Okay guys this is a Wincest ficcie with Dean and his sister Alex from the story Song Remains the Same. She was with Cas in that story but I read it and see Deanlex and thought i'd give it a try. Please be nice, I know incest isn't everyone's thing but umm I worked for months on this to make it read like the Song Remains The Same and I hope you like it. It's not just smut to be smut. It's emotional too! It happens after season 5 when Dean is living with Lisa and Alex had run away. This is AU and Alex comes back a few months later. Pls leave a review if you liked it! xx
Three in the morning and Dean Winchester was as wide awake as he'd been when he got into bed. Beside him, sound asleep, Lisa was turned away from him. Dean studied the silhouette of her shoulder for a few more minutes, willing himself to sleep. But he was too restless to sleep, and if he hadn't fallen asleep yet, it probably wasn't gonna happen at all. He slipped out of bed and out of the bedroom, dressed in a gray t-shirt and boxers with socks pulled to his shins. He stole down the hallway, giving in to the deeply ingrained instinct to check on his sister.
Maybe if he laid eyes on Alex again he would be able to go to sleep, knowing she was safe and nearby. It had been six months since they'd fought the day Sam died. Then today she'd just shown up out of the blue. Dean was afraid she'd slip away just as fast as she appeared. A few rooms down the hall, he could see a faint light coming from underneath the guest room. The door was slightly cracked, too, and he pushed it open a little, careful in case she'd fallen asleep with the lights on (she did that sometimes). But she was sitting up in bed, a book resting on her knees, which were drawn up to herself. She didn't seem too surprised by his appearance—just looked up from the paperback and smiled a little at him, then took in his appearance and smirked a little. He was surprised when she didn't tease him about his very dad-ish appearance.
"Hey," he said softly, drifting into the room and shutting the door behind himself. She looked as awake as he was. "Still up huh?"
She shrugged a little. "Can't sleep."
Part of the Winchester curse, he guessed. And after the year they'd had… losing Sam, falling apart, fighting and going separate ways… he'd been a lot shorter on sleep than before. His younger sister looked like an alien creature to him at the moment, because she wasn't wearing her usual jeans and shirt to bed. She was in things Lisa had insisted she borrow—sleep shorts and a camisole shirt with lacy straps. She looked like a girl, and Dean thought about teasing her about it, then didn't. Instead he looked at the book she had. "What you reading?" He asked as he neared, and she held it up so he could see the cover. A Pirate's Passion. Dean chuckled at the cheesy title and cover. "Ah, shoulda known," he said affectionately. She had always been into those dime-store romance novels so hardcore. He sat down on the bed, shifting a leg underneath himself so he could see her better. "So, what do you think?" He asked, spreading his hands out a little and indicating, vaguely, himself and the house. Everything.
Alex set the book down and chuckled at him. "Suburban life suits you," she said lightly, teasingly.
Dean raised his eyebrows, matching her lighthearted mood. "Aw come on." Was she serious? "You kidding me?"
Surprisingly earnest all the sudden, Alex shook her head and looked him in the eye. "No. You make a good dad. A good boyfriend." She seemed a little sad now. "You finally got what you wanted."
Dean became a little somber. "What I wanted," he repeated, then thought about it a minute. "Dunno about that." He looked at her closely, wishing he could read her like he used to. He turned a little more, putting his legs on the bed and propping himself on his side, on an elbow, studying her and chancing a really real question (all day long they'd been acting like things were a lot better than they really were). "You okay? We haven't talked about any of it." Their fight—Sam—Cas—none of it.
Alex immediately became quiet and her eyes faltered away. She let her head rest against the headboard and she looked up at the ceiling. "I don't want to."
"Yeah," Dean said. "I get that. But maybe you should."
Her eyes slid to his, somewhere between challenging and rueful. "You first."
Yeah right. Dean didn't wanna talk about it, either. "At least we still got each other, huh?" He asked softly, and she finally looked back at him. There was no one else out there like his kid sister—who'd been there his whole life, seen him at his lowest moments, had his back no matter what. Unlike Sam and Dad, she'd never bailed on him, at least not before Sam died. They'd needed each other growing up. She'd needed his help getting by, he'd needed her because she made him feel important and not alone. The past six months had been hell not hearing from her, and suddenly Dean was overcome by emotion, realizing all over again that she was actually here. He reached out and hugged his free arm around her tightly on impulse and she chuckled.
