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The Dare (SPN)

The Dare
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~5270
Warnings: incest as usual, vaguely AU for S1
Summary: Dean’s on a job that takes him to Palo Alto. He’s lonely and the girl at the bar wants to help.

Written for spn_meanttobe. Prompt:
Audra Walker's old crowd thought she'd turned her back on them and what they liked best—namely hot sex and available men. But they were so wrong.

And Audra was in the mood to prove it. How? By taking their dare. The challenge? To seduce the very next man through the club door—regardless of who he was.

She’s a curvy redhead, short and maybe a little plump but Dean is sick of trying not to break the skinny ones so that’s a point in her favor. She’s chatting animatedly with the bartender, and it looks like she’s alone. Dean eyes her over his beer, considering, then sighs internally and swivels his barstool in the opposite direction. He’s not in the mood.

It’s not her fault. Dean takes another slow pull of the beer, listening to the music throb around him. He’s just…tired. Right. This job. Two weeks now of trailing this thing as it cuts a swath of dead crops through the farms of the San Joaquin Valley, and Dean can’t get the stink of its slime out from under his fingernails. And it’s not even dead yet.

Dad would have killed it by now. Hunted and killed that son of a bitch before any more migrant workers turned up dead, staring stiff at some unknown horror.

But Dad thinks Dean can handle his own jobs by now. Doesn’t want Dean’s help, doesn’t want Dean trailing after him. So Dean is wasting ghosts by the dozen and looking for bigger. Something massive and dangerous that he can’t take down by himself, because damnit, the Impala is too empty without a warm body in the passenger seat.

Dean isn’t going there. Not tonight, not any of these nights lately, not this close to Palo Alto. When the air conditioner clicks off in another anonymous motel room, Dean’s only going to hear his own breathing.


He turns towards the redhead and pastes on a smile, readies a line, only to find that she’s left when he was drawing circles in spilled beer.


The next day’s local newspaper reports a bunch of dead dogs in a suburban development just outside Cupertino, edging the hills and wild oaks. The thing is still moving north, but this is the closest it’s come to civilization so far. Dean checks into a motel off the 280 then goes to investigate.

Six hours later Dean has had his fill of anxious suburban moms wondering why their precious Pookie is dead of fright and why there’s a two-foot-wide strip of dead plants going from the middle of their herb garden all the way through the lawn. He’s still avoiding the library. Thinks he knows what this might be, has an inkling of how to kill it, but hates the library. The closer he gets to this thing, the more unavoidable a last research trip will be. But not yet. It’s still moving and Dean can’t figure out where it’ll go next.

That night Dean hits up another bar not far from his motel, intending to get more than a little hammered. Because otherwise his brain won’t shut up, and goddamnit Dean just wants to get some sleep tonight.

It’s dingy, dark, Dean’s kind of place. He claims a stool facing the door, back to the wall. It’s been grey out all day and now it’s starting to rain, a soft patter on the roof that builds intensity. Rivulets run down the single glass window at the front, and Dean stares at refracted headlights as he takes his first shot. Whiskey burns his throat, blooms, rushes. Second shot, and he upends the glass on the countertop with a loud clink. Third shot just a few seconds after, trailing numbing sparks down into his belly.

When Dean looks up, the curvy redhead from last night is appraising him from two seats over. Did she follow him? Dean supposes it’s not outside the realms of coincidence. He didn’t travel that far since yesterday. The thing isn’t very fast. Still. With one hand under his jacket he loosens his knife, flexes his ankle to feel the one tucked into his boot.

“I hope you’re not stalking me,” the redhead says, tilting his way, her voice teasing. Her eyes have an exotic cast to them.

Dean relaxes a little into his buzz, slips her a smile. “I could ask you the same, sweetheart.” He raises his fourth shot glass to her and tips it back. A tingle spreads through his limbs. “Lucky me, though. What brings you out here?”

The redhead is toying with the neck of her half-empty beer. “The place I was last night? Giovanni’s? The bartenders are brothers.” Brothers, Dean thinks, pushing his shotglasses into a neat line. She gives a little shrug, and—oh, she has dimples. “I went to college with them and like to drop by, y’know? Still live around here.” She takes a sip. “How ’bout you?”

