Dean's heart hammered against his ribcage. Sam's lifeblood, hot and sweet, poured into his mouth. No venom jetted from his fangs, but a profound, scorching something burrowed underneath Sam's skin. Sam writhed, gripping his shoulders like his life depended on it. Dean felt a fissure inside him open, quickly widening to the width of a canyon. He could feel Sam like he'd never felt him before. His brother wasn't under him, but inside him, in the shadowy place in the loneliest corner of his blackened heart. Everything about Sam was amplified: his breath, his scent, his clutching hands. If Sam smelled pleasing before, it was trivial compared to how he smelled now. He radiated life and love and everything good in the world. Sam smelled like home. Painfully like home.

Dean could taste the air in Sam's lungs. He could feel the rapid inhale and exhale of his breathing. He could sense his brother's pain: a dozen razor sharp pebbles wedged into his veins, plummeting down deeper into the heart of himself, the human core. Sam's hands were like talons digging into his shoulders, skewing him to the center of the bed. His blunt fingernails tunneled into his skin, digging crescent moons. Sam gave a final twitch before his hands dropped.

Dean relaxed his jaws, slipping his fangs out of his flesh. Blood dripped down his chin, spilling thick crimson droplets onto Sam's shirt. Sam's face was passive, his eyes fluttered shut. Knocked out cold. Dean ran the back of his hand across his lips. With each rapid beat of his heart, the connection between them dulled from a scorching red to a subtle pink. But it was still there. Dean smirked. It was done. This couldn't be reversed. No take backs. Sam was his. He was claimed. Finders keepers.

"Sammy," Dean purred, gently running his hand through Sam's locks. Sam did not stir. Dean plunged down and licked the blood from his heated skin. Dragging back, Dean inspected the bite. Two puncture wounds, puffy and red, lay on the slope where Sam's neck met his shoulder. Although Dean didn't know how quickly they would heal, he could undoubtedly smell himself on Sam's skin. The mating bite was like a fragrant tattoo. Any supernatural creature who got even close to Sam would be able to scent he was mated to a Naga.

Dean smiled, caressing Sam's arm; however, his smile faltered when he remembered just how panicked Sam had been before Dean had bitten him. Dean should've been clear with his intentions, to explain to Sam that he wasn't going to kill him but only doing what he should've done the moment his new Naga eyes swept over Sam's trembling form.

But Dean had been so angry. Rage had been like a hot coal shoved down his throat. His mind had warped with wrath, drenching everything in a pulsing red. Sam had betrayed him. Sam had promised he'd never leave, but the moment Dean had given just an ounce of distance, Sam had taken a leap. Dean's serpentine half had thrusted to the forefront, tinging every action with burning base instinct. Sam needed to be claimed. Sam had to be kept in the burrow where he belonged. How dare he run away? Didn't he realize it was heinous to leave one's mate?

Dean stroked Sam's flushed cheeks, eyes skittering over his brother's slumbering face. After a moment, he inspected his wound again. A tinge of guilt sprung in Dean's chest. He hadn't meant to bite so hard, but if Sam hadn't been so resistant, hadn't been so damn stubborn, he could've given Sam the bite when Dean had originally planned: when they were having sex. Once Sam had acquiesced to making love to Dean's new monstrous form, of course. Dean would have waited, too. As long as it took.

But the bite was already etched into Sam's flesh, the connection forged between them deep and reverberating, so Dean just had to make it up to Sam once he woke up. Dean pressed a kiss to his brother's temple and slithered away from the bed. He sashayed over to the table, grabbed a bag, and dug out a washcloth. Wetting it down with a plastic water bottle, he squeezed out the excess liquid. He glided back over to Sam and laid the washcloth on his forehead. Underneath the material, Sam was burning up. Dean laid next to him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Sam did not wake up. Dean kept a cold washcloth on his temple and periodically checked his pulse: slow and steady. He only left his side to feed and water the slaves. After a few hours, Dean noticed the wound was healing, but what was left in its place was far from normal. Red and orange scales, identical to the pattern covering Dean's bottom half, flourished in a five-inch patch around the original bite. Dean caressed the patch, a shiver ripping down his back. Stroking the claiming bite sent an identical stroke deep in Dean's body. The sensation caught him off guard in its intensity. He paused, fingers hovering an inch from the scales before he pulled away.