"Missed you too, D," she said, voice muffled in his shoulder as she pat-patted him and waited for him to let go. He cleared his throat and blinked his eyes when he let go, tried a smile. On her face, there was a strange expression. She was trying to smile, but now she was about to cry, too. "I really did. Miss you."
There just weren't words to say, and Dean just reached out and covered her hand that rested on the bed with his. Looked at that—their hands, together. They'd held hands so many times in their lives. Hers had always been smaller than his, no matter their ages at the time. With her, he'd always been less guarded with anyone else. So much more open. He'd allowed himself to show his emotions with her, just like now. "Why'd you leave me?" Dean asked in a strained whisper. "Why'd you stay gone? Don't you know how worried I was?"
His question seemed to pain her and she shook her head, features working oddly. She said nothing in reply to his question, just curled up to him, her head beside his shoulder. And then he felt how she shook a little bit. She was crying. He hated to see her cry. Always had, always would. He turned a little, shifted so that he could hold her, wrap his arms around her, shush her soothingly. How many times had he done this? Comforted his little sister in her saddest hours. It had been miserable enough as children when she'd had no way of making sounds. Hearing her crying sounds was awful, but it also made his heart warm to comfort her again, be the one who comforted her tears.
"Can you just stay with me tonight, Dean?" She asked, her voice forlorn and pathetic and faint, like she knew how silly her request was. "Like when we were little?"
Her little request broke his heart and he wanted, immediately, to say yes. But Dean thought of Lisa, a few bedrooms over. She wouldn't understand it if she found out. But he knew she was asleep. He took too long to reply.
"I just don't wanna be alone, you know?" she asked, sniffing and sounding ashamed of herself, her request. Dean held her a little tighter, pressed a little kiss into her hair.
"No, I know," he murmured. Of all the people in the world, only Sam and Alex had ever understood Dean completely. And really, not even Sam had. For the past few months when Alex had been missing, Dean had felt so lonely even though every night he went to sleep with Lisa beside him. Here with his sister, the one he'd raised and protected and invested everything in for his entire life, he felt the truest sense of belonging. And he loved her so fiercely, more than he loved anyone else—he knew that, but wouldn't admit it out loud, because he knew how jacked up that seemed. But either way, he couldn't say no to her. "I'll stay with you. But I'll have to get up really early in the morning and go to Lisa's room, okay?"
She nodded, burying her face into his chest. Love and affection swelled in Dean's chest even as he swallowed the feeling that this was somehow wrong, even as memories he tried to erase tried to surface. If he was going to hide this from Lisa, didn't that say something about it? Quickly, he told himself that it wasn't wrong at all. Alex needed him and he would always come through for her. She was still crying softly and he drew back, heart breaking at those quiet little sounds. Her face was contorted and streaked with tears.
"Hey. I love you, Al," he said softly, consolingly. Pleadingly, trying to sound like he was a lot more even-keeled than he actually felt. "Stop crying, will you? You know I can't take it when you do that." He brushed away a tear, then leaned in on impulse and kissed the place the tear had been. Maybe the little kiss lasted too long or maybe he shouldn't have touched the side of her face when he did it. Because when he drew back, she looked at him strangely, like what he'd done had startled her. And her look made his stomach flip in a strange sort of dread and he wondered if she remembered, because all those years ago on that night he had never admitted existed… this is exactly the face she'd looked at him with.
And it dawned on Dean that they were in a lover's embrace—facing one another with his arm around her, his hand on the side of her head, her hand on his chest, their bodies almost touching. It seemed to hit them both at the same time and he took his hand off of her face at the same time that she pulled her hand back to herself.
"Sorry," Dean apologized, feeling a shocking sense of shame with himself even though all he'd done was kiss her cheek. His heart beat a little faster and he swallowed, self-conscious.
"No, nah, it's… I'm tired." Alex cleared her throat and they thankfully put the moment behind them. "Let's just go to sleep."
