Characters/Pairings: Dean/Sam, Dean/Buffy, Dean/Sam/Buffy
Spoilers: general season 4
Summary: Buffy brings Dean home, but the venom within him still demands to be fed. 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 Giles the Scoobies.
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Sam was surprised his feet hadn't worn a hole in the wood flooring (soft cotton socks apparently did not create the necessary friction to erode the surface). He'd awoken earlier that night to what felt like a void in the pit of his stomach, and he'd known that Dean had left. The role reversal was a sucker punch to the gut, and damn it, he finally understood his brother's perspective on his sneaking out in the middle of the night to be with Ruby. Knowing your sibling was out there alone without backup, possibly endangering themselves…hell. So yeah, he'd been a little frantic when he'd yelled up the stairs, awakening the entire house (consisting of the Slayer and a very irate ex-librarian).
Knowing Dean's foundation for self-restraint had never been all that sturdy, Sam had been terrified that his brother had gone to seek out a willing woman. A horny Dean that might well have been turning into a creature that fed off sex was a recipe for disaster. Buffy had assured him that she could track the elder Winchester's movements, and hopefully bring him back before he could damage himself or anyone else.
The phone had rung nearly twenty minutes ago, and that had to have been a good sign, right? Sam had been just a second too slow on picking up the receiver in the family room. He'd heard only "…fine." before the line had gone dead. Thankfully, Giles had taken pity on Sam and informed him that Buffy had located his brother and was bringing him home. With the situation resolved, the Englishman returned to the upstairs guest room, mumbling something Sam couldn't quite catch about kids and all hours of the night.
When Sam (finally!) caught a flash of headlights pulling into the driveway, he took three giant steps to reach the front door, opening it to allow Buffy to bring Dean in the house. She carried him in her arms, bridal style across the threshold as if his six foot tall brother weighed no more than a child. Sam couldn't imagine having that kind of physical strength. Jake had. Sam's back twinged in phantom pain as he remembered the sting of the soldier's shiv entering his spine, the whiteness that had exploded behind his eyes, and he'd felt just like he was floating. Later, Sam figured that the lightness of his body had come from Dean supporting his weight, just as Buffy was supporting Dean now.
"Is he…?" Sam's voice trailed off, any further words catching in the anxiety that blocked his vocal cords.
She nodded, and Sam released his breath, finally allowing himself to relax just a little. "He fell asleep on the way back here. Do you want to help me get him to bed?"
"Yeah. I—yeah."
The blonde gave him a small, reassuring smile and carried his brother to the guest room they'd been using as his prison. Sam cringed. He knew how much Dean hated to be cooped up, how restless he got. It was a testament to how worried his brother must be to have put up with it for as long as he did.
"Was he…? When you found him? It gets worse if he feeds it." Sam's hazel eyes were huge and wide and terrified, and Buffy really wanted to tell him that no, she hadn't found Dean cock-deep in a vampire. She let the look in her eyes be all the explanation the younger man needed, and Sam growled his disapproval at Dean's actions.
"Come on, Sam. He needs his rest," urged Buffy gently.
"Yeah, okay. Just—how could he be so stupid? What was he thinking?" Sam's exasperation was palpable, and he looked like he was about to start pacing again. She knew it was just worry, but he really needed to calm down or he'd wake Dean up.
They got the older Winchester into the guest room and lay him down on top of the sheets. Dean stirred in his sleep, rubbing himself against the bed. It was suddenly much warmer in the room than it was moments ago. Sam's skin tingled and his cock filled at the sight of Dean wantonly grinding into the mattress, half-hard against the denim of his jeans. Buffy felt it too, the change in the room's atmosphere, her nipples constricting despite the warmth. They both wanted to reach down and touch Dean, wanted to bring him to the most earth-shattering zenith he'd ever known.
Buffy licked her lips as if they were dry. "I should, um, get with the sleeping. Sleep good. Yeah." Buffy excused herself and fled the room, terrified of the depth of want she'd been experiencing.
