Rating: R
Pairings: Sam/Dean, Dean/random bargirl
Word Count: 4,581
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Notes: I've only written gen and het for SPN before, so here's me trying some good old Sam/Dean angst. This was inspired by a song by Groove Coverage called Poison (and yes, the original is by Alice Cooper).
Summary: Stanford era. Dean didn't expect any happy endings, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

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I want to love you but I better not touch.
I want to hold you but my senses tell me to stop.
I want to kiss you but I want it too much.
I want to taste you but your lips are venomous poison.
You're poison running through my veins.
You're poison.
I don't want to break these chains.

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Your Lips Are Venomous Poison

Dean was at a bar in Palo Alto, nursing a beer while he tried to decide just how bad of an idea it would be to turn up on Sam's doorstep. It had been four months since he'd talked to his little brother and Dean was pretty sure that Sam didn't have an official girlfriend yet, but the times that he'd gone to check up on him—notspy—he'd seen him hanging around with a sexy blonde. They could have been just friends, but Dean was pretty good at reading females, and she was definitely digging Sam.

And yeah, he couldn't deny that watching them hurt a little. Okay, it hurt a lot. Because maybe Sam had moved on from what they'd had, but Dean sure hadn't.

At that exact moment, the bell above the door chimed and a group of college kids walked in. Dean glanced over, then did a double take when he saw Sam. Dean almost slid out of his seat to go over and say hi, but he grabbed the edge of the counter to keep himself still as he watched Sam's eyes scan the room quickly. Dean smiled to himself. At least Sam hadn't forgotten everything their dad had taught them.

Sam's eyes fell on him soon enough and Dean saw his brow furrow in surprise. Dean wanted to give him a smirk, but he couldn't stop his lips from curving up into a genuine smile. He saw something flit through Sam's eyes and then Sam jerked his gaze away to the same blonde girl Dean had seen before. She was tapping his arm and saying something, and then the group moved towards an empty table and a barmaid came over in a skimpy outfit and teasing smile.

Dean pursed his lips together and studied them for a moment. From where Sam was sitting, Dean was directly in his line of sight, if Sam would just look up.

He didn't.

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Sam was freaking the fuck out.

Dean was here. Dean was in Palo Alto right now, sitting about ten feet away from him. Dean was here and what the hell was he expecting from him, for him to just walk over and say hi like everything was normal between them?

Things weren't normal. Things were so far from normal and if his friends ever found out Sam would die. He didn't want the shame; he didn't want the stigma attached to the life he and Dean had led.

He'd never tell Dean because he loved him too much, but he regretted things. A lot of things. A lot of things concerning Dean. When he'd first left and came to Stanford, everything reminded him of Dean. He'd compared every single person he'd met to Dean. Every single girl he'd never remotely liked at Stanford would be pitted up against Dean in his mind, and for a long time he'd made absolutely no progress in the relationship department, romantic and otherwise, because he'd had Dean on the brain all the time and no one could compare.

Those first nights had been so hard. He'd lain awake in his tiny little dorm with his fingers hovering over the numbers on his cell phone, wanting to call Dean and hear his voice, but he'd known that if he couldn't get past this thing, he was doomed. He couldn't be with Dean forever, because brothers just didn'tdothat.

And now Dean was here. He was just sitting there, his fingers wrapped around a cold beer, being quiet and un-Dean-like and Sam knew Dean was probably hurt that Sam was ignoring him, but he couldn't just go over and say things to him, because even after four months, the memories of passionate nights and lazy kisses in the morning and hasty stops in the backseat of the Impala were still fresh in his mind, and Sam knew it would be far too easy to fall into that again.

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Sam was a bitch. Sam was such a gigantic, stupid bitch. Dean hated being ignored, especially since it was Sam doing the ignoring. He'd spent the last four months of his life feeling completely detached from the world because his best friend in the entire universe had left him in the dust for a normal life, and now that he and Sam were actually in the same room, Sam wasn't speaking to him.

Dean took a long swig from his bottle and suddenly his female radar went off. There was a hot girl close, and, well, if he couldn't have Sam, a hot girl was the next best thing.

Her name was Evelyn and she had long, dark hair and high cheekbones that immediately set her above attractive and into drop dead gorgeous. Three minutes later Dean was still perched on his barstool and she was crowding comfortably between his legs, a sultry smile on her lips and her fingers brushing his hip. She leaned in close and Dean met her halfway, his mouth pressing against hers, and when he pulled back his lips felt a little sticky. She laughed and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, apologizing for her lip-gloss.