She turned and reached to the bedside table, switched the lamp off, cuddled down into the bed. Dean stayed on top of the blankets, a little warning voice in the back of his head suddenly telling him that he shouldn't push things, that this was bordering on inappropriate. Come on, he told himself. She's my sister—we're close. This is fine. Still, he didn't get under the covers, and he kept thinking about that night all those years ago and cursing himself for thinking of it at all.
"Dina, get under the covers, you're throwing off my whole vibe," she teased. In the dark, it wasn't as intimidating or weird and Dean grumbled in good nature, trying to convince himself it was fine. It was fine. Underneath the covers was warm and he laid on his back, let her cuddle into his side, and he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on right now. Not any memories that were resurfacing.
"Thanks, Dean," she whispered in the darkness. "For staying with me."
"You know I'd do anything for you, princess," he said teasingly, squeezing her shoulder and maintaining his persona of loving, supportive big brother.
"Yeah. I know you would." Her serious reply touched his heart, warmed him. Guilt-tripped him.
Beside him, Alex felt slight and small, in need of the protection he'd tried to give her their whole life. He really would do anything for her, and sometimes when he thought about it, the feeling was enough to bring him to tears. He thought of the years just the two of them had taken on the world together, depended on the other when Sam and Dad had left. She'd always been in the passenger seat. His sidekick, his better half, a ray of sunshine in what would have otherwise been a lonely, harsh life. Sometimes he forgot Sam and Alex were the twins and felt more like he and Alex were. They had a bond that was special, lasting, beyond his own understanding. She was special to him and held his heart like no one else ever had. Pride, love, and longing for her to have the best in life filled him.
"Dean?" she asked quietly, and he turned his head to look at her. Their faces were close and her cheek rested against his arm that encircled her. In the cool moonlight, he could see her dark, shining eyes. "I know you're really happy here with Lisa but… if you decide this isn't for you, can we just… go back to how it was when Sam was at Stanford?" Her voice broke. "I miss that."
Dean turned and hugged her again, forgetting his previous worries. All he heard was loneliness and fear in her voice and truthfully, the moment she'd just shown up today out of nowhere, he'd been ready to, at her request, leave all of this behind. "All you got to do is tell me, sweetheart. Tell me that's what you want and we'll do it. You and me."
Alex drew back, resisting his embrace. "Dean, don't do that, I only want you to leave this behind if that's what you want."
He meant every word: "If you need me, Al, I'm outta here. You know nothing past, present, or future, is gonna be put ahead of you for me."
Her face registered the most peculiar expression he'd ever seen there. She looked at him like she never had and shook her head a little. "You love me too much."
A disarming, crooked smile pulled his lips up to one side. "No such thing," he murmured, and again touched the side of her head, smoothing her hair down. He remembered brushing and fixing her hair when she was little. He remembered her and Sammy being scared of the dark and of thunder when they were small. He remembered the time Alex had beat a kid's face in for stealing Dean's lunch at school—and then when Alex had gotten bullied in return, Dean had let that kid who gave his sister a black eye have it. He remembered how, when he was sixteen, he'd been sent to a boy's home and Alex had run away from Bobby's to find him, knowing something was wrong. He remembered taking Alex to prom and having to drag her there and how she'd fucked that up, too, of course—then how they'd gone for burgers and thrown french fries off the roof at people's heads. There was no love deeper in the world than what Dean had for his sister and late brother. At the thought of Sam, who they had lost, Dean pulled Alex to himself tightly, wrapping both arms around her.
"Don't you ever leave me like Sam did," he told her in a soft, broken voice. He could feel her heart beating against his chest—he could feel her womanly curves against his solid chest, and for a minute, he was confused. She wasn't a stick-like twelve year old anymore. She was a woman. Twenty-eight. But in his mind, she was forever a child. His child, sort of. His daughter, his sister.
She was crying again a little at the mention of Sam and drew away a little, turning her face down into his upper arm. "We're gonna be okay," Dean told her, trying to reassure her. "I promise."
She turned to him again and in the darkness, they studied each other. He wiped the gleaming tear-tracks off her cheek and restrained himself from kissing her cheek again.
Strangely, she inched closer, and it looked like she looked at his mouth for a minute. "… Do you remember that night in Pennsylvania? Winter, nineteen ninety-four?" She asked softly.
