A/N: I wrote this so fast, it felt like I was on roller coaster, just came pouring out of me from I don't know where. Please, if you see any typos or stupid writing, tell me as I am my own beta and rely on the kindness of others to catch the crap and find the roses :)

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Sitting outside of a tiny cabin nestled in a grove of trees, he'd convinced Dean to let him go inside alone, citing unfinished business and Dean's temper as the main reasons for his request. Dean would only agree to one half hour and after that, he was coming in, whether Sam liked it or not.

"Dean, come on-"

"Clock's ticking, Sammy…better hurry up."

*

"Hello, Sam." The tall man who answered the door hasn't changed, not in the least and in spite of himself, Sam feels his heart thumping loud in his chest and he stands, awkward and clumsy, hands shoved deep into pockets, like a guilty kid caught watching porn and he can't stop staring…

Still too handsome to be a college professor, his face has more lines on it than it did five years ago but the sparkling blue eyes are the same, fringed with lashes too long to be masculine and a shit-eating grin that still reminds him of Dean, damn it. His blond hair is longer now, flowing easy over his forehead and he runs fingers through it, smoothing it back out of his eyes whenever it flops forward, his cheekbones gaunt, cut with a sharp knife and his lips are so pretty, almost as sexy as Dean's but not quite-

Sam's voice is breathless, whispery, "James."

The man in front of him steps back, opening the door wider and sweeps towards the inside with a hand, "You look good, really good. Come on in."

Sam nods and steps over the threshold, his brain in overdrive, what in fuck am I even doing here, and he glances around the kitchen, small, close quarters but clean and orderly, just the way James likes and the tea kettle starts whistling on the stove, James trying to slide by but Sam's big, in the way and hands settle on his arms to move him to the side and Sam jumps, nerves on red alert, scooting away like he just got burned.

James shuts off the fire under the pot and stands for a moment, looking down at the stove. He takes a deep breath and turns, gives Sam a sad grin and shrugs, "I remembered you liked tea so thought I'd make some to help you feel at ease, relax you a little but I can see now it's not going to be enough." He moves to a cupboard, taking out a bottle, "Maybe whiskey would help?"

"Whiskey would help a lot." Sam nods, looking at the bottle longingly, wishing he could drown himself in it and be gone from here.

"Earl Grey was your guilty pleasure, right?" James pulls out a box and holds it up for Sam's approval, putting a bag in a heavy mug and adding a generous splash of Jim Beam before topping it with steamy water. He puts the cup on the table and gestures towards a chair, "Sit, sit."

Sam sits, wrapping his icy fingers around the cup, warming them, inhaling the smell of the steeping tea, shit, it's been a long time since he had tea, since he was this sophisticated, the Stanford college student, a lifetime ago and he feels the knife in his boot shift, the pick set in his back pocket snug against his ass cheek and knows with swift finality he can never go back to this world, this life.

At least the tea smells good. He sips at it, burns his tongue a little but it's nice, sliding down his throat and easing the tightness in his belly, warmth curling through and around him, giving him courage. He looks up at James, who's studying him intently, God, still so handsome, and takes a deep breath, not wanting to talk about that time, needing to keep his mind on the case, "Why don't you tell me what's been going on?"

"Right to business, huh?" James gives a slow grin, "Look, Sam, there's no hard feelings, ok? I've dealt with it and you and I are good. I gotta say, though, you grew up and filled out since I saw you last." And he gestures to Sam's arms, "Those biceps alone are enough to make a person's mouth water."

At Sam's quick blush and incoherent stammer, James laughs out loud, "Ok, I'm sorry, just couldn't resist. I'll keep it professional from now on, promise."

James pours himself a mug of whiskey tea, sitting across from Sam and starts talking and Sam plasters an encouraging look on his face, nodding as he listens, "Well, I told you what happened when I opened the package and started cataloging the items. I was holding Pan's pipe in my hand and the wind picked up, started blowing through the cabin, papers were flying around and I heard the hooves behind me, clicking on the stone floor – it had to be in front of the fireplace because all the other floors are wood and I know the sound of stone, it's distinct, hollow. I turned around and I saw a shadow, hovering there and then I heard the flute-"

James trails off and takes a healthy swig of tea before standing up, moving to the counter, retrieving the whiskey bottle and upending it, chugging down the amber liquid for a few seconds, coughing and choking on it as it goes down burning and he's back, across from Sam like it's nothing, like it's normal. Sam raises an eyebrow but James only shrugs, nonchalantly taking a sip of tea before continuing, "The flute kept playing and the shadow was moving, swaying and I felt…well…the only word to describe it is damn horny, more turned on than I've ever been in my life and as the music played, I got hot and sweaty, started touching myself and, uh, eventually ended up jerking off on my living room floor, watching the shadow dance to the music. As soon as I, uh, had an orgasm, the playing stopped, the shadow disappeared and it was like I imagined the whole thing."

