Chapter Text
"Hey, Dean, this ritual we're about to do... it says you need to use the blood of someone who's had sex with someone who's been to Hell."
Dean looks up slowly.
"What did you just say?"
Sam hands the antique tome to Dean and he reads aloud:
" '...the blood of one who has laid down in bed with a soul raised from perdition.' "
Sam and Dean look at each other. Figurative crickets start chirping.
"You told me you banged Ruby a few times," Dean says, clearing his throat.
"I don't think a demon counts as a soul raised from perdition."
Dean nods with a grimace.
"Dean, we need to do this spell. Lives are depending on it."
"I know!" Dean bristles. He inhales and exhales before talking again. "Are you sure you never banged anybody who'd gotten out of Hell?"
"Well I wouldn't bet on it. You?"
"Don't you think I would have said something by now if I thought I had?"
Sam and Dean look around the room, avoiding each other's eyes.
"What if... well, anybody either of us has slept with would fit the bill. Dean, by now, you- you must have hooked up with somebody within 100 miles of here."
"If I have, I don't remember her name, her face, where she lives, or her phone number. And what would I do if I did? Stroll in, say hi, ask to cut her arm open?"
Sam shrugs.
The motel room goes quiet again. Neither wants to be the first to bring up the most obvious option.
"Dean, uh... um... we- we just have to be mature about this." Sam stares at the table very hard. "We've been shot and stabbed–been to Hell, obviously–saving other people. I think people's lives have to take priority over our, uh, discomfort."
"Fine, let's do it."
Sam looks up.
"What?"
"I'm sparing us both the trouble of you arguing why we should do it. I don't wanna hear it, you don't wanna say it. So- so- we'll just- let's do this and do the ritual and get the hell out of this town and forget about it."
"...Okay. Who's going to-" Sam pauses to consider his word choice. "Do what?"
"Have you been with a guy before?"
"Have you?"
"Yeah," Dean replies.
Sam was not expecting that answer.
"Have you, Sam?"
"No. ...I mean, a couple handjobs at Stanford," Sam shrugs.
Dean rolls his eyes.
"You top," he says. "Give me a minute." He gets up and heads into the bathroom, locking the door behind him before Sam processes what his brother has just said to him.
Sam allows himself a mental image of fucking Dean and shudders because it's wrong, but realizes he's getting turned on by the thought. He can't decide whether that's good or bad. He distracts himself by trying to think logically about the situation. He runs himself into a mental dead end because even when there's a logical reason to have sex with a sibling, there is nothing logical about it whatsoever.
When Dean comes out of the bathroom, he heads to the window and shuts the curtains. He slowly turns around to face Sam but after the brief initial eye contact, he looks everywhere but at Sam as he begins to strip.
"Found lube?"
"Yup." Sam starts taking off his clothes. "Should I use a-"
"Condom? I don't care either way."
Sam decides against creating more physical evidence than necessary. He already wants to shove the last five minutes of his life into repression. Probably the next 24 hours, too.
"Do we have any booze left? We could use a couple drinks first." Dean is naked to the waist, belt unbuckled.
"I hope so."
Dean checks and finds a bottle of whiskey. He takes a few gulps of it and hands it to Sam.
Dean is completely stripped and getting on his bed by the time Sam sets the bottle down, lounging on his back. He's not even hard and now Sam really hates himself for getting turned on thinking about fucking Dean. He steps out of his jeans and boxers and gets on the bed, on his knees between Dean's spread legs.
Dean finally holds eye contact for a few seconds. He opens his mouth to say something but changes his mind. He closes it and looks up at the ceiling.
"Let's get this over with," he says.
Sam has to close his eyes and take a deep breath. The alcohol isn't helping yet. Everything about this feels wrong, from the incest to the way Dean is lying there like...
"There has to be another way."
"Don't you chicken out now."
"This feels like rape, Dean. You're just lying there like a creepy breathing sex doll."
"Doesn't count if neither of us want this but we agree it has to happen. ...Would it make you feel better if I pretended to want it?"
"I- I don't..."
In one smooth motion, Dean sits up and puts a hand on the back of Sam's head, pulling it closer to his until their lips are almost brushing against each other's. Sam almost pulls away instinctively but instead holds still, eyes shut tight.
"Whatever makes this easier for you," Dean murmurs with whiskey-scented breath.
Chills run down Sam's body as he hears his brother deliver the words as if he were whispering sweet nothings into a lover's ear. Without any more deliberation he leans the half-centimeter forward necessary to kiss Dean, who opens for him immediately, letting Sam take the lead.
This is disgusting and wrong on so many levels, but it is helping Sam pretend he's having sex with somebody he wants, who wants him in return. As long as Sam keeps his eyes shut and ignores the sharp stubble, he can lie to himself, make up a story that he's banging somebody in Dean's car and that's why it smells like Dean. He's banging somebody who is incredibly good at kissing...
He hears, feels Dean groan. It's exaggerated, only done for effect. Sam appreciates it–his body sure appreciates it, no matter how obviously fake. He's glad they're not touching other than their mouths and Dean's hand on his head. Dean is tangling his fingers in Sam's hair now, and Sam is on the verge of moving his mouth to Dean's neck when he mentally shakes himself and pulls away. He doesn't open his eyes until Dean's extracted his hand from Sam's hair and on his back again.
Dean wipes his mouth, expression neutral and gaze directed anywhere-but-Sam, but demeanor completely different. Relaxed, casual.
"C'mon, Sammy, fuck me."
Sam's eyes widen at the dirty talk. His heart is pounding in his chest and even if the idea of being with his brother still sickens him, now he needs.
