My Changing View

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Fri, 07 Dec 2007 02:22:32 GMT

Husband bought me packs of SPN s2 cards.

I GOT THE CARD WITH DEAN'S PANTS IN IT! THE HOSPITAL SCRUB PANTS. SOFT. BLUE.

PANTS!!!

DEAN'S PANTS.

DEAN'S.

PANTS.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

The Giving Tree

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 02:39:43 GMT

Title: The Giving Tree
Author: pkabyssinian
Rating: NC-17~ish
Pairing: Dean/Sam. What else?
Warnings: Wincest. Don’t read if you don’t like that, yes? Also? Not beta’d. I’m too lazy to do have it done right now because I want to post this before we leave for West Virginia.
Summary: They both know that Dean will give Sam anything, do anything that Sam asks and damn the consequences.
Disclaimer: If you think I own them then you is crayzee. I just like to play with the shiny toys.

i.
Sam plunks the bottle of golden whiskey in front of Dean, a twisted grin on his features and Dean knows better than to ask what is going on. He just grins back with a tense anticipation as Sam readies the shots, downs his glass and waits for the refill. Sam has been stressed and snappish since starting his senior year in high school, Dean assumes this is what his little brother needs in order to blow off steam and maybe, just maybe, open up.

Sam’s rictus of a smile stays in place while continually plying Dean with alcohol. Dean isn’t stupid, he notices that Sam isn’t matching him shot for shot; he knows that whatever is coming, it isn’t going to be good. The alcohol burns in the best way as it goes down and Dean waits, knowing that Sam won’t be able to stay silent forever.

The liquid in the bottle lowers until it is half-empty. Everything has fuzzy edges and Dean stopped counting how far Sam was, shot wise, behind him a while ago. His limbs feel loose and disorganized but his mind hasn’t had enough yet to let go of its edge of panic. He grabs the bottle and takes a long pull from it, notices from the corner of his eye that Sam is watching him.

“Wha’s on your mind, Sammy,” Dean says, hopes he isn’t slurring too badly. Sam has leaned back in his chair, the kitchen table solid and wide between them. He has what Dean calls his thoughtful look on, the one that means business.

“I need…” Sam trails off, the words hanging awkwardly between them. They both know that Dean will give Sam anything, do anything that Sam asks and damn the consequences.

“What?” Dean asks as he leans forward, letting the heavy glass bottle settle on the table.

Instead of answering, Sam pushes away from the dinette and is suddenly towering above Dean. Little brother isn’t so little any more, Dean thinks and laughs. It’s a happy, if drunken, sound and Sam flinches away from it.

Without warning Sam is leaning over Dean, his mouth sealed over Dean’s in a desperate almost kiss. Dean jerks back, unsettled and uncertain. He doesn’t spit out recriminations as Sam half expects; he just searches Sam’s face as if he’ll find the answer there. Sam doesn’t know what Dean’s looking for, what emotion he should be displaying in order to get what he wants.

“Please,” Sam whispers and even he doesn’t know what he’s asking for.

What little hope he had sinks as Dean extracts himself from the chair, steps away from Sam. He stands rigidly for a moment and Sam braces himself, waits for Dean to hit him with an unforgiving fist.

“Are you sure?” Dean asks, his breathing is heavy as if he just run five miles.

Sam nods, his bangs flopping into his eyes. Dean reaches out and grabs Sam’s wrist, pulls his brother to him. With a deftness that defies his drunkenness, Dean maneuvers Sam into the tiny room that they sleep in. Their Dad is gone, hunting, probably won’t be back for another week or so. Dean thinks he understands the whiskey now.

With the awkward clumsiness of teenagers, Sam knocks Dean down onto the thin mattress. He’s already scrambling out of his clothes and Dean stops him simply by splaying his hand across the tight skin of Sam’s belly.

“Whoa, slow down there cowboy,” Dean teases. He doesn’t know that his voice is a rough rasp from the whiskey; that is face is open and unguarded. He thinks it’s anticipation that makes Sam shiver like he’s cold.

