Supernatural 1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Truth is relative, Sam realizes about three months into his first year topside. It isn't concrete for everyone like it is for him. For Sam, either something is, or it isn't. And it applies blanketly; there are no grey areas. With people, (well, people with souls, that is) truth changes from thing to thing, person to person. He also notices that more often than not, people don't want the truth. Not really. The truth is ugly and harsh, and when people say "give it to me straight," or "I want your honest opinion," what they really want is a comforting lie.

It doesn't make sense to him. What's the point in deluding yourself? All it does is get you in varying degrees of shit later.

Dean – case in point. He wants Sam's opinions, his input. But he doesn't, really. He wants Sammy's opinions, the reserved and edited ones that he would give to placate Dean, make him happy or keep him from hurting. Sam can remember doing these things, remember his thought processes, but not having a soul really makes filtering those kind of thoughts from brain-to-mouth much more difficult.

He wishes Dean would just get the fuck over it. He's not his precious _Sammy,_ no, but he shouldn't have to put up with all these piteous and/or incredulous looks Dean gives him every time he says something off. It makes Sam want to gouge his brother's eyes out with the keys of the Impala. But he restrains himself, because some echo of his soul reminds him that Dean is important to him. More important than anything else. And his memories of the two of them together are proof of that. Out of respect for that feeling, that echo, Sam never lays a finger on Dean.

Well, at least not out of anger. And he doesn't start with his fingers.

Twenty-three days after Sam and Dean start hunting things again without interruptions from Ben or Lisa, Sam is lying in the shitty hotel bed with scratchy sheets and lumpy pillows with his eyes closed, mulling over the clues they'd pieced together about their current hunt. They're missing something, something obvious, and it's pissing him off. He freezes when he hears a muffled sound – a moan? - from Dean's side of the room. He stills, and listens intently for a moment, and when he hears nothing, he relaxes. The moment he does, a whispered "Sammy" passes Dean's lips as another moan. Sam's cock throbs gently in arousal as he realizes what Dean is doing. The softest rustle of sheets hit Sam's ears, along with the quiet sound of skin on skin. Sam's eyes are boring holes into Dean's back from his side of the room, remaining motionless as he watches the small movements of his brother in the dark. The second time he hears Dean moan his name, he's so hard it hurts.

_Fuck, De,_ Sam thinks as he resists the urge to grind into the sheets. _Didn't know you had a thing for your baby brother._ Well, that's not exactly true. The boys shared a tentative, experimental kiss that Dean initiated when Sam was about ten after watching a sex scene in some B movie on the shitty hotel cable while John was on a hunt. He remembers how soft and pliable Dean's lips were, and how he let Sam lead the kiss, even though Dean was the elder and had supposedly plenty of experience with that sort of thing. Obviously, that had been over a decade ago, and they hadn't touched since, nor did they talk about the kiss – ever - but Sam wonders what Dean's lips feel like now, what his mouth tastes like. Sam indulges in that fantasy for a few minutes, listening to the soft sounds of self-pleasure coming from his brother's sinful lips. When Dean whimpers softly from his bed, Sam can hear that his pace has increased, and Sammy's name becomes a chant- a prayer, even. He must be close. His cock throbs painfully again at the thought. He's ten seconds away from losing all control and taking Dean there and then when Dean lets out one last muffled cry of his brother's name, the sound almost completely swallowed by what Sam deduces to be a pillow his big brother was currently biting a chunk out of. Warring with himself, Sam's nails bite into his palm so harshly he knows there'll be bloody crescents in the morning. He'd rather rake bloody lines down Dean's back at this point, but he knows if he even breathes right now, Dean will probably shoot him. Soft rustling brings him back to reality, and he watches in the dark as his brother quietly slips out of his bed and into the bathroom. The second the bathroom door clicks shut, his hand is on his cock, pumping furiously.

