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So...I need someone to blame for this so I am going to blame...*looks around*...savingfaith333
Sequel to Blood Of My Blood, set a couple of weeks later. Sam and Dean investigate a mysterious sleeping sickness in Tennessee that leads to Sam having to fight for what's his.
“Dude, I think I broke something.” Dean complains, louder than necessary as he exits the bathroom, trailing steam and that undeniable scent of clean Dean. Sam shifts his head and takes in the still wet skin of Dean's broad chest, droplets still running over his skin.
“That would be me.” Sam replies, sitting up with a groan. Dean grins and throws his towel at Sam. The heavy, wet material hits him in the face. Sam tries, and evidently fails, to look indignant and pissed. Dean just laughs once and stalks towards the bed, completely unaware of his nakedness. Or completely aware and knowing what it does to Sam. Dean has that “you know you can't resist me” smile that he gets when he's trying to get information from a tiny waisted, big breasted girl and Sam shifts uncomfortably as Dean crawls upwards towards him. Dean stops just short of Sam, lips hovering over his and Sam has to force himself to breathe.
Its been weeks since he smoothed salve onto Dean's back and leant forward and kissed his brother, weeks and the sight of Dean up close still take his breath away. Dean licks Sam's bottom lip then pulls away.
“Get up Sammy. You're wasting perfectly good eating time.” Dean throws over his shoulder as he steps into a pair of dark blue boxers.
Sam waits until Dean is stepping into Jeans before getting out of bed and placing a well placed shove on his brothers back. Dean goes sprawling forward with an angry cry and manages to stop himself from slamming his head against the wall. Sam laughs and dodges a shoe as he slams the bathroom door.
“Bitch!” He hears the shout through the door and doesn't grace his brother with a reply.
He stares at himself in the mirror, hands braced against the sink, inspecting his face for some kind of sign. A sign that things are better than they have been for years. Sure, he and Dean still argue, almost constantly, bicker like little kids, but there is something underlying it now, something more than just brotherly love. But all he sees is the same old reflection, unruly hair falling into his eyes, small dark circles under his eyes from late night trips to cemeteries and learning more ways to make Dean shudder and whisper his name. He keeps expecting there to be some sign on his face, like a neon sign flickering the word incest. The word that has been rattling around in his head for the past few weeks. He can't deny the shudder of shame that runs through him at the word, but he can't deny the way that Dean makes him feel, or the way that Dean knows every single inch of his skin, knows how to take his breath away with one look or a seemingly meaningless touch, meaningless to outsiders, the normal people who have no idea he's fucking his brother.
Deans face appears behind him in the mirror, his chest pressing into Sam's back and his hands cover Sam's on the sink.
“You ok Samantha? Deciding what to do with your hair?” He asks, breathing against the skin of Sam's shoulder in a way that makes Sam grip the sink harder.
“Can't leave me alone for two minutes, can you?” Sam asks, staring at Dean in the mirror. Dean looks up, lips still attached to Sam's skin so just his eyes show above Sam's shoulder. His eyes are smiling.
“Like you're complaining dude.” He says, voice mumbled by the fact that he is still licking and kissing at Sam's shoulder. He steps away almost abruptly. Sam suppresses the urge to pull him back because he suddenly feels cold. Dean slaps his ass. “Hurry up Sammy, or I'll start without you.” He says with a wicked grin. Sam knows he's talking about finding breakfast but he can't help the mental image that the words conjure up, or the snarky comment that escapes his mouth.
“Empty threat Dean, you said that last night and if I remember correctly, you couldn't get very far without me.” Sam grins at his brother and pushes him out of the door, slamming it firmly in his face.
“I was tired!” Dean shouts through the keyhole. Sam smiles as he steps into the shower.
20 minutes later they are seated in the cheap diner five minutes walk from the motel room. The motel room with a king sized bed. Sam protested weakly that it was the only room they had left but Dean had seen right through that. It had been the first time in the all the weeks since they had started whatever the hell they were doing that Sam had done that, gone and booked a king sized bed without even posing the question with a blush like Dean thought he would. It had taken Dean by surprise. A good surprise like asking for something for your birthday and actually getting it. Dean looks at Sam over the pitted plastic table. He looks relaxed and easy, slouching slightly in the booth, fingers tapping against the keypad of his beloved laptop whilst he absent-mindedly sips on a coffee. White with sugar. And Dean takes his black. Because there was never enough creamer and sugar in motel rooms when they were growing up so Sam got it, obviously.
“I think I might have something.” Sam says, pulling Dean out of his thoughts. Sam looks up from his laptop with a small smile that tells Dean he knew that Dean was staring at him. They have always been hyper aware of each other so it doesn't take Dean by surprise. Doesn't think that he can get away with anything now. Especially not now Sam knows how to make Dean literally fall to his knees, or how Sam can reduce Dean to muttered curses and pleading whimpers with one twist of his hand around Dean's...