Dean pulls Sam down next to him, explores Sam’s mouth with a kiss that is almost too sloppy. Sam keens in the back of his throat, his hands pushing and pulling against Dean. Once Dean knows what Sam tastes like, beneath the alcohol and desperation, he lets Sam pull off some of his clothes. Their bare chests slide together and its Dean’s turn to shudder at the contact, to suck his breath in as his eyes drift closed.

Sam’s impatience gets the better of him and he nips at the delicate skin behind Dean’s ear. Dean works on removing their pants while Sam continues to bite and suck at different areas of Dean’s neck. They’re both shaking with desire by the time that they’re naked.

“I… I want your mouth on me,” Sam yelps suddenly, an embarrassed flush covering his cheeks. Dean swallows before nodding, his eyes trailing downwards until they see Sam’s erection. Dean’s tongue lathes down the flat planes of Sam’s stomach, testing and tasting every inch that he can.

Too eager to wait, Sam tangles his fingers in Dean’s short hair and tries to push him lower. The bass chuckle that Dean gives reverberates against Sam’s thigh and makes him cry out wordlessly. Sam has turned into a creature of want and desire, his whole body is flushed and beautiful to Dean.

Keeping his eyes turned upward, Dean’s head slides to the side and his mouth circles the head of Sam’s cock. Unable to keep his hands to himself, Sam’s huge paws are on either side of Dean’s head with Sam’s thumbs lying along Dean’s jaw. Dean starts with shallow bobs of his head, his tongue lapping at the underside of Sam’s cock. Sam’s head falls back on the pillows, his fevered eyes no longer watching Dean.

Sam’s cock is too long for Dean to take all of it in his mouth so he wraps one hand around the bottom half and jerks it while mouthing the top half. He doesn’t expect Sam to last long, since Sammy doesn’t have much stamina while jerking off Dean doubts that he’ll last longer when getting a blow job. Dean’s other hand and arm are doing their best to keep Sam’s hips still, he doesn’t need his brother shoving his entire monster dick into Dean’s mouth.

Just as Dean is certain Sam is going to make him choke, Sammy gives a plaintive wail and begins to come down Dean’s throat. Dean pulls back until only the head of Sam’s dick is in his mouth and swallows what he can. He climbs between his brothers legs and stares down at Sam, laying loose and looking fucked out. Dean did this. He gives a small growl before rubbing his own iron hard cock against the soft groove on Sam’s hip. It only takes a little bit before Dean is coming, his spunk covering that soft skin and part of Sam’s belly.

Dean collapses next to Sam, deeply inhaling the soft scent that he has always associated with Sammy. He curls around his brother, their legs tangled together and Dean’s arms wrapped around Sam.

“I need your help with Dad,” Sam says finally, his voice soft and muffled against Dean’s neck.

“Sure, anything,” Dean tells him, trying and failing to keep the sleepiness out of his voice.

“You aren’t going to like it.”

“I usually don’t,” Dean sighs and Sam hears the honest truth in that statement.

“I. I applied to some colleges. I got in,” Sam finally manages to get out. He’s shivering again, this time from fear. Dean’s arms tighten around him and even Dean isn’t sure if it is to comfort Sam or out of his own terror.

“You’re gonna go?” Dean asks, as if they would be having this conversation if Sam hadn’t already planned on leaving.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

Dean is quiet in the darkness of their room. There is a panel of brightness across the middle of the bed from the light that is still on in the kitchen. The rented house creaks and settles around them.

“When?”

“I was planning on leaving couple of weeks after graduation. I’m gonna need to do a lot of work in order to meet the requirements,” Sam answers easily. From the ease with which Sam says it, Dean knows that Sam has had this planned for a while. He wants to tell Sam that he would have helped him without Sam seducing him. He doesn’t want to hurt Sammy, though.

“Okay. Okay, man. We’ll tell Dad when you’re ready,” Dean tells him, he hopes Sam can’t hear anything but acceptance in his words.

Sam grins, his teeth bright in the darkness. There is a heaviness in Dean’s chest, one that he refuses to acknowledge or think about.

ii.
John, predictably, takes the news badly. Words fly, heated tempers loosen tongues, and nothing Dean does can ease the tension between John and his youngest son. At the end of it all, John tells Sam to get gone and not come back. Dean knows that their dad doesn’t mean it, but Sam’s eyes show that he means to follow this order to the letter.

