Part 1: Beautiful
Bad idea, Sam thinks, really bad idea. A handful of cheap Wal-mart make-up and Dean decides they're invisible; disguised enough to spend the night looking for the real blood-suckers among the wannabes because hey -- if you're immortal in LA of course you're going to hang in a fire-trap warehouse with a sound system they can hear in fucking Tahoe.
"Curt Wild."
Dean shouts it over the music, introducing himself to the blond guy in the open shirt who stares back like he isn't listening, and who the hell could hear anything over the bass line anyway? Sam rubs his eyes.
The whole place is just smoke and strobe lights and noise that's about to punch a hole through Sam's head, and now Dean is leaning closer to the guy who still isn't listening, though he's looking at Dean's mouth. Sam's not looking at Dean's mouth; he's been not looking at Dean's mouth since Dean stepped out of the bathroom in leather and denim and fucking L'oreal.
Some disguise, Sam thinks. Not invisible, never invisible; 8 bucks worth of eyeliner and now everyone everything in this place can see what Dean's spent his whole life trying to hide. Sam never understood before now that some curses you're born with, and Dean's is green-gold eyes and their mother's cheekbones so he uses metal bands and bravado to turn it into a dare.
go on, say it, just say it, give me a reason
The guy's talking now, and Dean is listening, ignoring the ones who stare but Sam can see them, feel them; all of them watching, wanting and as far as he's concerned the night creatures can have this place. He needs Dean out of here, away from circling darkness Sam can sense pressing up against his brother and taunting him with cold whispers Dean can't hear.
beautiful one
"What the fuck, Sammy?"
Dean's arm is hard muscle beneath Sam's fingers, but the tug caught him off guard and now Dean has to follow or he'll stumble. Almost to the door, almost there, but then Dean stops, angry tension pulsing under Sam's hand and there's a wall, a dark corner where maybe he can make Dean listen. Pushes Dean's back against the concrete so Sam can shield him, slide in close, and --
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Don't you feel them?" Sam hisses, lips almost touching Dean's cheek. "All around us?"
Dean looks over Sam's shoulder, wary and alarmed, but Sam knows that Dean doesn't see dead eyes in the darkness, can't feel them the way Sam does. Dean's hands on Sam's arms clench hard. Dean's never been afraid of bruising him and now he's angry, telling Sam they need to make their move.
"No, you need to leave. Now." Supposed to be firm, but it comes out pleading and Dean looks up with kohl-circled eyes and Sam is lost. He's shaking now with fear and worry and something else, something buried deep and secret that makes him want what they want.
"They're watching, Dean, oh god, they've been watching, and they don't want to let you go. Please," he whispers. Begs. Listen to me look at me touch me god and now Sam can't stop himself. The pad of his thumb is rough over the deep curve of Dean's lower lip, smearing the edge of color because nothing should be perfect, especially not here. He watches Dean's eyelids blink and stutter, finally staying closed as Sam rubs the sticky gloss into his lips.
"Sammy," whispered and broken through a mouth that's still too red and bruised-looking under cheap glittery lip gloss. Maybe Sam can suck away the sweetness, so he leans in, tastes fake peaches and the cigarette Dean smoked in the parking lot; uses his teeth and hears jealous whispers flutter against his mind.
want him want him
"Mine," he tells the ones watching, growling it in a low voice that makes Dean moan. He pushes his hips forward into Dean, rocking into him slow and even, just once, just enough to make his claim, but it's Dean who's lost now, one hand hard on Sam's hip and the other clenched tight in Sam's hair. And Dean just breaks, shoving their mouths together and it turns out the inside of Dean's mouth doesn't taste like peaches -- just slick vodka and lime and Sam wants to lick it all away while Dean shoves his thigh between Sam's legs.
So good, so good, perfect hard place to rock against, and Sam presses biting kisses over Dean's neck, knowing the glittery stuff will look beautiful on Dean's throat, too.
"Jesus, Sammy, fuck --" Words that go straight to his cock and no way he's going to last like this but he needs Dean over the edge with him. Hard ridge under Sam's hands and now Dean is swearing, praying maybe; leaving bruises on Sam's shoulders and moaning into his mouth before coming, hard and hot against his palm.
Then suddenly it's Dean's hand on Sam's body, surrounding him, just taking him and Dean doesn't let up until Sam is shaking with the aftershocks. At least Dean waits until Sam can see again before shoving him away.
Dean's hand is trembling, reaching up to swipe at his red-bitten lips. When he looks up Sam can see that the bruises have reached his eyes now. Anger and hurt and damage, probably, but Sam won't think about that now because the ones watching them are amused; maybe amused enough to let them go.
"Come on." Sam pushes Dean ahead of him through dark, silent laughter and out into the night. "Don't look back."
End part 1: Beautiful