Shock like thunder clapped over Dean and he felt short of breath all the sudden. "W-what about it? What night?" He asked in a tight voice, trying to act like he didn't know. He had spent years hoping maybe Alex, twelve at the time at the time, would have forgotten that somehow, let it slip her mind.
But his sister knew him too well and saw straight through him. "You do remember," she said softly, knowingly. Apprehensively. "I remember too."
"Wooo hooo!" Dean whooped, dancing around the motel room drunkenly with the whiskey he'd swiped from Dad's stash. Boredom and cabin fever had set in on Winchester kids, who were on Christmas break and waiting on their Dad to turn back up from a hunt. Why not? Dean had figured. They should get into the Christmas spirit a little bit. The twins, twelve and a half at the time, were both newbies at alcohol, but Sam especially overdid it. "Come on Sammy!" Dean chortled, clapping his bleary-eyed, wasted brother on the shoulder enthusiastically.
"Words taste like bananas," Sam mumbled, then passed out, drunk as a skunk. Dean and Alex, barely able to stand themselves, picked him up and tossed him like a sack of potatoes into one of the beds and then collapsed on the other one, laughing. Dean began to tickle his sister… he was never one to pass up an opportunity to make her howl (in theory).
"Had enough, punk?!" He asked through a laugh, wishing she could laugh out loud too. She was writhing and laughing silently as he tickled her hard. Her eyes were crinkled shut from laughing, she shook boisterously, trying to grab his hands and make him stop. Dean quit tickling her, pitching sideways drunkenly and laughing at himself. Everything was fuzzy, warm, fun, and he loved these idiot kids of his. He hugged Alex and slurred some sort of affectionate comment at her, ruffled her hair, messing it up good, just to annoy her. Annoying her was one of his favorite things.. He let go of her, trying to let her drop back down to the bed, but she hung on. Her arms stayed around his neck and she was looking up at him strangely, fascinated, wondering something.
When she leaned up and suddenly kissed him with brief, hard lips, the strangest feeling flared in Dean's low stomach and he was too shocked to do anything but stare at her in astonishment. Wait… what?
She kissed him again, harder, grabbing his face and kissing him like they did in the movies, drunkenly and sloppily... in a way siblings did not kiss. For the rest of his life, Dean would wonder why he did what he did next. He would blame the alcohol, hormones, stupidity, he would try and decide he had a slight mental break, he would tell himself he didn't remember who it was kissing him. But he knew exactly who it was. And Dean laid there on top of his twelve year old sister and made out with her, burningly curious, lit on fire, never having done this before with any girl, ever. His senses were filled with amazing warmth and straining need, and Alex seemed so surreal to him in that moment. He was awestruck that she could do that, make him feel that way, and they rolled over a few times, getting into it, kissing wetly and without much finesse.
When they stopped rolling, they were side by side, facing each other, and Alex moved his hand down and stuck it between her legs over her jeans. Dean had frozen, coming out of the trance he was in to stare at her in fear. Wait, this was too much. He shouldn't be touching her there—but oh my god, the look on her face. Was he doing that to her? Making her look so pleasured and womanly? She was trying to kiss him again and he let it happen, let her keep moving against his hand. He was going insane himself, but turned his hips and torso downward to the bed and sought relief from the pressure of the mattress there as he slid his hips upward a little. Alex was breathing so hard he thought she might faint but they kept making out, hot and heavy and friggin' mind numbing… and then when she suddenly jerked and grabbed onto him hard with her free hand, he understood what was happening to her and it was too much—his body betrayed him and he tried to stifle his reaction but instead he just pressed his hips into the bed and exploded in his pants, crying out softly in surprise and sick horror at what was happening.
He hid his face from her as it happened to him, his fingers tight on her and in the bedspread, shame quickly coming over him and threatening to kill him. Alex went slack beside him and Dean lifted his head up, feeling ill enough to throw up. His sister was passed out drunk beside him. And he was laying there with his hand on her crotch and jizz in his pants.
Of all the times for Dad to get back, but that was when he did. The door swung open and in walked John Winchester.
Dean still didn't know what Dad had seen, if anything—he'd yanked his hand off Alex in record time—John had seen the twins, drunk and unconscious, Dean wasted, and his whiskey… and gone nuts, let Dean have it, given him a good shiner and a vicious verbal beat down, too. The entire time Dean had thought I deserve this. If Dad knew what I just did, he'd kill me. Maybe I should die.