The Impala is already packed with Sam’s meager possessions. In one duffle is a wad of cash that Dean stashed there without Sam knowing, hopefully it’s enough that Sam can get by for a while without getting a job. Dean also has a bag in the trunk with what he really needs. He feels lightheaded and a little freaked out.

By the time he tells John that he’s taking Sam, he’ll be back soon; Sam is already in the car. He’s hunched over himself as if something vital is hurt. Maybe it is. Dean eases into the driver’s seat and starts the car. They’re fifteen miles down the road before Dean stretches out his arm, his hand lands on Sam’s shoulder.

“I can drive you to California,” Dean offers. They’re in Ohio.

“No. Just drop me at the bus station,” Sam says woodenly. There are tears buried under the careful neutrality.

“I’m offerin’ to come with you. For good.”

“I said just drop me off at the fucking station,” Sam barks, tears finally trailing down his cheeks. Dean understands. He was never supposed to go with Sam; Sam is cutting all his ties. Something sick twists in his gut and Dean jerks his eyes back to the road. He should know better than to ask for things.

He takes the turn off for the bus station.

iii.
It’s been four years, but a day hasn’t gone by that Dean hasn’t thought of Sam. He breaks into the little apartment that Sam lives in; half giddy, half terrified. Sam does a good job of posturing in front of his girl and Dean is ready to drop his good ole boy act. See what sweet Jess makes of that because Dean’s damn sure that Sam hasn’t told her about their past.

“Dad’s on a hunting trip. He hasn’t been home in a few days,” Dean grates out through his teeth. He sees the exact moment that Sam understands what he’s saying. An almost palpable wall crashes down between Sam and his girl, Dean wonders why he isn’t happier that he’s won.

Over the days Dean does what he can to try to lure Sam back into the life. He feels crushed and broken as he drops Sam off and Sam doesn’t even look back. Dean really should have known better. Everything has always been what Sam wants, what Sam needs. Dean has always been secondary.

Sam’s apartment has almost faded from his rear view mirror when he turns around. Dean doesn’t have a reason; he just needs to see Sam one last time. Because, deep down, Dean knows that neither of them will call. There should be something more final between them instead of this tenuous bridge that the weekend built. Dean needs to see that Sam can make it without him, needs to know that he’s never meant anything to Sam.

When he gets there, the fire has just started. Beautiful Jess is pinned to ceiling and Sam is ready to die, he isn’t even trying to escape. Dean saves him anyway, knowing that Sam will hate him for this. Smoke is thick in their lungs and the heat is almost unbearable. They make it out just in time, just like before.

As they wait for the blaze to be put out, Dean realizes that Sam is ready. He’s committing himself to hunting, to avenging Jess and Mom and anyone else that this thing has harmed. Dean feels heat lick his insides and he knows that he’ll give anything, anything, to keep Sammy with him.

iv.
Dean wakes, frantic, realizing that Sam is missing. Something as enormous as his brother can’t just vanish into thin air. Right? Looks like he’s wrong and Dean spends the next week searching until Sam calls him. Everything turns upside-down as events reveal themselves. Sam covered in blood. The knife in the car. The dead hunter.

Dean covers it all up like a pro, though. He does it even as Sam is freaking out because that’s what his job is. He protects his little brother. Even when it’s something wearing Sam’s body, something evil and old and possessive.

Jo will probably never forgive them; she’ll certainly never forgive Dean. He’s known about her crush, thought about it, poked at the idea as if it were a sore tooth. But he’s realized, honestly he’s always known, that there isn’t room for anyone else in his heart. Sam is his whole world and Jo would never be able to accept that.

Sam, demon ridden, has broken into the bar and almost killed Jo. Dean didn’t even pretend for a moment that her life meant anything. If Sam had killed her, that would have been tragic, sure. But it wouldn’t have made Dean pull that trigger. Wouldn’t have been worth the risk to Sam.

She’s been around hunters all her life. Jo should know better than to try to step between a man and his obsession. Her heart tells her to try; maybe if she’s enough then Dean can let Sam go. Maybe he’ll be able to love her.

“You can have something for yourself,” she whispers, her tiny hands wrapped around his bicep.

