Sam hadn't let his brother out of his sight since Michigan. He also couldn't help but notice (though he tried really, really hard) that Dean's erection hadn't subsided, or that it was causing his brother to become distracted. If Lilith and her demons were to find them now, Dean would be a sitting duck. So Sam watched over him as he slouched in the passenger's seat, clearly unhappy about the arrangement. Sam's argument was that if Dean started touching himself while he was driving, they'd end up crashing the Impala. That had shut his brother right up, and he'd climbed in the passenger's side with an unhappy glower. They rode in silence, though Sam did offer to let Dean choose the music. His brother had just glared at him.

Sam would be lying if he said he was one hundred percent focused on the road. His eyes often pulled to the right to catch a glimpse of his brother out of his peripheral vision. Dean had shut himself off, and that meant he was really worried. Well, Sam couldn't blame him. Dean's face looked carved from stone, the set of his jaw telegraphing his tension even if Sam didn't know his brother. Even if he hadn't idolized him since he was four years old. Sam reached behind him to the box of Greatest Hits of Mullet Rock and pulled out Zeppelin IV. Even he had to admit, the opening strands of Black Dog were pretty awesome. Glancing over at Dean again, he noted the subtle relaxation of his brother's body, and allowed himself a small smile.

Bobby's librarian friend, Rupert Giles, was just about 200 miles down I-90. It was pure serendipity that they were less than three hours from his location; to the Winchesters, used to driving across the country overnight, that was practically next door. Apparently Mr. Giles was only in the States for a short time, as he spent the majority of his time in England, heading up some organization that observed supernatural occurrences. Unfortunately the man didn't have a cell phone or an email address, so there was no way to get in touch with him before they showed up on his doorstep.

"You hungry, man?"

Dean grunted in response, noncommittal.

"We just passed a diner advertising two-for-one burgers and cheese fries," said Sam, tone slipping from matter-of-fact to enticing in 0.1 seconds. Hunger was the barometer for Dean's emotional state; if greasy diner food couldn't get his attention it meant the situation was dire.

"Yeah, alright fine, I could eat." Dean's voice was harsh and clipped from the strain of not touching himself. Sitting in the car was torture. He knew torture, knew how to take his mind elsewhere. Of course, it always kept coming back to Sam. In the Pit it had been visions of his brother finding a way to rescue him, but now even his own brain was conspiring against him. Now? It was like escaping from one nightmare just to land in another. His brother filled his thoughts, images from the past: Sam stepping out of the bathroom wearing only an obscenely small towel around his hips, Sam laying in the bed across from his, thinking Dean didn't hear the whimpers he made as he got himself off. Dammit! Thinking about his brother that way was sick and he was pretty sure that between Hell and this sex poison, he was royally screwed.

Sam executed a U-turn without slowing down, and that was enough to earn him an angry glare. "Dude, you break my car and I will kill you."

Sam smirked. Regardless of whatever Dean was going through, he was still his pain in the ass big brother.

The diner was pretty empty when Sam and Dean entered; mid-afternoon, before the dinner rush could fill the place with tired businessmen and hungry families. There was an old man nursing a coffee in the far booth and a trio of college-age guys laughing over a late breakfast, maybe trying to kill their hangovers from the previous night. Neither group looked like they might house demons, but it was better to be safe than sorry. They took a seat in a booth near the door, Dean facing the other patrons, Sam with a view of the entrance.

Dean's jaw was tight, but his stomach was growling. He grabbed the menus tucked between the napkin dispenser and the salt and pepper shakers, tossed one in Sam's direction and buried his face in the other. His hands holding the laminated paper were white-knuckled. The smell of food helped take his mind off…things, and he was doing his best to force himself not to think about fucking Sam against the diner wall. Fuck. He had to get out of there.

"Hi!" said a perky voice, catching Dean's attention and making him gaze up from the menu. The girl seemed a bit out of breath, inhaling deeply before speaking again. "I'm Chasity, and I'll be taking care of you guys today. What can I do to start you off?"

The waitress was young and brunette and Dean suddenly became very conscious of the anatomy he was trying to deny.

"How about some of your pie," responded Dean, a dangerous sparkle in his eyes. Dangerous because of the way the girl's breath caught in her throat. Dangerous because she couldn't hide her attraction and Dean was not safe to be around right now.

Sam didn't even think the waitress wasn't even that hot, but Dean didn't seem to care. He gave her his thousand kilowatt smile, bright and white and blinding, and she blushed right down to her pink-painted toes. Normally that would be when Dean charmed free food out of the poor woman, but Dean was not behaving normally just then, not when he looked ready to push himself against her body and slip his hand into her sopping panties, circle his fingers around her clit, and bring her off in front of Sam and the diner and everyone. He was looking at her like she was something to devour, and his behavior truly drove it home to Sam that his brother needed help like, yesterday.

"Ignore him. We'll have the specials, thanks," interrupted Sam, shooting a warning look at his brother. As she walked away reluctantly, Sam turned to his brother. "Are you crazy?"

"What, a guy can't flirt a little?"

"Dean, you were ready to have sex with her right here in public!" he hissed.

"Calm down, Sammy, I'm fine." Dean's smile was tight and forced. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, caught up in the waitress and Sam and sex and how desperately he needed to come right now. Dean shifted in the seat, trying to make some room for his swollen cock. He should have changed his pants before leaving the hotel room.

Sam knew better than to push his brother at moments like these; it wouldn't get him anything but an upset, sullen, pain-in-the-ass Dean that he'd have to deal with in an enclosed space for two more hours. They fell into a comfortable silence while waiting for their food.

