Temporary Bliss Chapter 3 - I'm Not Okay

"He is thinking that if only he could cut him open and peel him back and crawl inside this second skin, the he could relive that last mile again: reborn."

Richard Siken

Sam had thought that nothing could possibly be worse than the shame and misery he had felt after that first night with Dean. But he'd been wrong. The guilt that he felt after what he had done to Dean was scraping at his insides. He couldn't eat, could hardly sleep and when he did manage to doze off he didn't get any rest. Only flashes of black eyes and blood. He usually woke up with his heart racing, and either had to rush to the nearest basin or toilet to throw up or found that he had a sticky mess in his underwear that needed cleaning up.

He knew that he was starting to look unwell, almost as bad as was Cas looking. He was losing weight and there were dark circles under his eyes. And he knew that Cas had noticed. He was still struggling with what to tell Cas, who obviously was still looking for Dean, while Sam just as obviously wasn't. And Sam was hardly in a physical condition to hunt at the moment—not that that stopped him—but he couldn't use hunts as an avoidance tool like he had been. Cas had started hanging around the Bunker more, clearly worried about him, so Sam ended up saying he was going on a hunt, no it was fine he didn't need any backup, he'd be back in a few days, and then staying away as long as possible, just to get away from Cas's questioning looks. Cas couldn't follow him. And Sam couldn't come clean with him. But he was going to get himself killed if he took on anything more strenuous than a run-of-the-mill salt-and-burn, so he mostly ended up watching old reruns in some run down motel room trying to think of a way to somehow get himself out of this situation.

And Sam couldn't stop thinking about his brother. About the two awful nights that they'd been together and the awful things they had done to one another. Sam knew that it hadn't really been Dean, but it was still the body that had made him feel safe for as long as he could remember, the body that he had longed for, for as long as he knew what sex was. It was still Dean's face and his lips. Dean's hands. Dean's blood. And although what they'd done had not been what Sam had ever dreamed about in his wildest fantasies, still… It had been a piece of Dean he'd never thought he'd get to experience. And Sam wanted more.

He was a sick and greedy man, and god, he just really wanted more. But more than that, he wanted Dean back. He felt Dean's absence like he would feel the loss of a vital organ. So maybe his brother was gone, maybe he would never get Dean back. Would it be so wrong to take some comfort from what was left of him? From a demon who didn't care anyway? Surely the only person Sam would really be hurting was himself? Sam thought that he could live with that.

He held out for as long as he could, and it wasn't that long. A couple of weeks after Sam had left Dean on a bed in Piedmont, he picked up his phone, found his way to his archived messages and, trying not to look at the Photo, he tapped the call option next to the number. Dean hadn't left any more messages, or tried to call Sam since that last night. Sam had wondered why, and then decided that it was probably some game the demon was playing. Whatever. Let him play his games. Sam couldn't take it any longer, he needed to see Dean. Feel him.

It wasn't that Sam was addicted to the demon blood—even though he could still almost taste it, thick and intoxicating. But he was starting to think that he might be addicted to Dean.

Dean answered lazily, but without the "Heya, Sammy" that Sam had been dreading. All Sam got was a "Yep?"

"We need to talk," Sam said, as curtly as he could. Talking was a legitimate reason for meeting up. And Sam did have some things that he felt he needed to say, or he really might end up losing his mind. Even if Dean couldn't hear them and the demon didn't care, Sam still needed to say them.

"'Bout what?" It sounded like Dean was barely listening to Sam, completely uninterested.

"Look can we just meet somewhere?" Sam said irritably. Of course the demon wasn't going to make it easy.

"You gonna bring that knife with?" Sam wasn't sure if what he heard in Dean's voice was hope or fear.

"Damn right I'm bringing it with, asshole, I'm not an idiot." Sam took a deep breath in, "But I'll keep it out in the open where you can see it, okay?"

"Yeah, that didn't help me much last time, kiddo." Sam winced at the familiarity. God, he missed his brother. The image of an angry, jagged and burnt 'S' carved into soft flesh flashed through Sam's mind, and his breath caught.

