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phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: My Brother's Keeper, Part Five(Part One Here, Part Two Here, Part Three Here, Part Four Here)
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Table: #1
Prompt: 068 Smile
Word Count: 1711
Summary: Complete AU. On the night the demon kills Mary Winchester, John saves Dean, but before he can go back for Sam, the fire spreads. It is assumed that Sam is dead along with his mother. In reality, he has been taken and is raised by a family dedicate to the demon who killed Mary. One night after a hunt, Dean runs into him in a bar in Palo Alto, never a clue who he really is.
Warnings: Incest, m/m sex, blood play, bondage. Evil-ness abounds--No actual sex here...mostly plot development...Sam tormenting in a new and different way...giving Dean space, or the illusion thereof...More sex will follow...and evilness...exploiting weaknesses...the revelation of relation...and more...
This is my twenty-fourth ficlet for my Supernatural claim on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
100_situations. Clicky for table
Dean drifted back to consciousness with the smell of coffee and bacon and the ringing of his cell phone. He felt something heavy hit him and opened his eyes to see his jeans on his chest. “Your pants are ringing.”
He sat up enough to see Sam smiling at him while he fumbled for the pocket that held his phone. “Yeah?” His father’s voice was a welcome sound after three months apart with little contact. “Hey Dad. No…still in Boston. No.” He shifted uncomfortably, the aches and pains starting to make themselves known. “There were…complications.” His ass throbbed as he moved to sit up, and there was a bandage on his left arm. The last bit of the night before came back in a rush and he blushed. “No, I’ll get it done tonight. Don’t worry.”
Sam waved a cup of coffee in his direction and Dean nodded. “Look Dad, I’ll call you later, okay? There’s something I need to take care of.” Dean closed the phone and put it back in his pocket before rubbing a hand over his face. “Damn.”
Sam smiled at him, that brilliant, innocent, happy smile. “A little sore?”
Dean snorted and cracked his neck. “You have no idea.”
“Come eat. I had the kitchen bring up some of everything, cause I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“I’m not much of a breakfast person.” Dean said, though his growling stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten much the day before and the bacon really did smell good. He stood slowly, testing protesting muscles.
Sam came toward him, wrapped in a silk robe and handing him a cup of coffee before slipping his arms around his waist and kissing him soundly. Dean groaned as the silk rubbed across his sore cock. “You have to eat…after everything I put you through last night.” Sam said, nuzzling his neck before stepping back and padding back to the low table near the couch. It was filled with plates of bacon and sausage and eggs, fresh fruit and breads and Dean’s stomach growled again.
He took a sip of the coffee and followed, half-conscious that he was still very naked. “That was your father?” Sam asked as Dean sat on the other end of the couch, snagging a piece of bacon as he went.
“Hmm?”
“The phone.”
“Uh, yeah.” Dean swallowed the bacon. “Checking in, making sure I’m still alive and kicking.”
“Yeah, if I had a son as accident prone as you, I’d check in too.”
Dean smiled and reached for more, loading up a plate with several sausage and more bacon. “We take care of one another.”
Sam drank from his coffee cup and watched Dean eat, and Dean suddenly felt very self-conscious. “So…about…” Sam’s hand was on his knee and Dean exhaled heavily. “Last night was…”
“Unbelievable.” Sam supplied. “Fuck…you came ten times. Most I’ve ever done is 5.”
Dean coughed a little and blushed again. “I won’t be able to get it up for a month.”
Sam’s smile turned devilish. “I’m sure it won’t take that long.”
Dean held up a hand. “No, seriously. No. I might break.”
Sam pouted at him, but pulled his hand away. “Wouldn’t want that…would we?” He paced away and fiddled around with something on the mantle over the fireplace.
“If I ever want to have sex again?” Dean finished off his sausage and rose stiffly. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He crossed to where Sam was standing and put his head on Sam’s shoulder. “And it occurs to me that I don’t even know your last name…or where we are.”
Sam turned and pulled him closer, kissing him and turning them so that Dean’s back was against the wall. “Does it matter?” he asked when he pulled back.
Dean shook his head, his eyes working to focus on Sam’s face. “I suppose not…” Sam kissed him again, his tongue sweeping over Dean’s, his hand moving to cup his cock. It struggled to respond, despite the soreness. “Please. I…”
“Need a shower.” Sam whispered, his lips smiling against Dean’s shoulder. “Seriously. Through there.” He pointed with the lifting of his chin, then stopped back to give Dean room. “It will make you feel better.”
“Yeah. That sounds good.” Dean gave same a half smile and gestured toward the door. “In there?”