When he kissed her again he shot a glance at Sam and their eyes met for a split second before Sam tore his gaze away, looking slightly flustered but falling back into the conversation his friends were currently engaged in. Dean felt triumph that Sam was indeed watching him, but also felt something like a knife twisting in his gut that he was making out with some random girl and Sam wasn't doing anything about it.

Evelyn put her hands on his jacket and breathed on his face. "You want to make a quick stop to the restroom?"

Dean wanted to please this girl, but he didn't want to go home with her, so the restroom suited him just fine. He grinned at her slowly, sliding down from his stool and putting an arm around her waist.

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Sam's fingers tightened around his drink as he watched Dean and some random slut disappear around the corner to where the restrooms were. He'd stolen glances of them making out and was pretty sure Dean was doing this to spite him. His lip curled in disgust when he thought of what Dean would be doing to that girl, and his mind flashed back to the time when he'd had Dean's legs wrapped around his waist and was holding him up against the shower tiles, and Dean's arms had been squeezing the life out of him. He remembered the feel of Dean's hot, damp breath against his cheek, the way Dean smiled against his lips when he'd mashed his mouth against his, and—

"Sam?"

Sam jerked back to reality, so startled that he knocked over his beer. Liquid spilled across the table and over his hand.

"Sorry," he said hastily, getting up and grabbing a stack of napkins. "I got it."

"Are you okay?' Jessica asked, her brows knitting together in confusion. She took a napkin and sopped up some of the liquid near her. "You seem kind of distracted."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said with a smile, waving her off. "I'm good. I was just, uh, thinking about something. I'm gonna go wash my hands off." Sam darted away with a handful of wet napkins. He knew his friends must think he was a freak by now. He really did like Jessica—she didn't make him feel like Dean had, but she was beautiful and smart and made him feel normal, and he loved that. However, Dean was sexing up some girl in the bathroom, so yeah, that was pretty distracting.

Sam entered cautiously. The restroom only had three stalls and he immediately knew Dean was in the last one, because he could hear soft moans and sighs emanating from it. He heard the lady giggling and instantly hated her even more. He silently went to the sink and ran the tap, rinsing off his hands. He'd decided that maybe they were just going for a quick handjob when he heard the door shake and the girl cried out in ecstasy, and he heard Dean let out a deep breath, his low voice rumbling something in her ear.

Sam scowled fiercely. He wanted to leave, but he was mesmerized that he could tell exactly what was going on just by listening to Dean. The girl was being way louder than he was, but Sam tried to tune her out—oh, God, he really was a freak—and he managed to hear that little hitch of breath that Dean always gave when he was close. So much for putting this life behind him.

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Dean broke away from their kiss and shut his eyes tight, keening into her messy hair as pleasure washed over him. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she breathlessly moaned his name, dragging out the one syllable until her body relaxed suddenly, and Dean almost dropped her in his orgasm-induced state. He grunted and felt her legs slip from around his waist to touch the floor again, her heels clicking against the linoleum.

Evelyn smiled at him as she stroked his cheek for one affectionate moment. "Wow."

Dean grinned and pushed her hair back, tucking it behind one ear as he caught his breath. At least one thing had gone well tonight.

She chuckled softly, disentangling herself from him and retrieving her blouse from the hook on the wall. Dean smoothed her skirt back down and turned away to get dressed again. He heard the restroom door slam shut and had a fleeting thought that maybe Sam had listened in on them. He wouldn't put it past him—he knew how kinky his brother really was underneath that hoodie and mop of hair. Dean had never bottomed for a guy before until his first time with Sam, and he'd discovered that while he was perfectly fine with being dominated, Sam wasn't happy unless he was doing the dominating.

Evelyn touched his arm and he turned around and was greeted by her lush mouth. She kissed him for a long moment and then pulled back, licking her lips. She was fully dressed.

"Thanks for the good time. Maybe I'll see you around," she said. Dean smirked.

"Maybe," he said noncommittally. She gave him one last look and opened the stall door. After a second she was gone. Dean shrugged his jacket on and went to the mirror to wipe away the remnants of her makeup from his face. After that he was planning on leaving the bar. He couldn't walk up to Sam, not when he was surrounded by all his friends. If Sam wanted, he could have invited Dean over and introduced him. Obviously he didn't want that, and Dean didn't want to embarrass him, so he'd just slip out quietly.