_Fuck, Dean,_ he thinks again, _so fucking hot_. He hears the faucet turn on, and he fists his cock faster, knowing if he doesn't hurry up he won't get his release before Dean comes back. He closes his eyes and pictures Dean on his knees, begging like a whore for his little brother to fuck his face, letting Sam yank on his hair, cuffed to the bed with his legs spread, scratch angry red marks across his skin, slam his cock into that tight little ass until…

"Fuck," Sam groans, biting his hand to muffle his voice as his orgasm crashes over him like a freight train. He keeps pumping slowly as he coats his stomach with his own come, riding out the last waves of bliss until he lets his head thump against the pillow with a shaky breath, his legs trembling with the force of his orgasm. Sam's no two-pump chump; Ruby could attest to that. _Well, if she wasn't dead._ But the incident that just took place nearly brings Sam to the edge of insanity. Or whatever insanity is to someone without a soul. After a moment to catch his breath, he yanks off his boxers and wipes himself off, then tosses the soiled garment on the floor by his bed. Once he stills, Sam hears a quiet sound coming from the bathroom that sounds an awful like a sniffle. Upon further listening, Sam realizes that it was a sniffle. Dean is crying. Sam wrinkles his nose, confused. People don't usually cry after they just get off. Well, Sam amends, they could, but not this kind of crying. These are bitter tears. Sam wouldn't have been able to tell the difference if it wasn't Dean, whom he had spent almost every second of his life right beside. He wracks his brain for a few moments before it clicks – he is crying over Sam. The Sam that isn't him. He isn''t sure about the nuances, but it's probably a combination of feeling guilty over jerking off thinking of his brother, (which Sam thinks is stupid – why feel guilty for wanting something, and taking it?) and not having his version of Sammy in the bed next to his. He thinks it's pretty pathetic, but hey, if he had a soul and had some guilty crush on his brother, who was currently soulless, he would probably cry too. He used to be a pussy like that.

Now that he's caught his breath, Sam gets up silently and pads over to the AC unit jutting out of the window, cranking it down to 62. It's too fucking hot. All the time. Everywhere. (Especially after THAT.) Sam has come to the conclusion it's because after tasting the frosty bite of Lucifer's burning touch, even chilly weather would be hot. He supresses a shiver at the memory and climbs back into the bed quickly and covers himself exactly as he was before Dean left, and his brother opens the door not a moment after he stops moving.

Dean climbs back into bed quietly and drifts off to sleep, sniffling until slumber takes him.

This exact scenario happens four times before Sam formulates a plan. He should want Dean to be happy, right? That's what you want for important people in your life, isn't it? So, Sam decides to make that happen. But that doesn't mean he can't get what he wants, too. And now, what he wants is Dean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The sharp clack of wood against painted acrylic is drowned out by the sound of the Eagles blaring over the speaker system in a dimly lit bar off I-20, where Sam and Dean stopped to hustle some money. Dean is sitting by the bar downing a shot of Jack, and by the look of his progress, Sam thinks he might have to carry his brother back to the car when the night is through. Sam leans against the pool cue, putting on his best "innocent" face as he assesses the sucker he's playing against; "Wratchet." The easiest way to make the most out of these fools is to come in limping, so to speak. He pretends to be an easy mark until the big bucks have been laid down, and then he shows them no mercy. Sam can never play at the same bar twice because of his ferocity. Losing his soul has been really great news for their wallets. He shoots his doe eyes at his mark even as he slaps a hundred dollar bill down on the table. The burly man chuckles and shakes his head, throwing two hundreds down. Sam ducks his head to hide the sly smile creeping across his mouth. _Just a little more, and I got you, dumbass,_ he thinks to himself as he aims the cue carefully, making sure that the ball almost goes in the pocket, but bounces off at the last second. He makes a calculated grimace as he glances at his mark, eyes flashing dangerously as he sees the derision in the man's eyes. Wratchet falters for a moment, but the expression change happens so quickly he thinks he must have imagined it. Sam smiles his honey-dew smile and sighs heavily, tossing another hundred onto the table. The biker chuckles again and takes the bait; he throws five benjamins into the pot.

Dean watches his brother from his position at the bar out of the corner of his eye, nursing his fourth or sixth shot of jack. Just as he brings the glass up to his lips, a sultry voice cuts through his brooding.

"Care for another, big boy?"