"Well, we need to talk, and that's the best I can do. Bring whatever weapon you need to make you feel comfortable. Even the score."

Dean snorted and Sam heard him mumble, "As if I need a weapon," before he said nonchalantly, "Sure Sammy, let's meet. Where do you wanna hook up?"

Another wince. Sam knew that Dean had used the phrase "hook-up" on purpose. Fuck, was he really so obvious?

They decided to meet at a pier they both knew on the Republican River. Not too far from Lebanon, and who the fuck knew where Dean was right then, but he agreed to it easily enough.

Sam hung up with a feeling of resigned dread.

Sam had almost forgotten that Cas was at the Bunker in his rush to get what he needed. He practically stumbled over him on his way out, duffle slung over one shoulder, car keys gripped tightly in his fingers.

"Another hunt?" Cas had been in one of the tub chairs by the 1950s drinks cabinet as Sam had walked through the library, barely visible in the corner with the lamp off

"Um. Cas. Sorry, I didn't see you there. Uh. Yep, it's just a quick thing I need to look into, it shouldn't take long at all. I'll be back tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest." Sam kept walking.

Cas started to lift himself out of the chair, with an effort. "Want me to...?"

"No!" Keep it together, Sam. "No, Cas, honestly dude, this will hardly even be a thing. You rest. You need to look after yourself, man. We need you." God, more than Cas would ever know. He was the only good thing Sam had left.

"But—"

"Cas, I'll be fine. Please. Just stay here and look after yourself."

Cas slumped back down, and although Sam felt guilty about lying to him, his friend did need to rest. He couldn't lose Cas too.

"Sam, I know something is wrong. I know you're hiding something from me. I can see that something has gone... very badly wrong. I don't need powers to see how you're going off the rails. I don't know how to help you. Please let me help." Cas sounded almost as broken as Sam felt.

His throat was tight again, and he really considered just telling Cas everything right there and then.

"I—can't Cas. I can't tell you, you can't help. Not yet. Maybe—Maybe soon. Maybe when I get back, I can... try. Just not now, okay? Not now."

Cas looked at Sam intently, and then nodded his head sadly.

"You know where I'll be. Always here for you, Sam." Cas coughed a little, reminding Sam of just how sick his friend still was. He walked across to the weapons trunk, and pulled out an old rug he knew was in there. Covering Cas with it, pulling it right up around his shoulders, he said, "I know, Cas. I know. You're family, man." And before he could say any more, or break down completely, Sam left.

Sam had been waiting at the pier for a good twenty minutes, before the Impala rumbled up. He had no doubt that the demon had kept him waiting on purpose. God, he was so pathetic. Dean parked the Impala right next to where Sam was leaning against a rail, and Sam could see that the car hadn't been washed in weeks. She was covered in grime and road dust, her windows were dirty, and there was even bird shit all over the rear window. A lump caught in his throat as he realised how neglected she'd been. Compared to how cared for, before…

Dean climbed out of the car, with a beer in his hand and casually leaned back against the car, right in front of Sam. He had sunglasses on. Sam could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Dean wearing sunglasses. Dean always said sunglasses were only for douchebags or hangovers. Point proven. This Dean was a douchebag, and more than likely had a hangover.

Dean took a sip from his beer, and looked out over the river. "What can I do for you, Sam?" As Dean pulled his mouth away from the lip of the bottle, Sam noticed that his lip was still swollen, the bite mark still visible and scabbed over. Sam unconsciously licked his lips at the sight. He couldn't know that Dean licked and bit at that mark so many times a day that it might never heal properly.

Dragging his eyes away from Dean's mouth, Sam tried to focus. Tried not to think of a branded 'S' on his brother's flesh. Now that he was here, Sam wasn't sure what to say. Or how to say it. How do you apologise for basically assaulting your brother, sexually no less, at the same time as kind of asking if they could do it again? Sam knew that there was something deeply wrong with him, and he was almost at the point where he didn't care anymore.

