Characters/Pairings: Dean/Sam, Dean/Buffy, Dean/Sam/Buffy
Spoilers: general season 4
Summary: Giles and Buffy help Sam identify the creature that bit Dean. Meanwhile Dean's condition worsens. Supernatural/BtVS crossover.
Legal disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, I do not own Sam or Dean. If I did, I would be far too busy to ever write anything ever. I also do not own Buffy or the Scoobies.
Dean had been remarkably silent while Giles had paged though the Codex. He'd banged against the door and whimpered desperate needy noises once or twice, but for Dean he was showing considerable restraint. While the elder man researched potential causes of his brother's condition, Sam listened while Buffy explained what a Slayer was. One girl in each generation Called to fight against the forces of darkness. He found he had a lot in common with her, really, though he did envy her idyllic childhood and close friends, her ability to share her secret with other people and not have them run screaming or call for the nuthouse.
"I'm mostly retired now though," she explained, "ever since Wills did the magic thing and awakened all the potential Slayers. They're all over the world now, so I can usually just be normal Buffy."
Sam nodded. "It must be nice to be able to have that. I—my brother and I, well. We've been hunting since before I could talk it seems. Our mom was killed by a demon when I was six months old."
"Sam, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay. Honestly, I don't really remember her. But her death, well, Dad couldn't think about anything but finding the thing that did it. He raised us like warriors, so we never really had a chance at normal. I remember…just before the end of my senior year, he found my acceptance letter to Stanford." Sam paused, features twisted with regret and loss. "He told me if I left, if I walked out the door, that I shouldn't come back. And I didn't. Not for four years, and by then my girlfriend was dead. Murdered by the same thing that killed my mother. The year after that, my father sacrificed his life to save my brother.
"I tried normal and safe, and it just came back to bite me on the ass. So I'm done with it. Dean's the only family I've got now, and we're going to find a way to fix this."
"Ah! Of course!" Giles suddenly exclaimed excitedly. He turned the huge book around so that Sam and Buffy could read it. "Here," said Giles, pointing to a paragraph underneath the heading of Succubus. "'The more the victim indulges in his or her urges, the faster the poison spreads though the body'. There is an anecdotal account here of a woman who claimed to have been bitten by a demon. She had, er, relations, with half the town in a single day, and the next she'd vanished. Some of those men reported feeling sick or tired afterward. The part about the venomous bite caught my attention. I do believe we've found the type of creature that attacked your brother."
"What it says about the spread of the poison though…maybe something about the act of sex while the venom is in your blood makes you turn into a succubus yourself?" pondered Sam.
Down the hall really wasn't so very far away. The guest room was near enough to them that Dean overheard the conversation. "Oh Hell no, Sammy. You have to fix this," he implored, his voice harsh and desperate. "I can't just never have sex ever again!"
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's superhuman libido, but he knew the situation was dire. Now that he had a more concrete idea of what to look for, Sam brought out his laptop and started browsing though websites devoted to succubus lore. Giles and Buffy focused on finding something in the collection of books that could help Dean. Between the tomes Giles had brought with him and Buffy's personal library, they had a decent stack of material t peruse.
The sun had long since set when Sam's eyes finally began to tear up from strain. He rubbed at his eyes viciously, angry that they dared fail him in his time of need. He hadn't tried to pull an all-nighter since junior year at Stanford, and he'd been several years younger and a good deal more accustomed to going without sleep at the time. Much of what he'd found on the supernatural websites reflected the common succubus myth of a female creature arousing and subsequently draining the life from men while they slept. That information really wasn't applicable in Dean's case, and Sam grew increasingly frustrated.
Buffy laid a gentle hand on his arm, distracting him from the screen. Sometime in the intervening hours she'd changed into yellow fleece pajama pants with white duckies on them and a white camisole. "Sam, you need some rest." He growled something incoherent at her, too tired to verbalize properly. "You're exhausted. Get some sleep before I knock you unconscious myself."
"Fine," he replied sullenly.
"I'll get you a blanket and pull out the hide-a-bed for you." Buffy's smile was sympathetic but not pitying, and for that reason alone, Sam went along with her.
---
Dean had tried to work off his restless energy—pacing, push-ups, sit-ups, anything else he could think of to distract himself. All of the activities have been unsuccessful. He was worn out and amped up at the same time, covered in a sheen of sweat, but he figured he'd at least try to see if he could get some sleep.
He slipped out of his olive drab button up and pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing them on the floor beside the bed before attempting the more delicate procedure of removing his pants. Carefully, so as not to accidentally brush against his erection, Dean unbuttoned his jeans and tugged the zipper down. His cock tented his boxers out like the goddamn entire circus was coming to town. It had been hours since they'd left the hotel, since his marathon jerk-off session in the bathroom, and if it was possible he was even more sensitive than before. A whisper or a thought could set him off, and then he didn't know if he'd be able to stop himself.
