kelios

I fucking hate this bullshit posting editor

kelios — Thu, 30 Jan 2025 07:34:45 GMT

Fuck you for forcing me to switch, livejournal. You suck.

Gift for Soy_em

kelios — Tue, 24 Jan 2023 02:56:17 GMT

Title: Finally Perfect
Gifter: Kelios
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean, Wincest
Word count/Medium ~2000 words:
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Five times Sam missed Dean's birthday, and one time he didn't.
AO3

Brazil

kelios — Fri, 13 Jan 2023 00:18:08 GMT

Warnings: non-explicit Wincest

Brazil is hot. That's the big takeaway so far. And there are bugs--so many bugs, though he's getting used to that more quickly than the heat. Seeing his brother with sweat gleaming at his temples and caught in that little hollow at the base of his throat as he's working out is doing wonders for their sex life. Not that it was slow or boring before, but fuck. Somedays they don't leave the house, some days they don't even get dressed. They've talked about hunting--they're both excited to learn more about this world and the possibilities it holds--but that might have to wait, just for a little while longer.

Turns out freedom is a hell of an aphrodisiac.

Alone

kelios — Wed, 11 Jan 2023 20:07:25 GMT

It's hard to fathom, really. No parents. No friends. No one but his brother, for the first time in their lives. It's sad, losing them all, losing their entire world, but it's also hotly, possessively delicious. No more competing for his time and attention. No more competing for his love. It's everything he's ever wanted, for as long as he can remember.

When the time comes, they both put up token protests over leaving their twins behind and starting new lives elsewhere, he's not really sad to leave--and he doesn't think his brother is either. They've got an unlimited bank account, a new world to explore, and no one to judge them or stand in their way.

Time to start their new lives together.

2023 word counter

kelios — Wed, 11 Jan 2023 19:32:38 GMT

Name: kelios
Personal goal for year: get to 750,000 total words

Current total: 553,412
Word total for each month
Jan: 1872
Feb:
Mar:
Apr:
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Jun:
Jul:
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2022 total (Fill in this total on Dec 31st):

Liminal Space

kelios — Wed, 23 Nov 2022 02:48:46 GMT

Title: Liminal Space
Artist: ncdover1285
Author: kelios
Other Pairing(if applicable): Wincest (roleplay)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Summary: Jensen knows what he wants, but he's seen what happens when coworkers get involved. And having Dean in his head 24/7 isn't helping...

Art: Live Journal | Tumblr | Ao3
Story: Live Journal | Tumblr | Ao3

Lust

kelios — Sun, 04 Sep 2022 04:16:15 GMT

Author: kelios
Title: kelios
Artist: kamidiox
Pairing: J2
Rating: Explicit/NC-17
Warnings: rough sex, jealousy, possessiveness, painkink, breathplay, choking, blowjobs
Summary: "Jared's half hard, has been since the needle first touched his skin, that first shuddering sigh enough to drive Jensen out of the room for all their sakes."
What happened after Jared and Jensen left JDM's wedding.

Author's Note: Kami made this for me ages ago, when I first started working on this fic.

Read the story here: AO3

Can't you see we're meant to be: Frankie the Turtle strikes again 1/7

kelios — Sun, 12 Sep 2021 04:15:15 GMT

"So, Jared, I was wondering, wanna go out? We've been--ugh, no."

Jensen is going completely insane right now in the confines of his own home, pacing his bedroom.

He racks his brain for something more substantial to say than that. Surely he can come up with a better way to pop one of the biggest questions in a relationship.

If you can even call what he and Jared have a relationship.

It's been two months since Jensen nearly ran Jared over as he was trying to save a damn box turtle in the middle of the road, and things have taken quite the turn. It started with hanging out nearly every day since the almost-accident, and Jensen has the Best Fur-ends Forever t-shirts to prove it. The tight-knit group of volunteers had welcomed him like a long lost friend, and he looks forward to his daily visits.

Especially since every day after locking up for the night, Jared and Jensen walk a few blocks to Jared’s favorite hot dog stand and get their respective meals while they talk more. It's pretty much perfect. Or would be, if Jensen had even the slightest idea what the fuck he and Jared are to each other.

Friends? Certainly--there's no denying that one.

Dating? That's up for debate.

They're definitely not boyfriends, that's for sure.

But it's not for lack of trying, at least on Jensen’s part.

They share these moments--these short, tender moments in time where all they can see is each other. Jensen can’t look away, mesmerized, gripped with the feeling that Jared can’t possibly be real, that he might disappear if Jensen takes a breath or blinks his eyes. Jared teases him about it, but he’s doing the same thing, blushing even as he teases Jensen.

Jared also holds his hand in public whenever they're together, and yes, Jared hugs Jensen whenever they’ve been apart, pulling him close enough for Jensen to feel the solid muscles of his chest and smell his aftershave and the warm, sunshine scent that Jensen thinks is uniquely Jared. But that's usually where everything just stops.

Meanwhile, Jensen has been trying to subtly convey his attraction to Jared in return--slight touches, the lingering hugs, the actual fucking batting of his eyelashes. None of it works on Jared, which is so far outside Jensen’s experience that he doesn’t quite know how to handle it.

One moment Jared’s pressing his face into Jensen’s neck affectionately during a hug, and the next he treats him like they're nothing more than best friends. Not that Jensen minds the burn of Jared’s scruff against his throat, of course. He’d just like to feel it in some other places as well, and he’s starting to think that subtle just isn’t going to cut it.

"So, listen," Jensen says to himself as he gets his suit tie situated, rehearsing. "I like you. A lot. Let me take you downtown. I'll get a reservation to a nice spot I know, maybe have a little wine, some music--what the actual fuck, Ackles."

It only ends with Jensen growling, frustrated with the way his mind is working. He straightens his posture, glaring into the mirror within his walk-in closet, and clears his throat, trying again.

"I got this. Okay. Ahem. Jared, you and I have been together every day for 2 months. Crazy, right? So I was thinking…maybe we could take this further. Okay?"

Jensen looks at the reflection of himself, growing increasingly angry with his thought process.

"Who am I fooling?" Jensen says with a frustrated sigh. “This is not going to end well.”

He eventually pulls himself together, going through his usual walletkeysphonebriefcase routine as he heads out the door. Jensen is determined to see this through...somehow. He has to speak to Jared about this. Hot dogs are all well and good, but he wants an actual date, preferably sometime this decade.

Jensen grips his steering wheel tighter, trying to calm down by thinking of Jared’s smile and the way his hair flips up at the ends and how it’s impossible to describe his eyes rationally only to find himself trying to drive with his dick half hard.

This is going to be harder than he thought, pun so intended.

****

He’s in a meeting, listening with half an ear to the third revision of a proposition he has no intention of approving, thinking about this evening, when his phone dings. He takes a peek, hoping it’s Jared, and smiles when he sees familiar floppy hair and dimples.

"Dogs are wonderful creatures. You know what's NOT wonderful? Letting them dogpile onto you. It's a sure way to get peed on."

A selfie of Jared is attached that shows him giving the camera a tight lipped smile, baby blue t-shirt soaked with what Jensen can only assume is dog urine. It's both cute and disgusting, but Jensen can’t help an answering grin. He texts Jared back quickly.

"Please, for the love of all that is holy, take a shower before I come down."

Not even 20 seconds go by before his phone dings again.

"Don't worry, I'll get all cleaned up for you, okay? You won't hug me otherwise."

"Damn straight."

"You give the best hugs, Jack."

Jensen can feel himself flushing as he reads the last message. Jared had given him that nickname, a combination of his first and last names, and the intimacy of Jared having a name that’s just for him to use, no one else, leaves Jensen heart aching along with his dick. He wants Jared to whisper that name as he comes, wants to hear it again when they wake up in the morning, sleepy and half hard. Wants to see Jared’s dimples as he says it over breakfast, lunch and dinner. The thought makes him smile wistfully, until he’s yanked out of his fantasies by the sound of someone clearing their throat impatiently.

When Jensen glances up, all eyes are on him. Waiting. His smile dissipates, replaced with that classic workroom scowl he's perfected over the years.

"I apologize, there was a minor emergency at home. Could you repeat that, please?” Jensen pastes on his politely, coldest smile, the one that frequently sends newer employees fleeing in terror of his wrath.

Christian Kane, a close colleague who knows better, just laughs, shaking his head. "We're discussing the Fairpoint deal. Collins just gave us his revised pitch, and now we're waiting on you to say yes or no so we can go to lunch."

Jensen forces himself not to grimace. Collins is a slimy little weasel whose proposals always sound good, but inevitably end up being an enormous waste of time and money. However, he’s familiar enough with the Fairpoint deal, and with Collins’ plans for it, that he has no problems offering an opinion.

"My thoughts on the Fairpoint deal haven’t changed, Misha. It's attractive, up to a point, but in the long run it offers nothing substantial enough to overlook the potential pitfalls. The shortcuts and end runs that barely skirt legality and morality are not what this company needs to move forward.”

Rage flickers across Collins’ face before he quickly schools his expression into an ingratiating smile. Both expressions remind Jensen that he needs to look harder for a replacement--Collins brings a lot of clients and money into the company, but too many of them are shady and questionable. After this Fairpoint mess, Jensen’s decided he’s not worth the risk to their reputation.

Once the meeting is over, Jensen retreats to his office where he quickly snaps a picture of himself behind his desk, trying to look stern and professional even though he’s a ragged bundle of nerves and happiness inside. He sends the picture to Jared with a caption.

"Almost lunch time. Kinda bored, wish you were here."

Dog pee and all?

Jensen"s just about to respond when there's a knock at his office door. He shoves his phone aside and flips open the nearest file, pretending to study the contract inside, then curses internally at his anxious insecurity. He's the boss. If he wants to text his hopefully soon to be boyfriend on his lunch break, that's his prerogative, damn it.

"Come in," he says, voice exuding authority.

In steps Christian Kane, the grinning bastard. Jensen sighs as his best friend swings the door shut with a thud and slouches bonelessly into the chair in front of Jensen's desk. They've been working together for years, ever since they met at a local dive and Kane dragged Jensen up on stage to sing with his band. Jensen had recommended him for a job as soon as his hangover subsided, on the grounds that anyone who could get him on a stage with a mic in his hand was someone they needed on board. Many people have come and gone since then, but Christian has stuck by his side through thick and thin. No one else gets him regarding business matters like Chris does, and there's no one he trusts more with his personal life, either.

"By the look on your face, I'd say I'm interrupting something," says Chris, smirking gleefully as he kicks his boots up onto Jensen's desk in a move designed to get under Jensen's skin. "I am, aren’t I?"

Jensen huffs, ducking his head to hide the flush creeping up his cheeks. "No. Not at all. Just reviewing some files. What's up?"

"You tell me. You've been a little...distracted lately." Chris sounds serious now, and Jensen winces a little internally. This business is his baby, and he owes it to Chris and everyone else employed here to give one hundred percent. But surely he hasn’t been that distracted.

Part 2

Can't you see we're meant to be: Frankie the Turtle strikes again 2/7

kelios — Sun, 12 Sep 2021 04:13:46 GMT

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Immediately after saying this, Jensen's phone chimes on his desk. He quickly checks it out, seeing that Jared has texted him back.

"You look great in that suit. You're honestly the most handsome person I've ever been around. I love your style, Jack."

Jensen blushes again at Jared’s effusive compliments, wishing he knew if Jared was serious or not. Of course Christian notices, and his smirk is firmly back in place.

"Dating again, I see. Jeffrey?" Christian leans forward, studying Jensen closely. “I hear he’s back in town again, looking to get plugged back in.”

Jensen recoils sharply. "What? God, no! Never again. Not after last time."

"But there is someone, hmm?" Chris probes. “Come on, out with it. Who’s the lucky guy?”

He smirks, eyebrow raising, and Jensen surrenders. Once Christian gets an idea in his head, there’s no escape.

"His name is Jared. He's 34, he loves animals, and drives a shitty car that’s almost as old as he is. But he's so gorgeous and upbeat and amazing and--"

Chris laughs abruptly, holding up a hand to put an end to Jensen’s gushing. "I see. How long have you guys been dating?"

"2 months, and um...we're not dating. Not exactly."

That gets a reaction. "What do you mean, not exactly? You’re either dating, or you’re not." Christian groans suddenly. “Oh, God. Please tell me you didn’t fall for another straight guy.”

"I mean we're not dating," Jensen snaps. "I don’t know what we’re doing. We hang out everyday after work, chat, eat together...stuff like that. He hugs me and holds my hand and wears rainbow t-shirts, but he hasn’t made a single actual move the entire time we’ve been friends. I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

Christian bursts out laughing. “Oh my God. The great and powerful Ackles is friendzoned. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Shut up, Chris,” Jensen says tightly. “It’s not--that’s not what this is about. It’s not just about sex. Jared’s a great guy--friendly, sweet, caring.” Jensen leans forward unconsciously as he warms to his subject. “He volunteers at an animal shelter, and he convinced me to start too. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done. We’re going to Galveston next month to pick up trash on the beach and I’m excited about it. He listens to me, and when he talks I want to listen to him, too. He pulls me out of myself just by being there, by being himself. He’s--”

"Perfect for you," Chris finishes, smiling at his friend. "Man, you are so gone. Seriously, you should tell him how you feel."

Jensen puts his face in his hands, sighs. "I don't know how I feel. We haven’t been on a single date. We’ve never even kissed! This morning, before work, I sat there and rehearsed a speech on how I would ask him to dinner tomorrow night. Me! Rehearsing! Nervous!"

"Ackles, permission to speak freely?"

"This isn't the damn military, Chris,” Jensen mutters irritably, then waves at him to continue. “Besides, it’s not like I could stop you anyway.”

Chris leans in dramatically, almost whispering. "You need to get laid."

Jensen blushes furiously and points at the door. "Out."

"I'm just saying...lay one on him and see where it goes.” Chris holds up his hands in mock surrender, rising from his seat.

"Out. Now."

"Do you even know his last name?"

"Out. Out. Out."

Chris laughs on his way out the door, leaving Jensen to his indecision. Despite what he’d told Christian, Jensen is sure how he feels about Jared. He’s just not sure how Jared feels about him. Something Chris had said worms it’s way to the forefront of Jensen’s brain. Oh God, don’t tell me you fell for another straight guy! Jensen groans, remembering that mixed signal disaster, but it’s true--he and Jared have never even talked about whether or not Jared is gay or bi, or if he’s just a sympathetic ally. Jensen just assumed--

Jensen snatches up his phone, fingers poised to type out a frantic message, then drops it again. How the hell is he going to bring that up after two months of friendmaybemoreship? He groans again then tosses his phone into a drawer and locks it. He can’t think about this anymore right now or he’s going to lose his mind. He opens the file in front of him again--the Fairpoint deal--and smiles grimly. Eviscerating Misha’s project--unlike Jared, that is something he knows exactly how to handle.

God help him.

****

"Jensen! Hey, man!"

Just like that, Jensen is swept up in Jared's huge arms. Jared squeezes him tightly, spinning him round and round in the parking lot of the animal shelter until Jensen can't help but laugh.

No matter how it happens, Jensen loves being in Jared's arms. He loves Jared's huge biceps, his firm and well muscled chest, his irresistible charm, his happy-go-lucky nature--Jared is a force of nature, and he leaves Jensen wanting more every time they touch.

Jared sets him down eventually, slinging an arm around his shoulders as though they’ve been apart for months rather than the less than twenty four hours it’s actually been. Jensen takes it all in--Jared’s scent, the way Jared’s heart beats in rhythm with Jensen’s own. It leaves him feeling dizzy and a little giddy when they finally head into the shelter.

Inside, Jared greets the other volunteers, fistbumping his friend Adam with a secretive grin. Adam and Jared are practically brothers, and while Jensen feels like he ought to be jealous, he’s not. Watching Jared and Adam goof off while tending to the many animals of the shelter just makes Jensen happy, the way anything that brings a smile to Jared’s face makes him happy.

