As promised, here is the first chapter of More Than A Feeling. This is a sequel to Cursed, so you'll probably want to read that first if you're just now stumbling onto this. As I write, I am going to try to keep the setting ambiguous, so that you, the reader, can see this take place at any point you prefer.

With this one, I introduce Dean's perspective and will continue to shift between them both for the duration. This one is supposed to be less sex-centric, but if this first chapter is anything to go by, there will definitely be plenty of smut.

Do you like? Do you not like? Let me know! I love feedback from my readers.

Rated M for GRAPHIC sex, including hot brother sexing action. If you don't like Wincest, I suggest you skip this fic.


Dean sat down at the table across from Sam. He'd just been to the bathroom with one of the waitresses, a pretty young blond thing. Sam fought the glower threatening to twist his features. It was none of his business what Dean was doing, even if he was doing it more than usual. Dean being Dean, he immediately forgot about the co-ed and leaned both elbows on the table. "So, you find us a case yet?"

Sam let the newspaper in his hands drop down onto the table. "I think so. Check this out. Over the last year, six guys have been murdered. All were in relationships, and had been in them for at least three months."

Dean flagged down another waitress, but he stayed focused on Sam. "And?"

"And, one of the suspected killers – " he glanced down at the paper – "Colin Baxter, was just found dead. It says he'd been dead for at least two weeks and his boyfriend was only killed two days ago. Friends and family swear they saw Colin alive in the last two weeks."

Dean's green eyes lit up with interest. "You think it's like St. Louis? Another shapeshifter."

"Exactly." He grinned. "I think we're dealing with a shapeshifter. God knows why its going after couples." He paused as the waitress came by to take their food orders. He ordered a salad, which made Dean roll his eyes and mutter about how Sam should order something more substantial because he needed his strength.

Moments like this, he could almost pretend things were back the way they used to be. Before It happened six months ago. Despite their best efforts, nothing had been quite the same since. Dean had always liked the ladies but, except for a brief drop off right after It, he'd been going through them double time. Some times, he might find two girls in the same night. They were both drinking more, though Sam was still a light weight in comparison to his brother. He'd tried to bury the past with sex too. Just the other night, he'd picked up a real nice girl and gone back to her place. But every encounter ended the same – with the girl under him disappearing and his older brother taking her place.

At least they were talking.

Dean snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face. "Sammy, hey. Earth to Sam."

He blinked at him, realizing he'd gotten lost in his thoughts. "Oh, sorry. I was just…"

"Thinking. Yeah, I got that." The words weren't biting, as they easily could've been. They were almost soft. Fond. "Anyway, the case?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "We need to figure out how this thing is choosing its targets. Since it just killed a couple of days ago, there's a good chance it's still shopping around for a new relationship to destroy."

"So tomorrow we go through the histories of all the vic's and see if there's any common places. Work places, coffee shops, grocery stores."

"Pretty much." It would be long, tedious hours of research. Dean would probably call it quits after an hour; he didn't have the patience for research like Sam did. Instead, he'd probably start cleaning the weapons or leave to scope some place out. That was alright with Sam; when bored, his brother could be more than a little distracting. "We probably should look into the others too, the ones he framed for murder, since we don't know which one he's really using as a deciding factor."

"Great," Dean said without enthusiasm. "More research." He perked up when the waitress brought their food. Although if he was more interested in the double cheeseburger with bacon or the dark-haired woman, Sam wasn't sure.

He tucked into his grilled chicken salad, ignoring the way Dean flirted with the waitress, offering her a couple of his fries. If Sam had tried taking them, he probably would've been stabbed in the hand. But if it meant some more sex, well, then, by all means. I'll suck your damn dick. You don't need her. Shit. He stabbed his lettuce with more force than was strictly necessary. He wasn't supposed to let himself have those kinds of thoughts. Just brothers. Like before. That was his mantra. If it were possible to will himself back to being normal – or whatever passed for normal with him – he was goddamned going to do it.

Dean grinned at him as the waitress walked away. "She gets off in an hour." He waggled his brows. "Off work, anyway."

"Really, Dean? Two tonight? We've got research to do tomorrow."

"Oh, live a little, Sammy." He dug into his burger, pure pleasure on his face. Sam instantly flashed back to the dark motel room, Dean under him, expression tense with pleasure. He cursed silently at himself some more, trying to wrestle the memories back into their box labeled "Do Not Open."