With his jeans safely kicked into a pile with his shirts, Dean climbed onto the queen size four-poster bed. He spent a good ten minutes turning from his left side to his right and back. He felt like friggin' Goldilocks. The mattress was too soft. The floor, his second option, was too hard. Face up or face down hadn't mattered other than that face down had put his dick in contact with a firm surface and it had been almost impossible not to generate some friction by grinding against it.
After what the geek squad had found in that ginormous book though, Dean had done his damnedest to fall back on the strict self-control he'd been brought up with. Ten deep breaths didn't help much, so he kept going all the way to a hundred. He'd be damned if he was going to let himself become something he'd hunted his whole life. Well, more damned than he already was. Maybe if he waited out the venom, he could escape unscathed. He just had to prevent himself from masturbating.
Dean rested his back against the bedroom door, the painted wood cool against his heated skin. He imagined that he could hear Sam's light snores from the family room down the hall. Sam always looked so peaceful when he slept, the cares of the day set aside and he could finally relax. The worry lines in his brother's face smoothed out and if Dean didn't have firsthand experience with angels, he would compare Sam to one of them. Sam was better than that though.
His thoughts tilted left, and suddenly Dean was thinking about what kind of noises Sam would make as his little brother slotted into him, filling him up, taking hold of his cock with enormous hands and pumping him until Dean came all over Sam's fingers. His dick jerked as the fantasy rocked him, heat and pleasure radiating outward. His head lolled back against the door and the room seemed brighter than it had a moment ago. His balls tightened and Dean barely had time to pull off his boxers before he began to spurt. Fuck. He hadn't even touched himself, goddamn it!
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He had to get out of there. Think calming thoughts. Dean's tried and true method for easing his body in times like these (well not exactly like these, because what the fuck) was to take a long, cold shower. Too bad he was trapped in the room. He had heard the blonde chick move something in front of the doorway, blocking him in.
Suddenly feeling trapped and claustrophobic, Dean opened the door to find a huge floor-to-ceiling bookcase where the damn hallway should be. He had to get out. Dean braced himself against the doorframe and grabbed the bookcase on either side. It was heavy, but it moved, inch by slow inch, until Dean had enough room to squeeze through. He was shaking with exertion when he was done, taking deep breaths to slow his heart rate.
Dean padded softly down the hall, not wanting to wake Sam, who was sleeping on the fold out bed, looking just as serene as Dean had imagined. The familiar heat filled Dean's body and he told himself to look away, to walk upstairs and take his goddamn shower. But then the bed creaked beneath Sam's weight as he turned over and gave Dean a front seat view to his little brother's really impressive hardon. Dean paused on the stairway as he watched Sam grind rhythmically into the hide-a-bed, clearly having an erotic dream.
"Sammy, you dog," he quietly murmured to himself, grinning. His brother was totally never going to hear the end of this. Dean filed the sight away, but he couldn't help but be turned on by Sam's arousal. Forcing himself to go upstairs and find the guest shower, he ripped his gaze from Sam with an almost physical sense of loss. This shit had to end, because he was becoming even more of a pervert than usual.
---
Sam awoke when he heard a floorboard creak, and found his brother descending the staircase wearing only the amulet Sam had given him and a small pink towel around his hips. Sam's jaw fell open as he stared at his more than half naked brother, for once noticing the little physical details he'd always glossed over as just being part of Dean – the exact curve of his cheekbone, the mouth that was so plump and begging to be kissed, the freckles scattered haphazard across his nose, the brilliant hazel of his eyes. Sam wondered what those lips would feel like wrapped around his dick. He gave himself a mental shake. What the hell kind of thought was that? Looking at Dean's face was obviously a bad idea.
His eyes traveled to his older brother's torso instead, roaming across Dean's skin with an intensity that was almost physical. Dean wasn't as bulky as Sam, but his six pack was just as defined. His eyes picked out the shiny handprint scar that had slowly faded from angry pink to an almost translucent pearly white over the last few months. But his groin tightened when he focused on the pentagram tattoo on Dean's pectoral, the one that matched his own exactly, that tied them securely to their own bodies and to each other.
Sam couldn't help but follow the dark blonde trail of hair down to where the towel was wrapped around Dean's tapered waist. Sure enough, his brother was still hard underneath the slight (very, very slight) nod to modesty.
"Dude," Sam choked out, "put some clothes on."
"Quit being so jealous over how amazingly good looking I am, Sammy," he responded with a cocky smile.
Dean dodged as Sam's answering riposte nearly hit him square in the face. He couldn't fault the kid's aim at least, though a shoe was hardly the desired weapon of choice. "Aren't you supposed to be locked up in the guest room?" asked Sam grumpily. Dean just chuckled and padded back to his room. And if neither of them mentioned the fact that they were both hard, well, that was to be expected. Winchesters were damn good at repression.