He gives a small, depreciating laugh. It’s the only answer that he can give, how else could he explain that the only thing that’s ever mattered is Sam? He has to keep giving until there isn’t anything left. And he’ll make others do the same, as long as Sam needs him to.

He promises to call her. They both know it’s a lie

v.
Old Yellow Eyes is a slippery son of bitch, but he needs something and that makes him vulnerable. What Dean can’t understand is how he could make Sam disappear into thin air. He feels that frantic pull from a few months back, when Sam was possessed.

He gets to Cold Oak a fraction too late. He sees Sam and it’s like he has tunnel vision or something because Sam is all he can focus on. He doesn’t even notice the other guy until Sam’s face is grimacing in pain and shock.

Sam is so heavy in his arms, heavy and hot. Dean knows he’s speaking, knows that words are flowing out of him but he isn’t sure what he’s saying. All he can hear is the labored sound of Sam breathing and all he can feel is the hot gush of blood on his hands.

Suddenly the world is silent and Dean thinks that maybe he’s gone deaf. Maybe he’s losing a sense at a time. Between one heartbeat and the next, Dean realizes that Sam is dead, that’s why there is no noise. Sam is dead.

Bobby does what he can, but eventually Dean snaps. All he is aware of is his monumental failure, how nothing can ever be right in the world again. The world could die and all Dean would do is laugh and laugh and laugh. He wants to hit Bobby, he almost does, and that’s what scares Bobby into getting gone. You don’t want to cross a Winchester.

Dean is driving before he knows it, speeding toward his fate. The bitch at the Crossroads could ask for anything and he’d agree. Anything for Sam, everything for Sam. A year is a bonus. An extra day would have been more than Dean hoped for, more than what he would have dared to ask.

When she kisses him, she tastes like Sammy did when he was eighteen.

vi.
Dean is adamant that Sam not try to break his deal with the demon. He’s tired. He’s been saying that since River Grove and Sammy has been not listening for twice as long. Dean just doesn’t have it in him anymore and everything seems oddly flat. Eating and fucking and hunting; an endless cycle until his time is up.

When his year is over, Dean will relinquish his life and soul for his brother. He finally won’t have anything more to give. Although, knowing Sam, he’ll demand more.

Tarot

Fri, 23 Nov 2007 19:25:39 GMT

I got three more cards done, I'm not happy with the High Priestess and will be redoing it at some point. I think I'm trying to translate it too literally, but the trees as the black pillar and the white pillar just seemed like such a good idea. Hrm.

Descriptions for the cards come from Wyrdology.

Anyway, without further ado:

The Magician (Magus) is a card of power. Power over the elements, power over others - or the ultimate power, power over oneself.

This is card One - and "1" is also "I".

The Magician, also known as Magus, represents those aspects of the personality traditionally considered "masculine". He is in control. He knows how things work, he can analyze them in detail. He takes action and makes things happen.

This is a forceful, dynamic Tarot card, yet one that operates through the power of Will rather than brute force. If knowledge is power then the Magician represents the application of knowledge. The Magician creates his desired reality.

When this card appears in a Tarot spread it indicates the attainment of goals through the application of knowledge and Will. If badly aspected in a spread, this card can represent abuse of power. It can indicate manipulation of others, trickery and deception.

The Magician can be both sage and conjurer.

The High Priestess is a card of intuition, instinct and hidden knowledge. She encompasses the word "esoteric".

The High Priestess does not seek to dissect. Instead she relies on synthesis, on the bringing together of opposites. She is duality in a singularity.

An emotional singularity which can suck you in and from which you may never escape.

She knows all your secrets, you can hide nothing from her. Yet you will never know the secrets she herself protects.

If well aspected in a Tarot spread, this card can indicate the use of intuition to solve problems; trust to your instincts. If badly aspected, it can mean suppression and ignoring of such instincts - following your head at the expense of your heart.

The High Priestess understands the Mona Lisa's smile.

The Star represents peace, harmony and tranquility. Possibly it is the calm following the storm that destroyed the Tower.

In this card, the storm has passed and the air smells fresh. It is time for renewal, feelings of hope abound. It is time to stretch ourselves, to look forward to new horizons.

Times change, as do we. A new day brings new hope.