He slicks up one finger with lube, then he has to stop again and steel himself. Sam did not wake up this morning expecting to make out with his brother, let alone touch his brother's asshole. He just has to think about something else while he does it and hope it doesn't take too long.
Dean tenses at first as Sam pushes his finger in but relaxes after a second. Now he's getting hard. He watches Sam, pupils huge, breathing fast.
Sam can almost relax, but the fact is that he's going to have sex with his brother and this isn't what he and Dean signed up for when they decided to come to the aid of the residents of this cursed town. It was supposed to be a regular job, not turn into the most awkward experience of their lives.
He gets two fingers in, and eventually three. He and Dean don't make eye contact or say a single word. The room is too quiet. The shock and physical enjoyment from kissing has worn off and it's only made things worse. He can still taste Dean under the whiskey but now he has to reflect on the fact that he kissed his brother and he's never going to get over that. They didn't have to kiss. That was completely unnecessary and right now Sam is avoiding having a breakdown only by the promise of fucking a nice tight hole. He chooses to concentrate on physical facts and objectify anything he can, depersonalize it and get his brother out of the mental picture.
"Finally," Dean mutters as he feels Sam position himself, slicked up with lube. He puts his hands on Sam's hips as Sam pushes in–still pretending to want it. His dedication is downright admirable.
When Sam is all the way in, he's torn between his ideas of right and wrong and what he's sensing. Being inside Dean feels, in all honesty, incredible and it's because it's Dean. His big brother, who he loves and would do anything for. In fact, it feels morally right to be this close to Dean. The familiar scent of him makes Sam feel like he's where he belongs.
"Shit, you're tight."
Dean's expression is a hollow smirk for a fraction of a second before Sam looks away and wonders why the fuck he said that out loud. When he looks at Dean's face again, Dean's dropped the act and his eyes are whispering please-let-me-die and it kills Sam.
"We shouldn't do this." Sam begins to pull out but Dean wraps his legs around his little brother as he tugs on his hips, pulling him back in. Sam accidentally lets out a groan of pleasure. A huge line has just been crossed.
"If this is about my feelings, if that's the reason you don't want to do this, stop worrying about me," Dean orders. "You want me to kiss you again?"
"No, Dean."
Dean sighs.
"Whatever. If you're gonna fuck me, just fuck me."
Sam's first thrusts are slow, but as he closes his eyes and ignores the fact that he's thrusting into his brother's body, he loses himself in the physical sensation. He doesn't let himself give a name to the person under him, moving their hips in rhythm with his. He pretends the sounds beneath him are completely unfamiliar, that he's never heard his brother having sex before and has no idea what he sounds like in bed. He tells himself to just enjoy the sex, supporting himself with his hands on either side of the warm body below his.
"Sammy," Dean groans, breaking the spell and bringing Sam back to reality. The friction between their bodies is enough that Sam can give himself an excuse not to touch his brother. Dean's hands grasp Sam's flesh, fingernails leaving scratches on his back.
Dean is enjoying it, or if he's not he's doing a better job of faking it than Sam gave him credit for. Sam should be repulsed by that, but he is too, too much to have any right to judge his brother. He lets himself behave mindlessly, doing whatever occurs to him. He kisses Dean's neck.
"Fuck, Sam," Dean breathes as Sam licks from just above the hollow of his throat to his ear. He tilts his head and leans into it as Sam bites down.
Sam is sucking on Dean's throat when he feels him come, wet heat spurting between them. A few thrusts later, Sam follows him over the edge.
"Dean." Sam shouldn't be coming this hard. This shouldn't feel so good. Being inside Dean shouldn't feel right the way it does.
Neither of them so much as try to make eye contact as Sam pulls out and rolls off of Dean. Sam covers his face with his hands; he feels dirty and sick. He feels the mattress shift as Dean moves onto his side–towards him. Dean pulls Sam's hands from his face. They look into each other's eyes.
"Cross that off the bucket list of things I never wanted to do," Dean says. He reaches over for the bottle Sam helpfully left on the nightstand and practically chugs a few shots' worth. He gives the bottle to Sam who follows suit. When Sam puts the bottle down, Dean cups his cheek with one hand and kisses him again.
Sam turns his head away.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asks without any inflection. Now he gets to stare at the ceiling. He hates these hideous white popcorn ceilings.
"I thought it helped?"
"We fucked. Making out afterwards isn't going to help anything." He glances at Dean's neck. "...Shit, I didn't mean to give you a hickey."
"Yeah, thanks for that."
Neither of them get off the bed; they're both too sleepy. The ritual can wait a few hours. Dean pulls the comforter up over them and they're both asleep within a few minutes.
*
Sam wakes up to find that his arms are around someone and that someone is slipping out of his grasp and getting out of bed. He realizes as more of his brain wakes up that the warm body isn't a woman's body; it's Dean's.
Dean his brother. Who he had sex with. Sam cringes and wants to melt away and die as he replays the experience in his memory.
"Let's do the ritual and get out of here," he hears Dean say.
*
They use Sam's blood and the ritual works. Job finished, Sam and Dean promptly throw their stuff into the car and speed out of the state.
"What, Sam?"
Sam can't stop staring at the hickey he gave Dean.
"I'm sorry about..." Sam gestures to his own neck.
"We're not talking about it, Sam. We did it, the ritual worked, the end. I'm not a chick, we don't have to hold our breaths and wait for me to get a period."
Maybe it's over as far as Dean is concerned, but for now it's hard to forget what they did when Sam's skin can still feel his brother's stubble from six hours ago.