Jared leaves Jensen to change his clothes in the bathroom, making a suggestive jest about how tight his pants looked today. Once he’s gone, Jensen leans against the door, confused all over again by what the hell Jared wants from him. He straightens up with a sigh and gets changed, determined to enjoy the evening with Jared and their furry friends no matter how frustrated he feels.

As usual, once Jensen gets to work the evening flies by. Jared sings along to whatever song plays on the radio as he shampoos the dogs while Jensen covers his ears in mock horror. Jared’s voice is far from terrible, no matter how much Jensen teases him, and he loses more than a few minutes daydreaming about a private serenade. Night has fallen by the time they’re finally done, and Jensen’s carrying his garment bag in one hand while Jared holds the other. It would be perfect, if it actually meant anything.

"You've doing great, you know that right?" Jared says, watching Jensen hang his suit carefully in the back seat.

Jensen snorts. "Thank you."

Jared's smile fades for a second, his expression turning serious. It throws Jensen off, because Jared is almost never serious.

"I mean it," Jared tells him warmly. "You’re amazing. You don’t have to come here everyday and help out, but you do, and it means the world to me. I didn’t think you’d come back after we released Frankie back into the wild, but I’m really glad you did."

Jensen circles back around to the other side of the car and leans against the warm metal, looking up at Jared through his lashes. "I have my reasons for coming back." The words sound more wistful than Jensen intended and he blushes, biting his lip and hoping he hadn’t screwed things up.

Jared's sudden smile glows brighter than the rising crescent moon as he steps closer, close enough that Jensen can smell his cologne underneath the nearly overpowering aroma of wet dog.

"I'd like to know those reasons,” he says softly.

"Well..." Jensen’s head is spinning, hope making his stomach swoop and flutter. "For starters, I stayed because everyone’s so nice."

Jared leans on the car next to him, almost caging Jensen in. "Yeah? That's awesome! Any other reasons?"

"My company is sponsoring the place..."

"And?"

"I learned that animals are kinda cool, too."

"Aaaaand?"

Jensen laughs softly at Jared’s teasing. "You're not gonna make this easy for me, are you? Fine...the biggest reason I stayed around is you. You make me happy, Jared. I want to be around you.” He nudges Jared with his shoulder. “Satisfied?”

Jared's patented grin comes out again as shifts to cover Jensen’s body with his, trapping him against the car. "Not even close,” he murmurs, so low that Jensen barely catches the words.

Jensen doesn’t answer, just tilts his head back, eyes closed and lips parted as he waits for Jared to kiss him. He’s not sure when his arms wound themselves around Jared’s shoulders, and he doesn’t care. He just wants. After a moment, he opens his eyes in confusion, looking up into Jared’s beautiful eyes and soft, adoring smile. His breath hitches when Jared’s eyes drop to his lips, but Jared just sighs and pulls gently out of Jensen’s arms. It’s almost too much, Jensen’s heart cracking in his chest at this clear indication that whatever Jensen’s feeling, he’s on his own. He smiles tremulously and blinks, hard, determined not to ruin what Jared is willing to give him. He’s so sure that this is the end of everything he wants that he nearly misses Jared’s question.

"So...would you wanna go out to dinner with me some time?"

Jensen blinks again, mutely shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts.

Did he hear that correctly?

Jared’s face falls. “Oh, okay.”

"Wait, what...?" Jensen sputters. “Did you just--”

Jared smiles tentatively. "I asked if you would...like to go out to dinner with me."

Jensen can’t stop his answering smile, so wide his cheeks hurt as he laughs. "I was going to ask you that..." he says, in answer to Jared’s unspoken question.

"You snooze, you lose,” Jared says smugly. “But seriously. Eating hot dogs with you every night is kind of the highlight of my day, but I’d like to take you someplace a little nicer. If you want?" He looks so eager that Jensen can’t even tease him.

"I’m dying for a good steak," Jensen confesses, and it’s true. “Not that I don’t love our nightly stroll to the hotdog stand, but I need real food.”

Part 3

Can't you see we're meant to be: Frankie the Turtle strikes again 3/7

kelios — Sun, 12 Sep 2021 04:11:38 GMT

“Awesome,” Jared says happily. “I’m so glad you said yes, Jensen.”

"I’m just glad we’re on the same page,” Jensen says, relief making him a little giddy. “Listen, I know the perfect place. I’ll pick you up--7:30 tomorrow night, does that sound good? I can get us reservations at this great restaurant I know downtown. Amazing food, great music, and better wine. You'll love it, I promise." Jensen knows he’s babbling, but holy shit, Jared said yes. That warrants a little babbling.

Jared barely hesitates. “I can’t wait,” he says warmly, and his eyes drop to Jensen’s lips again before he licks his own. Jensen has a moment of hope, but he’s not too disappointed when Jared bites his lip and steps back. Jared’s interest is clear now, so clear that Jensen doesn’t know why he was so nervous this morning. He should have known Jared would at least give him a chance.

Over the past months, Jensen has seen Jared work his hardest to make sure every single animal in the shelter has felt some kind of love, even if that particular animal hated him or was afraid of him. They always came around. Every. Single. Time. And each one he cared for was soon adopted by someone who could love and care for them just as he did. Jared is a goddamn miracle, and there's no one on this earth that Jensen would rather spend his time with than him. He just hopes that he’s not Jared’s latest project, that this is the start of something real.

"7:30 it is," says Jared, interrupting Jensen’s self-doubts. "I look forward to it.” He cocks his head slyly. “Can I interest you in a hotdog to tide us over?"

Jensen laughs, nodding. "Sure, why not. But this time I’m buying."

Jared nonchalantly grasps Jensen's hand, and they walk down the street together in companionable silence that Jensen's mind quickly fills with every single thing that could possibly go wrong between now and tomorrow night. What if Jared hates the restaurant? What if he hates Jensen for picking the wrong restaurant? What if-- Jared senses that something’s wrong as Jensen’s steps slow, so he stops, tugging on Jensen’s hand to get his attention.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" Jared sounds so sincere, but how can Jensen be sure?

Jensen frowns, hesitates. "Is this... Is tomorrow gonna be a...date?"

The question catches Jared off guard. He blinks before his pretty pink lips curl up into that beautiful grin yet again.

"Yeah, sure!" Jared regards him curiously. "Why not?"

Jensen sweats, nervous. "I was just--well. I don’t even know if you’re gay, and we’ve been just friends so far so--"

"You're being too serious,” Jared tells him firmly. “So let's do something fun. Race you to the hot dog stand?"

"Jared, I--"

"Loser has to pay! Ready?"

There's no arguing as Jared drops Jensen's hand and starts a ridiculously exaggerated series of stretches, smiling and laughing the whole time, dragging a reluctant laugh out of Jensen as well. Jensen does a few warmups as well so that Jared isn’t being silly alone, and before long a few others stop and join them. One of Jensen’s favorite things about Austin is the stay weird mentality, and he’s suddenly grateful for the chance that brought him here from Dallas.

Jensen’s yanked from his thoughts as Jared begins an exaggerated count down from 5, and then all bets are off. They both bolt forward, cheered on by their warm up companions, dodging the few people still out on the street at this time of the evening.

A quick glance shows Jared right beside him, neck and neck. His legs are longer, and that gives him an advantage that he seems quite sure will net him a win. Too bad Jensen’s never mentioned that he was on the track team in college, and has kept up his running ever since. He smirks at Jared and puts on a sudden burst of speed, passing Jared and beating him to the stand by a good ten seconds.

For just a second, Jared looks mildly miffed before grabbing Jensen into a hug and keeping his arm around Jensen’s shoulders the whole time they order. He makes a huge show of paying for both hotdogs, loudly declaring this their first date since he’s paying. The hotdog vendor mutters something like about time under her breath, but smiles at their antics and leaves them to enjoy their dinner in peace.

****

Tonight is the night.

Jensen checks his watch for the 23rd time, sees that it's still only 7:27, and swears under his breath that time must be standing still. He's at the restaurant, patiently waiting for Jared to make an appearance since he’d begged off having Jensen pick him up. Jensen has already spoken with the hostess, double checking their reservation and making sure they’ve got a corner table so that Jared has plenty of room for his absurdly long legs. He’d seen that the restaurant isn’t too busy tonight, which helped settle his nerves. At least if Jared rejects him there will be fewer people to witness his embarrassment, which was why Jensen had chosen to come here during the week instead of the weekend.

The restaurant he’d chosen is usually bustling on Friday and Saturday nights, popular with couples celebrating anniversaries and business men and women trying to impress clients. And, as Jensen well knows, with men trying to impress their dates. One of Jensen’s ex-boyfriends, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, had brought him here frequently early on, trying to wow him with his money and taste. And it had worked, to a certain extent--not only had Jensen fallen readily into Jeff’s bed, he’d worked even harder for him, doing anything necessary to earn the older man's approval. His history with this place had almost convinced him to bring Jared somewhere else, but in the end he’d decided it was time to make new memories instead, memories he and Jared can look back on fondly over the years. Besides, he knows the head waiter, the chef and the wine concierge personally, and those friendships had allowed him to guarantee a meal Jared would never forget.

Jensen glances down at his watch again, trying to shake off thoughts of Jeff and his brand new wife, living in New York on the proceeds of Jensen’s hard work. Jensen doesn’t regret buying the company from Jeff even one little bit, but he does resent the years he’d spent turning the business around and driving up the value, only to pay for it all in the end.

Dammit. He needs to loosen up a bit. Jeff is the last person he wants to be thinking about while he’s waiting for Jared--or worse yet, while he’s with Jared.

"What would Jared do?" He asks himself as happy couples slip past him, laughing and smiling. That’s going to be him and Jared if he has to kidnap Jared and instigate Stockholm Syndrome.

"There’s a view that never gets old.” Jared’s voice, behind him. Jensen blushes when he realizes what Jared means, that he’s looking at Jensen’s ass appreciatively and doesn’t care who knows.

But when Jensen turns around, he barely recognizes the man in front of him, because Jared isn't dressed in jeans and sneakers the way Jensen had half expected. No button down plaid, or cozy sweater to match Jensen’s. Oh, no, sir.

No, Jared looks immaculate, dressed head to toe in perfection. An all black suit with a crisp, clean, white button up shirt and matching black Jimmy Choos that probably cost more than Jensen’s up to the minute smart phone. Speechless, Jensen turns his eyes to Jared’s face and his gorgeously styled hair--no more man bun or beanie, just beautiful caramel waves framing his face and highlighting every feature to perfection.

Jared blushes at Jensen’s open admiration, even the tip of his nose turning adorably pink when Jensen says, breathless, “You look amazing.”

"Not as good as you do,” Jared demurs, and Jensen glances down at himself--black jeans, soft green sweater, his best boots.

"Next to you I look like a kid playing dress up," Jensen says wryly. “Where did you find that suit?” Jensen fingers the soft material of Jared’s sleeve in something akin to awe. “I’m pretty sure this costs more than my yearly salary.”

"It was just something I had around,” Jared says, blushing again. “I brought you something for later,” he adds, clearly hoping to distract Jensen.

Jensen allows himself to be distracted, not wanting to make Jared uncomfortable. He takes Jared’s arm a little shyly as they approach the hostess desk. “Reservation for Tristackles,” he tells her, just to hear Jared laugh.

It works, and the strange moment is broken, though Jensen’s curiosity remains. How did a man who spends all his time in ragged shorts and t-shirts afford a suit like that? He pushes the thought aside to pull Jared’s chair out for him. Jared smiles down at him in surprise, that sweet flush rising up his cheeks again as Jensen sits down across from him. Jared sits the white bag on the table carefully, and Jensen raises an eyebrow, letting his curiosity show.

Jared follows his gaze, grinning. "Yeah. I picked up a little something along the way. My Uber driver was kind enough to let me do a little shopping. My car shit the bed this morning; it's in the shop right now."

"Oh, okay. So...what's in the bag there?"

"You'll just have to wait and see," Jared replies mysteriously, winking at him. “Maybe for dessert.”

Their waiter arrives shortly, and Jensen asks for the wine he'd requested for their meal. It's a rarer vintage, but to his surprise Jared immediately perks up, asking the waiter for a specific year. The waiter’s smile widens, and he assures Jared that they do indeed have a single bottle in the cellar, reserved specifically for the Tristackles party. While the waiter goes to get their drinks Jared, Jared looks around in surprise, noticing for the first time that there are no menus on their table.

"Looks like they forgot to bring us menus," he comments, looking around to catch a nearby waiter's eye.

Part 4

Can't you see we're meant to be: Frankie the Turtle strikes again 4/7

kelios — Sun, 12 Sep 2021 04:08:22 GMT

"No, I already ordered for us," Jensen says, half smug, half uncertain. He's mostly sure that Jared will be appreciative, but there's always a chance…

Luckily, Jared seems fine with Jensen's choice. "Ooh, I get all tingly when you take control like that," he teases, and Jensen blushes.

"I think you'll like it," he says sincerely, and relaxes when Jared smiles at him fondly.

"Of course I will. You picked it out, after all."

As they wait for their meal, Jensen can’t help staring at the amazing man across from him, so different from the man he thought he knew. Jared squirms a little uneasily under his gaze.

“Do I really look that different?” he asks softly. “You’re not disappointed, are you? I just...I wanted tonight to be special.”

“You look gorgeous,” Jensen says honestly. “That suit…”

Jared waves the words away dismissively. “Left over from my brother’s wedding a few years back. It had to be custom made, so I just kept it.” He smiles at Jensen and takes his hand. “But this isn’t who I want to be. I love my life just the way it is. I just wanted to impress you tonight.”

“Well, that is definitely mission accomplished,” Jensen assures him, privately thinking to himself that Jared is the perfect example of get you a man who can do both. “I like both sides of you,” he tells Jared, blushing a little, and Jared’s fingers tighten around his. “No matter what you’re wearing, you’re always you.”

“I feel the same way about you, Jack,” Jared says softly. He lets go of Jensen’s hand to rub his fingers over the soft fuzz of Jensen’s sweater, practically purring with pleasure. “This is so soft. Where did you get it?”

Jensen pinches his sweater, snorting. "This? I got this at Old Navy!"

The both share a genuine laugh with each other, and it makes Jensen feel more at ease than before. Jared might be showing him a different side, but he’s still the same kind, humble, and open man that Jensen has been slowly falling in love with. The polar opposite of every single man Jensen has ever been involved with, and Jensen couldn’t be happier.

Finally the waiter returns, bearing a double order of peppercorn foie gras with petit toast points and two glasses of deep amber liquid. Jared eyes the glasses curiously before taking a sip, eyes widening appreciatively.

"Balcones," Jensen tells him, savoring a sip of his own drink. Warmth spreads through him and he takes another sip, enjoying the rich smoky finishing notes. "They're a local distillery that opened a few years ago--they're making quite a name for themselves locally."

"Well deserved, I'd say." Jared's eyes gleam in the low lighting, breathtaking, making Jensen reckless and brave.

"We should go visit sometime," he offers. "They do tours, and it's a fascinating process."

"I'd love to," Jared says enthusiastically, and seems about to continue when they're interrupted by the arrival of their dinner.

“Ah, we’re going carnivore,” Jared says happily, and Jensen laughs.

“Well, we’re Texans, after all,” he points out, and Jared concedes the point as the waiter opens the wine and pours a small amount into Jared’s glass for his approval. Jensen watches, fascinated, as Jared swirls the wine gently and takes a small sip.

“Perfect,” he assures the waiter, and gestures for him to fill Jensen’s glass. “Please leave the bottle.”

“Of course, sir,” the waiter says graciously, and returns the bottle to the stand he’d brought with him.

Jared raises his glass to tap the rim of Jensen’s.

"To carnivores,” Jensen says. “And Texans.”

Jared beams, putting his glass against Jensen's. "To carnivores and Texans."

Jensen brings the glass to his lips and takes a small sip of the deep red wine. The flavor is rich and complex, dark cherry and cocoa with hints of leather and plum--easily the best wine Jensen has ever tasted, and definitely the right choice for their steaks. He's only had it once before, and he's glad that it's every bit as delicious as he remembers.

"Amazing," he says, resisting the urge to finish the glass and pour another immediately. “Where did you learn about wine?”