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Sam was back in his seat listening to Becky tell a story about one of her professors when he saw the lady that Dean had fucked walk out from the restroom. She looked satisfied and happy and Sam wasn't surprised. It was Dean, after all.

She left the bar and Sam watched surreptitiously for his brother, only half listening to Becky's tale. He was aware that Jessica kept giving him awkward glances, as if she wanted to ask what the hell was the matter with him tonight. Sam turned his full attention back to his friends, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean. Dean had that adorable post-sex glow that Sam was so familiar with, but other than that he was expressionless. Sam knew Dean was probably disappointed with him. He knew Dean had missed him because he'd missed him, too, and Dean felt things so much more than he did sometimes.

Dean passed their table without so much as a glance. Sam peeked behind him and saw Dean open the door and disappear into the night. He straightened and fidgeted with his hands for a moment before pushing away from the table.

"I'll be right back," he said quickly, offering no other explanation as he turned his heel and left the bar, hoping that Dean would have the sense to wait before he roared off to another nameless hotel to spend another night alone. The night air was cool, chillier than usual, but Sam loved California weather. He'd never been a big fan of extreme winters. A part of him always thought that Dean would have loved it here, too.

He spotted the Impala right away, parked horizontally from the bar. Dean had his back to the bar, leaning against the driver's side door, and Sam let out a breath of relief. He walked toward him and circled around the car.

"Dean," he said.

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Despite the fact that Dean was feeling sorry for himself, he broke out into a smile when he saw Sam. His hair was a little longer, but other than that he looked like the same old geek brother he'd known all his life.

Sam's gut twisted when he saw how sweet and delighted Dean looked.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said.

"Hey," Sam responded. Dean looked the same, just a little older, a little more haggard around the edges.

"You doing all right?" Dean asked, giving him a scrutinizing look. He'd never believe for a second that Sam was actually capable of taking care of himself.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Sam blurted out his next question before he even thought. "What are you doing here?"

Dean blinked and then grinned faintly, putting his hands in his pockets and looking away. "I don't know. I came to see you but I'm not sure that was just such a great idea anymore." He wanted to be offended that Sam wasn't welcoming him with open arms, but found he couldn't be.

"I just wasn't expecting it, that's all," Sam mumbled. Dean nodded, studying the ground for a moment. He wanted to reach out and touch Sam, to shake him and scream that they were brothers, for God's sake, and that this shouldn't be awkward, but it was because they didn't exactly have a normal brotherly relationship.

"How's Dad?" Sam asked timidly.

Dean really didn't want to think about Dad right now. "He's fine. On a hunting trip."

"Oh." Sam pursed his lips.

"You happy here, Sammy?" Dean asked abruptly, eyes boring into Sam's. Sam swallowed and remembered how Dean's tongue used to feel in his mouth.

"Yeah," he said, his voice not quite as strong as it was a moment before.

"You don't sound very convincing," Dean remarked.

Sam snapped at him suddenly. "Well, I am, Dean. I'm happy here. I have friends, and a life, and I've lived in the same place for the last four months, which is more than I could ever say about what Dad gave us."

Dean's gaze wavered and he broke eye contact with Sam. "God. Okay."

"Life is good here. Things are normal. It's safe here."

"I get it, Sam, you love being away from us." Dean turned and grasped the door handle, not wanting Sam to see how gutted he was. "You know what? Your friends are waiting for you and I have to get going."

All of a sudden Sam couldn't contain himself any longer and was crowding into Dean's space. Sam thrust his knee between Dean's legs and shoved him back against the car. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Dean? You think you can just waltz in here, and do what? Do you expect me to drop everything and go back to how we were?"

Dean squirmed. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, yeah, play dumb," Sam laughed humorlessly. "Like you don't remember moaning like a porn star in the back of the Impala."

"Oh, that," Dean said, a smile crossing his lips. "Yeah, I remember."

"This isn't funny, Dean. This isn't fucking funny." Sam hands moved down Dean's stomach and then he was undoing Dean's belt buckle. Dean grasped Sam's arm, but not hard enough to give Sam the impression that he wanted him to stop. Sam unzipped his fly and plunged his hand into his boxers, and Dean let out something between a gasp and a groan.

"I heard you with that lady, Dean," Sam said darkly, keeping one eye on the door of the bar.

"What, you expect me to be faithful to someone who isn't mine?" Dean asked, his words shaky. Sam pressed closer to Dean, his hand working easily, remembering exactly what Dean liked. Dean moaned softly, his hands letting go of Sam's jacket to reach up and pull Sam's head down, but Sam jerked away.