"Sammy," he said, jostling Sam's shoulder. "Rise and shine."

But Sam did not stir. Dean caressed the delicious expanse of Sam's well-defined chest, dipping his palm to settle on Sam's belly. Dean tried a few more times to wake Sam, but they were all fruitless. Dean decided to finish exploring the tunnels. He had an inkling that he'd feel Sam wake up; if that was the case, he would rush back to comfort him.

After a couple hours exploring the complex sewer system, Dean had found a way out that would accommodate his size, had relieved his bowels in a discrete corner, and slithered upon the carcass of a dog. He didn't know how the pooch had gotten there, but the animal's bone smelled relatively fresh, so perhaps the brothers hadn't been the first fools to voluntarily go down that manhole.

One thing Dean realized was that the sewer system was a lot bigger than he first imagined. He had found three rooms identical to the one the previous Naga called home. If Dean wished, he could move his burrow deeper into the structure. It wasn't a bad idea. Dean didn't like the idea of being so close to a manhole.

After he relieved himself, his hunger pains started again. His stomachs felt painfully empty. His snake belly gurgled and growled. His human stomach cramped with nausea. By the time Dean slithered back into the room, he was famished. Sam was still lying unconscious on the bed. He hadn't even shifted an inch from his original spot. Dean glimpsed the slaves in the pen. They were cramped into the corner, huddled together for warmth. They were emaciated, weak things. To eat one of them was tempting, though. One was an appetizer, but certainly not the main course. The longer Dean stared at their naked, trembling bodies, the more saliva pooled in his mouth. His muscles ached to move, to snatch and to take, but he turned away before he was caught in that detrimental current of raw instinct.

Despite his appetite, Dean knew the slaves served a purpose. As fuck holes, mostly. But also tools to gather supplies above ground. Just then, Dean had an idea. He slithered to their cage.

"Get up," he hissed.

Three set of eyes snapped to his face. They gathered themselves and shambled over to him. Dean ran his claws over the metal bars, scraping off strips of rust.

"I have a job for you. It's getting late. The sun is going to fall in half an hour. I want you to kidnap someone. Someone fat." Dean paused imagining a portly, helpless prey running away from him, how delicious a hunt that would be. The taste of fear on their skin. The succulent pull of their body slipping down his throat. The hunger torn away from him in an instant, reprieve substantial and euphoric.

Dean swallowed a thick glob of saliva and continued. "I want you to bring them to me. Don't get caught. Do you understand?"

In unison: "Yes, Master."

Dean tore open the cage, nodding, "Good. Get your clothes on."

Dean slithered back to the bed as the slaves shuffled out of their pen. Dean climbed onto the mattress and gathered Sam into his arms. Sam's bottom rested on the space where Dean's human half melted into his serpentine half. Dean winced as Sam's ass ground down on his masculine slit. Arousal stirred in his belly, overpowering his hunger. His snake cock shifted underneath his scales, perhaps sensing its mate's body on top of him. The muscle in Dean's jaw popped; he forced himself to think disgusting thoughts to damp his increasing excitement. His cock paused its ascent to his slit, then retreated deeper into him, having gotten the memo it wasn't time to breed.

Dean looked up. The slaves shambled out of the room. Once again alone with Sam, he studied his brother's condition. Sam's fever had broken. His bite had healed, leaving a patch of scales behind. Dean removed the washcloth and let it slip onto the torn comforter. Sam's face was so beautifully passive. Every negative emotion, gone. He looked years younger in sleep.

Dean could remember after he had torn Sam from college to help him search for Dad, he'd stay up late into the night to watch Sam sleep. Of course, Dean had told himself he was being a good hunting partner. Watching out for his little brother. Keeping him safe. But the truth was Dean loved to be a witness to Sam's blatant vulnerability, his unflinching belief in Dean. Dean could've changed significantly between the time Sam had run off to college and then, but he trusted him even after all the rifts festering between them.

Dean smoothed Sam's hair back from his forehead. Of course, his brown locks automatically shifted back into place. "Sammy, wake up."

Sam's eyes shifted behind his eyelids, his mouth opening and closing silently. Dean caressed Sam's side and pressed kisses to the long expanse of his throat, inhaling his pleasant aroma.

Sam's eyes fluttered open.


A/N: Real question: How do you feel about Dean impregnating Sam with his little monster babies? Yay or nay?