And now he knew. She remembered. She knew.
Dean wanted to die now from shame. He could barely find his voice. He felt physically ill. "I didn't mean—we were drunk." Dean swallowed, an impossible task with his dry throat. He wanted to cry from embarrassment and beg her forgiveness, but all he could find to say was: "I-it was an accident."
Alex looked at him plainly, her eyes soft and knowing. "Was it?" The question that haunted him all these years, the question that he didn't want to ask, because how could it have been a total accident? He hadn't been that drunk. He'd known what he was doing. He'd taken advantage of his sister, and he was a perverted, demented sicko for it. Alex suddenly caught him off guard with what she said next. "I still think about it sometimes," she admitted, shocking him all over again with the way she said it. Almost wistful. Her eyes seemed so dark and full, and she was speaking in the softest, most cautious whisper. "Do you?" His heart flip-flopped and his slammed against his rib cage. What was she saying to him?
He answered very, very carefully and quietly, trying not to give himself away. "Sometimes."
Dean didn't know how a single word would change things between them forever… but when he acknowledged that, his sister seemed to gather some small courage and like so many years before, she abruptly leaned into him and kissed him on the mouth with gentle, warm, soft lips. His stomach went crazy with unmistakable, shameful warmth and Dean pulled back, shock freezing his blood. "What are you doing?" he asked, and he was almost unable to breathe. His body was rigid and he made absolutely no movement. This was wrong, and they both knew it.
Alex seemed almost as shocked as he was, and suddenly afraid. "I—I don't know," she stammered out in breathless horror. Her eyes were wide like saucers. "I just, I thought…" she was getting more and more riled up and upset, pulling away from him, taking his negative reaction and getting shaken up. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was…" she trailed off completely and swallowed, pulled away from him, rolled over and sat up so that her legs hung over the other side of the bed. Dean followed, worried about not only her now but about himself. "It's okay," he said, rushing to try and excuse the behavior, relieved that she saw it wasn't right. "You've been through a lot, it's late—it's no big deal, brothers and sisters kiss in some countries… whatever happened between us back then was stupid, I thought you forgot—we're not bad people. We just made a mistake, we were wasted, right?" He continued to spew out every excuse he could think of to try and make it better, and when he was out of things to say, he put a hesitant arm around her even though she was stiff and resisted his attempt to comfort her. Touching her was now sullied by the thought of her lips on his. It shouldn't have felt so good when she kissed him. He tried not to think about it, just tried to help her be okay again. He was her brother, not her lover, and he needed to remember that. If she was confused about it, he had to lead the way.
"C'mere," he said, pulling on her, trying to get her to come closer where he could hold her better. It didn't occur to him that it might be a bad idea, because he'd always held her. She let him hold her, her face unreadable, and then, with her there in his embrace, he told himself, again, to remember who he was. Her brother. Her comforter and friend, her family. He had held her a thousand times before and had been the only one who could console her. But when he drew her into his arms, legs across his lap so that she could put her head onto his shoulder… it seemed bereft of the innocence it had always had before. And Dean swallowed deeply, panicking inwardly as her body, so warm and familiar in his arms, tested him, horrified him. His mind was wicked, imagining more kisses, wondering what it would be like to hold her in a more intimate embrace.
He withered internally at himself, at the gall and perversion of his treacherous mind. He was confused, he reasoned. Grieving for Sam and to be honest, the family lines had always been so blurred. It was dark in this room. She could be anyone, and that explained why he was reacting like this. Except he knew exactly who she was. Just like he had, years ago. And his heart was beginning to beat faster as he turned his head down toward her and she raised her head off his shoulder to look up at him. "Why did you keep touching me that way, that night?" She asked softly.
Dean could have thrown up from shame of the true answer. Because he'd wanted to, he'd liked it. "You wanted me to. And I was… was drunk."
Alex's reply was so soft and so true. "You weren't that drunk."
God, she was right, and maybe she knew that he was lying about it. But he wanted to believe he'd been under some influence of something. That the boy who'd touched his sister and made her come then gotten off on it himself had been someone else. But that had been him. And throughout the years, sometimes during sex, sometimes in the shower, sometimes when he was alone… he'd remembered that night and let the wild heat it conjured take him over the edge. It was shameful. And what was more shameful was tonight. Now. This.