Sam swatted him on the ass as he went. “There’s clean towels on the counter. I can have Isabella re-dress the wound when you’re done.”
Dean sighed a little in relief as he started the shower in what had to be the biggest bathroom he had ever seen. Leave it to him to fall in with a rich kid who had no clue what the real world was about. His best bet was to beat a quick retreat, get back to his car and get back to work…if he could even get his body to function enough to dig a grave.
He peeled off the bandage, lifting his arm to examine the thin slice in his arm. It wasn’t bad, wouldn’t require stitches or anything, but he was stupid for allowing it to happen. Sam was more perceptive than most, and he was going to have to be more careful.
What was he thinking? He got into the shower and let the water beat on his back, over achy muscles and tried to ignore the fact the position he had let himself get into just because the boy had a pretty face…and those eyes…and hands…Dean shook himself before he could wax poetic about Sam’s other features.
This was it. He was going to burn the bones of the fucking pyromaniac of a ghost and beat it the hell out of Boston, meet up with his old man and move on. He’d likely never see Sam again. God knows if he did…it might literally be the death of him. “No more pretty boys for you,” he said, looking down at his red, aching cock.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Sam was partially dressed, in well pressed dress pants, but nothing else. “I feel so under dressed.” Dean quipped, in his towel.
Sam smiled and waved a hand at the clothes laid out on the bed. “I have an interview at Harvard today. Law school. Mostly a formality…but one has to keep up appearances.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “More college? Wasn’t Stanford enough for you?”
Sam chuckled. “I hated Stanford. I’ll probably hate Harvard too…but it’s the best education money can buy…and I only want the best. In everything.”
Dean fished around the room for his clothes, coming up with everything but his socks and underwear. “I think I liked the towel better.” Sam said as Dean finished zipping his jeans.
“Yeah? I think I liked you without the pants myself.”
“How’s the arm?”
Dean held up the arm and looked again. “It’s fine. Should heal nicely.”
“Do you want me to—“
“No.” Dean shook his head. “Its probably better left to the air.”
Sam shrugged into his shirt, buttoning it slowly. “So tell me Dean…how long are you here in Boston?”
Dean inhaled sharply and looked away from the toned chest slowly disappearing under cotton. “I should be heading out tonight…tomorrow at the latest. I have a little business to finish.”
“An…odd job?” Sam asked, his face reflecting curiosity.
“Yeah, something like that. I need to finish it up and head on up to Boise. There’s a little job waiting for me there.”
“Boise? That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Dean said, standing to tuck in his t-shirt.
“Well, if you finish early, there’s a party tonight. My father’s birthday. I’d love if you would come.” His eyes flashed at Dean’s crotch on the last word and he smirked.
Dean laughed and reached for his shoes. “Yeah, I’m sure you would.” He stood stretching. “I wouldn’t have anything to wear to something like that. I’d be really out of place.”
Sam nodded, finishing off his tie. “Okay. Fair enough. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
There was a knock at the door and a woman in uniform opened the door. “Beg pardon, Sir. Your car is ready.”
“Thank you Casia. I’ll be along in a moment.” He turned back to Dean. “I hope you don’t mind, I’m going to have to have one of our drivers take you back to your car. I’m running incredibly late.”
“No, I don’t mind.”
Sam kissed him deeply. “Mine,” he whispered and Dean shivered. “Until the next time our paths cross, Dean. Casia will show you to the car.”
Dean nodded, licking his lips, savoring the taste as she the maid led him down the same side staircase they had climbed the night before and out to a shaded driveway where a limousine waited. The chauffer held the door and Dean climbed in almost hesitantly. “Nice ride.”
“Yes sir.”
Dean settled in to the supple leather seat and the door closed. This was the kind of luxury he had never even dreamed about in his craziest days…when the hunting drove him crazy and he wanted the lives he saw other people living…even then he couldn’t imagine servants who brought food to his room, or drove him to meetings or…servants who had seen Dean on his knees sucking Sam’s cock…had bandaged the wounds he had asked Sam to give him.
Sloppy. The boy had addled him, made him messy and easy and damn but he was good at what he did. It had thrown him, seeing Sam again. Thrown him so much that he fell. No one had ever thrown him like that, reduced him to begging…begging to be fucked…to be allowed to come…begging to be cut so that he could come one final time.
Dean shook his head. He’d never been in a place like he’d been last night. Never knew he could…He sighed and let his head fall back against the seat. What was it about him? The smile. Dean decided that it was the smile that did him in. Cut right through him like diamonds and left him open and oozing and vulnerable.
Which of course meant he had to end it. No one made Dean Winchester a puppy begging…at least he never did it twice.