“Just passing through,” he says, vague. “Nice coincidence, me seeing you again, huh?” He’s feeling lighter around the edges. Still wary, but she seems harmless.

They do shots together, more whiskey. Her name is Kama and she’s bright, bubbly, fun. Dean is warming to her and he notes the curve of her hip, the way her lips fit around the rim of a glass. He’s easy and loose with alcohol, feeling good. They order beers.

Kama’s barstool is scooted up next to his and she’s laughing at something he said, low and close, running a fingertip over one of Dean’s rings. Then she leans and pulls at the amulet around Dean’s neck, lifting it from his chest, and says, “Tell me about this necklace.”

Dean freezes, takes a breath then gives her an easy smile. “This old thing. Heh. It’s nothing special, really.” Then he twists the conversation away, spinning some tale to make her laugh. He’s off-balance now, though.

Dean’s normally good at this, even when his heart’s not really in it. He could take her back to his motel room if he says the right words. He could strip off her boots and her skirt, tangle his fingers in her curling red hair. And then in the morning she would slip away like she never existed, and Dean would be alone with the only the smell of a one-night stand for company.

Dean realizes he’s gone pensive, and Kama is gazing at him with a little frown, eyes dark. “What’s up with you, then?” she says, soft. “You’re hot and cold. You don’t really want to take me home, do you?” It’s not a question, really. This girl is too perceptive.

“Sort of,” Dean answers, and damnit he should know better but he’s about to unload on this poor stranger. He blames it on the alcohol and too many lonely hunts. “I…travel alone. For work. And it gets lonely, but I meet people in places like this. Usually keeps my mind off things.” He tips his bottle at her, then sees a quirk of her lips, a spark in her eye that makes him pause. “Damn, I’m really off my game tonight, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Kama agrees, wry. “I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh,” Dean says. He swallows beer.

“Tell you what,” she says, tapping her fingers on the glass of her half-empty bottle, “we’ll play a game. ’Cause you need to stop wallowing, okay? You shouldn’t have to go home alone this rainy wet night.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, but he’s intrigued. He likes lesbians, especially when they’re on his side. Maybe Kama’s right.

“It’s a challenge, okay? You’ve got to put your whole heart into this one. No room to take it easy or think about how lonely you are.”

Dean puts his hands up. “Okay, I’m game. You’re right. Bring it on.”

A smile teases at her lips. “Here you go, then. Next person who walks through that door? You have to seduce them.”

Dean blinks, snaps his gaze to the door then back to Kama. “What—”

Kama cuts him off. “Dare you. That’s the rule, take it or leave it.”

There’s a mischievous gleam in her eye. She thinks he won’t do it, does she? Well, Dean isn’t one to back down so easily. He still has his game. He can prove it. He squares his shoulders, eyes the door again. “I’ll take it, damn it. Next person who walks in. Yeah.” He takes a swig of his beer.

Kama just fucking grins.


It’s still pouring outside and the bar is already pretty full, and Dean’s been waiting for fifteen nervous minutes and still nobody new has walked in. His first beer is gone and Kama ordered them both more, so Dean is definitely feeling the alcohol thrumming in his blood. He drums his fingers on the countertop, then jiggles his knee up and down, then wipes the condensation off his bottle.

The door opens, cold air gusting in. Dean tries to look surreptitious, taking a tiny sip of his beer while firmly fixing eyes on the figure entering. The person is tall, long-limbed. Shit, does Dean have to seduce a dude? He didn’t even think about that. The entranceway is shadowed, then the guy steps into the light.

His floppy hair is still stupid and in his face, but he looks older somehow. More self-assured, confident. Sam.

Fuck. Dean is so screwed.

He swings around to Kama, about to protest, explain, beg, something—but she’s gone. Like she never existed. Her beer bottle is still sitting on the grooved wood bar top, though, half-full, and Dean finishes it off with one gulp.

Sam isn’t alone. Of course he’s not. School friends, college buddies who take Sammy to bars and get him drunk and laugh about nothing with him. Hear about Sam’s normal days, bullshit about classes, hit on girls. There are three other guys with him, totally preppy types and none of them with Sam’s fucking overwhelming presence.