Sam realizes he isn't breathing, not at all with the image James just put in his head and he pants a little, trying to get himself cool, casual, "Huh. That's different."

James gives him this sardonic look like he just spoke the biggest understatement in the world and pushes a hand through his shock of hair, shoving it back from his face, "You think? Anyway, I crammed it back in the safe and haven't taken it out since."

Sam drains his tea and stands, chair screeching across the floor, "Well, as much as I don't want to do this, you'd better show me what we're dealing with here."

*

The safe is mammoth, huge, an old bank safe with the huge handle and dial, cast iron and freaking heavy and James spins the combination expertly, tugging on the lever and swinging open the large door. He reaches in and scoops up a packet, turning to hand it to Sam, almost pushing it at him to get it out of his own hands.

"It's supposed to be an authentic pipe, the only one in existence now."

Sam whistles, "And how in hell did you get this?"

James shrugs and the lights in his eyes flare, the devil's in those eyes, Sam thinks, and he's given an impish grin, the other man licking his lips in amusement, "Some things are better left unknown, Sam and there are sides of me I'd rather you didn't see."

The sudden heat in his belly confuses him, worries him and Sam unwraps the packet, holding the bamboo pipe carefully in his hand, running a forefinger along it gingerly, reverently. He knows how precious, how rare and he doesn't want this in his hands, doesn't want the responsibility of it and he moves to put it back, to wrap it up and get it back into the safe.

James's words stop him, "So, where's your brother?"

The change in subject matter has Sam narrowing his eyes at the other man, his chin giving a jerk sideways because it wasn't an odd question, not at all but it was asked at an odd time and Sam's gotta wonder –

He puts the pipe in the safe and then he hears them, hooves, clacking and ticking over stone, James is right, it is stone, and he snaps his head towards the fireplace, a black shape passing over the stones and the music comes, so soft he barely hears it, almost a feeling instead of a sound, reaching his ear, sweet, tender, working under his skin, into his brain, lovely, so pretty, that music, tickling into him, soothing and arousing at the same time-

Sam's voice is a hushed whisper, "He's coming. Dean's coming."

James steps up close, too close, looming into Sam's space, making him step back and step back again, until he's rucked up against the fireplace and there's nowhere else for him to go, the shadow moving over them now, dancing and writhing as the music gets louder, more intense, frantic-

James leans in and Sam can feel the heat pouring off the man in front of him, vibrating, shimmering until it's all over Sam, through him and it's so hot, so fucking hot in here, Sam's face is flushed, over-heated and he can't breathe, can't get a breath in to save his life and he's pulling at his collar, trying to unbutton, to loosen because it's too tight around him-

The flute, God, it's singing through his veins now, surging inside him, lighting up every nerve, every hair follicle, alert, aroused, fucking hot as hell and his cock is throbbing in his pants, bringing it up front and center in his mind, all he can think of and damn it, he needs Dean, right the fuck now-

James voice is in his ear, sensuous, like smooth honey, "Did you ever tell your brother how you felt about him? I remember, after you told me, I was so fucking jealous of him, did I ever tell you that, Sam? He held your heart and all I got was the leftovers and he should have known that, should have had the right to know how much you loved him, how much you needed him. I couldn't understand why you never let me touch you like I wanted to, like I needed to-"

He feels the lips touch him, tracing the vein along his neck and shoulder, hot trail laid and moving down, and Sam jerks back, can't think, can't function because Jesus, he needs Dean so bad, needs him inside, filling him up, taking away his control and Dean will keep him safe, stop him from wanting this, from needing this-

This man in front of him, so much like Dean but not, and the memories flare up inside him, James, laying on top of him, bucking his hips against Sam's, hot breath panting in his face as the rhythm increased, the smell of him, not Dean, not Dean but all Sam had. Sam had just wanted to scream against the longing inside him, the need for his brother, couldn't ever have it and it kept him broken, kept him empty so Sam took the dregs and made himself satisfied with that because Dean was too high, out of reach for him-

And now James was right here again, right now, so hard and firm and thrusting up against him and Dean was absent, gone, where the fuck was Dean anyway?

"What are you-what're you doing?" Sam is helpless against that music, his lust washing over him, too damn fucking much and he can't stop it, God, he wants-he wants so fucking bad-

A hot palm slides over the bulge in his pants, rubbing, grasping, making his hips jerk and buck and Holy Christ, that feels fucking awesome.