Sam was left alone in the room with his brother. He stood several feet from the bed, not trusting himself to get any closer while Dean was at least partially conscious, undulating in sinuous rhythms. The draw was much stronger when he was awake, beating against Sam's flesh like his brother was his own sun, and everyone else was merely in orbit around him. Dean's skin was covered in a shimmering patina of perspiration, and his long sleeved thermal shirt was sticking to his chest, showing the hard lines of the body beneath it. God, Dean smelled so good. Sam could feel the change as his dick went from half-mast to a full-on erection. It felt full and throbbed to the beat of his heart.
Dean's eyes cracked open, small slits that showed irises nearly glowing with amber-green intensity, gem-like in their luster. Dean felt like he was starving for sex, the same craving he'd had for a chili cheese dog with the works after weeks on that friggin' master cleanse, the same need he'd had when he'd been trapped in an underwater cave unable to draw breath for fear of drowning. A desperate, do-anything-to get-it desire. Dean felt like a stranger in his own body, craving things he had no earthly cause to want. Things that made him feel like he would never be able to scrub himself clean.
There was a strange sensation behind his eyes as they focused on Sam. His little brother was watching over him with a fierce protectiveness. Dean's heart did a little flip-flop when he realized that, just like a few days ago, this was Sam again. Not the boy king, or the man bent on revenge, or any of a hundred other things Sam could have been. This was Sam, the brother he thought he'd lost for good. Dean knew he was kind of twisted inside, but Jesus fuck, the fact that Sam was here for him…it really turned him on.
Yeah, his brain was still pretty sleep-fogged, but it was like Sam was the fucking oasis in the desert of Dean's life. Sex-starved, he writhed on the mattress, making small needy noises as he ground his body against the bed. Dean couldn't deny (even though he desperately wanted to) that his body had changed because of the venom flooding his veins. People reacted to him differently, like he was producing pheromones or something. And it was making his brother attracted to him; the idea made Dean so horny he could come in his pants.
"Sam," said Dean, voice slow and quiet, like he didn't quite trust that this was real. The scary fact was that Dean needed this to be real.
"Yeah, Dean. I'm here," reassured Sam. Dean's voice worked directly on his hard-on, and made him realize how much he desperately needed to get laid.
It had been a long time for Sam, since that hot medical examiner from the siren gig they'd handled in Iowa—Cara, that had been her name—and when he was with Ruby there was always a part of him that felt so violated that he was never satisfied afterward. More often than not, he'd turned her down for anything more sexual than licking the blood from a self-inflicted wound. Bottom line? Sam's hand had made real good friends with his cock. He was used to going without. For a long time after Jess had died, he'd simply had no interest in other women, but she would have wanted him to have somebody he could care about. The problem was, there was no one he cared more about than Dean, and with this succubus thing, that brotherly love was turning decidedly non-brotherly and his sexual deprivation was coming around to kick him in the ass. Or more accurately, the groin.
Sam took deep breaths to try to calm himself down. Dean didn't really want this. It was the infection influencing his brother's brain. Hell, he didn't want this either. He was pretty sure he didn't. Well maybe he'd thought about it a little, but Dean definitely didn't want the main event, regardless of how much he might hypothetically enjoy the opening act. And Sam sure as Hell didn't want to see his brother as cursed as he was.
Dean could see the tension in Sam's hugely broad shoulders, and he was trying so hard to control himself for Sam's sake. "Please Sam, I don't—I don't want to be a monster, man. Look, if you can't…I get it. You can have Buffy take care of it. But please, Sammy. I can't fight this anymore. You were right, I'm not strong enough."
"Dean, shut up," Sam rebutted. "You are the strongest person I know."