Sam hasn’t seen him yet. Dean hunches his shoulders and huddles up to the bar with his beer, because he desperately needs to stay invisible. Doesn’t take his eyes off Sam, who’s taking a table a few feet away with his buddies. Sam is laughing at something, completely carefree and open.

Last time Dean saw Sam, he hadn’t laughed for weeks, not since before he showed Dad the acceptance letter. Last time Dean saw him, Sam wore grim determination like armor and refused to look Dean in the eye when he shouldered his lone duffel bag. Dean didn’t say goodbye, retreated to the other room when the shouting started. But when he heard the door slam he watched out the window as Sam trudged down the road and around the bend, out of sight, towards the Greyhound station.

Sam looks happy. Normal. His friend’s hand grips his shoulder, pulls him in to say something in his ear, close.

Dean turns away, can’t look. He slams his beer down and heads for the restroom. He needs space.


Dean locks himself in a stall and leans his head against the cool tile, feeling the world tilt dizzily for a second. He can’t stop thinking about Kama’s game, the dare. She’s not even here to see Dean fail, give up, lose. What should it matter? Yeah, Dean’s got a competitive streak a mile long, likes to come out on top—no pun intended—but this isn’t even fair. For one thing, the point of the game is to test Dean’s charm against a total stranger.

For another, this is Sam.

Why the fuck is Dean still thinking about this stupid challenge?

He’s drunk. And he hasn’t seen Sam, his own fucking brother and the one person besides Dad he can depend on and trust enough to let his guard down, in years. Years. Now, of all times. Well. Dean supposes he was tempting fate, taking a job this close to Stanford.

Maybe he was deliberately hoping to run into Sammy. Because as much as Dean prides himself on being self-reliant, hunting alone and playing the badass and having the freedom to pick up chicks and take them back to his place, well. He misses hunting with Sam. He misses—he just misses Sam.

Misses his brother’s easy laugh, the way his eyes light up when Dean claps him on the back after a good hunt. How Sam shouted Dean’s name, breathless and panicked, when a spirit practically brought down an entire house on his head. How his Sasquatch brother enfolded him in a crushing hug, mud and dust and all, afterward.

The way Sam’s stupid hair sticks to his face after he showers, and how he hastily rummages through his bags for clean clothes, dripping, when Dean hides the towels. The curve of his spine, the smooth expanse of his back. His skin.

Dean is breathing too hard.

Fuck, he’s so drunk.

Next person who walks through that door? You have to seduce them.

Sam, laughing, wet with scattered raindrops. Just feet away. Sam lounging at the table, his long legs splayed out.

Dean swallows, feels his pulse racing, his blood rising. His jeans are too tight.

That’s the rule, take it or leave it. God, it’s Sammy, his brother. Seduce his brother.

He’s hard. Exhaling, Dean presses his palm against his crotch. God. He drags his fingers up to the button of his fly. Unzips, pulls his stiffened cock out and fuck that’s good, rough calluses on his hand dragging across sensitive skin.

Dean shuts his eyes and leans back against the wall, shifting his legs apart. He can’t think about this, so he spits on his hand and jerks his cock quickly, roughly. A heavy grunt escapes his mouth. He imagines Sam’s lips wrapped around his dick, sliding up and down, imagines thrusting into Sam’s throat. And with a shuddering groan, Dean comes, spurting over his hand.

Dean tries to shut off his spinning brain as he cleans up with toilet paper, but when he emerges from the stall and is washing his hands in the dingy sink he just can’t. He just jerked off in the men’s bathroom fantasizing about his brother, for fuck’s sake.

It’s not okay. Dean’s not okay.

It makes too much sense. Even now.

Dean stares at himself in the mirror, unsteady. He can’t go back out there now and see Sam sitting with his Stanford friends, acting like Dean never existed. Sam’s found his own life. He made that clear when he left.

The restroom door swings open, letting in a burst of tangled conversation and music noise from the bar. Dean grips the sink, wants to hide. It’s Sam. Sam, lanky and confident, so bright despite the flickering glow of the orange light on the ceiling.

Sam stops when he sees Dean, eyes going wide, and for a moment Dean thinks he’s going to throw up. Then the feeling passes and he’s just left staring at his little brother.