Title: My Brother's Keeper, Part Five(Part One Here, Part Two Here, Part Three Here, Part Four Here)
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Table: #1
Prompt: 068 Smile
Word Count: 1711
Summary: Complete AU. On the night the demon kills Mary Winchester, John saves Dean, but before he can go back for Sam, the fire spreads. It is assumed that Sam is dead along with his mother. In reality, he has been taken and is raised by a family dedicate to the demon who killed Mary. One night after a hunt, Dean runs into him in a bar in Palo Alto, never a clue who he really is.
Warnings: Incest, m/m sex, blood play, bondage. Evil-ness abounds--No actual sex here...mostly plot development...Sam tormenting in a new and different way...giving Dean space, or the illusion thereof...More sex will follow...and evilness...exploiting weaknesses...the revelation of relation...and more...
This is my twenty-fourth ficlet for my Supernatural claim on
100_situations. Clicky for tableDean drifted back to consciousness with the smell of coffee and bacon and the ringing of his cell phone. He felt something heavy hit him and opened his eyes to see his jeans on his chest. “Your pants are ringing.”
He sat up enough to see Sam smiling at him while he fumbled for the pocket that held his phone. “Yeah?” His father’s voice was a welcome sound after three months apart with little contact. “Hey Dad. No…still in Boston. No.” He shifted uncomfortably, the aches and pains starting to make themselves known. “There were…complications.” His ass throbbed as he moved to sit up, and there was a bandage on his left arm. The last bit of the night before came back in a rush and he blushed. “No, I’ll get it done tonight. Don’t worry.”
Sam waved a cup of coffee in his direction and Dean nodded. “Look Dad, I’ll call you later, okay? There’s something I need to take care of.” Dean closed the phone and put it back in his pocket before rubbing a hand over his face. “Damn.”
Sam smiled at him, that brilliant, innocent, happy smile. “A little sore?”
Dean snorted and cracked his neck. “You have no idea.”
“Come eat. I had the kitchen bring up some of everything, cause I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“I’m not much of a breakfast person.” Dean said, though his growling stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten much the day before and the bacon really did smell good. He stood slowly, testing protesting muscles.
Sam came toward him, wrapped in a silk robe and handing him a cup of coffee before slipping his arms around his waist and kissing him soundly. Dean groaned as the silk rubbed across his sore cock. “You have to eat…after everything I put you through last night.” Sam said, nuzzling his neck before stepping back and padding back to the low table near the couch. It was filled with plates of bacon and sausage and eggs, fresh fruit and breads and Dean’s stomach growled again.
He took a sip of the coffee and followed, half-conscious that he was still very naked. “That was your father?” Sam asked as Dean sat on the other end of the couch, snagging a piece of bacon as he went.
“Hmm?”
“The phone.”
“Uh, yeah.” Dean swallowed the bacon. “Checking in, making sure I’m still alive and kicking.”
“Yeah, if I had a son as accident prone as you, I’d check in too.”
Dean smiled and reached for more, loading up a plate with several sausage and more bacon. “We take care of one another.”
Sam drank from his coffee cup and watched Dean eat, and Dean suddenly felt very self-conscious. “So…about…” Sam’s hand was on his knee and Dean exhaled heavily. “Last night was…”
“Unbelievable.” Sam supplied. “Fuck…you came ten times. Most I’ve ever done is 5.”
Dean coughed a little and blushed again. “I won’t be able to get it up for a month.”
Sam’s smile turned devilish. “I’m sure it won’t take that long.”
Dean held up a hand. “No, seriously. No. I might break.”
Sam pouted at him, but pulled his hand away. “Wouldn’t want that…would we?” He paced away and fiddled around with something on the mantle over the fireplace.
“If I ever want to have sex again?” Dean finished off his sausage and rose stiffly. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He crossed to where Sam was standing and put his head on Sam’s shoulder. “And it occurs to me that I don’t even know your last name…or where we are.”
Sam turned and pulled him closer, kissing him and turning them so that Dean’s back was against the wall. “Does it matter?” he asked when he pulled back.
Dean shook his head, his eyes working to focus on Sam’s face. “I suppose not…” Sam kissed him again, his tongue sweeping over Dean’s, his hand moving to cup his cock. It struggled to respond, despite the soreness. “Please. I…”
“Need a shower.” Sam whispered, his lips smiling against Dean’s shoulder. “Seriously. Through there.” He pointed with the lifting of his chin, then stopped back to give Dean room. “It will make you feel better.”
“Yeah. That sounds good.” Dean gave same a half smile and gestured toward the door. “In there?”