Jared shrugs. "My mom is a connoisseur. She loves rich merlots, and the market for them has fallen recently so she’s been able to pick up some prime vintages. 2016 was a terrific year for merlots, by the way."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Nobody,” Jared says uncomfortably. “I'm just...Jared. Just Jared."

"You're so much more than that," Jensen says sincerely. "You're an amazing person with a heart of gold and impeccable taste in wine that matches mine.” Jensen gives in to the urge to finish his glass, savoring the rich taste.

"This is an amazing year," Jared agrees. "My mom has mentioned how difficult it is to find."

"Well worth the effort, though," Jensen says, then adds "You are well worth the effort."

“You know what? I don’t want to wait for dessert.” Jared brings out the small bag he’d brought in with them, pushing it across the table toward Jensen.

There’s a box inside, Jensen soon discovers, and he pulls it out. It looks like a jewelry box, small and black and hinged, the sort of thing that nearly always contains an engagement ring in movies and TV shows. Jensen’s heart gives a stuttery thump in his chest, and he looks up at Jared, confused.

“Go on,” Jared urges excitedly. “Open it!”

His interest piqued by Jared’s enthusiasm, Jensen carefully pulls back the domed lid.

“What--?” Jensen has no idea, really, what he’s looking at. It’s a turtle, he can tell that much, gold and silver inlay with tiny red jewels for eyes.

“Turn it over!” Jared orders, hands clasped before him. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, and Jensen does as he’s told, bemused.

Thank you, Frankie. 3/5/19

"Thanks to that spunky little guy," Jared says as solemnly as he’s able. "I was introduced to another spunky little guy. He's the reason we're right here sitting across from each other. It's fate, Jack. Fate. I don't know where he is now, but I'm as grateful to him as I am to you for all you've done."

Jensen closes his eyes, swallowing down all the overflowing emotions that threaten to spill out. "Jared...this is wonderful. Thank you. But it’s too much--”

"It’s not. Listen, you've done so much for me and for the animal shelter,” Jared says passionately. “Your company sponsors us, but not one of your employees has ever come down to personally check on the state of things or see what we need unless it benefits them.” He smiles at Jensen fondly. “But you're different. You don't care about what's in it for you. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met, and I'll never stop showing how much I appreciate you. I never wanna lose you now that I’ve found you, okay? There could be a hundred men just like you in suits, but not one of them could be anything like you. You're the best thing that's happened to me. Can you make me a promise?"

"Anything.” Jensen knows that’s probably not a promise he can keep, but tonight anything seems possible.

"Please don't leave. Seems like most people I care about end up leaving me sooner or later."

The pensive look on Jared’s face makes Jensen’s heart ache. "I'm not going anywhere, Jared. I promise."

Jared smiles, pulling himself together, taking a deep breath as Jensen further inspects the tiny Frankie. His engraved underside appears to be steel, and Jensen’s slightly embarrassed when he realizes that he still doesn’t know exactly what the tiny turtle is.

“Here, let me,” Jared says, his dimples peeking out as he realizes Jensen’s dilemma. “It figures that you’re not wearing a tie tonight…” To Jensen’s surprise Jared upends the box and a second piece falls out into his hand. “It’s magnetic,” Jared explains. “So you don’t have to puncture your shirt or your tie to wear it.”

Jensen’s breath catches in his throat as Jared’s fingers slide beneath the collar of his sweater, brushing the sensitive skin as he brings Frankie and his magnet together through the soft material. “Jay--”

Jared just smiles at him a bit smugly, clearly pleased with the effect even that small touch had on Jensen. But before he can tease Jensen, the waiter returns to inquire about their meal.

“Everything is fine,” Jared assures him, and allows their glasses to be refilled as they dig in. The sound he makes as he savors the first bite of his perfectly cooked and seasoned steak is practically pornographic. “Oh my God. I think this might be better than sex.”

Jensen chokes slightly on his mouthful of wine. “Then I think you’ve been doing it wrong,” he says, deadpan, and smirks when Jared turns bright pink at his innuendo. But when he takes a bite of his own he’s forced to agree--privately.

As they enjoy their dinner, Jared tells Jensen about how the jeweler mistakenly thought he was buying the gift for his wife, assuming her name was Frankie. Jared told the story of Frankie to the jeweler, which made his night much better.

The story has Jensen thinking about marriage with Jared. What would it be like, he wonders. How does Jared shower? What time does he wake up in the morning? What time does he go to sleep? Does he wash his hair first, then his body? So many questions roam through Jensen's mind, but as they talk about everything and nothing, he keeps coming back to one question: how does Jared like to kiss?

He tries to focus on Jared’s enthusiastic description of an adorable new pup named Icarus who had recently come to the shelter, but Jared has a smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth from their dessert and all Jensen can think about is how much he wants to be the one who licks it away.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not really all that interested in Icarus right now?” Jared asks, teasing. “I’m telling you, a dog would be good for you!”

Part 5

Can't you see we're meant to be: Frankie the Turtle strikes again 5/7

kelios — Sun, 12 Sep 2021 04:07:14 GMT

"Jen? With a dog? Hell no, he can hardly take care of himself!” The rough whiskey and cigarettes voice sends a shudder down Jensen’s spine as his head comes up in shock.

Jeffrey Dean Morgan. It’s as though Jensen had summoned him with his earlier thoughts, he thinks, horrified, but the last person Jensen wants to see again--now or ever--is Jeff.

He won't lie, Jeff looks good for his age. But Jensen’s past that now, the ugly memories of Jeff’s lies more than enough to outweigh his appearance.

“Excuse me?” Jensen’s never heard Jared’s voice so cold, and he hastens to explain.

“Jeff. What a...nice surprise.” Jensen turns to Jared. “Jared, this is Jeffrey Dean Morgan, my former business partner. Jeff, this is Jared Tristan.” He hesitates, then decides on politeness. “How are you?”

"Shit, I can't complain really." Jeff laughs, though neither Jared nor Jensen joins him. "Doing just fine."

"Good to hear,” Jensen says politely. “And your wife? Is she here?"

Jeff’s jaw clenches, his smile fading slightly. Jensen’s notes the change with some satisfaction.

"No, actually. Me and Hilarie weren't exactly a perfect fit. I'm single now, on the market. Guess I can't say the same for you now, huh?" Jeff looks at Jared superciliously, holding out his hand to shake. "Pleasure to meet you--Jared, was it?"

Jared takes Jeff’s hand, shaking it politely before surreptitiously wiping both hands with his napkin. “You’re an old friend of Jensen’s?”

"Friend?” Jeff’s laugh is crude and ugly. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that. We were pretty close back in the day. Taught him everything he knows...about networking and proper business practices." Jeff’s deliberate pause turns Jensen’s stomach. He can’t even look at Jared, too mortified by his former boyfriend’s insinuations.

Jared looks between the two of them, clearly piecing two and two together. Jensen feels sick, sure Jared is as disgusted by Jeff’s innuendo and by him. “I see,” Jared says slowly, and Jensen wants the floor to swallow him whole.

"Wait," Jeff says, studying Jared's face yet again. "I feel like I've seen you around before. Have we met?"

Jared shrugs, his expression closed and forbidding. "I don't think so. I suppose I have one of those faces."

"Maybe so, maybe so...What did you say your name was again?"

"Jared."

"Jared--?" Jeff’s clearly fishing now, probing for more information, though Jensen doesn’t know why. Jeff had made it clear years ago where his interests lie, and they weren’t with Jensen. For which Jensen was and is fervently grateful.

"I--"

"Jeff, that's enough," Jensen says through gritted teeth. "Jared and I are trying to enjoy our dinner. If you need anything, you can call the office, but for now…”

Jeff smirks, shaking his head at Jensen with an unpleasant smile. "You haven't changed a bit. Still the same bowlegged little spitfire. Listen, if you wanna do any networking, don't hesitate to reach out. I'm in town for a few weeks, and I know you’ve got my number.”

Before departing, Jeff drops a business card on the table and winks. As soon as he’s out of sight, Jensen rips the card in two, then in a series of fours, then eighths until there's nothing left but disorganized shreds that couldn't ever be pieced together again.

"Well," sighs Jared, pushing away the last of his chocolate cake. "That went...well."

Jensen groans, slumping his shoulders. "Sorry you had to be a part of that. Such a dick."

"Nah, it's fine. I take it that you two didn't exactly end things on a positive note, though, huh?"

"Jeffrey and I have a...complicated history together."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No, not really." Jensen is able to flash him a faint smile. "But thanks. Anyone else would probably be heading for the hills after that."

Jared nods with mock gravity. “I’m a blessing," he intones seriously, and Jensen laughs in spite of himself.

"Listen, do you wanna get out of here, maybe hang out or something back at my place?"

Jared blinks in surprise, leaving Jensen feeling like an idiot. Of course Jared didn’t want to come over after--

“I’d love to,” Jared says warmly, taking Jensen’s hand again. “If you’re sure you’re up to it. I get it if that kind of spoiled the mood.”

Jensen shakes his head. “I’m done letting Jeff spoil anything,” he says firmly. “And I’d love to have you over.” He pulls out his wallet, signalling to the waiter for their check, but when the young man approaches their table Jared covers Jensen’s hand with his.

“Let me,” he insists, and hands over a black card. “I’m the one who asked you out, after all.”

“But--” Jensen wants to argue, but doesn’t have the heart after their confrontation with Jeff. He wants the night to end on a high note, wants Jared happy and willing to come back so he settles back into his chair with a grateful smile instead, resolutely refusing to wonder how a rescue volunteer who drives a beat up twenty year old car can afford a dinner that easily cost three hundred dollars or more.

But those questions return as he drives them back to his condo. He's only lived up here at the top for just over a year now, and he doesn’t regret a single penny of the increased rent--especially when Jared looks so impressed.

"Your apartment is gorgeous,” he says, looking around. He spots the shoe rack just inside the door and carefully toes out of his shoes, leaving them next to Jensen’s. "You live here all by yourself?"

"Yeah," Jensen confirms, looking around the pristine living room with a touch of pride. "It's just me."

"Must be lonely..."

"It can be, I suppose," Jensen admits. “But after a long day at work, it’s kind of nice most days.”

Jared shakes his head in denial. "That's why we need to get you a dog. Icarus really, really likes you, Jensen, and once you see how nice it is--"

"Not this again,” Jensen groans, amused. "Give it up, Jared. I'm not getting a dog. Icarus is a sweet boy, but I can't take care of him. Dogs are hard work."

"I'll convince you one day, just wait and see."

"Yeah, okay, Sasquatch."

Jared continues to admire Jensen's condo, even taking in the view that seems to look over the entire city. It doesn't, but it's still a nice view regardless. Jensen soon takes him on a tour around his home, showing him the kitchen as well as the living room. The tour pauses at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the master suite, Jensen suddenly shy about showing Jared everything.

“What’s up here?” Jared asks, one foot on the bottom stair. He has to know--he’s seen every other room. When Jensen hesitates, he turns to Jensen and pulls him close. “I want to see everything, Jensen. If you want to show me.”

God, Jensen loves him.

Jensen leads Jared up the stairs to the master suite--sitting room, bathroom, bedroom. He can feel Jared’s warmth against his back when he puts his hand on the knob and turns it slowly, opening the door to the bedroom. He turns to face Jared, nerves taut and singing with tension--and that’s when Jared tackles him, knocking them both onto the king sized bed.

Jensen makes a startled sound that he’ll deny forever as he lands on his back, Jared flopping over to lie next to him, laughing. Jared’s laughter is contagious, as always, and Jensen can’t help joining in, laughter pouring from both of them as the tension breaks.

After a few moments, Jared turns to look at him, his expression changing from lighthearted to something else entirely. He looks...content, though there's something somber hidden underneath. It has Jensen propping himself up on his elbows as Jared turns his head, fighting with his thoughts silently.

"Jensen?" Jared murmurs, reaching for Jensen’s hand.

Jensen licks his lips, heat rising inside him at Jared’s touch. "Yes?"

"Do you...like me?"

"Of course I like you."

"No, I mean...do you like like me?"

Jensen blushes hotly as Jared’s thumb strokes the back of his hand, the innocent caress taking on new meaning here, lying on Jensen’s bed.

He hadn't truly anticipated this when he woke up this morning. He’d thought the evening would end with a kiss, maybe a little more, and then a late night jerk off session to the feel of Jared’s lips on his. Jensen never expected he'd be on his back in his bed, reassuring Jared that oh yes, Jensen likes him. Like likes him, even.

This man was going to be the death of him.

Jensen reaches for Jared's face, one hand cupping his cheek, wanting nothing more than to erase that fearful, uncertain look on Jared’s face forever. He leans up and kisses Jared gently, one hand tangling in Jared’s hair and tugging him down as Jensen falls back onto the bed.

“Does that answer your question?” Jensen’s lips brush Jared’s as he speaks, unwilling to let him move away now that he’s got him here, searching Jared’s face for signs of regret.

Thankfully, he finds none.

Jared's answering smile is radiant. "A thousand times over. I really like you, too, Jack."

"Prove it."

Jared lowers his head, capturing Jensen’s mouth with his own in a kiss that starts off slow but burns hotter than any Jensen’s ever experienced. His hand slides under Jensen’s sweater to rest warm and heavy on Jensen’s belly.

“Is this okay?” Jared asks, pulling back enough that they can both catch their breath.

“More than,” Jensen whispers. “Want you to fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jared groans under his breath, and now Jensen can feel the hot length of him pressed against his hip. “Hell yes,” Jared breathes, and kisses Jensen again. He rucks Jensen’s sweater up, his big hands moving restlessly over Jensen’s belly and chest as he kisses his way down Jensen’s throat. Jensen writhes underneath him as his mouth and hands meet, his lips sealing hot and wet over one rosy nipple as his fingers tug gently on the other.

“Jay--fuck--”

Jared lifts his head to look at him, his eyes dark as he sits up. “Come on,” he says roughly, pulling Jensen up with him. They undress each other slowly, ending up on their knees facing each other.

Part 6

Can't you see we're meant to be: Frankie the Turtle strikes again 6/7

kelios — Sun, 12 Sep 2021 04:05:44 GMT

“You’re so beautiful, Jack,” Jared murmurs. His hands are the perfect size to hold Jensen’s face, huge and warm as he turns Jensen exactly the way he wants him.

“You’re one to talk,” Jensen pants. “Do you know how many times I’ve jerked off dreaming about licking my way down your abs?”

Jared laughs breathlessly at that. “Well, far be it from me to stop you,” he says teasingly, and lets out a soft oof as Jensen tackles him back down onto the bed and settles across his lap. “Oh--”

Jensen’s eyes slip closed as Jared’s hands dig into his hips, momentarily stunned at how good Jared’s dick feels sliding slickly against his own. He drops bonelessly forward onto Jared’s chest, kissing Jared artlessly when Jared wraps one huge hand around them both. “God I love your hands,” he moans as Jared squeezes gently. Jensen pants against the long line of his throat for a moment before pushing back slightly. “But don’t think you’re getting off that easily,” he says sternly, and Jared’s surprised laughter is cut short when Jensen begins to make good on his promise.

Jared’s body is a work of art, long lean lines and a perfect six pack that Jensen traces with his tongue and lips. His hip cuts deserve their own shrine, and Jensen worships them with tiny licks and bites and kisses, savoring the clean, salty taste of sweat and the bitterness of the precome that Jared is leaking all over himself. Jared groans helplessly, hands restless on the bed, Jensen’s shoulders, his cheek--anything he can reach as Jensen teases him, avoiding the one place Jared desperately wants him to go.

“Jensen, please--” Jared’s hand strokes his jaw, pulling his eyes upward. He looks utterly debauched, sweat gleaming on his temples and pooled at the base of his throat, his hair clinging to his damp skin, eyes wild and blown. “Please, I just--your mouth--”

“What about my mouth, Jay?” Jensen purrs, because this is something he knows. This is something he’s sure of, now that they’re finally here. He licks his lips, eyes fluttering at the faint taste of Jared coating them, teases Jared with kittenish licks and tantalizingly light kisses dropped everywhere but exactly where Jared wants. “Something you want?”