"Get out of here, Sam. I don't know how long I can hold it in." Dean's face was drawn and haggard, illustrating the truth of his words. Sam could see what it was costing him to restrain the calling in his blood. Call it a contrary streak, but Dean's imploring tone only made Sam more obstinate to stay. Sam sat heavily down on the bed, his weight making the springs creak and the displacement was severe enough to make his brother's body come in contact with his. He touched his hand to Dean's forehead and found it fever-hot. Sam's fingers ghosted down his brother's cheek and came to rest comfortingly on Dean's muscular shoulder.
Dean took a shuddering breath, and when he released it, there was an air of surrender to the action. Their heartbeats synced up as skin touched skin; only the lightest touch of Sam's huge hand on his arm and Dean suddenly couldn't hold on to the part of him that was trying to break from its fetters. Sam's eyes were half-lidded, and he sucked in his breath when he feels Dean's free hand fumble with the fastening of his pants, the rough contact almost more than his suddenly sensitized body could stand. Dean had the button popped and Sam's fly half unzipped before he paused, glowing emerald eyes fixed on his brother, regarding him speculatively.
Every fiber of Sam's body was drawn taut and tingling. He couldn't help but imagine how he would feel pressed against every inch of his brother's fevered flesh. Somewhere in some hidden crevice of his mind, Sam realized that this might not be entirely his own will. Dean had sex powers now and wasn't that just totally damn appropriate.
Sam might have let out an entirely un-masculine sound as his brother again moved into action and reached up toward him, encircling Sam's neck with strong arms and pulling him to the mattress. The younger Winchester complied without hesitation, positioning himself carefully over Dean like a six-foot-four blanket of soft skin and hard muscles. Dean's lips pressed into his and suddenly Sam couldn't think and that had never happened before, but he embraced the feeling. If he couldn't think, he couldn't worry about how this would affect them in the morning.
Their first kiss—first and possibly last, if Sam would come to his senses and run the Hell away—was desperate and hurried, a frenzied struggle of needwanttakehave. They kissed like they fought, each of them attempting to gain the upper hand, to take control and make the other submit. Dean had initiated it, and that gave him the high ground, but Sam was bigger, and he was on top. His tongue plundered Sam's mouth, and he finally understood the shameless grins of all those girls the morning after they'd been with his brother. Dean was fucking good at this. Sam's mouth was full of his brother's tongue, rubbing it with his own as Dean explored his mouth.
Sam made a small noise that might have become a moan when it grew up. He rested one elbow against the bed, easing the weight he was putting on Dean, and ran the other down his brother's body from arm to chest to hip to thigh, urging him to open his legs. Dean acquiesced easily, spreading and allowing Sam's body to come in even closer contact with his own. Sam took the moment to seize control of their kiss, forcing himself inside Dean, sweeping his tongue into his brother with forceful, sure strokes. When the elder man growled, Sam smiled into Dean's mouth and pulled back slightly, grabbing Dean's lower lip between his teeth. When Sam bit down gently, it was like an electric current arced though his brother's body.
"Fuck, Sam!" exclaimed Dean. "Kinda figured you for pretty vanilla, dude."
Sam arched an eyebrow at Dean. He'd show him exactly how vanilla he wasn't. "Guess you don't know me as well as you thought," he said slyly. They wanted the same thing, and neither of them cared just then if the feelings were artificially induced or simply amplified from was already existed between them. If Sam's brain had been working properly, he might have been able to admit to himself that it was a perverse mixture of both.
They were each a heartbeat away from orgasm, shaking with the struggle to hold themselves back. Sam arched his back as he felt his brother's hands beneath his shirts, unwrapping him deftly with an efficiency born of long years of practice—with girls sure, but also as an acting medic on the front lines of their family's war against the supernatural. Sam had lost count of the number of times those hands had been gentle on his skin as he stitched up cuts and gashes. Now they had an entirely different effect on him. Dean threw the tangled wad of undershirt, dark red button-down and hoodie into a pile at the foot of the bed.