Sam took a breath. "Look." Another breath. "I know that you aren't Dean." Dean smirked. Sam pushed on. "And I know that you don't give a fuck, but you—you still look like him and sound like him and smell like him, and my fucking brain won't shut up about what I did to my brother. To you. And the guilt is driving me crazy, so I need to say it." Sam hadn't been looking at Dean as he spoke, but now he steadied himself and looked his brother straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry for what I did to you, Dean. No one deserves to be treated the way that I treated you. I'm disgusted with myself, and I'm just so sorry." Sam felt tears threatening, and he was not going to do that in front of this man. He cleared his throat and continued, "I know you don't give a fuck. But Dean would have. And I do. So." Sam spread his hands a little as if to say take it or leave it.

Dean looked steadily at Sam while he lifted the bottle of beer to his mouth and took a long drink. Sam watched Dean's throat bob as he swallowed and felt his mouth go a little dry. Dean lowered the bottle and took a step toward Sam. In a low voice he said, "I liked it, Sam. Dean liked it. Mostly. I haven't come so hard without being touched in fucking ages. Just your dick in me, pounding me, pounding my sweet spot, until I thought I'd pass out from the pleasure-pain. Fuck, Sam. Just thinking about it…" Dean gestured toward his groin and Sam could see he was getting hard. Dean took another step and leaned right in to Sam's space, and Sam could barely breath. He could smell the river and beer and Dean and fuck if he wasn't getting hard too. Dean leaned so close that Sam could feel his lips against his ear as Dean whispered into it, "Anytime you want to use me, baby boy, you just gotta ask."

Sam choked, hating the use of that endearment in that context and loving it a little as well.

"You want that? You want to use me again, Sam?"

Sam managed to shake his head minutely.

Dean took a step back and looked at Sam, considering. Then he lifted his eyebrows and grinned. "You want to be used? Is that it, Sam? You want me to use you up, abuse you, fuck you until you can't take any more and then make you beg for my cock anyway? You want me in your mouth, in your ass, in your fucking soul?"

Always been in my soul, Jerk, Sam thought, but he didn't say anything. Just lifted his head a little and gave a quick nod. He didn't know if he was doing it as some sort of penance for what he had done to Dean, or because he was just that perverted, or because he needed his brother so badly that he was willing to take anything, anything, to feel some kind of connection to Dean again. All Sam knew was that he needed this. Whatever he could get, he needed it.

Dean stepped forward one last time and grabbed Sam's crotch, squeezing hard. "Then get in the car, Bitch," and he turned around and climbed into the driver's seat.

Not giving himself a chance to think, Sam walked around the Impala and folded himself back into the familiar passenger seat, keeping his eyes front, not looking at the state of the car, not looking at what used to be his brother.

By the time Dean pulled off the road, the light was beginning to fade. They hadn't said a word to each other during the drive, and Dean hadn't even put music on. Just another reminder that Sam didn't need that this was not his brother.

Dean had pulled off the tarmac onto a gravel road and from the gravel road onto what seemed like little more than a walking trail. He had finally pulled into a copse of trees, obscuring the waning light even more. It was dim and hushed among the trees and Sam could just barely make out the sound of cars from the main road.

For a moment, they both sat in silence. Sam wasn't going to break it, so he waited. He could play games too.

He heard the driver's door clicking open, before Dean said, "Get out." Sam did so, watching Dean climb out on the other side and stand with his back to him for a second. Sam had just enough time to wonder what expression would be on Dean's face if he could see it right now, when Dean turned around and looked straight at him, smirk firmly in place, and a glint in his eyes that Sam knew wasn't Dean. Resigned dread. Sam had known what he'd be getting himself into when he called Dean. He had asked for this.

"Over to the front of the car, Sam."

Sam walked around to the front and saw Dean lean in through the open window of the driver's side and heard a soft click, before he was blinded by the headlights of the Impala coming on. With the lights in his eyes, Sam couldn't see anything of Dean. But he could hear him just fine.