“Suck me, Jack, please--been thinking about it for weeks. Those lips, your mouth--please--”

There’s only so much a man can take. Jensen gets his hands on Jared’s narrow hips, nuzzling into the soft v of hair drawing Jensen down to his goal. Jared’s cock is velvety soft against his tongue as Jensen draws him in, one hand wrapped around the base to hold him steady as Jensen pushes as far as he can, his lips nearly touching his fingers. Jared arches underneath him with a wordless shout, and Jensen lets him, already addicted to the taste and feel of Jared inside him. Jared’s hand falls heavy on the back of his head, Jared’s hips driving him mindlessly into Jensen’s throat, and it’s so good that Jensen almost just lets him. But as much as he wants to feel Jared fuck his face and come all over him, he wants Jared to actually fuck him even more. His fingers tighten around the base of Jared’s dick, holding him back as he strains to get deeper.

Jensen hollows his cheeks and slides his way up Jared’s dick, releasing the head with a wetly obscene pop.

“Want you to fuck me, Jay,” he says, voice raspy and fucked out. “Been thinking about it since forever. Need it.”

Jared just nods, panting, trying to pull himself together. “Yeah,” he says shakily. “Yeah.”

Jensen leans back to grab the bottle of lube and condoms from his nightstand, looking back to see Jared watching him with raised eyebrows.

“Pretty sure of yourself,” Jared teases, sitting up to kiss Jensen again. Jensen blushes, both at the words and at the heat of Jared’s body, finally pressed against his the way he’s wanted for so long.

“Just hopeful,” he whispers against Jared’s lips. “Been thinking about this for a long damn time.” He shifts on Jared’s lap, knees spread wide over Jared’s thighs. He should feel vulnerable like this, open and exposed for the first time, but it’s Jared, and Jensen feels like he’s been waiting for this for half his life, even if he’s only known him a few months.

“Gonna ride me, Jen?” Jared purrs, dragging Jensen out of his head. His voice has gone dark and rough, unlike anything Jensen’s heard from him before. It sends a flare of heat through him, hot and needy, and he wants, more than he thinks he’s ever wanted before. “Go on, open yourself up for me. Please.” Jared’s voice breaks on the last word as Jensen opens the bottle and coats his fingers, Jared’s eyes never leaving him as he reaches behind himself. Jensen can feel himself preening under the adoring attention, curves his spine and lets his head fall back with a soft moan as he pushes two fingers inside himself. “God--so beautiful-- Jensen,” Jensen hears Jared groan, and then one of Jared’s huge hands lets go the death grip he’s got on Jensen’s hip to rub the delicate skin where they’re connected. “Please, Jen--I need it, need to be inside you--”

Jensen just nods, overwhelmed, gasps when Jared’s thick finger pushes in alongside his own. Jared can’t get very deep, but just the feel of Jared inside him is nearly enough to bring him over the edge as he rocks back eagerly, wanting more. “Been thinking--been wanting--” Jensen’s babbling as Jared shifts to push in deeper, hot burn and drag, and that’s it. He comes before Jared even gets to fuck him, white-hot supernova behind his eyes and the feel of Jared everywhere, inside and all around him.

“Jen--” Jared’s voice, low and pained, lips moving against his throat. “Jen, come on--I need--”

“Jared--” Jensen tilts his face up for a kiss and Jared gives it to him, desperate and needy.

“Wanna fuck you, Jen,” Jared whispers, and the world snaps back into place--Jared’s fingers digging bruise deep into his hips, Jared’s length pressed hot and hard against his belly.

“God yes,” Jensen manages, and then he’s on his back and Jared’s pushing into him, a little too hard and a little too fast, sharp sting and burn from not enough prep that fades into pleasure in seconds, Jensen’s body too fucked out and lax to resist. “Christ, you’re big--” Jensen gasps, and Jared slows, lifts his head to look down at Jensen with concern.

“I can stop, I can--”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jensen growls, and forces his sex weak legs up around Jared’s waist to pull him in deeper. Tilts his hips to meet the rough slam and grind of Jared’s body. “Been waiting--a long damn time for you to fuck me, Jay. I already said you’re not getting off that easy.”

Jared just grins down at him, an almost feral light in his eyes that sparks hot and electric up Jensen’s spine, whispers as he drags Jensen’s legs up over his shoulders. “Jack, nothing about this is gonna be easy.”

******

"Did you mean what you said?"

Jared tilts his head. Smiles, slow and lazy and satisfied. "That Icarus really likes you? Of course."

"No, not that!" Jensen says, mock severe. He tugs at the slightly sweaty curl nearest his face. "I meant...about--"

"I know what you meant, and yes, I did mean it. It might come as a shock to you, but I don't really do this sort of thing. I don't...I don't do relationships. It was hard for me in the past because I wasn't sure if people loved me for me. Tonight proved to me that you like me for who I am. And you might not love me now, but I've been falling for you since the day we met, and I can't hold it in any longer--"

"I love you too, Jared."

Jared stops, caught off guard by Jensen's abrupt admission. Jensen secretly revels in it, finally getting the chance to render Jared speechless. He snuggles closer to Jared’s warmth and Jared’s arms tighten around him. Jensen’s a little surprised by how much he likes it. Even covered in the remnants of sweat and come and lube left behind by their quick clean up, he’s never felt happier, safer or more loved. Jared doesn’t say anything, just kisses Jensen’s temple and curls his hand over Jensen’s heart. “Gonna sleep now,” Jensen mumbles, already halfway there, and lets the soft warmth of Jared’s lips on his shoulder follow him into sleep.

Part 7

Can't you see we're meant to be: Frankie the Turtle Strikes Again 7/7

kelios — Sun, 12 Sep 2021 04:04:24 GMT

A Week Later...

Jensen looks over documents on his desk, carefully analyzing each detail before signing off on them. This week has been crazy--endless meetings about an upcoming merger, and pushback from some of their clients on changes that will make their developments more ecologically friendly. He’s ready for this day to be over.

A quick glance at his watch tells him he has five more minutes until it’s acceptable for the boss to leave for the weekend, and he can’t help but smile as he thinks about seeing Jared down at the shelter in half an hour. So far they’ve been very...restrained while at the shelter, but tonight all Jensen can think about is how much he wants Jared’s hands on his body.

A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts.

"Come in, Chris," he says, not looking up from the paperwork on his desk. He’s got to get this project finished before he leaves.

“It’s okay, you can call me Jared when it’s just us.”

Jensen’s head whips up, blood rising in his cheeks.

“Jared--”

Jared leans over the desk and kisses him, long and slow and deep. Jensen moans softly, one hand tangling in Jared’s hair as he tries to get him closer.

“Miss me?” Jared teases when he pulls back, and the heat in his eyes fills Jensen’s head with visions of Jared fucking him right here on his desk. He just needs to figure out how to change the lock on his door with Chris finagling a key....

“Nah,” Jensen says, deadpan. “I kiss all my visitors, it’s company policy.” He walks around his desk to settle more comfortably in Jared’s arms. "What are you doing here, Jay? How'd you even get in?"

"I just talked to a few people, that's all," Jared says, shrugging. His smile makes his dimples pop, and Jensen has no trouble believing him at all. "I figured you and I could go get a bite to eat down at that new steakhouse that just opened if you want. What do you say?"

"Well...sure,” Jensen says, confused. He’ll never turn down a chance to spend time with Jared. “But what about the shelter?"

"Adam and Chad are training the new recruits; trust me, it's packed there. Whatever you said to motivate folks, they listened. Thank you. For everything."

"Anything for you." Jensen says, kissing him again. It’s so much better when he can feel Jared’s perfect body pressed against his.

Jared bows, holding open the door for Jensen. "After you, my good sir."

Rolling his eyes but secretly pleased with Jared’s gallantry, Jensen proceeds Jared through the door, slipping his arm around Jared’s waist as Jared tells him more about the shelter. Chris is loitering by the front desk, obviously waiting for them--and his thumbs up when Jensen meets his eyes is anything but subtle.

They take Jensen’s car since they’re already at his office, with Jared suggesting they take the highway to get there a little quicker. Jensen’s teasing him about always being hungry when he spots something in the road ahead. He slams on his brakes, swerving off to the side of the road with a frantic curse.

“What the hell, Jen?” Jared asks, voice shaking a little. He’s completely pale, one shaky hand braced against the dashboard, but he seems unhurt.

“Look--”

Jared follows the line of Jensen’s finger as he points through the windshield at a small, meandering lump just now making its way to the shoulder of the road.

“No fucking way…” he breathes, eyes wide in disbelief.

They unfasten their seatbelts at the same time, rushing towards the spot where Jensen swerved. Jared gets there first, kneeling in the grass and picking up the small Desert Box tortoise carefully and checking for a tag.

Sure enough.

It's an old friend.

The one who brought them together in the first place.

"Frankie!" Jared shrieks, thrusting him toward Jensen. Jensen recoils on instinct as those red beady eyes glare at him from inside the sturdy shell.

"Are you serious? Are you sure it's him?"

"Of course! I know it's him! Look! Frankie had a tiny crack at the edge of his shell in this exact same spot. Red eyes, curious look on its face--and here’s his tag! Oh, yeah, it's Frankie!"

"Holy shit. How the hell did he wander out here again? Of all places..."

"Fate," Jared reaffirms, bringing his and Jensen's foreheads together. "Fate."

Jensen doesn't believe in fate, Jared knows that.

But maybe, just this once, he can humor him. Only for a little bit.

A businessman, a hippie, and a turtle.

Who would've thought?

Welcome To Texas, Soldier

kelios — Tue, 19 Jan 2021 01:07:00 GMT

Author: kelios
Pairing: Walker/Soldier Boy
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: drug use, past non-con, dubcon
Summary: Soldier Boy comes across Walker and a group of Rangers in a firefight and helps out, but is injured in the process. Walker learns more than he intended about Supes, and finds out that maybe one of them isn't so bad after all.

They're still taking fire when the Supe goes down, hard. He manages to take out the drug dealing scumbag he's fighting with a leg sweep and an elbow to the face that crushes said scumbag's nose halfway through his face, but he doesn't get up, doesn't try to crawl to shelter, despite the bullets kicking up dust around him. He just lies there, panting, face white with pain as he curses steadily under his breath. Cord's not the biggest fan of Supes--they cause more problems than they solve, in his opinion--but this guy had saved him and Miki and possibly a whole lot of other Rangers by showing up when he did, and Cord's not going to let him die.

Cord gets his hand on the Supe's shoulder and yanks, expecting the smaller man to slide smoothly across the warehouse floor. Instead he screams silently, body contorting in agony even though Cord can't see any bullet holes. He pulls again, fingers digging into the meat of the Supe's shoulder, and the man goes limp, with the predictable result of Cord ending up with a lap full of Supe.

A lap full of gorgeous Supe, he can't help noticing. Fair, golden skin with a smattering of freckles, lips that have Cord thinking about sin even in the midst of a firefight. His suit highlights thick, bowed thighs and broad shoulders, and Cord can attest that his ass is every bit as firm and plump as the suit makes it look on TV.

He's still staring, awestruck, when thick sooty lashes flutter open to reveal the most beautiful green and gold flecked eyes Cord's ever seen.

"You--you done ogling me yet?" The Supe's voice is thick with pain, rumbling deep and hoarse against and through Cord's body. He struggles to sit up and can't, face blanching even paler. There's a freckle on his lower lip, Cord notices distantly, and he's pretty sure he's never wanted anything as much as he wants to taste that tiny spot of color.

"Fuck, not again," the Supe mutters, collapsing back against Cord's chest. Cord's arms tighten involuntarily and the Supe cries out in pain.

That gets through, breaks whatever spell this guy has cast on Cord. "Sorry," Cord stutters, loosening his grip. "Sorry, I--"

"Don't worry about it," the Supe says wearily. "It happens."

"Is that your superpower?" Cord asks, then immediately feels like an idiot when the man in his arms huffs out a pained laugh.

"You're not the first to ask that either," he says dryly. "Can you help me sit up?"

Cord eases him up as gently as possible, maneuvering him to lean back against the shelving they're sheltering behind as he runs anxious hands over his shoulders and chest, looking for injuries that...aren't there. He does find that the Supe's chest is every bit as firm and well muscled as the suit makes him appear, and to Cord's dismay he can feel his cock stirring. At least the shooting has moved away from where they are, and while Cord feels bad about letting the rest of his team handle this clusterfuck, he has other things to worry about.

"It's my arm," the Supe says through gritted teeth. "It's an old injury--nerve damage. Picks the worst fucking time to act up on a regular basis."

"You're Soldier Boy, aren't you?" Cord asks, frowning a little. "I thought one of your powers was regeneration. Shouldn't--"

“No you didn't. You thought my power was being preternaturally pretty, remember?" The Supe’s trying for flippant, but there’s a hard edge underneath his attempt at deflection that makes Cord think the other man has been called pretty before, and not in a way he liked. Cord’s heard plenty of rumors about Homelander and the other Supes, and he feels a stab of sympathy for the other man.

“Sorry,” he mutters again, his face flaming.

“It happens,” Soldier Boy repeats. He starts to shrug and catches himself just in time, a little of the color he’d regained leaching away again at the quick flash of pain. “But to answer your question, pre-serum injuries are tricky. Some of them got wiped, some decided to stick around. Lucky me, I rolled intermittent debilitating nerve pain on the genetic dice.”

“Is there anything I can do? Can’t exactly call 911 at the moment,” Cord says, feeling frustrated. He hates seeing anyone--especially the good guys--in pain.

“Pills,” Soldier Boy says, grimacing. “In the little pouch right above my left hip.”

Cord reaches for Soldier Boy’s utility belt carefully, trying not to jostle his injured arm any more than necessary, keenly aware of the toned muscle beneath his fingers. His eyes keep straying back to Soldier Boy’s face, beautiful even through the pain, and wishes he could see him without the mask. Without thinking he puts his hand on Soldier Boy’s thigh as he fishes around in the pocket for the pills, and Soldier Boy’s soft gasp doesn’t sound like pain this time. Cord offers him the pills, not removing the hand on Soldier Boy’s thigh as he meets the other man’s eyes.

“No water, sorry,” he says, and bites back a groan when Soldier Boy’s lips part in invitation. Cord places one pill on Soldier Boy’s tongue, his thumb brushing that sinfully plump lower lip as the Supe’s throat works. The second pill follows the first, but this time Soldier Boy’s lips close around Cord’s fingers before he can pull them back, tongue sliding hot and slow over the pads of Cord’s fingers and kicking Cord’s heart rate into overdrive. And from the way the Supe’s eyes never leave Cord’s face, he knows exactly what he’s doing. He watches as Cord settles down next to him, shoulder to shoulder in case Cord needs to move them both in a hurry.

“If you really want to help,” Soldier Boy says quietly, “a distraction would be nice. It can take a while for the pills to kick in.”

“Sure,” Cord says immediately, and tries not to think of all the ways he himself is already distracted right now. “Just tell me what you need.”

The injured Supe’s eyes immediately drop to Cord’s hands, splayed out over his thighs and not quite framing his half hard cock.

“I think you know,” Soldier Boy says, low and rough. His tongue sneaks out to spitshine his lips and make Cord think about all the things he wants to do to that mouth right now. “Gonna make me beg?”

“I--” Cord feels a little dizzy, something about every ounce of blood in his body racing toward his dick at once. He clears his throat and tries again. “I think we’re on the same page here, but I’m real big on consent. Especially with an injured party on pain meds. So I’m going to need you to say it at least once for me. Pretty please.”

Soldier Boy barks out a surprised laugh, covered up with flippancy again a second later. “Manners, here in the backwaters of humanity? Now that’s something you don’t see every day.” He tilts his head back against the shelves behind them, eyes heavy lidded and dark as he spreads his legs wide in open invitation. “Please, Mr. Texas Ranger, will you come over here and fuck me til I can’t remember my name, let alone what hellhole state I’m in or how bad my shoulder hurts?”

