whatever Dean made him do.

“I mean it, Dean. You should leave,” he said, angrily.

Dean pulled his arm, felt Sam’s weight take up the space behind him, too-hot skin on skin. “I’m yours,” he vowed, leaving Sam’s massive hand curved around his ribs. It slid to Dean’s hip, held with enough pressure to bruise.

“I’ll want this every night—every day,” Sam warned, hard bite of Sam’s teeth. “I won’t stop what I have to do. Not for your You can’t do this, Sammy speeches.” The head of Sam’s cock touched him, startling, forceful. “You’ll give me everything I want. And then you’ll give me more.”

Dean scraped together enough nerve to ask, “And what will you give me, Sammy?”

“What you’ve always needed,” Sam breathed, feather-light touch of his fingers against the back of Dean’s neck, the brace of his hand to his shoulder, pushing Dean down, the quick rise of Sam’s hips to push him inside.

“Oh—God,” Dean stuttered, eyes squeezed shut and hands fisted above his head.

Sam laid a kiss behind Dean’s ear, panting out soft words, foreign words, a bonding ritual, while Sam broke him down to nothing more than sobs. Sam’s body moving like something liquid, unnatural, a rise of hellfire, a gleaming Borealis to set their stage. “Give yourself to me,” Sam demanded, riddled hostility in a voice that scared him. Then softer, sweeter, “Give yourself to me, Dean.”

“For eternity,” Dean tried to say, seemingly that easy, but marks were fusing through his skin. Agony to writhe in while Sam’s hand closed around Dean’s dick, stroked pleasure into him to rival his pain. “Sorry, Sammy. Sorry,” he apologized, thinking he should.

Sam groaned, jerked, spilled his come like molten lead inside him and Dean gave over the last bit of consciousness to the rhythm of his own screams.

+ || + || +

Dean woke to Sam’s smile, his naked body, his cock red with Dean’s blood. “I’d put a collar on you,” Sam breathed, “if I thought you’d be good.”

“I’ll be good, Sammy,” Dean promised, his eyes drawn to the souvenirs staggered across his skin. Brands of Sam’s ownership.

“You better be,” Sam grinned.

Impulse, Sam had said. After the purge, all he’d been left with was impulse and power. The power Dean felt. A scary mania scratching at the back of his mind. Unknown and violent, ensuring submission, guaranteeing fightful days. But the impulse, that was the one unidentifiable factor. Maybe the impulse would be enough to lead Sam back. Back to the quiet and the peace, back to the little brother Dean had always known. Maybe once the things that needed doing were done, Sam would chase the impulse back to being himself.

At his side, Sam stretched, shuddered in something like pleasure. “Mmm,” he sighed, lifting Dean’s hand to his heart. There, behind Dean’s closed lids, he could see one of the faces Sam had recognized earlier, one of the hunters responsible for Dean’s delivery. “So easy to find.” Sam turned to his side, his hand brushing gentle down Dean’s cheek. “Now how should he die?”

There was one word, summoned immediately, a weight on Dean’s tongue. “Suffocation.”

Sam smiled at him, nodding, placing Dean's hand back against his heart. “Good, yeah, I like that,” he said quietly. “Now shut your eyes.”

The smell of sulfur filled the room, ten thousand flames licking at Dean’s skin, and a man turned violet as Sam took his life.



+ || + || +

ON TO THE POLLS!

Poll #1412383 sundaysmorgasbord
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 57

Under that tree, Dean only has to wait another _____ before he comes?

What do you think-- the impulse?

Two (or more stories at once):

I am looking forward to:

And, because one set of tickies is never enough... who is bringing sexy back to the news:

And as always, if you want to say a little somethin' somethin', want to nail me for potshots at conservatives, tell me what else I'm missing while locked in my cave... have at it!