When Chasity the waitress came out of the kitchen bearing four burgers, two orders of cheese fries and a slice of cherry pie, Sam grabbed a handful of his brother's jeans underneath the table, holding him in place. "Oh, come on!" protested Dean.

"You know what Bobby said, what I said. You stay put," Sam warned.

"Killjoy."

The brunette set down the plates in front of the brothers. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked, blushing at Dean. The elder Winchester leered opening his mouth as if to speak when Sam's foot came down on his, hard.

"Ow! What the hell, dude?"

"Just the check, please," Sam told the girl. She set the slip of paper down in front of Dean, upside down with her name and phone number scrawled across the back.

"Enjoy your meal," she smiled and walked away to refill the old man's coffee.

"Dean, you need to calm down. Stop flirting with anything that moves; we have no idea what could happen to you because of the bite. Until we know what's wrong, you're just going to sit there and eat your damn burgers and cheese fries."

"You think I don't get it? Well, I do. I'm dealing with this as best I can, dude," bit out Dean around a mouthful of burger. "Man, this is delicious!"

Sam just rolls his eyes. But they both realized things were getting worse. When the brothers were done eating they paid for the meal with cash, leaving it on the table for Chasity, and get back on the road.

_____

It was early evening when they pulled up to a two story colonial, the sun slung low in the purpling sky. Sam parked the Impala in the street and both men approached the house, Dean trailing behind Sam by a few paces. There were ward symbols cleverly carved into the doorframe, and a heavy solid iron knocker on the door.

A bespectacled middle aged man greeted them. "May I help you?"

"Rupert Giles?" inquired Sam. "I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean. We're friends of Bobby Singer's. May we come in?"

"Ah, yes. Yes, of course. Mr. Singer informed me you would be arriving this evening." He led the brothers into the family room and motioned for them to take a seat on the plush sage green couch. He followed, sitting opposite them across a rectangular wooden coffee table.

"So how do you know Bobby, Rupes?" asked Dean.

The man grimaced. "You may call me Mr. Giles, Giles, or Rupert if you expect me to answer you, Mr. Winchester. Mr. Singer and I collaborated on a publication several years back on demon lore and alternate universes. He is very much an expert in his specialty of Judeo-Christian demonology. I fear I am more of a generalist. What is it that I can assist you with?"

"We need to know everything you do about demons or any other creature that might feed on sex." Sam paused, watching as the elder man removed his glasses and began cleaning them thoroughly. "More specifically, any that might be involved with biting. It would look like a snake bite, possibly on or near the genitalia."

"How fascinating—I will consult my books," he offered, looking eager. Then his face fell, as if remembering something horrifying. "Much of my library remains at my home in England. However, I did leave several tomes here with Buffy." Giles stood and went to the landing. "Buffy!" he called up the stairs.

"What's up G-Man?" yelled a perky female voice.

"Buffy, I do wish you would cease calling me that ghastly nickname. I swear Xander is a terrible influence on you," he sighed. "Do you still have my copy of the Codex Daemonica that I left with you last fall?"

"Sure, be down in a jiff."

Giles resumed his seat across from the Winchester boys. "Why do you ask about, er, these types of demons?"

Dean glared a warning at Sam, which went unheeded. "Well, my brother was attacked last night, and we're trying to figure out what did it. We're hunters, we kind of take care of these things for a living, but this is outside of our experience."

"Attacked? Oh dear Lord. Are you all right?" Before either brother could reply, they were interrupted by the Buffy Giles had been talking to.

"One doorstop coming right up, Giles," said the woman coming down the stairs. The book she carried in both hands was old, the leather fraying near the binding. And she was right; it was thick enough to weigh several pounds. Sam wondered idly if the author had been paid by the word.

Dean's back straightened in a single line of tension the moment he saw her. The woman's blonde hair was put up in a messy pony tail, and she wore a bright pink camisole top with blue jeans that looked painted on. As she descended the staircase, his body coiled tighter. His cock throbbed against his jeans, begging to be released. She paused briefly and it almost looked like she was sniffing the air. Shaking it off, she smiled at Giles and the guests. At her smile, Dean left the couch and took a few involuntary steps toward her.

"Wow, is it warm down here or what?" she said, setting the Codex down on the coffee table. The man who'd moved toward her made a sound that might have been a growl. Buffy was pretty familiar with men who did that, the whole possessive-I-want-your-body growl, though they generally happened to be dead. This one? Definitely not dead. And way too hot for his own good.

"Dean!"

Dean stopped moving, panic sending a fine tremor through him. He shook with the effort it took to remain still. "Sam," he implored, voice rough like it had been dragged a few miles down a gravel road. "You gotta get me away from her. Now, Sam!"

"Stay here," he told Giles and Buffy, and wasted no time grabbing Dean around the shoulders and leading him toward an empty guest room at the other end of the hallway. "Lock the door, Dean. We'll secure it from this side." He turned toward the young woman Giles had called Buffy. "Do you have something heavy we can move in front of the door?"

"Yeah, there's a bookcase I can move." Buffy grabbed one of the ceiling-high bookcases from the library and positioned it in front of the door, blocking Dean's escape.

"You sure that'll hold?" asked Sam, seeing the ease with which she moved it.

"Slayer strength," she explained. "It'll hold. So, what's the what with spaz-boy?" she asked, gesturing behind her as they walked back to the family room.

"Well, that's kind of what we're here to find out. I'm Sam," he said by way of introduction.

"Well you've come to the right place. Hi, I'm Buffy, the ex-vampire slayer!"

"The what?"

"I fear this will be a long evening," deadpanned Giles.