When the Star appears in a Tarot spread it represents new possibilities, new hope, new opportunities. If well aspected then those opportunities will be recognized and grasped.

If badly aspected it can indicate a failure to recognize those opportunities, or lack of courage to take advantage of them.

The future starts now.

more tarot

Wed, 14 Nov 2007 00:32:36 GMT

Thank you to everyone who has been so encouraging. My mother is also rather excited about the cards so I'm going to finish up the Major Arcana and then see if I have inspiration for the Minor Arcana.

Without further ado... here are three more cards:

Avoiding doing work

Fri, 09 Nov 2007 18:29:55 GMT

So, I couldn't sleep last night and was trying to think of things to do that would keep me busy. Brain decided that I needed to think about a SPN tarot deck. I said, predictably, "no". Mainly because I have very little artistic talent and, well, it would be hard. But brain decided that I really should do it and I can't stop thinking about it.

So I made two cards. *facepalm*

They're cut for size. Made in photoshop with screencaps from supernatural.tv and there is no real tarot symbology in them.

So... should I make more? Or cut my losses?

Fic: As Above, So Below

Mon, 29 Oct 2007 15:34:33 GMT

Title: As Above, So Below
Author: pkabyssinian
Series: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Beta’d by: gestaltrose, who did an amazing job and any remaining mistakes are all my own.
Warnings: Wincest. Wax and some bodily fluids used in ritual. Uh, I think that’s it.
Disclaimer: Is this really necessary? Do any of you think that I might own these boys? Because I don’t own them, I just wish I did. I do like to make them play together. In other words – please don’t sue.

Notes: This is for Missa who used her freaky mind powers to put the idea of Sam & Dean sexin’ on an elephant in muh head. I couldn’t figure out how to have them on a real elephant so this is what you get. I also play with the geography of NJ to better suit my need. Ha.

Sam was secretive. Dean was used to it and for once in his life, he was actually grateful for it. Because, you see, the thing about demons is that the bastards are fairly literal. It didn’t take long for Sam to figure this out and once he did the youngest Winchester made sure to explain it to Dean. Often. Usually in excruciating detail as if Dean was a five year old. So maybe it didn’t help that the last time Sammy chose to discuss it they were at a diner and Dean felt the appropriate response was to show Sam the half-chewed burger and fries in his mouth. But, still.

What it came down to was that as long as Dean didn’t know what Sam was doing then everything was a-okay. He could suspect, have a strong hunch, or even a bone deep certainty that Sam was working on breaking his contract with the Crossroad’s Demon, but until Sam actually told him that… it was all supposition. Supposition was allowed, hell it was how demon’s got around most things in the first place. For once, the mighty Winchester way of not talking about things was working in their favor.

Which is how Dean came to be naked in an elephant in New Jersey. Not a real elephant, but a roadside attraction affectionately named ‘Lucy’. Lucky for them it was November, so the giant elephant was closed for business on Mondays and Tuesdays. The boys could be there and gone before anyone was wiser.

In reality, the ritual had taken place over several days, each night at exactly 11:27 pm. That was the time that Dean made his deal, so that was the time that each phase of the ritual must begin. Sam was quiet and secretive, only allowing Dean to know bits and pieces of the whole. Each night Dean was securely blindfolded as Sam performed each part of the ritual. All Dean knew was that each night he was stripped naked and anointed with a different fluid; arcane patterns were painted on his bare skin by his brother’s hand.

The only other thing that he knew was that he had to abstain from sex and red meat during the ritual. Being denied one was torture enough, but being deprived of both? Dean felt that he must have the patience of a saint. Irony intended, of course.

Tonight was different though, the ritual this evening had to be performed above the land, below the sky, and within sight of sea. Suspended in the hollow belly of the wooden elephant fulfilled the first requirement and the fact that the beast’s eyes were windows to the ocean fit the second quite nicely. Sam had almost despaired at the esoteric instructions until he literally stumbled over Lucy, the Margate Elephant. There had been a display rack with flyers for the pachyderm in a New York gift shop that Sam, with his gigantor feet, had tripped over.