“Dean,” says Sam in a strangled tone, then he clears his throat and tries again. “Dean. What. What are you doing here?”

“Having a drink,” Dean says, sounding surprisingly normal.

Sam flaps his hand, opens his mouth, closes it, and there’s a tiny frown creasing his brow. “Are you stalking me?” There’s a hint of outrage.

Dean sighs. “That’s the second time tonight someone’s asked me that question. No. I was just passing through on a job, okay?” He stands, dullness settling about him like a cloak. “Look. I’m leaving. Won’t bother you. You… Have fun with your buddies, Sam.”

He tries to brush past Sam out the door, but he’s wobbly and Sam grabs his elbow. “Wait, Dean. You don’t have to go. I—I’m sorry. Don’t go yet.”

A spark races through Dean’s blood where Sam’s holding his arm, so against his better judgment he nods. “I’m already drunk,” he says stupidly.

The corners of Sam’s eyes crinkle up. “I know.”

And Sam’s right there, so tall and perfect and alive right up next to him, and Dean grabs clumsily for his head and pulls him down to kiss him.

Sam jerks away. Dean can’t tell if he’s repulsed or just startled. Dean backs up, grabs for the sink behind him, other hand up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry man, I should go. Leave. I should really go now—” He’s babbling, trying to get away. “I thought—I mean, I know you left. You don’t want that anymore. I should leave.” You don’t want me anymore.

Sam hasn’t moved. “Yeah. You should.” His expression is unreadable, something lurking behind his eyes that Dean can’t figure out.

Dean flees, cursing to himself as he stumbles out into the rain.


At first Dean doesn’t notice it because it’s raining and dark, and he’s wrapped up in a muddled combination of self-pity and self-loathing and drunken confusion. But then a car’s headlights cut across the grassy field south of the parking lot, and Dean sees it. There’s a precise strip of dead grass, brown and flattened, leading right up to the parking lot. The stretch of curb at the end of the path has crumbled into rubble, and the pavement beyond is slightly sunken.

It takes a moment to register what this means, and it’s a moment too late. Dean is knocked off his feet by something huge, strong, and inexorable. He lands hard with a shout and a whoosh of breath as the thing simultaneously slams into his stomach and legs, and his head hits the pavement, stunning him. Dean gasps for a clear breath and feels puddles soak into his jeans, rain hammer at his face. It’s so dark out. He can’t see right. His face is wet. It’s—it’s that thing, the thing he’s hunting, he knows it.

Dean struggles, but his head is fuzzy. He has knives, one at his belt and one in his boot. But it’ll be too late, he knows it, and if he’s right they won’t even hurt this thing. Still. He can hear it coming back, a massive weight of slippery scales and rippling muscle gliding through puddles. Closer. Dean knows he’s right. He clumsily staggers to his knees, tries to stand and get his knife out at the same time but the basilisk is too fast. It’s on top of him, crushing his arm underneath him, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath because he’d rather go by being squashed than by shattering or the poisonous fumes of its breath.


Dean’s leg twitches uselessly in reply—he can’t, he’s trapped, it’s over. Can’t get his knife out. Then suddenly the weight rolls off him, and Dean can breathe again. There’s a splashing sound, a slithering rustle, then nothing but Dean’s panting. He opens his eyes.

Sam is standing over him, offering a hand up. Dean takes it and winces as he lurches to his feet at the sudden pounding of his head. He presses a hand to his forehead, grimacing. “Think that bastard gave me a concussion,” he mutters.

“Dean, you’re okay.” The relief in Sam’s voice is palpable. “Was that a basilisk? Because I didn’t think throwing liquor at it would really stop it. I just grabbed some bottles when I heard you shout.”

Dean eyes his brother. “Liquor? Dude, this place is owned by Italians. Did you grab a bottle of grappa?” At Sam’s quizzical look, Dean rolls his eyes. “I’ve done my research. Don’t look so surprised. It’s brandy with rue in it. The herb. One of the few things that can hurt a basilisk.”

“Guess we got lucky,” says Sam, soft. He pulls Dean towards him, reaching for his waist, and Dean is alarmed for a moment before he realizes Sam’s just going for the keys in his pocket.