Behind Dean, the bar's door opened and a man walked in. He was about Dean's height, early thirties, and dirty blond. His t-shirt was stretched taut over broad shoulders and tucked into his jeans at his narrow waist. He scanned the bar and his eyes settled on Sam, a smile curving his lips. Then his head tilted, dark eyes looking at Sam appraisingly, before he moved to a spot at the bar.

It wasn't the first time Sam had been checked out by a guy. He was far from vain, but he knew he was attractive. He took care of himself, didn't dress like a complete slob. But he'd never looked back. He was into girls, after all. Always had been. Hell, he'd come damn close to marrying one. This time, Sam looked back. He assessed the blond while Dean was preoccupied with his dinner and his waitress. He was certainly attractive, very much so. A thought occurred to him. What if something had been awakened in him after It happened? Just because he'd always been attracted to girls didn't mean he couldn't be attracted to men. Finding out he was bisexual would make a fucking lot more sense than suddenly sprouting incestuous feelings about his brother. It had just brought to life feelings that Sam hadn't known he had towards men – not his brother. It wasn't Dean that he wanted – it was just men in general.

At least, that was the theory. And he was going to test it tonight with the attractive blond man. He glanced at Dean, who was eyeballing the waitress's ass. Assuming he was still there when Dean left with her, anyway.

Sam finished his salad, feeling hopeful. If this was it, that he was just bi, he could more than live with that. There was nothing wrong with being into guys. Being into your brother, on the other hand…well, that was an entirely different story.

Forty minutes later, Dean grinned at him as he walked out of the bar, the waitress giggling on his arm. Sam got to his feet and made his way over to the bar. He was nervous. He'd never been the best at picking up women – too awkward, too shy – and this was an entirely new ball game. He decided to just try to play it simple.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

The blond man looked up at him and smiled. "Actually, how about I buy you one?"

Sam flushed a little and sat down next to him. "Yeah, alright."

He ordered new drinks for the both of him, turning on the bar stool to face Sam. "I saw your date leave with the girl. Ouch."

"My date? Oh, god, no." He shook his head. "He's my brother."

The man's eyes widened and he laughed. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I guess I just assumed…" He waved his hand. "Again, sorry. Although, I can't say I'm disappointed." He offered Sam his hand. "Mason."

Sam took his hand. It was warm, not callused like his. Like Dean's. "Sam."

Mason took a sip of his beer. "I haven't seen you around before."

"We're just passing through." This wasn't so different from what he was used to. He could do this, no problem.

"Oh yeah? Where are you from?"

"Nowhere, really. We've always kind of moved from place to place."

He nodded in understanding. "Army brats?"

Well, you could say that. It was as good an explanation as any. "Yeah. Our dad was a marine."

"Did you ever serve? You've kind of got the look of a guy who knows how to use his weapon."

Heat crept up the back of Sam's neck as he realized Mason definitely wasn't talking about guns. "N-no. I didn't. I went to Stanford for a while. Pre-law. It didn't work out."

"Why not?"

Sam just shrugged. "Family stuff. You know how it is."

Mason just nodded. "Yeah, I hear you. So you and your brother are road-tripping?"

"Yeah, seeing the country and all." He sipped his beer, hating how easily the lies slipped off of his lips. For about the millionth time, he wished he had a life where he didn't have to lie to everyone he met.

"Always wanted to do that." He took another drink of his beer, his eyes settled on Sam. "Maybe you could tell me about some of the places you've been. Back at my place."

Heat flickered up Sam's spine. There it was, the invitation. "Yeah," he said gruffly, "I'd like that."

Mason grinned. "Great. I live a couple miles away." They got up and left the bar. Dean had taken the Impala, so Sam rode with Mason back to his place. The ride wasn't awkward at all. They kept up the conversation, Sam sharing some civilianized stories of some of the more interesting towns he'd been to while Mason asked questions. Mason's hand rested on Sam's thigh as he drove. It was weird, having a man touching him like that. But it wasn't bad.

The exterior of the house wasn't much to talk about, but it was nice inside. Mason had told him in the car that he was renovating it and it showed. Not that Sam had much time to look around. As soon as they were inside, Mason took one of Sam's hands and drew him close. Even though Sam had an inch or two on him, he felt like he was looking up at him. He was out of his element here; the roles were completely reversed from what he was familiar with. Mason was in charge.

He pressed Sam back into the wall and stepped in close. Sam could feel the heat of his body. Mason's lips curved into a smile. "You haven't really done this much, have you?"