“You listening?” Sam asks with a knowing smile. Dean nods once and accepts a refill from the waitress who looks like Mrs Doubtfire, all powdered tight curls and round, warm face. She sends them both a motherly smile and walks away. Dean leans forward and snags a piece of uneaten bacon from Sam's plate. Sam sighs and rolls his eyes.
“I was gonna eat that.” He says. Dean grins.
“No you weren't. Now what have you got?” Sam glares at him for a second before turning his attention back to the laptop screen.
“Rockwood, Tennessee. Four men have been found dead in their beds. No signs of struggle, suffocation or heart failure. Its just like they gave up and died.” Sam says, wrinkling his forehead. Dean looks up from his coffee.
“So what are you thinking? Shtriga?” He asks, ignoring the chill that runs down his body at the thought. Sam spares him a sympathetic look but shakes his head.
“No, Shtriga feed mainly on children and these guys didn't get sick. Just gave up in their sleep. All four men had wives or girlfriends and they said that they spent a lot of time sleeping in their last few days. One says 'Its all he wanted to do. I knew he was sick but the doctors couldn't find anything. He just wanted to sleep.'” Dean cocks his head to one side watching Sam as he scrolls through the information on the website.
“Don't changeling's make the parents sleepy?” Dean asks.
“Yeah, but changeling's feed off the mother and there were no marks on the guys necks. And none of them had kids.” Dean drains his coffee mug and snags the last piece of Sam's bacon. Sam raises his eyebrows.
“Could be these guys were just super lazy, Sammy.” Dean says.
“With our track record?”
“Good point. How far is Rockwood?” Dean asks.
“About a days drive.” Sam replies, shutting the laptop and throwing the last of his coffee down his throat. Dean watches the movement with something akin to awe, wanting to lean forward and lick up Sam's neck. Sam catches his gaze with a knowing smile that sends shivers down Dean's spine.
“Well lets get going then.” He says, standing up and throwing a couple of bills onto the table. He shoots the waitress his best smile as he passes. Sam rolls his eyes and follows his brother out of the diner.
“Hey?” Dean says when they are both outside. “Reckon we'll see the Ghost of Elvis?”
A hour later then are on the road. It was have taken them less time if Dean hadn't plastered himself against Sam the minute their motel room door was closed and sunk to his knees in front of Sam.
Sam is riding shotgun, his head leaning against the slightly open window and Dean is driving, fingers clasped around the steering wheel, thumbs beating out an off beat rhythm on the wheel in time to AC/DC. The shift in their relationship still makes him slightly uncomfortable. It hadn't been easy. Dean had been shifting between overtly sexual and completely closed off so fast it had given Sam whiplash. But right now, when Dean's hand traverses the space between them and lands on Sam's thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before returning to the steering wheel, it seems that he is happy with where things are going. And when Dean is happy, Sam is happy.
But the lingering thoughts that this is wrong keep coming back to him, and he knows Dean feels the same. Has caught the expression of disgust mingled with want on his face when he thinks Sam isn't looking. But Sam can't deny the way Dean makes him feel.
“Dude, you're thinking is giving me a headache.” Dean offers without taking his eye of the road. Sam snorts.
“Sorry that your head can't cope with complex thoughts Dean.” Dean shoots him a quick glare. Yeah, they are definitely still brothers under it all.
“Whatever bitch.” Dean mumbles. “What you thinking about anyway?” He asks, and this time the look he sends him is worried. Sam sits up straight and stretches the best he can in the confines of the car. One arm stretches along the back of the seat and lands on Dean's neck, his fingers scratch lightly at Dean's hairline and he arches slightly into it, rolling his neck against Sam's fingers.
“How I want you to stop this car and blow you on the side of the road.” The statement takes them both by surprise. Sam because he has never been overtly sexual or in to dirty talk and Dean because things like that just don't come out of Sam's mouth. The surprise Dean is feeling is evident by the way the Impala swerves sharply to the right briefly.
“Jesus Sam, warn a guy would ya? Could have crashed my baby.” Dean's knuckles are white around the steering wheel and Sam suppresses a grin at the way he shifts uncomfortably in the drivers seat.
“Dean...” Dean's gaze flickers to Sam's for a second with a distracted “hhhmm?”. “Stop the car.” The command in Sam's voice is evident and Dean swerves the car off the road. Before its even stopped moving Sam has his door wide open and is stalking round to Dean. He pulls him from his seat and slams him up against the Impala. Dean's eyes go wide.
“Sammy...” He breathes as Sam fumbles with his belt and silences the protests with a searing kiss. A minute later Sam is on his knees, all thoughts of how this is wrong are gone when Dean winds his fingers into his hair and moans his name.
Looks to Sam like it might be longer than a days drive to Rockwood.