Dean bats his hand away, feeling awkward and slightly more sober. “I didn’t drive. Motel’s just down the road. I can get there fine.” He starts to walk off in that direction, but it must be darker out than he thought and the rain’s making everything slippery because he trips over nothing and stumbles a step before finding his balance again.

“Right, just fine. Look, dude, I’m coming with you. You’ve got a freakin’ concussion and you’re drunk. You need to be watched tonight.” Effectively waving away Dean’s token protests by seizing his shoulders again, they start off down the road. Well. Dean doesn’t really mind that much, when it comes down to it. He relaxes into his brother’s side, lets Sammy walk him back in the rain.


Sam insists on inspecting Dean for bruises when he undresses for bed. The basilisk was all on top of him, but it wasn’t that bad, Dean insists. Sam’s a stubborn bastard, though.

“What about your college buddies?” Dean asks suddenly as Sam’s settling into a chair to the side of the bed. “You just up and leave them like that all the time?”

Sam looks uncomfortable. “They’ll be fine without me,” he says shortly, and Dean is absurdly glad.

“I’ll drive you back tomorrow,” he says, then burrows deeper into the nest of covers and falls asleep.

Two hours later he’s dutifully shaken awake by Sam. He groans and bats at Sam’s arm. “I know,” he mumbles. “M’ head’s fine. Lemme sleep.” He rolls over, the room spinning around him, and does.

The next time Sam wakes him, Dean shakily shoves back the blankets and staggers to the bathroom with a desperate need to piss. When he returns Sam has abandoned the chair and crawled into the bed fully clothed. Poor Sammy, forced to stay awake past his bedtime because Dean has a concussion. Dean doesn’t hesitate because he’s still half-asleep and kind of drunk, so he clambers back under the blankets next to his brother. He barely has time to register the sleepy half-smile Sam’s giving him before he’s out again.

When Dean drifts awake next it’s a gradual awareness of several things: He’s thirsty, his entire body aches in new and exciting ways, it’s far too hot and sweaty under these blankets, and there’s a heavy weight smooshed up against his back. And that weight is drooling on his shoulder. Dean cracks open an eyelid and twists his head—Sam’s snoring, mouth open, and his arm is draped over Dean’s chest.

Dean disentangles himself carefully and heads for the shower, leaving Sam clutching a pillow.

The water pressure is surprisingly strong for a motel, and Dean spends some extra time soaking his bruises in the hot water. He tries not to think about the fact that he just slept a night—well, a good portion of the night—curled up with Sam, Sam who has a life and friends of his own, Sam who abandoned him, Sam who doesn’t want his brother to touch him like he used to. But of course it’s like trying not to think about pink elephants tap-dancing, and Dean can’t get the feeling of Sam wrapped around him out of his head. Sam is such a goddamned girl sometimes, projecting all these mixed signals and getting so tangled up Dean doesn’t know what he really wants.

Dean finally sighs and shuts off the water, because he’s not going to solve any of Sam’s issues in the shower. He wraps himself in a towel and heads out to find some clothes that aren’t wet or muddy or bloodstained.

Sam’s awake when Dean emerges, sitting on the edge of the bed wearing that same fucking pensive unreadable expression. Dean tries to ignore him while he roots through his duffel, but he can feels Sam’s eyes on his spine.

“So as soon as I’m dressed I can drive you back to school, but I gotta get gas first,” Dean says, inane, breaking the silence. He pulls on a shirt and hears Sam shift on the bed.

“Yeah,” says Sam. Something withers a little inside Dean, but really, what did he expect?

They don’t talk while they leave the motel and get in the Impala. Dean doesn’t check out because he’s still got a job to do here, but it feels weird. The room will be particularly empty tonight, and Dean doesn’t look forward to it.

He’s hyper-aware of Sam’s presence while he drives. He grabs coffees at the gas station, crappy burnt stuff, one for him and one for Sam. It’s not a long drive at all to Stanford and Dean deliberately goes under the speed limit, hoping Sam will say something, anything. Doesn’t even know what he’s hoping for, can’t put a name to the sick feeling in his stomach the closer they get.

“Dean, pull over,” Sam says abruptly. They’re fully in suburbia now, passing a well-manicured neighborhood park. Dean’s heart jumps and he obeys, swinging the Impala over to the curb.