Sam caught himself smiling back. "No, not really."

"We'll go slow." He leaned up and pressed his lips to Sam's. After a moment of hesitation, Sam kissed him back, resting his arms around Mason's waist. This was weird too, but, still, not bad. Mason was in command, his tongue sliding into Sam's mouth to tangle with his. It wasn't hard for Sam to relax and respond rather than lead.

They kissed for a while. He wasn't sure how long; the minutes kind of blended together. Eventually, Mason's hands started to move on him, tugging up the back of his shirt and sliding over his back, then around to his stomach, his chest. And it wasn't bad. But…it wasn't good either. It just…was. Sam wasn't hot, he realized. He wasn't filled with need or turned on. His dick was practically yawning it was so disinterested in what was going on. A sick, twisted feeling made him shut his eyes and imagine something else when Mason's hands came up to play with his nipples. Callused fingers replaced his, rasping against his skin. That sent a shudder down Sam's spine and a tingle into his cock. But that feeling disappeared when he opened his eyes and looked at Mason again. There was only one conclusion, no matter how much Sam might wish otherwise.

He wasn't into it. He wasn't bi. He just wanted to fuck his brother.


"Oh, yes, yes, yes, Dean," moaned the writhing waitress, her hands buried in Dean's short hair. Dean looked up at her from his position between her legs. Her head was tossing back and forth on the pillow, raven tresses fanned out over the off-white material. Her heavy breasts heaved as she panted for breath, the dusky pink nipples drawn up tight in the cool motel room air. His cock was hard and aching where it pressed into the mattress and it throbbed as he took in the sight before him.

For the briefest moment, the soft female body under him turned hard and muscled. Hazel eyes gazed at him from under heavy lids. Dean let the movement of his body chase that thought away; he left his position between her legs and slid up her pliant body. She made a soft sound of approval as she drew his head down and kissed him passionately, moaning even louder when she tasted herself on his tongue. Dean poured himself into the kiss even while one hand reached over to pick up the condom he'd dropped on the night stand. He pulled back only so he could tear the foil open with his teeth.

With a rakish grin, he said, "Put it on me," and held the unwrapped condom out to her between two fingers.

The waitress – whose name he had forgotten as soon as she told him – giggled and took the condom. Even as her soft fingers danced over his cock while she rolled the condom on, he had to bite back a flicker of annoyance. Always with the fucking giggling.

As soon as the condom was in place, he kissed her again and buried himself in her heat. He'd already gotten off once with one of her co-workers, but he wouldn't have known it if he hadn't been there. He was incredibly worked up already, filled with the need to have more. He needed to thrust, and he didn't bother to give her a few slow preliminary thrusts. He slid one arm under her hips to arch her up and fell into an almost punishing rhythm. Fortunately, she ate it up, her acrylic finger nails running up and down his back. Fortunately because he didn't know if he could've slowed down.

Running, running. He was always trying to escape. Escape the thoughts that plagued him. Only there was no physical distance he could achieve that would take those thoughts away, so he was doing what he did best: burying them in sex. As long as he was thinking about this warm, willing woman under him, he wasn't thinking about the other thing.

Or, at least, that was how it was supposed to work. His resolve always failed him in moments exactly like this, where his control was frayed and he was getting close to his orgasm. He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to keep looking down at the beautiful waitress, but, against his will, his eyes slid shut and a new vision took over.

"Dean," Sam moaned gutturally. He clung to his older brother, arms and legs wrapped around him. Dean buried himself inside of his little brother hard and fast, his hands gripped at his hips with bruising force, but he didn't try to pull himself back from the savagery. Sammy was a big boy; he wasn't going to break from a little rough handling. He could take anything Dean gave him. Take it and love it, judging by the harsher breaths the younger man was taking. "Dean, oh – oh God. Don't stop. I'm going to – "He broke off with a strangled shout as he bucked beneath Dean in his orgasm.

His eyes still clenched shut tight, Dean let out a soft cry as he came, the fantasy shattering around him.

Anger and self-loathing descended upon him like vultures on a carcass. He couldn't believe he had gone there again. After all the long talks he'd had with himself, all the recriminations, his pleasure-drenched brain still dredged up fantasies of his brother when in the heat of the moment. Disgusted at himself, he rolled away from the waitress and got up, unceremoniously disposing of the used condom.

