CHAPTER TWO

The motel was deathly silent when he returned, some three hours later. He walked up to the door, mildly drunk so he fumbled a tad with the keys as he slid them into the lock.

"Dean, there you are," Sam said, opening the door wide and standing back cautiously. He looked just like he usually did: tall, broad, big dark eyes and outgrown hair that flopped across his face at the most annoying times, dressed in a blue plaid shirt over a plain tee, his favourite jeans. Nothing odd. Except…Dean couldn't rid himself of the image of Sam on stage; half-dressed, moving like a man possessed.

"Why do you do it, Sammy?" he asked, aware he was slurring noticeably, but beyond caring. "I can get us money, you don't have to-"

"What? I…" Sam cut in and then trailed off. He raked a hand through his hair, shifting from foot to foot, uncomfortable. "I-I don't do it for the money, Dean, jeez."

"Then why? Why would you possibly want to do that? On stage? Seriously?" Just…why?"

"I like it, Dean!" Sam growled angrily. "Is that so wrong? Our lives are so dangerous and lonely and it's nice to spend the night with some beautiful woman and forget about that for a night, but we always leave and…it just gets too much. So I go to clubs, Dean. I started off just watching, but I got drunk and I started…doing it and it was so easy, and so good-"

Listening to Sam talk about it was making Dean's head spin with the memories, with recollections of earlier and the way his hips had rolled and his back had rippled as he-

Dean walked away. He couldn't deal with this right now.

"So now you don't want to talk anymore, that it? Now you know why, you don't-"

"Sam," his tone was weary as he dropped onto his bed and rubbed at his eyes. "I can't…I just can't do this right now. I'm…just go to sleep."

"Fine," he agreed grudgingly, dropping onto his own bed with a creak of bedsprings. His breathing was a little harsh at first – Worry? Annoyance? – but it quickly evened out and Dean could pinpoint the very moment when Sam slipped asleep, because he'd sat awake listening to the sound of his brother's breathing when they were younger, after something bad had happened and he'd just needed to hear the reassuring sound of his brother's breaths to keep him calm. It was like that now, but the bad thing was happening in Dean's thoughts, and he had no control over it.

He couldn't stop remembering. His traitorous mind kept replaying those heated few minutes at the club, the excitement of the women, the heart-stopping realisation that Sam was on stage…the building appreciation as he moved.

It wasn't normal to think this way, not about a guy and especially not his own brother. Dean was straight, always had been, had never so much as thought about another guy that way with any genuine interest. But now his pulse was speeding at the thought of his own little brother; 'The Beast'.

But he'd been awake too long as it was, especially with all the alcohol in his system. What he needed was a nice long sleep to get those irritating thoughts out of his mind. Things would be better in the morning. Surely.

He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. But it felt so real, as though he was back inside the club. The smell of sweat and sex was strong in the air, and he noticed some of the clamouring women eying him in delight.

"Mmmhmm," one lady purred, she stroked her hand along his arm and placed herself in front of him. He looked down, her hair was long and black and the skin-tight dress she was wearing really didn't conceal as much as it should have. "I'd like to see you on-stage, are you up next?"

"No, I'm just here to watch," he told her. Her smiled quirked up in humour and he stumbled over his words to explain the misunderstanding but she was already walking away. He found a pocket of space off to the side in the shadows, and he leant against the pillar with a sigh.

"…and now…The Beast!" the announcer's voice was met with screams of joy.

Dean turned his eyes to the stage.

Sam stepped forward, his gait was rolling, predatory, like some jungle cat stalking its prey, as was his smile, slow and sexual, he licked his lips and then he began in earnest.

Dean's mind was a blur of flexing muscles and undulating movements, of gyration and slow teasing actions. It was like last time, but more, because now he could get past the shock, push aside the identity of Sam and just watch The Beast.

He was hardly surprised when he felt himself hardening within his jeans, it was annoying though, because he could hardly ignore the swelling lust now. It was more than he usually felt for anymore, its strength was staggering and he found the pillar truly was helpful. He needed to get out-

And then Sam's eyes caught Dean's, and because it was a dream, suddenly everything was different. The women were gone, the club was silent but for the thumping music. Sam jumped off the stage, his abs tightening powerfully as he drew himself up to his full height and strode, clad only in those tight red pants of his, across the room.

"Dean," he growled and that voice coming from such a tempting package was almost too much for Dean, he couldn't resist; he reached out, grabbing Sam's sides, spinning them so Sam was the one with the back to the pillar and Dean was the one pinning him there. "Like what you see?" Sam asked, amusement curling his lips and drawing a slow chuckle from him.

"God, yes," Dean groaned, one hand pressing into the hardness of Sam's stomach as he reached up with the other to drag Sam's face down to his. Their lips crushed together, the sweet warmth between them was almost too much.

"Slow down there," Sam laughed against his lips. "You do know this is just a dream, right?" he smiled, pushing Dean away. Dean reached forward to grab him but his fingers moved through thin air.

"Wait, Sammy, what-"

Dean jolted awake, his pulse and breathing fast, his skin hot and there was an unmistakable hardness between his legs.

"Goddammit."