"No," he said, watching Dean's eyes close briefly.

"Sammy," Dean panted, and Sam ran his fingers over Dean's cheek, his lips. He wanted to kiss Dean just as bad as Dean wanted to kiss him, but he couldn't. When Dean kissed it felt like he was sucking out your soul, and Sam knew that if he felt that now it would be so much harder to go back to the life he was building for himself. He loved Dean, but this, what he was doing right now, this was poison and the only remedy was to get away from it.

Dean tried to move forward to reach Sam's lips but Sam kept him pinned against the car, and suddenly Dean felt like a cheap whore, because he'd only ever heard of prostitutes having rules against kissing. The loneliness of the past four months hit him abruptly like a ton of bricks, and to his horror he felt a hot prickly feeling at the corners of his eyes.

"Sammy," he said again, breathless and yearning. Sam brought his face close but still wouldn't kiss his mouth. Sam's lips ghosted over his cheek and Dean bucked against him, feeling his climax beginning at the base of his spine. Sam was doing that thing with his fingers that drove Dean crazy every time.

"Why," Dean choked out. "Why don't you call?"

Sam closed his eyes, his lashes brushing Dean's face. "I can't. This had to end. I had to end it. It's not how things are supposed to be." They were brothers. If Sam hadn't stopped it, he would have thrown any hope of a normal life to the wind.

"You could have told me. You didn't have to just cut me off," Dean growled, breathing harshly against Sam's ear. He pressed his body closer to Sam, one hand digging into the back of Sam's soft hoodie. He wanted to close his stupid mouth because he knew Sam was right, but the words kept coming. "Why can't you... can you even tell your friends about me? Are you that ashamed of me, Sam? Of what we did?"

"It's just easier, Dean," Sam whispered, his mouth moving dangerously close to Dean's forbidden lips.

"You never take the easy way for anything," Dean said, his words stilted, then he groaned deeply and squeezed his eyes shut. Sam gave Dean one last jerk and he was done; Dean let out a breathy moan and held on to Sam's arm as he came with a shudder. Dean's mind flashed back to the nights in bed he'd spent with Sam, a mess of tangled limbs and awkward motions that felt just right.

Sam watched Dean as he came down, placing his giant hands gently to hold Dean's face. Dean shivered and tried to get his heart to stop racing, his chest rising and falling rapidly. After a moment he opened his eyes.

"Sammy," he breathed. Sam's face was so close that he could count his eyelashes. "Sam."

"We can't do this anymore, Dean," Sam said in a low voice, his body tingling. He was sure that Dean was going to tell him off, call him a hypocrite and yell at him that he couldn't just hand out orgasms and then end everything. Dean swallowed, closed his eyes again, and took a deep breath.

"Is this what you want?" Dean asked quietly. Sam's heart jerked, but he thought about this life of normalcy. A life where he'd get a real job, marry a nice girl, have children. A life that Dean couldn't be a part of unless it was in secret.

"I..." Sam wanted both. He wanted Dean with him, but he wasn't about to say it because he'd asked him to come before he'd left and Dean had given him a black eye that lasted a week. "I just want to be normal. And this..."

"Isn't," Dean finished for him. Sam rubbed his thumbs over Dean's cheekbones and Dean looked anywhere but at his brother. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Sam said, his mouth twitching in a halfhearted smile. Dean didn't reply and Sam pulled back, zipping up his jeans and buckling his belt again.

"Sam!" Jessica suddenly appeared in the doorway of the bar. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'll be back in a minute," Sam called back, immensely grateful that she hadn't come out sooner. Jessica waved and disappeared inside.

Dean sort of felt like crying. He'd expected this all along, knew that if Sam had wanted to keep up the thing that had been going on between them he would have called, invited him over, something. Sam was the one who always loved to talk about his feelings, so when he'd clammed up and completely ignored Dean for four months, Dean knew. He wouldn't cry, of course. Crying was for pussies.

Not here in front of Sam, anyway.

Goddamnit, he really wanted to kiss his brother.

"You should get back to your friends," Dean said, putting on a smile, but his mouth stretched a little too wide and his eyes were a little too bright. His fingers twitched down by his sides; he physically ached to touch Sam again. Sam just stared.

"Dean."

"It's getting late man. I've got, you know, things to take care of. Evil to kill." Dean fingered his keys.