“What—” he starts to say, but Sam’s out the door the moment they’re stopped, dashing around to the trunk. Dean looks over at the park, at the copse of trees not far away, and gets it.

Dead grass makes a flattened brown path straight to the trees. Dean slams his door, catching the weapons Sam tosses at him from the trunk, and they sprint together for the copse.

“I’ll go around the back,” Sam calls, and he’s already running ahead.

There’s no way the basilisk is unaware of their presence, and it knows its own weaknesses. Dean sees the undulating dark shape and bursts through the surrounding foliage at the same moment.

It’s eating, slurping up the carcass of somebody’s pet, fur and blood dripping down its slimy scales. Dean flings up a hand to shield his eyes and raises the crossbow, even though he knows it’s useless. It’s just a distraction.

The basilisk hisses, and it sounds like more of a shriek. The grass touched by its breath shrivels and dies before Dean’s eyes. It slithers, huge bulk rippling unnaturally quickly toward Dean. He scrambles backwards and fires another crossbow bolt, but the basilisk hardly slows. “Any time now, Sammy,” he grates. There’s no way he can take it down with its full predatory attention fixed on him.

“Over here!” Sam shouts, stepping out into the copse and stomping on the basilisk’s coiled tail. Then, thank fucking god, it swings its head around in startled surprise.

They know their lore. Sam brings a mirror up in front of his face just as the basilisk tries to slam the new threat with its killing gaze, and that’s the end of it. With a groan and a rumble, the basilisk shudders and stiffens, hardens into stone, then shatters. Broken heaps of rock strewn on the dead grass are all that remain.


Dean heaves a breath and lowers the crossbow. “Nice one, dude. You should hunt with me more often. Just like old times. We’re a team, man.” He doesn’t think until he’s said it, just knows that they work together so smoothly, effortlessly, like hunting with Sam is an instinct.

“Fuck,” Sam says quietly, and his gaze pierces Dean.

Fuck. And now Sam’s going to leave him again because Dean can’t keep his mouth shut. His pulse is racing, adrenaline from wasting the son of a bitch and Sam so close.

“Fuck. Dean. I know,” Sam says, and he’s crossing the short distance between them, almost tripping on the rubble, then clutches Dean’s shoulders and slams their mouths together like he can’t breathe without it.

Dean tenses in shock for a moment then digs his fingers into Sam’s hair and kisses back as hard as he can. Presses up against Sam, grunts, bites at his lips and sucks at his tongue fiercely. He wants this, god, he wants Sam back so bad. Sam is making little noises into his mouth and scraping his fingers across Dean’s back.

They break apart for a second, panting, Sam’s eyes wide. “Don’t you fucking dare,” Dean growls.

“I know,” Sam says again. “Want you back. Want you.”

That’s all they need. Dean closes the inches and goes for Sam’s mouth and it’s hungry, bruising, desperate. Sam pulls him in, grabs his belt loops and grinds into him, and fuck Sam’s hard and so is Dean, pulsing at the contact through their jeans. Sam’s huge hands are everywhere, yanking at Dean’s shirt, running shiveringly up his chest, digging into his waistband and pulling at the button on his jeans.

They’re breathing heavily into each other’s mouths, bumping noses, grabbing at belts. With a snarl Sam pushes them down onto the ground, a patch of still-green grass. Dean shoves his jeans down while Sam does his own, then Sam pushes Dean’s legs apart and they pause.

“Pocket,” says Dean, air gusting across his bare cock and making him stiffen further.

Sam thrusts slowly up against Dean, rubbing their cocks together, and Dean bites back a whimper. “Convenient,” Sam murmurs, and he digs in Dean’s discarded jeans for the packet of lube. “You always this prepared, or just when your little brother’s in town?”

“Unf. All for you, Sammy.” His shirt’s rucked up, and Sam twists his nipples with one hand and tears open the packet with his teeth.

Dean twitches at the cool lube and spreads his knees further apart, bringing them up to his chest. “There,” Sam hisses, and pushes two fingers into Dean up to the knuckle. Dean moans, low in his throat.