Oblivious to the turmoil in his head, the woman smiled in satisfaction and stretched on the bed, rolling over onto her side to face him. "That was great, Dean. How about a rest and then another round?"

"There won't be another round." He was looking for his boxers now. What had he done with them? "It's time for you to go."

She glared at him and sat up. "Hey! This isn't some slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am thing. I'm better than that."

"Yeah, well, I'm not." He finally found his boxers and pulled them on, then his pants. "It was great and all, but it's late and I've got to do things tomorrow."

"You fucking asshole!" She got up and angrily yanked on her clothes. "You're just like all the other trash that comes through the bar."

He glared at her. "Yeah, and you're the one who fucked me. If I'm trash, you're the one who likes to roll in it."

Her face was flushed with anger. "Fuck you, you bastard." She gathered up the rest of her things. At the door, she stopped and turned back to look at him, "And my name is Samantha, not Sam." She flipped him the bird as she slammed the door behind her.

Oh…shit. He'd said Sam's name? When? He cast his mind back, but, honestly, he could've been spouting anything during that little brain vacation. His mind had been all about the Sam action; only the very angry girl leaving the motel knew what had actually come out of his mouth. But if he had said Sam's name, then this obsession of his was getting worse. As if thinking about fucking his brother wasn't bad enough, now he was getting so immersed in his fantasies that he was calling his name. Somehow he had to put a stop to it, but he didn't know how. Going without sex wasn't an answer. He'd dropped off for nearly a month after the thing happened, and he'd woken up nearly every morning with a raging hard on and a dream about Sam teasing at the edges of his memory. At least now the dreams weren't as frequent. He hadn't had one for almost a week.

Like that was something to celebrate.

He stormed off to take a shower. A very, very cold shower. He had just finished dressing for bed – meaning he'd put his boxers on – when the door opened and Sam walked in. Dean narrowed his eyes on his brother. The younger man was uncharacteristically rumpled. His hair was tousled, like someone had run their fingers through it. His shirt was wrinkled, as if someone had been clutching at it. His lips were vaguely red. Not too long ago, he'd been kissing someone. Irrational, but no less fiery, anger clenched in Dean's gut. Sam had been with someone tonight.

"Where the fuck have you been?" He snarled. Part of him knew he should pull back, stop being such a dick. He'd literally been inside of a girl not even an hour ago. Why shouldn't Sam get himself some? But the new part of him was seething in jealousy. The part of him that had emerged in the last six months that had ground its teeth in stony, jealous silence every time Sam picked up a girl. Guess which side was currently in control of his mouth and ready to vent.

"Out," was all Sam said, jacking Dean's temper higher.

Dean kicked at his bag on the floor as if it was in his way, making it skid a few inches away from him. "Don't you think you should've been here, instead of off with some tramp?"

Sam glared at him and jerked his jacket off, throwing it against one of the chairs. "That's real rich, coming from you. I bet you didn't even get the name of either of the girls you fucked tonight. I can have sex if I want to, Dean." He kicked out of his boots. "You need to get off your high goddamn horse before you hurt yourself."

As Sam continued to undress, Dean only got angrier – at himself. Sam was getting ready for bed or a shower and Dean was ogling him. He climbed into his bed and punched the pillow a few times. "You're the one who's always bitching at me over all the girls I bang. And here you are, staying out until all hours." He yanked the blanket over his lap in case his cock got any bad ideas while Sam was putting on his skin show.

When Sam was in nothing but his underwear, he went to the bathroom, but paused to glare at Dean before he went inside. "I don't know what crawled up your ass and died, but you better pull it out by morning." He slammed the bathroom door after himself.

Great, Dean. Real fucking smooth. God, he was so fucked up for being jealous of the girl Sam went home with tonight. Even more fucked up for giving semi-serious consideration to climbing into the shower with him right now.

He pretended to be asleep when Sam came out of the bathroom. He didn't watch him get ready for bed; he just squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will himself to fall asleep. He just wanted a few hours without thinking inappropriate thoughts. A few hours to get himself back in order. It took a long while, but he finally managed to fall asleep. And in sleep, he began to dream.

"Dean," Sam laughed, falling back onto the bed. His naked chest gleamed in the light from the bedside lamp.

Dean purred in appreciation as he dropped to his knees by the bed, his hands sliding over Sam's denim-clad thighs. "Now I've got you right where I want you."

"What are you going to do," his younger brother asked breathlessly. "Eat me?"

Dean's hands went to the fly of his jeans, angling for his prize. "Yes."