Sam swatted him on the ass as he went. “There’s clean towels on the counter. I can have Isabella re-dress the wound when you’re done.”
Dean sighed a little in relief as he started the shower in what had to be the biggest bathroom he had ever seen. Leave it to him to fall in with a rich kid who had no clue what the real world was about. His best bet was to beat a quick retreat, get back to his car and get back to work…if he could even get his body to function enough to dig a grave.
He peeled off the bandage, lifting his arm to examine the thin slice in his arm. It wasn’t bad, wouldn’t require stitches or anything, but he was stupid for allowing it to happen. Sam was more perceptive than most, and he was going to have to be more careful.
What was he thinking? He got into the shower and let the water beat on his back, over achy muscles and tried to ignore the fact the position he had let himself get into just because the boy had a pretty face…and those eyes…and hands…Dean shook himself before he could wax poetic about Sam’s other features.
This was it. He was going to burn the bones of the fucking pyromaniac of a ghost and beat it the hell out of Boston, meet up with his old man and move on. He’d likely never see Sam again. God knows if he did…it might literally be the death of him. “No more pretty boys for you,” he said, looking down at his red, aching cock.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Sam was partially dressed, in well pressed dress pants, but nothing else. “I feel so under dressed.” Dean quipped, in his towel.
Sam smiled and waved a hand at the clothes laid out on the bed. “I have an interview at Harvard today. Law school. Mostly a formality…but one has to keep up appearances.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “More college? Wasn’t Stanford enough for you?”
Sam chuckled. “I hated Stanford. I’ll probably hate Harvard too…but it’s the best education money can buy…and I only want the best. In everything.”
Dean fished around the room for his clothes, coming up with everything but his socks and underwear. “I think I liked the towel better.” Sam said as Dean finished zipping his jeans.
“Yeah? I think I liked you without the pants myself.”
“How’s the arm?”
Dean held up the arm and looked again. “It’s fine. Should heal nicely.”
“Do you want me to—“
“No.” Dean shook his head. “Its probably better left to the air.”
Sam shrugged into his shirt, buttoning it slowly. “So tell me Dean…how long are you here in Boston?”
Dean inhaled sharply and looked away from the toned chest slowly disappearing under cotton. “I should be heading out tonight…tomorrow at the latest. I have a little business to finish.”
“An…odd job?” Sam asked, his face reflecting curiosity.
“Yeah, something like that. I need to finish it up and head on up to Boise. There’s a little job waiting for me there.”
“Boise? That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Dean said, standing to tuck in his t-shirt.
“Well, if you finish early, there’s a party tonight. My father’s birthday. I’d love if you would come.” His eyes flashed at Dean’s crotch on the last word and he smirked.
Dean laughed and reached for his shoes. “Yeah, I’m sure you would.” He stood stretching. “I wouldn’t have anything to wear to something like that. I’d be really out of place.”
Sam nodded, finishing off his tie. “Okay. Fair enough. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
There was a knock at the door and a woman in uniform opened the door. “Beg pardon, Sir. Your car is ready.”
“Thank you Casia. I’ll be along in a moment.” He turned back to Dean. “I hope you don’t mind, I’m going to have to have one of our drivers take you back to your car. I’m running incredibly late.”
“No, I don’t mind.”
Sam kissed him deeply. “Mine,” he whispered and Dean shivered. “Until the next time our paths cross, Dean. Casia will show you to the car.”
Dean nodded, licking his lips, savoring the taste as she the maid led him down the same side staircase they had climbed the night before and out to a shaded driveway where a limousine waited. The chauffer held the door and Dean climbed in almost hesitantly. “Nice ride.”
“Yes sir.”
Dean settled in to the supple leather seat and the door closed. This was the kind of luxury he had never even dreamed about in his craziest days…when the hunting drove him crazy and he wanted the lives he saw other people living…even then he couldn’t imagine servants who brought food to his room, or drove him to meetings or…servants who had seen Dean on his knees sucking Sam’s cock…had bandaged the wounds he had asked Sam to give him.
Sloppy. The boy had addled him, made him messy and easy and damn but he was good at what he did. It had thrown him, seeing Sam again. Thrown him so much that he fell. No one had ever thrown him like that, reduced him to begging…begging to be fucked…to be allowed to come…begging to be cut so that he could come one final time.
Dean shook his head. He’d never been in a place like he’d been last night. Never knew he could…He sighed and let his head fall back against the seat. What was it about him? The smile. Dean decided that it was the smile that did him in. Cut right through him like diamonds and left him open and oozing and vulnerable.
Which of course meant he had to end it. No one made Dean Winchester a puppy begging…at least he never did it twice.