The cool air on his bare chest created gooseflesh down Sam's arms and puckered his nipples to hard nubs. Dean leaned in toward Sam's chest; the heat came first, then the seductive wetness of his brother's tongue laving each in turn. Jess had tried that, back when they'd first been dating, but it wasn't an erogenous zone for him then. Now when Dean sucked on that puckered skin, the sensations sent a jagged spike of electricity directly to Sam's dick. He couldn't remember the last time he was this turned on.
Seeing Dean beneath him with his fucking amazing lips pressed to his flesh made Sam's cock strain. Dean's hands were never still. They traced his tattoo, the devil's trap above his heart, marking the fact that Sam's body belonged only to Sam, that no demon could ever get inside and take what was rightfully his. Except now that body belonged to Dean as well. The fastening of Sam's jeans was an annoyance Dean swiftly remedied with a quick tug and a pull, and then Sam was helping him push the rough material down his legs, wriggling and writhing until his underwear and jeans had joined his shirts in the clothing graveyard.
Dean withdrew from Sam's chest and crashed instead against his lips, forceful and demanding and God best of all, controlling. He just had to let it happen, that's all he could think about. Just letting his sexy, commanding brother have his way with him, whether it be up, down, or sideways. Sam's head lolled back as he let Dean kiss him boneless, almost so far gone that he didn't hear his brother when he spoke.
"Come on, Sam, I thought you were going to show me your kinky side. Wanna see what you've got, little brother." The elder's pants and boxer-briefs had somehow vanished, and Sam thought maybe he had a vague recollection of hands on rough denim somewhere between the feel of Dean's lips and his own ecstasy. As Dean pulled his giant of a brother toward him flush and skin to delicious skin, Sam could only rejoice. Their cocks slid against each other until they found a rhythm both found acceptable. It was rough at first, but the precome leaking from their dicks provided lubrication enough that they didn't rub themselves raw. Sam dragged his teeth down the side of Dean's neck, feeling his brother periodically lose his pace as he shivered. "Fuck," he breathed. Sam took that as a sign to continue. Without slowing his pace, Sam sucked forcefully at the skin of his brother's throat, just where it junctioned with his shoulder. His only answer was Dean's sharp intake of breath.
Pressure was starting to build in his balls, and Sam had no idea how Dean had held out this long, but he knew his brother was close too from the way his cock had thickened and the small tremors light as butterfly wings against Sam's skin.
"Ready, Dean?" asked Sam, looking directly into Dean's eyes. Eyes that were now irrefutably glowing, very much like phosphorescent algae at night.
"Do it," came the answering growl.
Sam gripped his brother's hip with one hand and grabbed a handful of hair with the other, tilting Dean's head back as he bit down on his brother's shoulder hard. Dean cried out, strangled by the realization that he did not want to wake anybody up just then. Sam increased the force and speed of his strokes and his balls clenched up, releasing themselves as Sam reached orgasm. Dean followed only a second after, jets of warmth filling the space between them.
When it ended they collapsed in each other's arms, Sam shirtless and both of them sticky with come and sweat. Sam was exhausted, collapsing into slumber almost immediately; Dean was energized, electricity racing though every nerve so hot it burned, searing away his humanity. It wasn't quite pain, and was almost akin to pleasure, as if aftershocks of orgasm were still tracing through his limbs. And then it changed, abruptly intensified. Dean tore off his shirt as the sensation flooded him. It was every climax he'd ever had, all at once. It was agony and ecstasy. It was maddening. Any last vestige of mortality died then, in the seconds it took Dean to frantically race to the bathroom from his brother's side.
The face he saw in the bathroom mirror was his, mostly; the rest was more like Michelangelo's representation of the ideal, chiseled and cut like a perfect marble statue with no scars to mar his beauty. Even his arm was clean of Castiel's handprint. His eyes were an inhuman color, golden, with traces of grass green exploding like a starburst of spring from his pupils, and emitting a muted light. As he stared at himself in horror and fascination, his body gave one final push; the bliss it created caused his vision to white out. When he'd recovered from the intensity of the feeling, Dean found his transformation complete, having given birth to black bat-like wings that filled the small bathroom and two pairs of tiny spiraled horns high on his forehead.