And he breaks, dick leading the game now, grabbing James's shoulders hard and yanking him forward, rucking his hips up against the other man's, sliding down to grab the firm ass, pulling it forward, grinding it in-

"I need you to kiss me, Sam, kiss me like you never would, like you want to kiss him-" James is panting, lost in the passionate arousal and Sam moves to do just that, mouth at the ready but the voice in his head slides on through, integrating itself in the brain cells, Not Dean, not Dean…

And using what little strength he has left, he turns his face away, "NO!" pulling in deep huffs of cleansing air, the music working him, playing insanely in his brain and he can't take it, can't take much more of this-

His hands are moving of their own accord, even as he's struggling to stop them, reaching out, unbuttoning and unzipping James's pants, diving in and yanking out a stiff cock, red and throbbing, the smell of it assaults Sam's nose and it's pure sex, skin and fucking dick, the scent of it eating away at Sam's brain, tickling his senses until he's hungry for it, consumed with it-

The flute plays incessantly, insanely, won't stop until he goddamn fucks something and Jesus Christ, he can't take this, can't take much more of this and he tightens his fist around James's cock, working it, pulling up and down wildly, with abandon and he can't help himself, needs the warmth of flesh on him somewhere and he yanks at it, dragging up and down the shaft until James is jerking, writhing underneath him.

Sam is snarling out words, his voice isn't his own, the words not his but someone else's, someone wild and out of control, "Like that, man? You like me fucking jacking you off…wanna come, is that what you want? Yeah, you don't even care that you're not him, all you fucking care about is getting off…you smell like fucking dick, man…all hot sweat and come and –"

Sam is yanking, fast as a piston, and James is hanging onto his shoulders, fingers digging in, jerking and twitching and then finally, coming in long streams, shooting onto Sam's hand and leg, collapsing back and trying to keep balance and suddenly-

Dean's there-

His hand on Sam's chest, shoving him back, getting between them, and fuck, the look on his face, betrayed, betrayed and Sam couldn't control himself, God damn it! Couldn't fucking do anything but what the flute told him to do and Dean has James down, jumping on him and hitting him fast and hard, the sounds of flesh thudding against flesh, harsh grunts coming out of the fallen man and Dean's fists are bloody, dripping and Sam lunges, dragging Dean off.

He stands between them, wrapping his big arms around his brother's thrumming angry body and holds him there, glancing back to see that James is down, holding a hand to his bleeding nose, staring up at Sam in confusion, not knowing quite what happened but sees his dick lolling, flaccid and he reaches down with the other hand, stuffing himself in his pants as best he can and Dean is shoving against Sam, trying to get past, get to James but Sam muscles him back, using every ounce of strength to push and shove Dean out the door, onto the porch and towards the car.

Sam is still lost, feverish, his dick hard as stone in his pants, the sounds of that fucking flute playing in his head, lilting notes that twist at his balls, jerk in his belly and make him steamy, on fire with lust and he's grabbing at Dean now, trying to kiss, to love but Dean's shoving him away in disgust and Sam's heart splits wide open, can't deal, can't deal with that right now, have to deal with this, the freaking cock in his pants, on fire, just on fucking fire now and he can't wait, can't stop this and he sinks to his knees in the driveway, hoping to Christ no one sees and rips open his pants, shoves them down and starts jerking off, right on the gravel path, hand leaning on the Impala-

So fucking hot, he can't stand it and Dean's pulling at him, trying to get him to stand, to get him the hell out of here but Sam can't, not until he's done and Dean's just gonna have to wait his fucking turn because this here, this fucking volcano in his pants needs some attention and it's not gonna wait any longer-

Pulling and dragging, he can barely control his breathing and Dean watches, blood dripping from sliced open knuckles and Sam glances up, locking his eyes on Dean and behind the disgust, behind the hate is raw passion, pure and simple and Dean's getting off on this, on watching him and Sam only wishes they had more time but he's outta time, he's gonna blow so goddamn soon-

Three more quick pulls and he's exploding, spurting, hot liquid boiling over and scalding his hand and he keeps jerking, keeps it going until he's empty, spent and he collapses against the car, breathing heavy, trying to get in air but it's hard, his lungs don't want to work and suddenly-

His head is clear and the past half hour is like it never existed, never was and what the fuck? How did that just happen that he went wild with lust over someone he hadn't seen in five years, someone he'd never been wild with lust over anyway-

He looks up into Dean's cold eyes, the look on his face like he just ate something foul, like he just laid eyes on the worst thing he'd ever seen and he's looking at Sam like that.

"Dean-"

"Get in the fucking car." His voice is old, dead.