There was a hush that was almost unnatural, even the sound of the sea was blocked by the thick wood of the elephant’s hide. Sam had a salt circle encasing one of chalk that had alchemical symbols drawn in crushed herbs around the border. Their only light were three black pillar candles that threw jagged shadows around the inside of the roadside attraction, lending it an almost sinister air. Sam made an impatient motion for Dean to begin stripping and Dean tried to hide a wince. It was November in New Jersey; he knew it was going to be damn cold.

Without any of his normal complaining Dean began to pull off his clothes. He left them in a surprisingly tidy pile just outside the salt ring and stepped carefully into the circle. Dean did throw a reproachful glance at Sam, making sure his brother knew that he was chilly and uncomfortable.

Sam, with his normal aplomb, ignored Dean and placed a thin red taper near the closest black candle. Dean waited while Sam fished the thick cloth from his back pocket to tie around Dean’s eyes. Dean, being true to the spirit of the endeavor, always closed his eyes and refused to open them until Sam removed the blindfold. Once Sam was certain that the blindfold was secure, he directed Dean with light touches until Dean was lying in the center of the circle.

Whatever incantation Sam had to say was muttered under the younger Winchester’s breath, Dean could neither make out the language nor the words being used. Even if he could, he would have done his best to ignore the sounds to help keep up his plausible deniability. Once Sam’s low murmuring had ceased Dean heard Sam begin to remove his clothes. Dean swallowed audibly, anticipation helping to warm him in the chill night air.
The next sounds from Sam were anything but what Dean expected, the slight rasp of skin on skin that turned into the unmistakable sounds of Sam masturbating. From the few clues he had been given, Dean had guessed that tonight’s ritual would culminate in sex magic. This, however, wasn’t quite what Dean had hoped for. He longed to ask what Sam was doing but part of his role was to silently accept whatever happened.

After a respectable amount of time Sam quietly moaned his release and after a moment Dean felt the tip of a paint brush swiping against his skin. The fluid Sam was using was viscous and warm, Dean’s breathing hitched as he realized that Sam was marking him with his semen. From his throat down to the soles of Dean’s feet were covered in small brush strokes mapping out abstruse sigils.

Sam leaned back once he was finished and Dean knew that Sam was lighting the red candle. He tried to brace himself for what would come next; Dean knew he would have to remain motionless so as not to disturb the markings Sam was going to make.

As the hot wax dripped onto his pale skin Dean inhaled against the sharp, quick pain. He tried to keep his breathing as even as possible to make the intricate work easier for Sam. As the candle dripped wax in thin patterns Dean felt himself responding the stimulation. It was difficult to keep silent when he heard the soft chuffing of Sam’s muffled laughter. He bit his tongue, though; it wasn’t as if Sam hadn’t seen him with an erection before.
By the time Sam reached Dean’s feet, Dean was rock hard and straining to remain still. He felt overly warm now from the stimulation and prayed that once this was over he would be able to slake his lust. Sam, devil that he was, leaned over Dean and whispered in his ear: “Soon.”

Once the wax had dried, Sam positioned himself over Dean and leaned down to begin licking the sigils onto Dean’s skin over the hardened wax. The light pressure of Sam’s tongue without really being able to feel it was torture and Dean thrashed his head for a moment. Sam paused, waiting until Dean was able to control himself again. Before too long, Sam had reached the markings on Dean’s stomach and Dean’s cock began to twitch with anticipation.

“Not yet,” Sam whispered, his breath ghosting against Dean’s hip. Dean whimpered lowly, the sound barely escaping his clamped lips.

As Sam’s tongue traced the strange symbols on Dean’s thigh, Dean became aware that Sam’s own erection was back. That knowledge alone almost sent Dean over the edge, but Sam’s blunt fingers dug into his brother’s thigh and the pain helped to ease Dean away from his orgasm. He could feel Sam shaking with repressed laughter and badly wanted to remind his brother that he hadn’t had sex in over a week. Sam already knew that though and it wasn’t worth ruining the ritual to remind him.

Just as Dean was certain that he couldn’t handle this new form of sexual sadism that Sam had created, Sam was done. Dean gave a soft sigh of relief, knowing that they had just one more hurdle and the ritual would be complete. He wished, briefly, that he knew what was coming next but instinctually shied away from that line of thought. The less he knew, the better.