Covered in a layer of sweat and come and nothing else, he cautiously examined his reflection. His erection, a constant companion for the last several days, had finally subsided, but Dean would have welcomed it back, preferred the constant need to this. His mind was clear again, and God he wished it wasn't. For once in his goddamned life, why couldn't Sam have listened to him? Christ, he'd just fucked his brother, his responsibility…the one person on this Earth he was here to protect, to ensure nothing evil ever touched. He was sickened that he'd allowed it to happen, and more that he wanted to do it again every day for the rest of his damned life.
Dean retched, stomach voiding itself into the basin as the waves of nausea rolled through him. He deserved this demonic appearance, his outsides finally matching the monster he held within—but between one heartbeat and the next both wings and horns had vanished and the glow of his eyes dimmed, leaving only their altered color behind to speak of the change.
Dean, disgusted with what he'd allowed himself to do, needed to get as far from his brother as Sunnydale would allow. He fled the house silently, intending to take a walk, and while the nighttime air should have been chilly (damn it, he remembered the feeling from not an hour ago), he was unaffected by the cold. Walking without purpose, Dean tried desperately not to think about anything. He was good at denial and better at lying, especially to himself. While his mind wandered (do you know how hard it is to think of nothing?), his feet seemed to know where they were going, and they stopped him in front of a club.
This one was different from the one he'd been at earlier, its atmosphere almost vaguely reminiscent of the bar in Michigan. The sign above the door reads Argent, and the music is pulsing against his body like Sam's heartbeat had minutes ago. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Something in his chest twitched and his spine prickled. There was a strange scent in the air, something almost familiar, and Dean followed it inside.
Every single woman there, and shit, even most of the dudes, looked up as he entered, which was really fucking disconcerting, having that many eyes on him when he was used to flying under the radar, unnoticed by the crowd. He'd learned to keep a low profile when the situation demanded it, and he mourned the loss of that ability. The same thing had happened at Solid Gold now that he thought about it, but though he'd been noticed, there had been an aversion to him then. The crowd had seemed genuinely uncomfortable, almost afraid of him. That wasn't the case here. The club was packed, but Dean felt like a piece of meat the way he was being groped.
There was a scent in the air, something savory, like oregano and woman, and Dean jerked his head up in the direction of the smell. Through the gyrating throng of sweet humanity, he noticed a brunette in the shadowed corner, watching him from under thick bangs and smiling a smug smile. She looked familiar, and suddenly she winked and a pulse of something hit him and he was horny as hell, and he remembered where he recognized her from. Strugis. That was the succubus that bit him.
Dean narrowed his eyes and his hand went for the Colt 1911 he had tucked into the waist of his jeans as he strode toward her. He had a lot of practice ignoring his arousal, but now…shit. He was affecting other people. The crowd was too thick to simply push though, and a nearby group of people, affected by the pheromones his excited state was producing, descended upon him, touching and moving their bodies against his. By the time Dean had shoved them all away, she'd had time to quietly exit through the rear.
Frustrated, furious and still fucking horny, he traveled back to Buffy's house. He didn't want to deal with Sam just then, couldn't bear to face the brother he'd betrayed with his unnatural desire. Sam was still crashed out in the guest room he'd been using, smelling of sweat and come and Dean. Freaking hell, he could smell himself on the kid.
Tearing himself away, Dean instead went to the family room and pulled out the hide-a-bed. That solution was only marginally better, since he could still smell his brother on the sheets. The bed was pervaded with the essence of Samness, and it was all Dean could do to stop himself from rubbing against the sheets. What the fuck was he going to do? Until he figured something out, his body was screaming at him to sleep, the first real sleep he'd been able to get in days. Sam probably wouldn't wake till much later in the day, which would allow Dean at least some time to get himself under control. Fuck.