His condescending tone almost makes Cord say no. Supes have a reputation for being assholes, pretty or not, and as a general rule Cord is a big fan of pretty is as pretty does. But there’s something about Soldier Boy, some half-glimpsed vulnerability, that makes Cord want to peel back some of those layers and see if there really is a soft, gooey center inside. Of course that could just be Cord’s dick talking, but right now he’s willing to take a chance and find out.

“Well now,” Cord drawls. He turns until he can settle across the Supe’s lap, leaning over him and letting the other man feel exactly what he’s asking for. “Since you asked so nicely and all…” He ducks his head, hands on the shelves behind them, until his breath is just stirring the fine hairs at the Supe’s temple. “What’s your name, soldier? I like to know who I’m fucking before things get too far.”

Soldier Boy shivers underneath him, arching up a little. “Did--did you miss the whole mask and secret identity thing, cowboy?” he asks, breathless and a little pissed off. “Come on, just fucking get on with it.”

Cord doesn’t move, doesn’t give into the silent demand for friction, for contact. “Tell me your name, or I’m gonna go sit across the room until the calvary gets here.” His lips brush the delicate shell of Soldier Boy’s ear, just a hint of teeth on the tender lobe, and the Supe swears like a sailor.

“Jensen,” he says at last, growled into the heated space between them. “My name is Jensen.”

“See, that wasn’t so ha--” Cord’s teasing snark is cut off by a hand twisted in the front of his shirt, the crash of soft pink lips against his own as Jensen shoves himself up with a low, pained cry.

It’s hard to tear himself away but Cord does it, leaves that gorgeous mouth regretfully with small, consoling kisses as he gets a hand on Jensen’s chest and pushes him back.

“Don’t,” he orders quietly. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’m gonna take care of you, Jensen, I promise.” He feels the soft, hurt sound Jensen makes vibrate through his hand and he kisses him again, softer this time. Longer, without the hint of violence that Jensen seems to be expecting, and Cord finally gets to taste that teasing freckle, warm and wet when he suckles at Jensen’s bottom lip until it’s swollen and red. The way the Supe opens up to him so hesitantly and cautiously changes everything about what Cord had planned, soft dazed green eyes staring up at him as Cord reaches behind Jensen’s head and tugs the mask away to reveal how incredibly beautiful the man beneath him truly is.

“Don’t,” Jensen whispers, turning his head. “Don’t look at me, don’t pretend--”

Cord kisses him again, the hand on Jensen’s chest coming up to cup his cheek instead, thumb smoothing over the golden skin and the faint red mark from the mask. “You’re beautiful,” Cord tells him, and Jensen shakes his head, his whole body trembling under Cord’s hand. Twists that incredible mouth into a trembling sneer.

“‘You’re beautiful,’” Jensen mocks, voice shaking. “‘Let’s see those cock sucking lips, Jensen. Bet you look pretty when you cry, Jensen’.” His mouth turns down and he fumbles at Cord’s jeans with his good hand. “Let’s just get this over with, okay? I’ll feel better, you’ll get what you want. Even the score, nothing left between us.”

“Jesus.” Cord sits back, feeling a little sick. “Is that what you think this is? Payment for helping you out?”

“Isn’t it?” Jensen shrugs lopsidedly, eyes wet but defiant. “It’s what everyone wants, cowboy. You were panting for it from the moment you got your hands on me. Besides, the endorphins released by orgasm help calm the nerves in my shoulder or some shit like that. That’s what the doctors said when they were fucking me, anyway.”

Cord knocks Jensen’s hand away, re-fastening the button on his jeans that the Supe had managed to undo one handed, shocked by the sudden venom in the other man’s voice.

“No fucking way,” Cord says flatly. “That’s not the way we do things here. That’s not the way I do things. You just want to get off, you’ve got another hand. Use it.” Cord backs off as far as he can get and still be sheltered, doing his best to ignore the surprised look on Jensen’s face.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Jensen asks incredulously. “Are you actually fucking serious.”

“As a heart attack,” Cord says shortly. He pulls out his phone, cursing when he sees the dark, shattered screen. The sounds of gunfire have either ceased or moved out of earshot, but he doesn’t know how long it will be until the building is cleared, or until it’s safe to move. He risks a glance at Jensen and sucks in a sharp breath. The skintight suit was built for emergencies, it seems, and Jensen has worked open the flap in the front. His dick and balls are out and he’s got one hand wrapped around the hard flesh, moving slowly. Cord wants to look away but can’t, mesmerized by the fumbling glide of Jensen’s hand, just this side of rough, and the slick, dirty sounds of skin moving over wet skin. When he tears his eyes away they land on Jensen’s face, which--not helping. The Supe’s head is thrown back, hair spiky with sweat and dust from being under the skullcap mask. Those sinful lips are parted, the lower one red and full where his teeth have sunk in, and his eyes are hot and dark where they’re fixed on Cord. He moans when he catches Cord watching him, low and filthy and so fucking hot.

“Could be you,” Jensen gasps, squeezing his fingers under the head until another bead of precome wells up. “Could be--could be over here fucking my mouth--could be over here with my hand on y-your dick instead.” His hand slips down to tug at his balls and he moans again. “Not--not too late.”

Cord shakes his head and closes his eyes. He’s still rock hard in his jeans and he’d give just about anything for this to be happening under different circumstances. But it’s not, and he’s not--

“Goddammit, will you just get over here?” Jensen sounds desperate now, and Cord does his best to bite back a groan. “I can’t--I’m no good with my left hand, you fucker. Can’t--goddammit--can’t fucking get there by myself.”

Cord opens his eyes at that, and yeah, Jensen looks wrecked. Sweat on his face and temples, pooled in that little hollow at the base of his throat that Cord’s wanted to lick since approximately three seconds after he got a good look at him. His dick is angry and red, balls drawn up tight and hard as he tries to find a decent rhythm and can’t.

“Please.” It’s quiet and needy, different from Jensen’s previous tirade, all the broken, empty bravado gone now. “It really does help with the pain, and you made your point. I won’t hold it against you.”

Cord bites his lip, weighing his options: leave the man who saved his life in agonizing pain, or help him out with sex that he doesn’t actually want from Cord.

“Please don’t make me beg.” The way Jensen’s voice breaks throws a switch in Cord’s brain, and he’s back across their shelter kneeling next to the injured man before he even realizes he’s decided.

“Hey, shh, I’ve got you,” Cord says soothingly. He wraps his hand around Jensen’s and guides him into a smoother rhythm, judging what the other man wants by the sounds he makes and the way he arches into Cord’s hand as best he can without hurting himself more.

“Fuck--” Jensen moans when Cord tugs gently on his balls the way he’d seen Jensen doing earlier. “Fuck, I’m gonna--” He turns toward Cord blindly, and Cord kisses him without thinking, working him through the aftershocks as he slowly comes back down from the high before sitting back.

“Better?” Cord asks. He pulls a couple of wetnaps out of his back pocket, souvenirs from one of his many fast food lunches that he keeps around for situations that are usually not this. Jensen nods muzzily as Cord cleans them both up and struggles to put his suit back to rights, then points at the pile of used napkins.

“Do this often?” he asks, smiling dopily, and it’s clear that whatever else might be happening, the pain meds are starting to have an effect.

“Usually it’s blood,” Cord says dryly. “But at least I had them.”

Jensen reaches for Cord, tugging him back down to kneel next to him. “I can take care of that,” he says, voice slurred as he paws at Cord’s crotch again. “Don’t mind. You’re nice. Not like the others.”

“Maybe next time,” Cord says firmly, then cocks his head at the sound of footsteps approaching. “Hey, let’s get you up and over here,” he says quietly. He helps Jensen carefully stand and walk a few feet, easing him back down and replacing his mask before returning to wipe away the evidence of his help. He has a feeling Jensen wouldn’t want anyone to know what happened, and he knows he doesn’t want it to be common knowledge. He’s tying his overshirt around his waist when a familiar figure rounds the corner.

“Cord!” Miki sounds anxious as she approaches, followed by a tall man in a blue suit similar to Jensen’s--Homelander. “Shit, man. We saw the Supe go down and thought you were done for but we got pinned down and couldn’t make it back. Good to see you’re all right.”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Soldier Boy’s shoulder is acting up, though. He’s going to need an ambulance.” Cord avoids looking at Homelander, the odds and ends of what Jensen had said piecing together in his mind in ways that might not be good for his continued health if he has to look at the well known Supe much longer.

“That won’t be necessary,” Homelander booms cheerily. “We Supes take care of our own. I’ll see to it he gets the help he needs.”

Miki looks at the nearly unconscious man lying on the floor and back at Homelander uncertainly. “Are you sure? He looks--”

“Trust me, ma’am. I’ve seen this before. He’ll be fine, up and running around fighting crime again in no time!” He beams that familiar, eerily empty smile at her and nods cheerfully. “Maybe you can go help organize the relief efforts for the rest of the wounded--I’m sure your partner can give me any help I need with my wayward buddy here.”

Miki shoots a cautious look at Cord, instincts kicking in and telling her that something is wrong, then shrugs when he nods. “Sure. Catch you later, Cord.”

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Homelander laughs and nudges Cord’s arm. “Looks like you hit the jackpot, my friend. How was he?”

“Pardon?” Cord doesn’t want to believe what he’s hearing.

“No need to play shy,” Homelander says. “I know all too well how he gets when that shoulder of his acts up and he gets a little loopy.” He studies Jensen closely. “That mouth of his is a fucking national treasure, isn’t it? I see you worked him over good, you two must have had a hell of a time before we got here.”

“We did nothing of the sort,” Cord says stiffly. “We don’t hold with that kind of behavior here in Texas, sir. Not in the Rangers and not under my watch. We don’t take advantage of anyone--man or woman--when they’re wounded or hurt.”

Homelander scoffs, slinging an arm around Cord’s shoulders. “Relax, Ranger. It’s not gay when they’re as pretty as Soldier Boy here.” Cord shrugs the offending arm off his shoulders and moves to stand between the fallen Supe and Homelander.

“I am gay,” he says coldly. “Or at least bi. And we do not condone rape in my unit or anywhere in the Rangers. Period.”

Homelander regards him thoughtfully, and the bright malice in his eyes makes Cord shiver. “Well, if you didn’t give him what he was asking for, I’m sure I can find a volunteer or two willing to take care of it back at our hotel. Step aside, Ranger. This is our business.”

Cord stands his ground. “No, sir. I will not allow this man to be taken somewhere and abused.” He keeps his voice steady with an effort, then shouts. “Miki! Little help over here!”

Miki appears in seconds, leaving Cord to wonder how much she’d heard. “What’s up, boss?”

“We’re taking this man to the hospital for observation,” Cord says, ice in his voice and his veins. “Homelander agrees that’s for the best after all.”

“Fine.” The Supe turns on his heel and walks away, rage simmering in a dark cloud around him, leaving Cord and Miki to wrestle Jensen to his feet.

“Wha--Oh, it’s you.” Jensen smiles woozily at Cord, then looks around warily. “Where’s Homelander? Wasn’t he here?”

“He had to leave, so we’re taking you to the hospital,” Cord says reassuringly. “You’ll be released when the pain meds are out of your system.”

That snaps Jensen out of his daze somewhat. “Hospital?” he says slowly. “I don’t know--”

“It’s for the best,” Cord says firmly. By this time they’ve reached the med station, and Cord climbs into the back of the ambulance with the injured Supe. The EMT starts to object, then just shakes his head when he sees that it’s Cord.

“You know, we have policies for a reason,” the medic mutters under his breath, but he doesn’t object further.

“He just needs observation,” Cord says mildly. “In fact, you can ride up front if you’d like. We’ll be fine back here.”

The EMT takes another look at Cord’s expression and moves to the front seat.

“Why are you doing this?” Jensen asks bleakly as the engine starts and the sirens begin to wail. He’s silent for a few minutes, thinking. “You’re not saving me from them. I have to go back sooner or later.” He shifts on the gurney, rolling his head as though to clear away the drug induced cobwebs. “And I didn’t ask to be saved anyway. I don’t need your help.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Cord acknowledges, and sighs. “Look. The truth is, I don’t like a lot of what I hear on the downlow about these Supes in The Seven. Something’s just not right. But I also know that even though you weren’t here for a fight that didn’t stop you from stepping up and stepping in anyway. You probably saved my life, and Miki’s too.”

“That’s my job,” Jensen points out. “It was just good for business to help out when I saw trouble. Good PR.” The slight slur in his words doesn’t hide the bitterness in his voice, and Cord takes note.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Cord repeats. “But either way, I don’t forget things like that, and neither will she.” He regards Jensen thoughtfully. “You know, there’s never been a Supe in the Texas Rangers before. And out here? People are more inclined to look at what you do than who you are or who you were. We’re always looking for men and women who are ready and willing to do good.” He digs his wallet from his back pocket, pulls out a card and tucks it into the pocket on Jensen’s suit where he’d found the painkillers earlier. “When you’re ready, come downtown. We’ll find a place for you.”

The doors open and the EMT looks sternly at Cord, who raises his hand in surrender and gets out of the way. He turns back to Jensen before he leaves and smiles at the injured Supe.

“Just tell them Cordell Walker sent you.”

Gift for Tifaching

kelios — Sat, 09 Jan 2021 17:54:56 GMT

Title: Sorry About the Blood in Your Mouth (I Wish It Was Mine)
Gifter: kelios
Pairing/Characters: Sam/Dean
Word count/Medium: ~2k
Rating: Explicit, NC-17
Warnings: rough sex, (demon) blood drinking, blood as lube
Summary: Dean is back from Hell, and all Sam can think about is how good he'd taste.

Notes: Title from Richard Siken's Crush

Sam doesn’t notice it the first time--or rather he does, but he doesn’t think much of it. Ruby’s blood is singing in his veins, blood and sex and magic and it’s no wonder he can’t think of anything else. He pushes it all aside and pulls Dean closer, the joy of holding his brother in his arms again outweighing anything else.

But now.

Now.

It’s been three days since Dean came back. Three days since he’d left Dean in their bed to go with Ruby, three days since Dean found out what Sam was doing while Dean was in hell. Sam had burned a lot of power that night, more than usual, and Ruby had wisely kept her distance since then rather than trust Dean’s volatile temper. Three days since Dean had touched him voluntarily, and it’s not just the blood Sam wants.

Three days in the car with Dean, and Sam can’t fool himself any longer, can’t pretend that he doesn’t smell the taint of hell all over Dean’s skin, his hair, the blood rushing through his veins. Can’t pretend he doesn’t want to rub that scent all over his skin before he breaks it open and finds out if Dean tastes as good as he smells. He swallows thickly around the guilt and want lodged in his throat and can’t look away.

“What the fuck’s your problem, Sam?” Dean snaps suddenly. He sounds annoyed, undertones of hurt and anger and betrayal seeping through and coloring every word.

“I--uh--nothing?” Sam says weakly. He’d been staring again. Of course he had. And this time Dean had caught him. In the past Dean would have joked with him--take a picture, Sammy, it’ll last longer. Just make sure you get my good side--or ignored him, but those options are apparently off the table now.

“I got something on my face?” Dean’s voice softens unexpectedly. “I’m not going anywhere, Sam. You can blink.”

Sam’s face flames. “Nothing on your face, just...feels weird to be over here,” he mutters, looking down. He watches his fingers scrabble at a hole in the knee of his jeans like they belong to someone else, strung out on want and need, on the fact that the answer to both is less than three feet away and he can’t have either.

Dean rubs a hand over his face tiredly, grimacing when his fingers find the tiny cut on his jaw where he’d nicked himself this morning. Sam licks his lips, mouth watering as a tiny red drop wells up, wiped away irritably. Sam imagines taking Dean’s hand, feeling the pulse in Dean’s wrist hammering against his fingers as he licks away every trace. Imagines the thin skin of Dean’s wrist giving under his teeth, the hot rush of Dean’s blood filling his mouth until he can’t swallow it all. He must make a sound, because Dean’s looking at him oddly now, frowning a little--not unusual these days, but a shiver runs up Sam’s spine nonetheless, cold terror that Dean might know what he’s thinking.