“Fuck,” says Sam, and it’s been too fucking long to go this fast without it hurting but Dean doesn’t care, tilts his hips up and lets Sam stroke him open.

“Sammy, c’mon Sam, c’mon, do it,” Dean pants, dragging Sam’s head down to suck greedily at his tongue. Sam fists their cocks together, smearing lube. Then he withdraws his fingers with a obscene pop and nudges his cock at Dean’s opening once, then pushes in.
Dean groans at the burn, the fullness. “Yes. Fuck. Sam, god, I fucking missed you, missed this, so much,” and his breathing’s going ragged as Sam starts to move. He stares up at his brother and meets his eyes, burning gaze, sunlight filtering through the trees above them. Sam grips his thighs and pulls Dean’s knees over his shoulders, slow slide in then hard snap of his hips to drive into Dean achingly deep, balls slapping together, letting out a heavy grunt at every thrust.

Fuck, it’s so good, it’s so fucking good. Dean can’t keep his mouth shut when Sam’s fucking him, can’t keep it together, and he’s panting out nonsense, swearing and blaspheming and saying Sam’s name over and over. Sam’s starting to lose it, speeding up, slamming his cock into Dean so that every time he drags over Dean’s prostate, sweat slicking his thighs. “Fuck, Dean,” he growls. He reaches for Dean’s cock and smears it with precome, thumb over the head, then roughly jerks it in time with his thrusts. Dean shakes, groans, falls apart in white streaks over his belly and Sam’s fist. Then Sam is making wordless noises as he comes too, spurting hot inside Dean as Dean quivers with aftershocks.

Sam doesn’t pull out, just tips and falls bonelessly beside Dean as they breathe together. Their come is drying sticky and Sam is softening when Dean says, “Well.”

Sam eases out and a tingle goes through Dean. They roll over onto their backs, stare at the sky and waving tops of the trees. “Should get dressed,” Sam says quietly. Dean nods, reaches for his discarded pants.

When they’re dressed, cleaned up as best they can, Sam stops him with a hand on his wrist. There’s a softness in his eyes. “I’ll come with you,” he says, and Dean’s heart stutters then lurches forward again.

“What about Stanford?” he says. “What about normal? Because I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t normal and you decided that years ago.”

Sam shakes his head. “I shouldn’t’ve tried to run. And you shouldn’t have let me.” He forestalls Dean’s immediate protest with a half-smile, tentative. “No, don’t. I thought you were glad to see me leave, okay? But I’m coming with you now, so just don’t.” He tilts his head, runs a finger down Dean’s cheek, and kisses him.

Dean can’t think of a time in his life when he’s been happier.


As they walk to the Impala, neither brother notices the redheaded figure standing at the edge of the park. The figure is wearing white, a garment as ambiguous as the figure’s gender. She—or he—has a quiver of arrows tipped with flowers strapped to his back and he seems to shimmer in the sunlight, hair shifting from vibrant copper to a rich black. He watches Sam and Dean with a smile, then vanishes.


( 37 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 27th, 2009 05:17 am (UTC)
I really like the way you made this prompt your own--really neat take on it. Also like the twist at the end, that was a fun little surprise. But most of all, I like the boys in this, and that it gives a happy end all the way back at the beginning. ♥
Aug. 27th, 2009 05:57 am (UTC)
Glad you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading. :)
Aug. 27th, 2009 05:17 am (UTC)
Loved it!!! I thought it was interesting the redhead's name was Kama because Kama is the Hindu God of love, so the ending was especially interesting for me. Great job hun. Keep it up and thanks for sharing!
Aug. 27th, 2009 05:58 am (UTC)
Oh, I'm glad you caught on to that! Because the name thing was deliberate. ;) Thanks for reading!
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Aug. 27th, 2009 05:58 am (UTC)
Oh good! Thanks for reading. :)
Aug. 27th, 2009 05:29 am (UTC)
Hee! That was excellent! I love the little challenge, and how Dean can't help but think of following through. Squee boys!
Aug. 27th, 2009 05:58 am (UTC)
Glad you liked it! :)
Aug. 27th, 2009 05:44 am (UTC)
I loved how they hunted so well together.