"Now. What should I do with you, hm? Your turn to strip for me I think, Sam. Stand right there, where I can see you real good, and take all your clothes off. Not too fast, not too slow. Just nice and easy."

Sam felt so exposed with the headlights right on him, and he not even able to see an outline of Dean. He knew that anyone who came near this spot would get a great show too. You asked for this.

As Sam started taking his clothes off, he heard a dark chuckle from the shadows. "What goes around comes around, right Sam? I feel like this is a very familiar situation, one of us stripping, the other giving orders. Socks too. Naked as the day you were born kiddo. Now, I want you to bend over the hood."

Sam bent over the Impala, the metal hot enough to be uncomfortable. He could do this.

"Stretch out…" Sam put more of his weight on the car, stretching out his arms, face turned toward the sound of Dean's voice. "Thaaat's it. That's just right." Sam could hear Dean walking now, hear the gravel crunching under his boots, until he knew Dean was standing right behind him. "Fuck, will you look at that," Dean muttered. He kicked his boot between Sam's feet, making him spread his legs, like he was about to frisk him. "Wider… yeah, just like that. Fuck. You got your phone, Sam? I would sure like to take a photo of this." Sam was grateful that he'd left the phone in the car back on the pier. He shook his head. "Too bad," Dean said, and Sam wondered why Dean just didn't use his own damn phone.

"No one has an ass like this, Sam," Dean said while palming Sam's ass cheeks, kneading them. "I've looked believe me, been trying to find something that will scratch this itch I seem to have for you. No one has been able to so far. Just. You. Fucking look at you."

Sam broke a little more. Of course the demon was sleeping around. Of course he was. What had Sam thought he would be doing while Sam was pining in the Bunker?That hurt way more than the burn of the metal of the hood against his naked chest, which Sam was sure would leave marks on his skin.

Dean didn't leave him much time to think about that though, before dropping to his knees and pulling Sam's ass cheeks apart. "Gonna have you begging Sam," he said, before he began licking at Sam's ass.

Sam had never felt anything like that before. Some part of his bookish brain was spewing facts at him like 'the anal sphincter has one of the densest concentrations of nerve endings' but the rest of him was struck dumb by the intense pleasure that having Dean's tongue in his ass was giving him. He realised that he had started pushing back into Dean's face, and started feeling embarrassed before he realised who he was with and what they'd already done to each other.

Dean pulled away long enough to chuckle again and say "You like that huh? No-one ever eaten you out before, Sam? Am I your first?" Bastard. Fucking bastard, pressing all Sam's buttons like no-one but Dean had ever been able to.

"Shut up," Sam said. "I didn't come here for your scintillating conversation. Your tongue is obviously much better at other things."

"Scintillating?" Dean tsked. "That's a helluva word, Sam. I obviously need to work harder." And Dean got back to work.

He sucked and licked and fucked Sam with his tongue until Sam forgot everything but the sensation of Dean working him over. He realised with distant surprise that he was blurting a continuous stream of words. Things like, "Fuck, yes. Yeah just there. Oh my god—Don't… don't stop. Just. Please. Just please. Please. More. I need more. Fuck."

Eventually Dean pulled away and Sam heard a zipper and then a snicking noise, and then he felt the blunt head of Dean's slicked-up cock pushing relentlessly into him. It seemed that Dean's tongue was all the preparation he was going to get, but his body was fine with that. He opened up almost easily for Dean, and though Dean was persistent, he took his time, pushing into Sam slowly, until he was right up close, snug against Sam. Sam took a moment to relish the feeling, to pretend that it was just Dean and him, this close, with nothing between them.

But he could feel Dean's denim digging into his skin, knew that Dean was still fully clothed. He could feel the hot metal of the Impala's hood, cooler now, but still too hot on his blistering skin. And he could feel the grit on the hood scratching his cheek, as his body rocked with each of Dean's progressively deep thrusts.

"Is this what you wanted, Sam? Is this enough to scratch your itch? Taking my dick like you were made to do only that? Holy hell, the way you feel, so tight around my cock… I want to come just like this, just like the last time. Your ass is so sweet, baby brother."