They pull over for the night a few hours later, early but the map says there’s nothing else for a hundred miles and Dean wants to eat. Sam locks himself in the bathroom until they head out, just trying to breathe in air that doesn’t carry the scent of hell and damnation straight into his lungs. He feels a little better when they leave, but the need is back by the time they get to the diner and Sam can’t eat, just pushes the food around with shaking hands, his stomach curdled and aching for something other than a burger and fries. He hadn’t realized he was this bad off, another of Ruby’s tricks to keep him on the hook. Give him as much as he wants, as often as he wants, and when she’s gone…

Dean waits til they’re back at the hotel before he makes his move.

“What’s going on, Sam?” he demands, pushing Sam back against the wall before he can disappear into the bathroom again. “Is this about that black-eyed bitch and the poison she’s been feeding you? Is that what’s got you jonesing so hard you can’t eat, can’t sit still, can’t stand to be within two feet of me?”

“Dean, I--”

“Don’t lie to me, Sam. Not about this.” Dean stands in front of him, angry and hurt, and all Sam can see are the pale blue lines at his throat, his wrist.

“I just--” Sam trails off helplessly, mesmerized. The little red drop from earlier is back and Sam can’t help himself. Leans in and takes it, power bursting across his tongue in a sharp, bitter rush, too short to satisfy him and God he needs more.

“What the hell?” Dean’s voice, harsh and strident. Fear underneath, and that’s right and good because Sam’s a monster now, isn’t he? Isn’t he?

“Hell is what,” Sam says, and laughs helplessly. Dean shakes him but he just laughs louder, can’t stop, even with wetness on his cheeks, even with his hands clenched in Dean’s shirt--push or pull, he can’t tell anymore because everything’s spinning and dark, and even Dean’s voice isn’t enough to lead him back to the light.

Sam’s head is throbbing when he opens his eyes again, relief flooding through him when he sees Dean sitting on the other bed.

“Dean--” He tries to sit up, and realizes his right hand is caught above his head. The metallic rattle when he pulls confirms his suspicions and he looks over to Dean again in confusion.

“I know you can get free if you want,” Dean says evenly, standing up, and for the first time Sam notices Dean’s shirt is gone. “It’s just a reminder, for both of us.” There’s a knife in Dean’s hand, and Sam swallows, fear and lust and want fighting their way up his throat as he struggles upright, back against the headboard to ease the strain on his shoulder.

“I don’t understand.”

“I think you do, Sammy,” Dean says, and his face softens again into something more recognizable as he kneels across Sam’s thighs. “Wasn’t hard to figure out after you licked my face.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispers miserably. He turns away, doesn’t want to see the anger and disappointment on Dean’s face again, but Dean catches him. Pulls him back and kisses him, and even without the blood Sam feels something inside him start to heal.

“You should be,” Dean says calmly when he pulls back. “You should have stayed away from that hell bitch, you should have told me what the problem was instead of making me figure it out on my own. But now we’re going to fix it.” He settles down, eyebrows rising in an amused smirk when he feels that Sam’s already half hard, just from this. “Kinky, Sam,” he teases, and it’s so close to normal that Sam only realizes he’s forgotten about the knife when it flashes across Dean’s chest in a gleaming arc, only realizes how sure he’d been that the knife was for him when he sees the blood stark and red on Dean’s skin.

“Come on, Sammy.” Dean stays perfectly still as Sam strains to catch the rivulet of blood running down his chest and abs, breath catching as Sam licks over the shallow cut. Iron, copper, sulfur like a starburst in his brain, and Sam whimpers when the cut goes dry, desperate. Dean kisses the blood from his mouth before he makes another cut and this time Sam doesn’t wait to be told. He’s dimly aware that he’s holding onto Dean with both hands now, the sting around his wrist from the broken cuff a distant ache as he grinds up against him. The power fills him up, both of them hard now, the starburst blooming into a supernova as Sam pushes Dean back onto the bed.

“Dean,” he pants, biting at Dean’s lip until he gets what he wants, the sour tang of iron and hell and Dean, fumbling with Dean’s pants until he finally rips them away in frustrated impatience.

“Jesus fuck, Sam,” Dean protests, but he’s not saying no. He’s saying those were my favorite jeans and fuck, Sammy, come on, do it, he’s lifting the knife again, or trying to, but Sam just pins his hand down to the mattress and swallows his blood tinged moan.

“Not yet,” Sam growls, and now his own jeans are open. Now he’s spitting blood into his hand, not enough when he pushes two fingers into Dean, not enough when he digs his fingers into the open wound on Dean’s chest and smears the blood over his leaking cock, not enough until Sam sinks into him, tight and hot and perfect. Dean cries out as he arches up to meet every thrust, and Sam revels in the sudden wet warmth streaking his chest when the blade bites into Dean’s skin again.

“You get enough?” Dean asks later. Sam’s lying next to him, trying not to feel guilty about the bandages taped to Dean’s chest or the way Dean had bitten his lip and hissed in pain when he’d gone into the bathroom earlier to clean up. “I think the arm next time, though. Better flow...and I want to ride you for real.”

“You really okay with this?” Sam asks, nervous and a little skeptical. “I never thought--not even for me.”

Dean doesn’t answer for awhile, long enough for Sam’s guilt to solidify into a hard lump in his stomach. “I don’t know if okay is the right word,” he says at last. “There’s not a damn thing about this that’s okay. But if it means that black eyed bitch doesn’t have her claws in you anymore, then I’m willing to give it a try. I don’t think we want to do a cold turkey detox off demon blood unless we have to, there’s no way that’s not going to suck.”

“Drinking from you isn’t much better,” Sam says quietly. “I can’t use you as my personal blood bank forever, Dean.”

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it,” Dean says, and the smug satisfaction in his voice catches Sam’s attention, pulls him up onto one elbow as Dean grins up at him. “The human body replaces its entire blood supply around every six months, which means we’re going to be slowly weaning you off this shit as we go. And,” he says consideringly, “the sex is pretty damn good too.”

Sam stares at him blankly for a moment, then laughs reluctantly, collapsing back down onto the bed. “I can’t believe this is what it took for you to do research,” he teases, and they’re not back to normal, not quite, but Sam can see it from here. And that’s good enough for now.

test

kelios — Wed, 16 Sep 2020 22:59:35 GMT

H/C Bingo!

kelios — Wed, 08 Jul 2020 03:04:02 GMT

This is my very first attempt at one of these, we'll see how it goes. I think I'm going to pin the card over on twitter and take prompts.

apocalypse	post-traumatic stress disorder	loss of identity	estrangement	hazing / bullying
loss of limb / amputation / mutilation	accidental mating for life	body / mindswap	heat exhaustion / heat stroke	backrubs / massages
lacerations / knife wounds	forced to rely on enemy / rival	WILD CARD	falsely accused	torture
buried alive	taking care of somebody	locked in a box	minor illness or injury	counseling
old injuries acting up	magical trouble	needles / piercings	bullet wounds	abuse

The Hawk and the Wolf--fic by fledhyris

kelios — Wed, 01 Jul 2020 00:26:25 GMT

I had a lot of fun working on this one! Fledyris wrote such an amazing fic based on my prompt and ideas--I've wanted a Wincest LadyHawke AU for ages, and she really delivered. Please go read and give her story some love--she deserves it!

Title: The Hawk and the Wolf
Artist: Kelios
Author: Fledhyris
Rating: PG (Posted on Ao3 as Teen)
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Summary: Two brothers, cursed for loving one another a little too closely, wander as knights errant, together yet forever apart. Their luck turns when Dean encounters a young thief, Garth, running from Winchester Cathedral with a stolen book. They have just one chance to meet the conditions for the spell to be lifted; will they win their hearts’ desire or be doomed to live out the rest of their lives under a cruel enchantment?

Story on AO3

Wish Not Change by smalltrolven--art post

kelios — Thu, 25 Jun 2020 20:48:00 GMT

I really struggled to find a theme for this art set, even though I love the story. That's my failing as a beginning artist...I found there were things I just don't know how to do yet. I hope you enjoy what I came up with, and I urge everyone to go read the story because it's lovely--full of great Sam and Dean moments that ring true to our favorite brothers, an interesting case, and of course a happy ending ♥

https://smalltrolven.livejournal.com/146088.html

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843685

Title: Wish Not Change

Author: smalltrolven

Artist: kelios

Rating: R

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Wordcount: 10,048

Warning: Spoilers for season 15

Author’s Note: Not my characters, only my words. Written for the 2020 Wincest Reverse Bang.

Information on the Casket Girls was gleaned from this article. The Ursuline Covent museum is pretty interesting too. Many thanks to Kelios for the beautiful and inspiring artwork.

Summary: There’s a picture that Dean has in his wallet. It’s of the two of them, even though it’s not really them, but it’s still the stuff that wishes are made of. It takes a journey to New Orleans and back, a new case opened and closed, and wishes made and granted, for that wish to maybe come true.

*****

This is the original prompt, which Smalltrolven turned into something fun and original and sweet.

The Ursaline Convent wall where Rowan likely set up her table.

I did this one mostly because I love Jensen's (in this case Dean's) expression here so much.

Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me) Chapter 6

kelios — Wed, 10 Apr 2019 22:59:29 GMT

For a long moment Sam just clings to his brother, relief that they aren't completely broken sweeping through him. He craves Dean’s touch after the distance between them, needs the familiar reassurance of being wrapped in Dean’s arms after the soul-crushing fear that he’d never see him again. And if the way Dean is holding onto him means anything, Dean needs that reassurance just as badly.

But ‘no chick flick moments’ is still the rule they live by, and there’s too much to be done for Sam to argue when Dean sighs and pushes Sam back gently. Sam wants to protest, but he knows Dean’s right--he’s covered in blood, there’s a dead body on the floor, and he kinda doubts that Ruby drove Dean here so they’re going to need to find the car at some point. But he can’t quite bring himself to walk away, not when Dean is smiling tentatively at him from mere inches away. Not when Dean’s hands are on Sam’s hips and Dean’s lips are soft and pink and right there.

It’s the taste of blood, foul and lingering in his mouth and throat, that keeps Sam from closing that distance. He’s never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss Dean, but the thought of doing so with Ruby’s blood still coating his mouth makes Sam slightly ill. He steps back instead, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from touching Dean the way he wants to. He can’t right now. Not until he’s clean.

Dean flushes when Sam steps away, rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s embarrassed. “Why don’t you go shower, Sammy. Get cleaned up. And I’ll take care of this.” He scowls down at the body on the carpet, and Sam’s pretty sure he’d like to kick it.

“Yeah, I should do that.” Sam hesitates, hoping he doesn’t sound as pathetic and needy to Dean as he does to himself. “You’ll still be here when I get out?”

Dean looks at him steadily, not quite smiling. “I’m not going anywhere without you,” he says quietly, forcefully. “We’re gonna figure this out together. Now go.” Dean turns away pointedly and starts stripping the comforter and sheets off one of the beds, tossing them on the floor near Ruby but out of the congealing blood.

Sam stays where he is for a few moments, happy just to be able to watch his brother openly. But the blood drying thick and tacky on his skin and the promise of what might be to come drags him back to what needs to be done. Smiling slightly, he pulls a bottle of Tylenol out of his duffle before stepping into the bathroom, suddenly aware that his head is still throbbing from the aftermath of what he’d done to Ruby.

But when the door closes behind him and Sam catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the guilt and horror of what he’s done crashes over him again. He grabs his toothbrush with an unsteady hand, scrubbing the taste of Ruby’s blood from his mouth. He follows it up with mouthwash, then brushes again, convinced he can still taste sulphurous, rotting meat on his tongue. He only stops when his gums are bleeding fresh copper into his mouth and throws away the toothbrush he’d used, faintly sickened by the frothy red swirls in the sink as he washes them away. He strips off his bloody clothes, unable to bear the touch of them on his skin any longer. They get tossed in the corner to be burned later, then he turns on the shower, swallowing a handful of little white pills and stepping into the shower even before the water warms.

The water sluices over him, pooling red then pink then clear around his feet as he watches. He doesn’t want to think about what he did, but the memories won’t leave--the taste of her blood, the feeling of power and rage and vicious triumph. It's impossible not to imagine Ruby’s blood moving inside him, carving out new spaces for evil to live. Impossible not to remember how good it felt to finally be able to strike a genuine blow against their enemies. Impossible not to wonder if the answer he’s been looking for has been right here in front of him all along. Sam shakes his head, stomach roiling at the thought of doing it again. He can’t. He won’t.

It’s not til Dean bangs on the door, demanding to know what’re you doing in there Sam did you drown what he’s doing that Sam reluctantly turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He still doesn’t feel clean, but at this point he’s not sure that will ever happen. He dries off quickly, haphazardly, and wraps the threadbare towel around his waist before stepping out into the cool motel room.

But things are different now. He hadn’t considered, yet, just how very different until he sees Dean’s face. Surprise, desire, want--the heat in Dean’s eyes sets off an answering warmth in Sam, drawing him closer. Sam’s eyes catch on Dean’s parted lips, and the overwhelming urge to kiss him is back, along with a hint of jealousy--Dean knows what Sam tastes like, in the most intimate ways, and Sam wants to know the same about Dean. He takes another slow step toward Dean, giving him time to turn away, but Dean just watches him with wide eyes. It takes a moment for Sam to realize that Dean’s tracking a drop of water as it rolls down his chest and soaks into the worn thin towel wrapped around his waist. It hits him hard, that Dean is letting himself look, that he’s not turning away from what’s between them, and Sam doesn’t hesitate again. He steps right into Dean’s space, not quite pressed against him, forcing Dean to look up. A thrill runs through him, hot and possessive, as Dean seems to realize it too, eyes widening slightly as he realizes just how far he has to look. His tongue slips out cat quick over his lower lip, eyes going dark as he meets Sam’s eyes.

That’s all the invitation Sam needs.

For an instant--an eternity--Dean doesn’t kiss Sam back. Then, just as Sam thinks he’s ruined everything, Dean melts against him, one hand tangling in Sam’s damply curling hair as he tugs Sam more firmly into the kiss. It’s slow and easy, just a gentle press of lips that could almost be chaste. Sam licks over the seam of Dean’s lips, not above begging, and Dean opens for him with a soft moan, suddenly eager. The sound burns through Sam, his hunger taking on a sudden, heated life of it’s own. He cups Dean’s face with one hand, stroking greedily over his cheek before sliding down to burrow under layers of cotton and flannel and find soft warm skin. Dean moans again, presses into Sam, his mouth opening wider as Sam licks his way in again and again. Sam drags Dean closer until he can feel the thick line of Dean’s cock against his own, hot and hard even through his jeans. Dean shudders against him, one hand tight in Sam’s hair, the other at the small of his back like a brand against Sam’s bare skin as they move against each other, chasing the maddening, not quite enough friction until Sam finally has to pull back, gasping. Dean doesn’t relinquish his hold on Sam, just leans into him so that every breath is like a feather light touch against Sam’s kiss-swollen lips, every flutter of his eyelashes a butterfly kiss on Sam’s cheek. Sam closes his eyes and just breathes Dean in as he tries to calm his racing heart.

It's Dean who breaks the silence. “I don't want to die,” he whispers into the scant space between them. “I don't want to die and I don't want to go to Hell.” He shivers, and Sam pulls him closer instinctively, needing the comfort just as much as Dean.

“Then we'll save you,” Sam whispers back, a secret, a prayer. He remembers how he felt with Ruby's blood rushing through him, the exhilaration and rage and triumph of defeating her. Only if I have to, he tells himself grimly. “Whatever it takes, Dean,” he promises softly. He can’t hide the darkness in his words and his voice, steady and determined. “We'll save you, whatever it takes.”

Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me) Chapter 5

kelios — Wed, 10 Apr 2019 22:55:14 GMT

Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Especially Not You)
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Wincest, perceived non-con, perceived somnophilia, angst
Summary: Ruby laughs again. "You'd be surprised, Dean-o. Turns out that with the right incentive--say, for example, never seeing or hearing from his brother again--Sam will do a lot of things no one would expect."

Consciousness comes back like a badly tuned radio. Sam can hear voices, fading in and out, arguing heatedly, but the words don’t really make sense at first.