XD I misread Kama as Karma.
Aug. 27th, 2009 05:59 am (UTC)
:) Glad you liked it...thanks for reading!
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Aug. 27th, 2009 06:00 am (UTC)
Aw thank you! I'm kind of a geek when it comes to research, so it was fun to include that. Glad you enjoyed it. :)
Aug. 27th, 2009 07:10 am (UTC)
I really liked how awkward Dean was, very authentic. Your OFC was nicely drawn and of course a great mechanism for a romantic ending!
Aug. 27th, 2009 04:24 pm (UTC)
Glad you liked it, thanks for reading!
Aug. 27th, 2009 09:28 am (UTC)
Really good job capturing Dean's emotions all through this, especially his bleakness at the beginning. And hot sex for the win! :D
Aug. 27th, 2009 04:25 pm (UTC)
:) Glad it worked for you. Thanks for reading!
Aug. 27th, 2009 02:56 pm (UTC)
Very very nice; I love fics where Sam realizes he should never have left Dean, so this just made me so happy!!
Aug. 27th, 2009 04:26 pm (UTC)
Glad you enjoyed it! :)
Aug. 27th, 2009 08:59 pm (UTC)
\m/ FTW
Aug. 28th, 2009 04:13 am (UTC)
:D Thanks for reading!
Aug. 27th, 2009 09:07 pm (UTC)
This was a great take on the prompt. I really enjoyed it.
Aug. 28th, 2009 04:13 am (UTC)
:) Glad you liked it!
Aug. 28th, 2009 02:50 am (UTC)
Oh, my god! I loved this so much, and then the ending! GAH!

Seriously, a very well written, well imagined, atmospheric piece. You really did a great job with Sam and Dean, down to their essentials.
Aug. 28th, 2009 04:13 am (UTC)
Aw, thanks so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it. :)
Aug. 28th, 2009 01:52 pm (UTC)
awh i felt so bad for dean throughout the story until the end! i'm happy they ended up together like that :) nicely done!
Aug. 30th, 2009 02:33 am (UTC)
:) Thank you!
Aug. 29th, 2009 06:44 pm (UTC)
I liked the combination of casefic with wooby Dean loneliness. For the first half of the story I really thought that this was going to be a first-time fic, with He just jerked off in the men’s bathroom fantasizing about his brother, for fuck’s sake. and all, so I was surprised when it turned out they had a history together.

Cupid was really working that one, wasn't she?
Aug. 30th, 2009 02:33 am (UTC)
Oh, she definitely was. :) Glad you enjoyed it.
Aug. 31st, 2009 01:30 am (UTC)
Really loved this story, you pulled a part of Dean that I don't see often, hurt, lonely, unsure of himself. Yet he sure stepped up to the dare when Kama offer it to him. Then Sam walked in the door. (grins) wasn't sure how this was going to end but you brought it all together and even had cupid there to boot.
Aug. 31st, 2009 03:24 am (UTC)
Glad you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading. :)
Sep. 8th, 2009 02:39 pm (UTC)
I love Dean's reaction when he sees Sam in the bar, so conflicted. Perfect.
Sep. 8th, 2009 05:58 pm (UTC)
:) Thanks! Glad you liked it.
Oct. 25th, 2009 09:17 am (UTC)
Oh, this was awesome! I really liked the twists -- and the basilisk was a nice touch :) Dean needs his Sammy with him, and Sam needs his Dean. Period. Thank you for sharing such a wonderful story :)
Oct. 25th, 2009 02:04 pm (UTC)
Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it. :)
Feb. 7th, 2010 11:28 pm (UTC)
Sorry I'm late to this. Just found it and super-glad I did. Our boys back together - all's right with the world. The ending sent shivers down my back. Just beautiful, perfect. Thank you for posting. :)
Feb. 8th, 2010 12:00 am (UTC)
Thank you for the lovely comment! :) Glad you enjoyed it.
Mar. 8th, 2012 04:43 pm (UTC)
Just loved this! ♥ Sam and Dean together again just how it should be.

Now I am curious who or what that redheaded figure is? Is she/he a cupid?
Mar. 8th, 2012 07:11 pm (UTC)
Yes! Nice catch. :)

And I'm so glad someone out there in the SPN fandom still prefers Sam/Dean too.
( 37 comments — Leave a comment )