Dean grunted as he thrust out those last two words, and Sam shivered, knowing that Dean would feel it, would know what he was doing to him. "Well, your ass is not the prize this time. You want to be used? You want to be my fucktoy, Sam?" Dean slowly drew his finger down Sam's back, as if he were drawing something. Or writing something. Then he pulled out of Sam roughly, and twisted his hips around. "Then it's time to beg Sam. On your knees."

Sam didn't even hesitate. He hit the gravel so hard, he knew his knees would be bleeding, and he didn't really care. Dean stood just out of reach of Sam's mouth, so Sam wrapped his hand around the hard length and started stroking. Dean's cock was so slick and so hot, and it made Sam feel a little dirty knowing where Dean had just been, and a lot dirtier knowing that he was absolutely going to suck his brother off.

Dean looked down at Sam, coldly. "Beg," he said.

Again, Sam didn't hesitate. You asked for this.

Leaning forward, Sam rubbed the tip of Dean's cock over his lips as he whined "Please Dean. Use my mouth. Use me any way you want, just please. I need this. I don't—I don't know…" I don't know how to be without you. "Just, fuck. Fuck my face, Dean. Fuck me. I'll do anything you want, just let me taste you, let me feel you, please."

With a groan of "cockslut" Dean slid into Sam's mouth, and pulled out again immediately, setting up a brutal pace, fucking Sam's mouth just like he'd asked.

"Like this? This what you need?"

Sam barely managed a nod and tried to keep up with Dean's thrusts, sucking as he could, licking what he could, holding on to Dean's ass trying to pull him in further.

"Fuck, Sam. I'm not gonna last with your slut mouth around my dick so good, shit. Get your fucking hands off of me and onto your own cock, Sam. You're going to come as I shoot down your goddamn throat.'

Sam was pulling on his own cock before Dean had finished speaking. He had barely noticed how hard he was, he'd been so focussed on Dean and the feeling of being used for Dean's pleasure. But getting his hands on himself was almost like being electrocuted and he came hard and fast.

"Fuck," Dean growled. "So hot." A few more hard thrusts and Dean was emptying down Sam's throat, pulse after pulse of salty fluid. Sam simply could not swallow it all and some dribbled out of the corner of his mouth and slid down his chin.

Before Sam could recover, Dean had hauled him up to his feet and was licking up his chin and along his lips and into his mouth.

"Do you taste that, baby?" Dean mumbled against Sam's lips between licks. "Can you taste us?"

Sam could and he savoured that taste. Savoured the soft licks and kisses, which didn't last nearly long enough for his liking.

"Good," Dean said, still sounding out of breath. "Now, get dressed and get your ass back in the car. I have places to be." And with that Dean took a step back, zipped up, and walked away to get in behind the steering wheel of the Impala.

Sam felt a little disoriented, but the rumble of the engine got him moving. This Dean would not wait around. He grabbed his clothes, pulling his jeans on as he went. Dean pulled away just as Sam sat down in the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. He concentrated on putting on the rest of his clothes as Dean drove, not looking over at him. His knees stung as his jeans pulled tight against them while he was bent over, lacing up his boots. Sam hissed as he pulled his t-shirt on, the fabric pulling on the blisters on his chest, which he'd forgotten about post-orgasm. He thought he saw Dean look over at him as the sound escaped his lips.

Dean pulled up to the pier, right next to Sam's car, and waited. He hadn't said a word during the drive back, and he didn't say a word now. Just waited. Sam opened the door and climbed out, feeling sore and well used. As he'd planned. You asked for this.

He didn't say a word either, just watched as Dean pulled away, the tires kicking up dirt as he increased his speed. Sam stood and watched until he could no longer see the rear lights of the Impala. Then he got into his car, sighed, and started for home.

On the drive back to the Bunker, something Dean had said before they'd left the pier together came back to him. "Dean liked it," he had said. He'd said that Dean had liked it.

Sam was not okay.

Chapter song: Abuse Me by Violet Winter