In an almost Pavlovian response, Dean felt his cock jump at the sound of the lid being flipped open on a bottle of lube. He almost gave a cry of thanks, but managed to strangle the sound before it was vocalized. Sam was leaning over him again and Dean allowed his legs to fall open to give Sam access. As Sam’s well greased fingers entered him, Sam mouthed the word ‘together’ against Dean’s neck. Dean nodded to show that he understood.

Dean wanted to tell his brother not to bother with the foreplay which was almost overwhelming, he wanted Sam to slide home and be balls deep within himself. In an unsubtle bid to get his way, Dean canted his hips upward in a silent invitation. With the sure annoyance that only younger brothers can give, Sam ignored Dean by kissing him. Sam’s tongue flicked over Dean’s lips in tempo with his fingers and Dean couldn’t stop his hips from pumping. Dean’s cock was searching for any friction possible to help end his misery.

“Shhhh,” Sam breathed as he smiled against Dean’s lips. With another deep kiss, Sam added a third finger and Dean couldn’t help the whimpering that escaped him.

Sam leaned back and wrapped his fingers harshly against the base of Dean’s cock before sliding into Dean. Dean, again, couldn’t hold back the groan that rose out of him. Sam fit inside him perfectly and Dean began writhing beneath his brother. Sam, with more patience than Dean, began to slowly rock into his brother. With perfect concentration Sam would swivel his hips at just the right moment to hit that spot in Dean that made him see stars.

For one wild moment Dean was aware of the monumental unfairness of the situation. Sammy had already come once while Dean was fighting against a week, a week, of abstinence. Sam had released his vice like hold on Dean’s cock and his fingers were grasping Dean’s hips as if to pull his brother closer. Dean just had to hold on a bit longer though, already Sam’s breathing was changing and his thrusts stuttering. A cocky grin split Dean’s face to know that he could make Sam lose control so easily.

Sam leaned back, his thrusts becoming shallower so that he could grasp Dean’s cock again. He tapped once on Dean’s stomach as a warning that Sam was close as he closed his hand around Dean’s cock and began pumping. Dean, wanting to take matters into his own hands, slid his fingers around Sam’s and helped. Sam gave a harsh, guttural cry and began to twist his fist on the up stroke to better hit the bundle of nerves under the head of his brother’s cock making the pleasure crest on the right side of painful.

Just as Sam stiffened and moaned in orgasm, Dean began to fountain come onto his belly. Sam, trying to push deeper into Dean, slid the fingers of his other hand through Dean’s semen spreading a slick and sticky mess across his brother’s skin. As the languor after release hit Sam he slumped over Dean, mouthing against his brother’s neck in an almost kiss.

Sam managed to collect himself and pulled the blindfold off Dean, a silly grin on his features.

“’m glad you’re proud of yourself,” Dean chided half-heartedly. He was feeling pretty fucked out and was enjoying the lassitude from it.

Sam merely grunted in response and heaved himself up to grab a towel and a bottle of water. Haphazardly he splashed some of the liquid onto the white hotel towel and began to clean the come off them, as well as brushing the remaining red wax from Dean’s skin. Dean, less inclined to be mobile propped himself up on his elbows to watch his brother work.

“Move your lazy ass, we have a crossroads to get to,” Sam grunted as he began pulling his clothes on.

“I will. You still have all this shit to clean up though,” Dean told him with a perfectly serious face. Sam simply tossed the damp towel at his brother’s head, knowing that would be response enough. Dean sighed but began to work in tandem with his brother to eradicate all traces that they had ever been there. He just hoped that heavy scent of sex would clear out of the elephant before they opened for business again.

Dean opted to take the first leg of the drive. It would take them almost twelve hours of driving to reach the nearest crossroads that could be used for summoning. They didn’t want to risk setting the demon loose near an area with any sort of population. The brother’s had already agreed that they would split the driving so that they could reach it before Dean was due to meet the demon.

Feeling sated and just a touch sore, Dean blasted his music. Sam hid a grin, unsure if his brother was just relishing his last hours or if he was so certain that Sam had freed him. It wouldn’t do to ask, they both had to remain ignorant of what the other was thinking for just a few hours more. Sam’s smile twisted into a smirk. Oh. If only they all knew.