Just as he starts closing the deal on "Wratchet," he hears the soft murmuring rumble of his brother's voice. Involuntarily, he looks up at the bar where Dean is sitting, and a feral growl bubbles from his lips as he sees the tall, blonde slut fluttering her eyelashes at Dean. Sam's opponent appears startled, and Sam quickly has to backtrack so as not to spook his mark away. As he sees Dean and his new fuck slip out the door, he meets eyes with his brother. Dean gives him a wink, and Sam, while he would much rather kill the girl and fuck Dean against the wall of the bar, he controls himself and rolls his eyes instead, giving a small thumbs up of assent.

_This is good,_ Sam thinks as his plan returns to mind. _This is good. I've got to learn the things he responds to, or my seduction is not going to go well._ He keeps saying this, reminding himself, even as his grip on the pool cue tightens so much that the wood starts creaking.

It's a damn good thing their hotel is only a mile or so from here.

Sam collects his earnings from a very confused biker and makes his exit before confusion can turn to anger. He tucks the thousand dollars in his wallet with a predatory smile, and sets off at a jog for the motel.

He arrives at the motel just as Dean and the Slut - Sam sees it as a title in his mind more than a descriptor - slip inside their room and shut the door. Even through the door, Sam can hear Dean's low, lustful chuckle, and another growl scrapes through his teeth. He's got his fingers wrapping around the butt of his gun, clicking the safety off before he reminds himself that this is research, and he can't kill the stupid bitch yet. He slinks forward silently, a surprised smile sliding across his face as he sees that Dean did not draw the curtains closed. _And_ he left the lights on.

Sam creeps even closer, as close as he dares without being seen. His fingers twitch on the butt of his gun again when her mouth closes over his brother's. Clothes begin falling to the floor, and Sam watches, death in his eyes, a growl on his lips. He watches her lick a trail from his collarbone to the hollow behind his ear, and his dick throbs when he sees Dean's mouth fall open in an almost-moan. Her teeth close around his earlobe and tug, and Sam can feel the groan Dean lets loose deep in his chest. Dean's hands are on her bare ass, tracing across her back, tangling in her hair, pulling her toward the bed. She falls atop him with a grin, and Sam actually lets out a snarl. Then her fingers tangle in his hair and yank, forcing his neck to arch beautifully, and Sam cocks his head with interest at the throb his brother's cock gives, and the moan his mouth gives. Her teeth meet around the flesh now exposed on Dean's neck, and Sam actually takes a step forward before stopping himself, brushing his hand against his rapidly growing erection as Dean arches into the bite and winds his fingers in her hair, pushing her into it.

_Big brother's got a thing for pain, hmm?_ Sam thinks with a wicked grin, palming himself almost absentmindedly. He watches as Dean slips his fingers inside her already soaked cunt, making her arch off the bed, her mouth falling open into a perfect "O" as he pistons them in and out, rubbing her clit with his thumb simultaneously. He brings her to orgasm twice with his fingers before diving down to capture her throbbing clit with his lips, sucking as her hips buck around him. His fingers wrap around her thighs and pull her even closer as he devours her like it's his last meal, humping absentmindedly against the bed as he does. The Slut comes three more times before she shoves Dean off of her, panting harshly with a lazy grin plastered on her face. She rolls over onto her knees and positions herself on the end of the bed, and Dean gets up and positions himself behind her, rubbing her ass almost reverently before sinking into her slowly. Sam really wants to shoot her now, he's forcing his hands into fists so he doesn't grab his gun, burst in there and shoot her. He doubts that will go over well with Dean.

Dean is so strung out and the girl is so sensitive that they don't last more than a few minutes before they're both shuddering their releases. Sam groans, now openly stroking himself through his too-tight pants. He wants to be the one to make Dean come; and he'll do a much better job of it, too. Dean collapses on top of the girl and they trade lazy kisses while catching their breath before the girl gets up slowly, slipping back into her clothes, trading words and grins with the fucked-out Winchester on the bed. Sam slips back into the shadows as the Slut slips out of the room and shuts the door quietly. She sets off at a purposeful stride back toward the direction of the bar, and Sam falls into step behind her, silent as a shadow.


End file.