"Dean, please-"

But he's turning away, walking around and Sam hears the creak of the driver's door open and shut, the motor coming to life behind him and he's up, shoving his dick into his pants and wrenching open the door before Dean leaves without him, sliding in, barely getting the door shut before Dean hits the gas, spraying gravel and dirt up behind him, driving like hell hounds are after them. He risks a glance over at his brother and Dean's glaring at the road ahead, breathing hard, two high spots of color burning into his cheeks, his tic twitching a mile a minute as he grits his jaw hard. Sam looks down at himself, shit, he's still unzipped and unbuttoned and he quickly fixes, pulling his shirt down and rubbing his hands nervously over his thighs, wondering where the hell they're going in such a hurry.

Dean pulls over suddenly, hitting the brakes so hard Sam's thrown forward, hitting the dashboard with his hands, stopping himself from flying into the windshield and Dean's out of the car before Sam can speak, wrenching open his door and hauling him out.

"Dean, what-"

"Fucking move, Sam!" and Dean's yanking him into the trees, pushing him down a worn path so fast, Sam's stumbling behind and he feels the sound before he hears it, the ground rumbling under his feet and then the drumming reaches his ears, a steady beat of something large, something natural and they round a bend and there's the waterfall, high above them, splashing into a massive pool in front, surrounded by rocks and foliage, beautiful, stunning and so loud he can't hear himself think.

Dean's back is to him, his shoulders slumped and head down and Sam reaches out, touching his back lightly and the next thing he knows, he's on his ass on the ground, his jaw lit up with red-hot pain from the punch he hadn't seen coming and he shakes his head to clear it, fuzzy around the edges and Dean's on top of him, fist clenched around the collar of his shirt, pulling him up into Dean's snarling face-

"You fucking smell like him, you son of a bitch, he's all over your hands and your fingers so don't you fucking touch me-"

And Dean's got him up, on his feet, shoving him forward, into the water, clothes and all, coming in after him, wrestling him and pushing him and he's under the waterfall, can't see, can't see because the force of the water is bearing down on him and he's falling to his knees and Dean's holding him there, yanking open his shirt, buttons flying, ripping it off his body.

Sam wants to help, wants to make Dean better so he's letting Dean, not fighting, and Dean's scrubbing his hair with harsh fingers, scraping the scalp raw and using Sam's ruined shirt to rub fiercely at his face and his skin, so hard his flesh is branded hot, close to bleeding and Dean's got him up on his feet, holding him under the water, yanking open his jeans with one hand. Sam's shoving them down, spreading his legs so Dean can clean him and Dean's so rough Sam has to bit his lip to not cry out, his dick and balls feeling scoured, burned, the insides of his thighs red and raw.

Finally, finally, Dean stops, lets him go and turns away, leaving Sam to struggle out of the waterfall without help and Sam makes it to the pond, pulling up his wet underwear and jeans, wading through the water and climbing out, his clothes heavy on him and he can't find Dean, can't see him anywhere. He's trembling, his back tense and stiff, scared and so fucking sick to his stomach he can barely stop from puking because now he has to face Dean and try to explain something he has no explanation for, no excuse for.

He makes his way back to the Impala slowly, relaxing a little when he sees Dean sitting there, anger and hurt in every line of his body but he's still here, waiting for Sam, didn't run away this time and that's a good thing. Sam opens the door and sees a towel on his seat, folded up in a neat square, Dean's 's still taking care of him even now, and Sam can't feel any worse right now, can't go any lower-

He takes up the towel, quick drying himself before laying it on the seat and sitting down, shutting the door with a thud and leaning back, waiting for the storm he knows is coming.

All he gets, the only thing Dean can mutter is "Jesus Christ, Sam-"

And he guns the engine, peeling away onto the road, eyebrows drawn together in a fierce scowl and silence roars between them but Sam can feel Dean, chafing at the bit, seething and working himself up to a full blown rage, fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel as he speeds around curves, flies down country roads and squeals into the driveway of their motel, screeching to a halt in front of their room.

"Get out." Dean barely looks at him, voice commanding, deadly.

"What are-what are you gonna-"

"Take a fucking shower, man…I can still smell the stink of him on you."

"Dean-"

Dean turns, snarling at him, yelling the words, "Get the fuck out, Sam or so help me God, I'll make you get out!"

Sam opens the door, shaking at the look of hate on Dean's face and gets out, "Where are you going?"

"Gonna go have me a little talk with James. Shut the door."

"Wait, Dean-"

But Dean glares at him and hits the gas, giving Sam mere seconds to shut the door and jump out of the way and all he can do is yell after the speeding car, "Don't touch the pipe, Dean!"

Shit! He frantically dials Dean's cell but Dean won't answer, course he won't and Sam frantically leaves him a message, "Dean, whatever you do, don't touch the flute…it's haunted or cursed or something and makes you crazy, makes you want to fuck anything that moves…just…damn it! Be careful, man."

There's no way in hell this is gonna end good.

*