--be fine. Just--

--fucking kill you--

--ease you--stand--moron

Instinct makes him stay where he is, trying to assess the situation. He remembers passing out, vaguely--he’s still lying on the floor, the demon knife trapped under his body and luckily not in his body. His head is clearing enough to follow the conversation, which he can tell now is between Dean and Ruby. A wave of relief washes over him at the realization that she’d upheld her end of the bargain and brought his brother home.

“You know, you and Sam--it’s always been a matter of some debate.” Ruby’s voice is sly, taunting. “I had 10 souls down that the two of you would never actually have the balls--” she laughs at her own wit-- ”to actually go through with it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean growls. He sounds angry, but Sam can hear the shame in his voice. “What Sam and I do is none of your business.”

“Well, I’m bored. So I’m making it my business,” Ruby says brightly. “We need something to do while we wait for Sleeping Sammy over there to wake up.”

“Don’t call him that,” Dean snaps, and Sam would smile if he could without giving himself away.

Ruby leans forward conspiratorially. “Tell me, Dean...was it all you hoped for? That’s one fine ass, I have to admit. I wouldn’t mind finding a new meatsuit and tapping that myself.”

“Go fuck yourself, bitch,” Dean replies sullenly.

“I could do that,” Ruby says agreeably. “But I’d much rather watch you fuck Sam. Or would you rather do it the other way around this time?” Her voice drops to a confidential whisper. “You know, I was poking around in his head, and he’s been waiting for you to get your head out of your ass and into his for years. Pity you waited so long--only a few months left before your trip downstairs.”

“Don’t talk about my brother like that. Don’t you fucking dare--” The rage in Dean’s voice should be terrifying, but Ruby just laughs scornfully.

“Or you’ll do what, Dean? You can’t even get out of your chair. Sam’s the one who asked for you to be tied up, you know. I was surprised--I thought it would take you two a while to get to the kinky stuff!”

Dean makes a frustrated sound. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from us? You already told me you can’t save me--why are you even here?

“Well, that’s the best part, Dean! Sam called me--summoned me, actually. Never should have given him my real name, it’s damned inconvenient.” She shrugs carelessly. “But what can you do? The important part is that he offered me a deal to find you and bring you back. You know, if you hadn’t left, he might not have ever called me. I really owe you one, big guy.”

Sam can picture the smug look on her face. Whatever she did to him before must be wearing off, because he feels better than he has in months--stronger, more focused. He can feel her blood singing along every nerve, begging to be used, and he's sure he can take her with the element of surprise on his side. He just needs to get his hand on the knife.

“A deal?” Dean sounds shocked and angry. “You’re lying. Sam would never make a deal with you or any other demon.”

Ruby laughs again. “You’d be surprised, Dean-o. Turns out that with the right incentive--say, for example, never seeing or hearing from his brother again--Sam will do a lot of things no one would expect. He’s agreed to let me teach him how to use his powers so he can defeat Lilith when she comes for you. And to amp up his powers with my blood.” She pauses, and Sam tenses, tries to keep his breathing even.

“But don’t take my word for it. Let’s ask Sam instead.”

Sam curses mentally, angry at himself for not acting sooner. He doesn’t try to deny he’s awake, just sits up, glaring at the demon standing casually next to his brother.

“You got what you came for, Ruby,” Sam says tightly. “Get out of here so Dean and I can talk.”

“Not going to happen, Sammy,” Ruby says, all playfulness dropping from her voice. “Dean needs to understand this was your choice, your decision. I don’t want to have to worry about a knife in the back every time we have a little ‘session’.”

Sam risks a glance at Dean, unsure of what he’ll find. Dean’s pale, shocked face surprises him until he remembers what he must look like. He flushes, embarrassed by the blood he can still feel drying on his face and shirt, but drinks in the sight of his brother, safe and unharmed if a little worse for the wear. But he doesn’t seem to be hurt, only angry.

“Dean--”

“Is it true, Sammy?” Dean sounds devastated. “Did you call her up, did you ask for this?” Dean twists in the chair, unable to move more than a few inches.

Sam looks away from Dean, then back, determined not to be ashamed of what he had to do. “I did what I had to, Dean,” he says quietly. “I didn’t have time to waste hunting you down. I couldn’t risk not finding you in time.”

Dean’s lips thin. “If I wanted to be found, I wouldn’t have left, Sam.” He turns his head, but that just brings Ruby back into view. “And really? That--” his mouth twists in disgust--”that is what you’re willing to do?”

“When I said anything, I meant it, Dean,” Sam says, refusing to be baited. He stands up, staggering a bit on unsteady legs, clutching the demon killing knife in one hand. Ruby watches as he catches his balance, smirking.

“Sam was very eager,” she tells Dean helpfully, eyes glinting with malice. “Maybe a bit too eager, actually--I think he’s in over his head right now, too much all at once isn’t good for you. Too bad he has no idea how to use all that power--but that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

Dean strains uselessly against the ropes holding him to the chair, snarling soundlessly. Sam ignores him for now. He’ll either come around or he won’t, but Sam has more immediate concerns.

Sam takes a step forward, toward Dean, then another. Even falling apart, his brother is still achingly beautiful, and all Sam can think about is how much he wants to kiss him. Dean watches him with eyes like flint, no hint of emotion other than disgust and anger. Sam stops in front of Dean, their knees nearly touching. Ruby watches them both, sneering as she leans down to whisper in Dean’s ear. Sam can’t hear her words over the pounding of his heart, but Dean’s face twists like he’s in pain.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Sam,” Dean says coldly when she stands up again. Sam just nods, expecting nothing less. He turns toward Ruby, shoulders dropping in defeat.

“I guess this is it, then,” he says quietly.

“Aw, Sammy...don’t take it so hard,” Ruby says, batting her eyes as she sways forward to put a hand on his chest in mock seduction. “We don’t need him--I’m sure we can have lots of fun together on our own.”

“Sure,” Sam agrees, and he moves quicker than thought, quicker than he knew he could-- but not quite quick enough to bury the knife he's holding in her heart. Her eyes go black with rage as she slams him against the wall with an angry gesture then stalks closer until her face is inches from his.

“Did you really think you could take me, you stupid, inconsequential human ?” She spits the final word like a curse. “Did you really--” She stops, body caught in a tight arch, mouth dropping open in pain.

“Yes,” Sam grinds out, teeth clenched, “I really did.” He fights harder, forcing the knife deeper into her chest inch by slow and painful inch. Blood drips from her mouth as she weakens, matching the blood that’s started flowing over Sam's mouth and chin. His vision narrows to the black of her eyes, the throb in his head growing stronger as he gives a final push that feels like it rips his mind apart. He sees the lights under her skin flash and burn furiously through a haze of pain and blood, then they both fall to the ground as he releases her. Dean is shouting his name from far away, but Sam can't really hear anything through the agony in his head.

Sam’s jeans are soaked with blood when he finally lifts his head. He’s shivering with pain and adrenaline, but there’s triumph underneath it all as he stands carefully, crossing the room to kneel in front of his brother.

“Please stay, Dean,” he says softly as he begins to saw at the ropes. “I need you. Please.”

Dean just stares at him for a moment, shocked. Emotions flit over his face too quickly for Sam to follow before settling on confusion. “Why, Sam? Why go through all this to bring me back after what I did?” His face twists again, self loathing wiping out everything else. “How can you even look at me?”

“Because you’re my brother and I love you,” Sam says simply. “Because I wanted everything you did that night. I was awake from the first moment you touched me, but I wanted you so badly, for so long. I selfishly let you think you were taking advantage of me because I was afraid if you knew I was awake you’d never touch me again.”

It’s not often Dean is speechless. Sam lets him process everything as he works on cutting the ropes still tying him to the chair. When Sam’s done, Dean rubs his wrists slowly, rolling his shoulders to loosen the stiff joints. Sam collapses wearily on the bed, wiping his hands and face on one of the pillows as he gives Dean some room. Dean flushes and looks away, unable to meet Sam’s eyes as they both remember what happened just a few days before. He looks at the door longingly, the idea of running still a clear temptation, but Sam doesn’t say anything.

Finally Dean breaks the silence. “This is really fucked up, Sam,” he says, low and pained. “Whether you wanted it or not, I didn’t know and I did it anyway. That’s just...and you let me. You let me think that I was hurting you.” He looks at Sam at last. “How do we come back from that?”

Sam shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he says helplessly. “But we have to try. I can’t lose you, Dean. I can’t.” He stands up, approaching Dean cautiously. Dean doesn’t move away, just stares up at Sam with a trapped expression. Sam can see the pulse in his throat fluttering wildly but he doesn’t run. “I was hoping...maybe we could just try to accept that we’re both fucked up in some really weird ways that work together pretty well? We both want things we shouldn’t, but they’re the same things, and honestly fucked up is kind of the Winchester way.”

Sam lifts one hand slowly, carefully, giving Dean time to object if he’s going to. Dean pulls in a deep, shuddery breath but doesn’t move, eyes wide and dark and fixed on Sam with a mix of anguish, dread and hope. His eyes slip shut when Sam’s hand touches his cheek, brushing over the freckles standing out starkly against his pallor.

“Sam…” It’s a breath, hardly there, but it’s all Sam needs. He folds himself around Dean, tucking his face into Dean’s shoulder the way he’s done his whole life and Dean barely hesitates before wrapping him up, the way he’s done Sam’s whole life. It’s not perfect, but it’s them.

Sam can live with that.

Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me) Chapter 4

kelios — Wed, 10 Apr 2019 22:50:34 GMT

Sam starts gathering the tools and supplies he’ll need to put his plan in motion, a cold, stark clarity settling in his mind. He forces himself to think about the possibility that even if this works, even if he finds Dean and brings him back, he still might lose him. His hands work on autopilot, drawing the symbols and setting out candles for a ritual that shouldn’t be as familiar as it is.

Finally, the last piece is in place and Sam accepts that he’s going to do this, that if it will let him talk to Dean one more time, if it will give him even a chance at spending their last days together, then it’s worth it. He begins the chant, Latin dripping from his tongue as easily as English at this point, until he gets to the final word. He hesitates for just a moment, then spits it out before he can change his mind.

“Ruby.”

For long moments, nothing happens. Sam starts to worry--they hadn’t parted on good terms. Sam had refused to do what she insisted was necessary if he was going to destroy Lilith and save Dean, and the demon had left in a rage after Sam threatened to exorcise her if that’s what it took to force her away. It wasn’t impossible that she would ignore his summons, but Sam had a feeling she would show. If she didn’t...well. There were other ways to get what he wanted, and Sam was willing to try them all.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Sam Winchester, the man who wouldn’t be king.” Sam startles at the demon’s sudden appearance in the summoning circle, even though he’d been waiting. “Slumming, are we, Sam? Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.” Ruby arranges her face in an expression of mock concern. “How have you been, Sam? How’s that brother of yours? Still going to Hell in a handbasket?”

The words stick in Sam’s throat, but he forces them out anyway. “I need your help.”

“Not even a hello, Sam? Really? No ‘how have you been, Ruby?’, no ‘it’s nice to see you again, Ruby!’?” She sneers, crossing her arms over her chest. “No “Well, looks like you were right after all, Ruby’? Come on, Sam. You can grovel better than that.”

Sam ignores her taunting. “I need you to find Dean and bring him back here, Ruby. He left and I can’t find him.”

Surprise flickers across the demon’s face, followed by a split second of concentration before she bursts into laughter. “Oh. Oh, Sam. You have been naughty without me, haven’t you? And so has Dean. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised--”

“Can you do it or not?” Sam forces himself not to shout. You need her help, he reminds himself. “And stay out of my head.”

“But it’s so pretty in there, Sam!” She laughs again, shaking her head, then gets serious again. “If I do help you, what’s in it for me? I don’t work for free, Sam. And you know my price.”

“I’ll do what you wanted me to before,” Sam says through gritted teeth. He feels unclean just saying the words. “You wanted me to learn to use my powers and destroy Lilith. I’ll do it.”

“And what else did I want, Sam?” Ruby asks silkily. “Are you willing to pay the full price?”

Sam doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes. Find Dean and bring him back here and I’ll--I’ll drink your blood to strengthen my powers.”

Ruby claps delightedly. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.” She flicks her fingers and a knife appears in her hand. She offers it to Sam hilt first. “No time like the present, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam says coldly. He doesn’t move to take the knife. “Bring me Dean first, alive and unharmed, and then I’ll drink.”

Ruby rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. I wasn’t born yesterday, Sam. I need at least a token of good faith.” She smiles, a twisted parody of human feeling. “One little drink, Sam. Then I’ll bring Dean right to you, bound and maybe even gagged, if you two crazy kids are into that sort of thing.”

Sam just stares at her for a moment, considering. “Just bound,” he says at last. It’s not the best option, it will hardly make Dean trust him, but he can’t have his brother running away as soon as he realizes Sam is in the room too. Of course, sending a demon to bring him home isn’t exactly going to make happy either.

“You never cease to surprise me, Sam,” Ruby says, shaking her head. “Now, about that token…” She waves the knife impatiently.

“Fine,” Sam says, trying not to be sick. He steps forward, into the circle, but he doesn’t take the knife from Ruby’s hand. Instead, he brings up the demon knife she’d given him when they started this twisted relationship, slashing her arm in one quick movement. Lights flare and flash under her skin and she curses in surprise and anger. One flick of her uninjured arm sends Sam flying across the room and into the wall.

“You bastard,” she hisses, cradling her injured wrist.

Sam shakes his head and blinks, then smiles. “Waste not, want not,” he says calmly, and brings the knife to his lips, licking the black ichor from the blade. It tastes vile, iron and sulfur and rotting meat but he forces himself not to gag as he cleans both sides. It burns the inside of his mouth and throat as he swallows audibly and he feels nauseous and light headed. “Is that enough for you?” he asks unsteadily.

Ruby shakes her head, a cruel smile playing over her lips. “Oh, Sammy,” she sighs. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.” She holds out her wounded arm, black oozing from the cut and adding to the stains on the carpet. “Now let’s get this show on the road.”

Sam stands carefully and walks on shaky legs to the center of the circle where she’s waiting. He stares down at her for a long moment, lips pressed thin, then opens his mouth and begins to drink.

The taste and feel of it drives him to his knees. It coats his tongue and throat like sticky, foul tasting syrup, it burns like acid. His stomach lurches with every swallow, and he can feel the power from it invading every part of his body. He wonders, dimly, just how much this will change him. A few drops when he was six months old made him psychic and telekinetic; what will this do to him? He drinks until he can’t anymore, determined to see it through even with his vision narrowing down to pinpoints and the power screaming through his veins like fire.

He doesn’t so much let go of her arm as fall to the floor. He can see her smirking down at him, barely, so far away.

“Aww, poor Sammy. Probably shouldn’t have taken so much your first time around--it’s a bit of an acquired taste. Now, why don’t you be a dear and scratch through this circle so I can go fetch your brother? I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do.”

With the last of his strength Sam scrapes through the paint holding the demon in place. “Nighty-night, Sammy,” she coos, and then the world goes dark.

Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me) Chapter 3

kelios — Wed, 10 Apr 2019 22:46:33 GMT

Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me)
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Wincest, perceived non-con, perceived somnophilia, angst
Summary: The morning after isn't quite what Sam hoped for.

Sam wakes up happy. He stretches luxuriously, enjoying the pull and ache in his muscles before he realizes he’s half dressed again. A frown creases his forehead as he shakes off his sleep fog and realizes how quiet it is. Dean isn’t breathing in the bed next to his, the shower isn’t running.

The thread of unease running through Sam grows as he sits up and sees that Dean’s jacket isn’t thrown over the back of the desk chair like he’d expect it to be. His unease grows into something approaching panic as he looks around and sees that Dean’s duffle is gone as well. The realization that he’s misjudged everything hits him like a dash of cold water and he grabs his phone off the nightstand, fingers shaking as he punches in the only number he knows by heart.

The phone rings on the seat next to him but Dean doesn’t pick up. He knows it’s Sam--the kid is nothing if not predictable. He grips the wheel tighter, determined not to answer, ignoring the voice in his head telling him he’s making his biggest mistake yet.