Why did she have to be so beautiful and emotionally frail? He put his hand against the side of her head, his thumb stroking over the hair covering her ear, and he wanted to weep from the abominable desire from the pits of hell that was eating him whole. Their faces drifted close and without coherent thought (only impossible amounts of fiery need), Dean took hold of his sister's face and kissed her with contorted features and a burning slowness he didn't understand—but when she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, Dean suddenly threw her aside onto the bed and stood up, his alarm doubling.
"Holy shit, no," he said, aghast and shocked at what they were doing and how much he wanted it. "We cannot do this." Like a ton of bricks it was mindfucking him completely: He wanted his sister. He wanted her. And he couldn't do that, he couldn't. He began to leave, to shaken up and furious with a frenzy of shameful desire to think straight.
"Dean, please, no—don't go—" she begged him, catching hold of his arm to stop him before he reached the door.
Angry and frantic, Dean grabbed her and whirled them, pushing her against the wall as he would an enemy. Only she wasn't the enemy. She was beautiful and he'd always known it, she was surprised at his sudden violent outburst and was breathing heavily. He cursed himself and cursed her, wanting things he should never want. "It's okay, Dean, it's my fault. Don't feel bad for it," she said, trying to comfort him—she was on the verge of crying and he recognized the signs so well—and she seemed so vulnerable and needy and he was the same. Was she talking about tonight, or that night all those years ago? He didn't know, and it didn't seem to matter. He wanted to cry all over again at how strong his feelings and instincts were, he needed to kiss her, so he did, gentle and sweet and agonized. The sound she made when he did that. He'd remember it for the rest of his life… a soft, slow moan at the base of her throat. And god help him. He didn't have the strength to stop himself from what he did next.
He seized her by the back of the neck and began to kiss her with all the frustration and confusion and passion he felt, crowding her against the wall, dominating her out of anger and need alike. She whimpered into his mouth as their tongues first touched and he groaned in panic and disgust with himself even as insane amounts of primal arousal rose and blinded him. When she put her arms around him and pushed her body against his, Dean lost his mind even more, tangled a hand in her hair and let his mouth search and claim hers even more deeply—it was abominable and divine, the way she felt. His body was ripe and thrumming with familiar desire for her and at such intense amounts that he could have collapsed. He nudged her legs apart with a knee and grabbed her bare thighs in his hands, lifted her, pushing her against the wall roughly. Her hands tightened on the back of his head when he rocked his hips against her in blind, raging need. He almost came on the spot at the moan that ripped out of her lips, it was so wrong.
So wrong. Wrong. And Dean pulled away abruptly from the kiss and stopped moving. This was his sister, his flesh and blood. They stared at each other breathlessly. Maybe both wondering what are we doing? Alex looked close to tears. Tears of shame? Guilt? Desire? He didn't know, but he felt like crying, too even as he throbbed with need. Need for her. The two of them were so fucked up—what kind of brother and sister would get it this twisted? He was shaking his head slowly, regretting everything and choking on his own voice. "I can't do this to you," he protested miserably through a tight throat, wishing he didn't want to do it so bad at all. He touched the side of her face, silently asking her not to cry. "I can't." Please understand, Al.
"I know it's wrong," Alex said in a voice that was unsteady with the threat of bitter, horrible tears. "J-just imagine I'm someone else if you can't, but… I need you, I need someone, and you're all I have, please." She was begging and it broke his heart and crumbled his walls and changed his mind and damned him for all eternity. He couldn't resist and couldn't say no. Not after she asked him like that. Not after she said she needed him.
"I don't gotta imagine someone else," he murmured huskily, ashamed at himself and also so turned on he could barely stand up. He picked her up with gentleness, carried her back to the bed and laid down with her, kissed her sensually this time, his arousal growing exponentially more and more intense as she clung to him and pressed and wriggled against him and moaned and whimpered, both afraid and aroused. How was she doing this to him? He didn't know, but he'd never felt this wanted or needed with any other woman, and he'd never wanted or needed as bad as he needed Alex.