At the six-hour mark, Dean pulled over and swapped places with Sam. As soon as Dean was settled in the passenger’s seat he began to softly snore. It was a little after noon when Sam reached the deserted area that they had picked. Yarrow grew sparsely near the edges of the road, proving that it was perfect for their plans. They were early yet; Dean couldn’t summon the demon until the sun had set so Sam killed the engine and leaned back to rest.

The harsh clamor of Dean’s cell phone alarm woke them just before five. Already the sky was darkening into violet and the Winchester’s got out of the car.

“So. This is it, Sammy. We see if your big plan is gonna work,” Dean said, his face turned away from his brother.

Sam nodded even though he knew Dean couldn’t see him. Dean wouldn’t have to. They were always so in tune with each other, it amazed Sam that his brother hadn’t figured out what he was doing. Misdirection and sleight of hand, Dean’s hope made it easy to fool him.

Without giving Sam a chance to say anything, Dean walked purposely into the center of the crossroads. The sun was almost down, just a thin sliver on the horizon. As the last rays slid below the mountains, Dean said a short calling charm in Latin. Sam smiled; he always loved the way the dead language sounded falling from Dean’s lips.

The air seemed to warp and bend before the demon appeared, this time wearing the body of young woman who seemed barely out of her teens. Sam almost laughed at the look of disappointment that flitted across Dean’s face. Obviously his brother was hoping for another busty brunette.
“My, my, my. Dean Winchester’s come early to the dance,” the demon clucked, fluffing her shoulder length sandy hair with one neatly manicured hand. Her large blue eyes tracked Dean’s movement as he stepped toward her.

“I thought it would be rude to keep you waiting,” Dean grinned, venom lacing the words.

The demon reached out, as if her nails could snag Dean’s soul from his chest. She made a pouting moue as if she had hit a barrier. Her thin fingers wouldn’t, quite, touch Dean.

“Have you been a naught boy? It won’t matter, Dean, I’ll still take you with me,” she almost snarled the last bit. Dean simply shrugged and watched aggravation paint her cheeks with a pink blush.

“Actually, I’m afraid I’m the one who’s been ‘naughty’,” Sam piped up and waved gaily at the demon.

With a slight snarl, the demon pushed her fingers toward Dean again only to find an invisible wall blocking her from her prize. Her pleasantly pretty face twisted into an angry grimace as she tried again and again to put her hands on Dean and claim him. Sam, adding to her fury, began to laugh mockingly.

“What have you done? Neither of you can break the contract or else little Sammy will turn into a rotting meat bag. You can only prolong the inevitable for so long,” she hissed, spittle flying from her lips. Her eyes glowed a dark red and her petite hands had hooked into claws.

“I’m not trying to break your contract, I merely superseded it,” Sam answered pleasantly. Dean flicked a glance at Sam to see his brother leaning insouciantly against the Impala.

“You can’t do that,” the demon said but there was a hesitation in her voice.

“I can. You do know who I am, right?” Sam asked lazily. Dean’s stomach sank as he realized what Sammy had done. The ritual hadn’t been to free Dean; it had been to bind Dean to Sam. It probably had the added benefit of awakening Sam’s latent psychic abilities. Sam wouldn’t want to go to Hell defenseless, Dean snarled internally. However, as the demon whirled back to him, Dean held up his hands to show he was blameless. His best game face was on; she couldn’t be allowed to know that they were anything but united.

“He does have a point,” Dean reasoned.

“You’re going to take both of us because I’m ready to take my rightful place on the Throne of Azazel. You do understand what that means, right?” Sam asked as if speaking to a slow child. The demon’s cheeks darkened for a second time but she bowed her head.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good,” Sam said happily as he walked over to take his place by Dean’s side. “You may take him, but he’ll always be under my protection.”

The demon nodded, her eyes sliding to see that Sam’s arm was draped across Dean’s shoulders, Dean’s arm was comfortably wrapped around Sam’s waist. Bound for hell, anyway. She should have known, all of Hell should have known. The demon stepped forward; she’d be able to claim Dean now. With trepidation she placed a hand on each brother’s chests. Hell would never be the same again.