lunabee34

You guys know I normally don't write anything very graphic, but this story took over my brain.

Sam/Dean
NC-17
Non-con, bondage, shades of Angelus!lite
Spoilers through current season 2 episode

Possession

It slithers inside him so slowly, Sam doesn’t even notice until It’s a black coil in his chest, razor wire spiralling out through his veins. One minute he’s Sam Winchester and the next, Sam’s shoved down inside himself as far as he can go and Something Else—Something Older, Something Other—is rising in him like smoke to fill the emptiness left behind.

Sam watches himself smile in the motel mirror and sees his face, but his expression’s all wrong, leering and cruel and perverse. It lights a cigarette and burns a pattern into Sam’s arm, but Sam feels nothing. He watches his flesh bubble up and blacken and feels nothing until the circle is complete. And then Sam’s on overload—pain and power and desire and foulgreedyrageneed so desperate and enveloping that he can barely distinguish between himself and It.

@@@

“Sammy?” Dean kicks the hotel door closed behind him and sets a box of donuts and two coffees on the table next to the air conditioner. “I got breakfast.” He sniffs. “Jesus, what’ve you been doing in here? It smells like shit.”

Sam walks out of the bathroom and Dean can tell immediately that something’s off. Sam’s usually bangs-in-his-eyes-and-hunched-shoulders-and-gangly-shuffle, but today he’s moving fluidly, almost slinking over to the table, and when he opens his latte, he dips his tongue lewdly into the foam. Sam doesn’t answer him, just shrugs and picks up a donut. The way he looks eating it, Dean’s pretty sure is illegal anywhere south of the Mason Dixon line.

“Uh, Sammy. What the hell are you doing?”

“You tell me.” Sam grabs Dean’s jacket collar and yanks him over, tugging him almost into his lap and Dean’s coffee sloshes in a wide arc across the window. Dean’s twisting Sam’s arm behind the chair and gearing up to smack him in the face, when Sam kisses him, open-mouthed and wet, bruising and intense.

“Don’t say you haven’t thought about this, Dean.” Sam’s hands are fisted in Dean’s shirt, his breath hot on Dean’s neck. Sam bites him then, this achingly delicate sink of teeth, barely any pressure, and Dean makes a broken noise in the back of his throat.

“Sam, we can’t . . .” Dean pulls back, but Sam follows him, pushes him down on the bed and kisses him again. Dean tangles a hand in that ridiculously long hair and grinds up into Sam for one interminable, unthinking, moment before shoving him away.

“Tell me you don’t want me, Dean, and I’ll leave you alone.”

Dean can’t speak; he can barely think, but then Sam wedges his hand down Dean’s pants, running a thumb over the head of his cock, and Dean gives in. “Yeah, Sammy. I want you.” His breath hitches in his chest. “I want you.”

Sam kisses him tenderly, almost chastely. When he looks at Dean, his eyes are black and liquid. “You had to say the words. So Sammy will know. Later.” And then he clocks Dean in the temple with the butt of his own gun.

@@@

When he wakes, Dean’s tied to the hotel bed and he’s naked. Sam’s leaning over him, licking his way across Dean’s belly, tongue making circles in the hollow of Dean’s hip.

“You know, it’s not just me. Sam wants you, too. He jerks off in the shower thinking about your lips, your pretty mouth sucking him off.” And Dean can’t help it—he wants.

“You’re not Sam!”

“No, but he’s in here with me, remember. And little brother loves the way you look right now, spread-eagle with those sexy little bite marks on your neck and hard just for him.”

Sam slides his mouth over Dean’s cock, up-down up-down, in three lazy wet strokes, and then he jacks him slow and sure, smirking when Dean thrusts involuntarily into his fist. “He saw you put it to that slut back in Austin. Did you know that? Crouched down outside her window and rubbed his dick raw watching you fuck her. Sammy said your name when he came, Dean, like he always does.”

Dean closes his eyes, tight, until all he sees is a syncopation of color across his eyelids. He hears the snick of a bottle opening and then Sam’s pressing slick fingers into him, twisting them around until Dean’s breath is ragged and low. Dean doesn’t look when Sam pushes his cock inside, so slow, so fucking slow and sweet.

“He’ll never touch you again, you know. He’ll want to. He’ll always want to. But he never will. He’ll bring himself off thinking about me fucking you and he’ll hate himself for it.” Sam moans and drives into him harder, faster.

And now, Dean knows the game. This is it. All he’ll get. This one time tied to a motel bed while a demon fucks him with Sam’s body. And if this travesty, this mockery, is all he’ll ever have of Sam, Dean’s damn sure gonna watch. He opens his eyes.