Sam sighed softly. "Dean, I'm—"

"Spare me the sympathy, okay, Sam?" Dean snapped, all pretenses of a smile gone. "Don't you dare stand there and feel sorry for me because you think you've got this great life for yourself in front of you. I'm happy with what I'm doing. I'm helping people, you jackass. If you're not doing any good for the world then what the fuck are you living for?"

"I'm sorry," Sam said suddenly, tears springing to his eyes as he came forward again and grasped Dean's face. Dean felt Sam's lips mash against his before he could even register that Sam had moved, but Dean knotted his hand in Sam's jacket and kissed back fervently, all too aware that this could be the last time he'd ever get this chance.

Sam pulled away with a shuddering breath but Dean chased after him, bringing his hands up and grasping his head, violently hauling him back. Sam groaned against Dean's lips.

"Don't," Dean whispered heatedly, kissing him between words. "God, Sam, you stupid bitch." He was unsure of what he even meant; all he knew right now was that Sam was his brother and he loved him more than anything in the world and he hoped Sam could decipher his swearing into that.

Dean's back hit the car when Sam thrust his tongue in his mouth and he was pretty sure that if he hadn't already come twice he'd be dragging him into the backseat of the Impala for some serious screwing. Sam ran his tongue over Dean's teeth and tickled the roof of his mouth; Dean whined low in his throat, one hand at the nape of Sam's neck and the other holding onto his shoulder.

"Dean," Sam said, kissing the edges of Dean's mouth. "Stop."

"You started it," Dean replied.

Sam forced himself to open his eyes and tried not to gaze too long at Dean's plump red lips, shining with wetness. Sam breathed on Dean's face and watched his eyelids tremble.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered frantically. "I'm sorry."

"Just shut up," Dean mumbled, his forehead against Sam's. He could feel Sam's breath like a welcome breeze. For a moment they stood still, Sam watching Dean and Dean keeping his eyes shut so he could pretend for a just a little longer. Dean exhaled and cracked his eyes open slightly, closing the inches between them as he kissed Sam again. He almost expected Sam to jerk away, but Sam's hands cupped his face as Dean sucked gently on his bottom lip, catching it between his teeth for a second before letting go. It was like a physical pain when he stepped back and licked his lips. Sam's hands slipped from his face, trailing down the front of his jacket.

"Don't say it," Dean sighed. "Don't. I get it, Sammy."

"I wanted this," Sam said mournfully, but Dean shook his head and with a heavy heart, gently put his hand on Sam's chest and pushed him back a few inches. Sam felt a heavy weight settle in the pit of his stomach. He knew Dean wanted this, too, but Dean wasn't going to be selfish.

"Look," Dean said, laughing a little and promptly stopping when he realized it sounded more like sobbing. "We're proud of you, Sam. You know that, right? Dad's so proud of you."

Sam shook his head. "Thanks."

Dean looked at his brother for a moment longer. Sam was making that pinched face he wore whenever he was trying not to cry. Dean wanted to just put Sam in the car and drive away with him. He didn't even care where; he'd drive forever to nowhere just as long as Sam was with him. He licked his lips again.

"I should go," Dean said, his voice low and rough. He unlocked the Impala, the familiar creak of the door jarring him out of this weird bubble he was in. Sam sighed, wet and unhappy, behind him.

"Be careful, Dean," Sam said. Dean clenched his jaw, turning around. He attempted for what seemed like the hundredth time to put a goddamn smile on his face, and some of the tension drained out of his shoulders when Sam smiled back. It was shaky and a little gloomy, but a smile nonetheless.

"Take care of yourself, Sammy," Dean responded. He wanted to tell Sam to do good in school, try and get himself laid, don't forget to salt the windows and doors, but he just stood there and looked at Sam, rememorizing every detail that he already knew like the back of his hand. He was practically vibrating with the effort not to go back and fold himself into Sam's arms.

He gripped the door handle and slid into the car, slamming the door and rolling the window down. The engine rumbled to life.

"Get out of here," Dean said lightly, leaning an elbow out the window. Sam took a jerky step forward, then stopped and nodded. "Your friends are waiting."

"Okay," Sam said, and Dean thought he looked so conflicted that his head just might explode. Sam pressed his lips together and nodded again, his eyes never leaving Dean's.

Dean took a deep breath and shifted into drive, a quiet goodbye leaving his lips. He left Sam in the parking lot, probably left a piece of himself back there as well, and didn't look in the rearview mirror until long after he'd reached the highway.