Sam listens to the phone ring, tinny and distant. He doesn’t leave a message this time. If Dean wants to talk to him, he will. Sam doesn’t let himself think about what it means if Dean doesn’t call him back.

Sam stays at the motel where Dean left him for three days, hoping that Dean will come back. He knows it’s pointless--he found Dean’s note and once his head cleared from sleep and painkillers he knows just how badly he screwed up. They both did. He spends the first day beating himself up, playing it back in his mind over and over, hating himself for how badly he wants Dean’s hands on him again. The second day he wakes up angry, at himself and at Dean. He almost takes off then, determined to let his brother go his own way if that's what he really wants. But the thought of Dean’s deal, that he might never see his brother again, that Dean might go to hell thinking he raped his brother--he spends the next hour in the bathroom retching up the cheap coffee from the motel lobby.

The third day--it’s after midnight, so it counts as a new day in Sam’s mind--he finally calls Bobby. Sam doesn’t have much hope that Dean will go to their old friend, but he needs to touch base himself, and Bobby loves Dean like a son. He deserves to know what’s happening, or at least the results.

“We had a fight, Bobby. Dean left,” Sam repeats slowly for what feels like the hundredth time. “He took the Impala and he’s not answering his phone.”

Sam listens again then says in frustration, “Does it matter what we fought about? He thinks he did something wrong, that he deserves to go to hell. He thinks he hurt me, but he didn’t. It was just as much my fault as it was his, but he didn’t stick around long enough for me to say so and now he’s gone!”

The silence on the other end tells Sam he may have gone a little too far. Sam waits for Bobby to figure it out and hang up on him, but after a too long moment Bobby clears his throat. “Well, if you say it’s...uh...personal, then that’s good enough I guess. You got any ideas where he might go?”

“No,” Sam whispers miserably. “If he were trying to hide from anyone else I could find him easy enough, but he’s trying to hide from me.”

More silence on the other end tells Sam that Bobby is having just as much trouble processing this as Sam is.

“We’ve got to find him, Bobby. He’s got less than a year left and he won’t even try to save himself. We’ve got to find him.”

“Sam…” Bobby’s voice is cautious, careful. Like he thinks Sam might break under the weight of any more bad news. “Did he tell you about the terms of his deal?”

Sam laughs bitterly. “You mean like how I die if Dean lifts a finger to save himself? Yeah, I dragged it out of him eventually. But that doesn’t mean we can’t save him, Bobby. It just means…” Sam trails off as he realizes the answer is staring him in the face.

“Just keep looking, Bobby,” he says, too quickly. “I will too. I’ve got a few ideas, not much, but they could pan out.”

“Don’t you do anything stupid, Sam,” Bobby warns. “One idjit per family is plenty. And you...you boys are like my own sons. I can’t lose you both, you hear me?” The barely there tremble in Bobby’s voice hurts Sam’s heart, but Sam can’t let Bobby’s feelings stop him. There’s too much at stake, and Sam won’t risk losing Dean again. He hardens his resolve to see this through and do whatever he has to in order to save Dean.

“You won’t lose us, Bobby,” Sam promises quietly. As he hangs up he tells himself he’s not lying--at least one of them will survive. Sam will see to that.

Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to You (Except Me) Chapter 2

kelios — Wed, 10 Apr 2019 22:27:11 GMT

I posted the first chapter of this story here several years ago, but forgot to update my journal with the subsequent chapters!
Title: Nothing Bad Will Ever Happen to Me (Especially Not You)
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Wincest, perceived non-con, somnophilia
Summary: “Maybe it’s my turn to have something good,” Dean mutters to the sleeping figure on the bed. “Maybe it’s my turn to take what I want.” Sam has a very different take on what happens between him and Dean.

Dean drives Sam crazy with his mother henning, there’s no doubt about that. But days like today? When Sam is ready to find a crossroad and beg whatever demon shows up to make the pain to go away? He’s grateful that he doesn’t have to say a word for Dean to know just what he needs. He crawls into the backseat and pulls off his flannel overshirt, balling it up into a pillow with just enough left to cover his eyes. It doesn’t make the pain go away, but it helps enough he can pretend he’s not going to gouge his own eyes out with a spork the first chance he gets.

The motel Dean chooses is a little nicer than their usual fare. Hiding in the back seat means Sam doesn’t know if Dean chose it on purpose or if it was the only game in town. Then again, Sam doesn’t actually care about anything right now except Dean pulling the blackout curtains and dropping the room into blessed darkness. Sam collapses on the bed farthest from the door, not even bothering to take off his shoes, but Dean’s having none of that.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean says with that gentleness he reserves for true fuckedupness. “If you get mud on the bed you’ll bitch all night, and I’m not switching with you.” He pulls off Sam’s boots and socks, then tugs on the hem of his jeans. Sam groans, but Dean just tugs again. “Go on,” Dean orders. “You know you’ll be more comfortable.” He turns away as Sam mutters bossy under his breath but pops the button on his jeans and shoves them off and onto the floor before sprawling facedown across the bed.

Dean’s right. He is more comfortable. When Sam’s like this, he hates it more than usual when Dean’s right, but that doesn’t stop him from accepting the pills Dean offers on his way out the door.

“Gonna hit that bar a few miles back, see if I can scare up some reserve cash,” Dean says, speaking as quietly as he can. “Maybe we’ll celebrate when I get back, yeah?”

Sam does his best to smile, but judging by Dean’s wince he probably doesn’t succeed. He waits for the door to close before he swallows the pills dry, pointedly ignoring the bottle of whiskey Dean had set on the nightstand. He’d rather not asphyxiate on his own vomit, thanks. He closes his eyes, buries his face in the pillow, and does his best to relax.

*****************

Sam comes awake gradually. Fingers slip across his cheek, stroking his hair, his ear. He knows it’s Dean, he’d know Dean’s hands anywhere, but this…Dean has never touched him like this before, so much gentleness, so much tenderness. Sam knows he should stir, give Dean a chance to move away, but he can’t. He can’t. Not yet. He just wants a few more moments for himself, no matter how selfish he feels.

Dean pulls in a shaky breath, and Sam hears the cap from the bottle of whiskey hit the nightstand as Dean takes a long drink. Then his hand lands on Sam’s shoulder, heavy and warm. “Sam?” he says. “Hey, Sammy, wake up, man.”

Sam doesn’t stir. He just wants one more moment of Dean’s attention to savor, that’s it, then he’ll sit up and they’ll go out to dinner and everything will be fine. He hears Dean take another drink, hand still gentle and firm on his shoulder.

“Never understood why you wear so many layers, Sammy,” Dean says quietly. Sam can hear the slur in his words, but it’s still a shock when Dean trails his hand down Sam’s back in a warm caress. He can’t help a twinge of disappointment when Dean stops right before his fingers stroke the bare skin between his t-shirt and his boxers. Then he feels it, the rough callouses of Dean’s fingers on his skin as Dean lets himself touch.

Sam bites back a moan, fights not to arch into Dean’s touch. “Fuck,” he hears Dean whisper. Then, “Sammy” almost reverently, almost like a prayer as he flattens his hand on the bare skin of Sam’s back, stroking the smooth skin. This time Sam can’t stop the shiver that rolls through him, can’t help the whimper that escapes as he realizes with instant clarity that he has no intention of stopping this, that he’s going to take whatever Dean will give him regardless of the consequences.

Dean falls to his knees next to the bed, and the press of his lips against Sam’s hip nearly undoes him. It’s all Sam can do to keep quiet as Dean moans against his skin, and all his good intentions disappear completely as Dean’s restless hands grip and knead Sam’s ass. Sam’s body takes over, bucking up against the fingers pushing against his sensitive opening, wanting more.

“Dean,” Sam moans helplessly, grinding down against the mattress. He’s already almost painfully hard, years of pent up desire filling his cock and fogging his brain far more than the painkillers he’d taken earlier. Dean jerks his hand back as if burned, and it takes all of Sam’s willpower not to beg Dean to touch him again. Sam forces himself to lay still, ears straining. He can hear Dean breathing, panting almost, then the sound of Dean’s zipper easing down almost breaks his resolve again. Dean groans a little, but doesn’t touch Sam, and Sam’s mind spins crazily at the thought of Dean jerking off on his back, on his face oh God, branding him, changing him forever.

But it doesn’t happen, even though Sam hears the rattle of Dean’s belt as it hits the floor. Sam doesn’t let himself move, hoping that Dean will finish what he started.

Sam’s concentrating so hard on staying still that he almost misses what Dean’s saying. “Maybe it’s my turn to have something good,” Dean mutters roughly, and Sam feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. “Maybe it’s my turn to just take what I want.”

And fuck if that doesn’t turn Sam on even more, the idea that Dean—fiercely protective, loving Dean, the brother who has never done anything but care for Sam their whole lives—the idea that Dean could so lose himself to this thing between them, could let himself go far enough to simply take what he wants for once in his life. It’s messed up, Sam gets that—he should be pissed as hell by what Dean is doing. But all he can feel is relief twisted up with desire and want so strong he isn’t sure he can control himself long enough not to screw it all up.

Dean’s voice tapers off, muttering under his breath as something thumps onto the bed next to Sam and the mattress dips under Dean’s weight. Sam tries to breathe normally, but that goes out the window when Dean pushes Sam’s shirt up, baring more skin to the cool motel room air. Sam gasps when Dean hooks his fingers in Sam’s boxers, tugging them down so slowly it’s torture. He can’t help himself, whimpering into the pillow and rutting into the mattress as Dean runs his hands up Sam’s legs, groaning under his breath at the feel of Sam’s skin under his hands. His cock, wet and hard, brushes Sam’s leg, dotting the skin with precome as Sam tries desperately to remain still enough not to give himself away. He feels like he could come just from this, just from Dean’s hands cupping, kneading the smooth, firm muscle of his ass as he gently spreads Sam open.

Fuck fuck fuck Sam thinks wildly. There’s no way he can stay quiet for this, no way he won’t give himself away. His hips have a mind of their own, grinding into the coarse hotel comforter in a way that’s almost as much pain as pleasure. He can hear Dean whispering over him, but he can’t make out the words except his name Sammy Sammy Sammy which seems appropriate since Sam can’t seem to say anything but Dean.

Sam moans, almost a sob, as Dean leans forward to blow warm air over his hole then lick the tender skin. Dean hasn’t shaved since morning, and his stubble burns deliciously against Sam’s skin, the contrast driving him wild. Dean seems to realize what he’s doing to Sam, rubbing his face all over, nipping and outright biting in between licking over Sam’s hole and balls, driving Sam insane. Finally, finally he stops teasing and pushes his tongue inside the tight ring of muscle. Sam can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but writhe helplessly underneath Dean, moaning Dean’s name like a prayer, begging for more as quietly as he can. Tomorrow, he thinks wildly, tomorrow he’s going push Dean onto the bed and ride his face until they both come, until Sam can scream his pleasure as loudly as he wants.

Dean pulls back after a few minutes, sweet relief that only makes Sam more desperate when Dean replaces his mouth with his fingers. Dean twists them, stretching and pulling, and God, Sam is going to lose it any second. Dean finds his prostate and strokes him mercilessly, relentlessly. Sam bites his lip so hard he’s surprised he can’t taste blood, doesn’t think he can take much more even though he never wants it to end. He nearly sobs with relief when Dean finally tugs his fingers free even as he can’t help rocking back against Dean’s hand in protest at the same time.

Dean doesn’t make him wait long. Sam hears the crinkle of a condom wrapper, Dean’s hiss of pleasure as he slides it on, and then he’s back. He rubs the head of is dick over Sam’s swollen, sensitive hole, teasing again, and Sam tenses in anticipation. Dean pushes forward, finally, then stops when he feels how tight Sam still is. Sam does his best to hold still, but it hurts when Dean shoves, soft apology soothing Sam along with his hands as Dean strokes his back and hair gently. Dean works his way in slowly, murmuring praise and love so good for me Sammy, so beautiful look so pretty on my cock and it’s so amazing, each slow, steady stroke wracking Sam’s body with pleasure like he’s never felt.

Dean stops when he’s finally all the way in, Sam gasping underneath him, shuddering at how amazing it feels to be so full of Dean. His brother only gives him a moment to adjust before he’s pulling out again, thrusting back in harder this time, setting up a rhythm that Sam tries to match. Dean’s hands are locked onto Sam’s hips, hauling Sam up and back to meet him with every thrust, and Sam can’t wait to see the bruises he’s going to have tomorrow, to press them and savor this moment again. He groans when Dean slows, suddenly, then rearranges himself against Sam’s back so that he can force his hand underneath Sam. Dean gets a hand on Sam’s cock, warm and rough and calloused and Sam loses it, two strokes and he’s coming harder than he ever has in his life, twisting and writhing under his brother like he’s possessed, biting his lip so hard tears spring to his eyes as he tries not to cry out.

Dean fucks him through the aftershocks, hard and fast and if he could Sam thinks he’d be getting hard again because there’s something about being used, about being fucked for nothing but Dean’s pleasure that lights something inside of him on fire. He feels Dean tighten, feels him pulse against the condom and shudders again, wishing he could feel Dean bare inside him. Dean collapses on top of him, heavy and warm, for a brief moment before pulling out and away. Sam wishes Dean would stay, adds the idea of wrapping himself happy and spent around his brother to his list of things he’s going to do tomorrow and hopefully every day for as the foreseeable future.

Dean rolls off the bed and staggers into the bathroom. Sam smiles and stretches, enjoying the ache in his ass and hips, imagining the bruises he’s going to have in the morning. He’s tired, blissed out from possibly the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced on top of the residual painkillers still in his system. He’s trying to keep his eyes from drifting closed as his mind tries to turn itself off, needing to stay awake until Dean comes back, but it’s a losing battle.

********

Sam’s still asleep when Dean comes back out of the bathroom, still sprawled facedown on the bed. The sight hits Dean like a punch to the gut. Sam looks debauched, fucked out and used, and all he can think is how gorgeous Sam looks like this, how much he wants to fall into bed next to his brother and do all of this again the next morning.

That doesn’t last long.

Sam looks debauched, used. He’s bruised, swollen, covered in lube and come. Dean did that, Dean raped his brother, and the shocked realization knocks the breath out of him. He collapses on the empty bed, sick with guilt and horror.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispers hoarsely. “God, I’m so sorry.”

After a moment Dean forces himself to stand, goes into the bathroom again and comes out with a warm wet cloth. He cleans Sam as gently and carefully as he can, wiping up drying lube and come. Dean, Sam sighs, shifting, arching into Dean’s touch as if he craves it. It hurts Dean’s heart—he doesn’t deserve even this much acknowledgement from Sam, doesn’t deserve to touch him again, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t hide what happened here, but he hopes this might make Sam feel less violated when he wakes, and—selfishly--Dean knows this is probably the last time he’ll ever touch Sam, take care of him, and he wants to savor it. To remember. If he can take any memory to hell, let it be this.

Dean shifts Sam gently onto his side, away from the cooling wetness underneath him. He wipes Sam down carefully, then pulls Sam’s discarded boxers up over his hips before grabbing the coverlet from the other bed and tucking it in around his brother. Sam shifts onto his side almost immediately, hair falling over his eyes, and Dean has to resist the sickening urge to push it away, knowing he can never trust himself to do that again.

After a few moments of watching Sam sleep, Dean turns away, more determined than ever to do the right thing. He grabs a clean pair of boxers from his duffle and dresses quickly, grateful that he hadn’t had a chance to unpack anything yet. In a matter of minutes he’s ready to go, three quick steps to the door before he stops with his hand on the knob, caught by the pen and paper next to the phone.

I’m sorry, Sam is all he manages to scrawl before his vision blurs, but it will have to be enough. He closes the door behind him as quietly as he can, sits in the Impala with his head resting against the steering wheel as he finally lets the tears drip down his face. It hurts, having his heart ripped out of his chest with his own hands, but he knows he has no one to blame but himself. It's better this way, he tells himself bleakly, and puts the car into drive and pulls away into the darkness.