She tugged on his shirt and off it came, he pulled off her camisole and their bare chests touched and he groaned deeply at the sinful feeling, looked at her to make sure she was still okay. She seemed enraptured at him, entranced and vaguely sick, and he wanted to die at the sight of her like that.
He murmured her name and said she was beautiful through a voice choked with shame and adoration alike, then kissed and suckled her neck as guilt and pleasure both ate him alive—she gasped and cried and bit her lip, she whispered his name like a plea and it destroyed him. She made a low, animalistic sound as he nuzzled one of her nipples with his nose, ran his thumb across it, touched the humble little peak with fingers. Her hand tightened in his hair and he shut his eyes, breathed her in, sickened by bliss. Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh. He loved her in a way he didn't understand, wrong or right and endless. She covered his hand in hers and pushed slowly downward and he gaped at her audacity when she made him cup the place between her legs—without jeans like all those years before, he could feel so much more. The heat there was blazing and the most seductive, maddening, amazing thing he'd ever felt. She wanted him, and he suddenly worried. "This isn't… y-your first time, is it?" he asked softly, knowing she'd been a virgin a year ago, at least, but he wasn't sure about in more recent times. Still, he would be so, so gentle if she was...
"No," she returned in equal softness, shooting down his thoughts. "Cas."
A shiver of dark jealousy ran over Dean, but as quickly as he felt it, he forced it away so that he didn't ruin this moment. Cas was dead, after all—and all that mattered was this moment right now. Dean moved his fingers against his sister through her clothes, a little more sure of what he was doing than the night when he'd been fifteen and drunk. In response she made a beautiful, aroused sound and he was so sexually frustrated that he had to run his other hand down across himself to give himself some small relief from the tightness and pounding need. He moved his hand against her again, kissing her and drowning in awful pleasure as she gasped into his mouth and ground herself against his hand. And then he was staggered when she touched him, shyly, through his boxers.
"Shit, Alex," he managed through a tight throat. No one had ever touched him so tentatively or sweetly and he strained even more at his pants as she explored his length through the fabric with her fingers. He forgot everything and shut his eyes, overcome to the point of choking, especially when she slipped her hand into his boxers and wrapped the hot shaft in a firm grip. "Fuck," he groaned out helplessly through gritted teeth.
"Touch me, too," she told him in a soft but steady voice, and he obeyed, tortured by her soft touch and warm skin and the way she knew exactly what she wanted. He slid his hand into her underwear, his heart hammering and body coursing with crazy desire. What he found there made him moan again. This was so wrong—so wrong—and he was dizzy with more desire than he'd ever felt. Ever.
"God, Al, you're so friggin' wet," he muttered in a stunned voice, running his fingers up and down a few times, eliciting a few shivers from her. She cried out softly when he nudged two fingers into her and Dean made a sound, too, shifted a little to grind his erection against her thigh. He couldn't stand it, and apparently neither could she. When he began to finger her, she panted and writhed and squirmed under him, and their eyes met and both seemed shocked by what was happening, appalled and also not willing to stop. Alex crooked an arm around his neck, pulling him down to kiss her again, deeply, and Dean couldn't stand it. He pulled his fingers out of her and, keeping his hand in her loose, stretchy sleep shorts, he moved his hand to grip her ass as he ground his erection down between her legs. She swore in rising frustration, and pulled at his lower back, making him press even harder against her, then began to pull his boxers off.
A wild instinct overtook Dean at the realization that they were really going to do this. It was suddenly making him desperate and frantic. He panicked and without ceasing to kiss her, he roughly took hold of her underwear and shorts and the same time and yanked them off one leg at a time, pulling them off almost brutally as she gasped into his mouth. He threw the clothing items aside, leaving her totally naked, and his boxers were barely even to mid thigh, but he didn't care. He pushed her legs apart and held her hard as he took her before either of them could change their minds. "God, baby girl," he groaned, almost sobbing as he first thrust inside of her—and to hear her gasping in relief and torment and shock alike underneath him was insane. Feeling her around him like that was so intense that he had to hold still—and when she looked at him in desperation, he was embarrassed. "I need a minute," he confessed, panting at how tight she was around him.
She was breathless too and almost looked like she was going to cry, and Dean bent, kissed her cheek, her jaw, her lips. When he kissed her mouth, she whimpered and held him there, kissed him deeply, slowly, moving her legs to lock around his waist and take him even deeper, making him gasp in hot pleasure. She had her arms around his neck and she was grinding her hips down over him, refusing to give him a minute, needing him right away, and knowing it wasn't a good idea—he was too turned on to last long—he did it anyway, gave her what she wanted.
He turned a little, letting them be on their sides, her legs still wrapped around him, and he moved slow, steady, gentle and deep, trying not to let himself feel how good it felt—tried to focus on anything that would take his mind away from her. But he couldn't. This wasn't fucking or sex, it was making love—slow, tortured, desperate, confused, wretched love, and he wanted to die, wanted to weep. He also never wanted to stop, ever. He touched her face and adored her as she became lost in absolute tortured ecstasy at what he did—she began to cry, miserable confused tears, and he put a hand on her face, grieving with her even as he committed the worst sin on the planet there with her in bed. It was thrilling and horrible and he could barely see at all and their eyes met and she clung to him and just like that, he knew he was going to come and he begged himself not to, not yet—and then, shocking him, her face contorted, she leaned into him and shuddered, clung to him even tighter, then cried out in a way he'd never heard before from her mouth.
"God, Dean, uhh!" she gasped out as her hand clamped down onto his wrist and that was it—he couldn't have lasted a second longer no matter what. He began to come, too. Fighting to stay quiet, Dean pushed his mouth into her shoulder, pulling on her with one hand as he groaned loudly and then cried out, holding her as tight as he could, spilling into her as wicked, sinful pleasure wrecked brother and sister alike. They hung onto each other, emotionally raw. It was horrible and it was amazing, it was abominable and it made Dean see stars.
It was over and they were breathless and shocked, with him still inside of her. The moment they had pursued having come to pass, reality seemed to confront both of them at the same time. And as the orgasm still made their bodies quake, he took in her tearful, appalled face and he began to cry, too. They held each other tightly, knowing what they'd done was so, so wrong. Dean pulled out, and Alex hung on tighter, begging him please don't leave, I'm sorry—and she was too ashamed to look at him, but Dean hadn't been planning to leave. She sniffed and asked what, oh god what had they just done. Dean didn't know, but answered as tears flooded his face that no one would ever find out, he'd never tell a soul and she promised she wouldn't either. They were both completely flummoxed and shocked, grieved at themselves. They remained there and he stroked her hair and their sweat-damp bodies remained touched together comfortingly. And after fifteen minutes of consoling the other and holding each other, Alex kissed him again, as if it were for the last time... and then it wasn't. They tried not to, but they had sex again, neither knowing why and neither one able to stop it. The second time was longer and so much worse. They both cried during it, a perverse union they should have never been in. The guilt was even worse afterward.
"We'll leave today," he whispered when it was over again. "We won't tell her why, we'll just go and figure this out like we always do, okay?" He stole away in the earliest hours of the morning to go back to Lisa's room so that everything would seem normal to her. Alex waited a few minutes. Dressed herself and prepared to run away, sneak out and never show her face ever again. Not after that. But as she crept out of the house, his soft voice stopped her.
"I thought you might do this," he said, and she turned. He was dressed too—jacket on and everything. Seeing him in the light of day was terrifying, a reminder of what they'd done. He looked similarly guilt-ridden and unsure, but he had two bags with him.
"What are you doing?" She asked him, looking at the bags, the jacket.
He gave her a little sad smile. "What, you think you can get rid of me that easy?" He joked half-heartedly, then grew a little more serious. "I'm not losing you again. Especially not…" he swallowed, looked away briefly. "Not now."
"It was a mistake," she said, guilty to the point of tears. "We both know that."
"We've made mistakes before," he tried, coming a little closer.
Shame ate her alive. Suicide seemed like a good option for her right now. "Not like this."
"Look at me, Al," he said softly. "Forget it. That never happened. You had a crazy dream. That's all." It made her love him even more that he would shoulder that for them. "Don't push me away—just, as long as we can be together, I'll be okay. If we never touch each other even to shake hands—okay. Whatever you say." He swallowed and his voice broke. "Don't make me lose you too."
"No," she said softly, and hugged him tearfully. "I won't."
They ran away together and Lisa never knew what happened that night in her guest bedroom.