OCD in the Key of Sam by Maygra Dean/Sam, NC17. sex and plot not in equal measure. also, tattoos with no explanation. 3220 words. Dean's a little obsessed with Sam, and that's not necessarily a bad thing.    ...with a nod to Stele3's, the world's a small child in the dark, which is neither prequel nor parallel to this but definitely inspired it.    The characters and situations portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission.   I could save the world Since the night your love saved me Maybe I can't save the world But as long as you believe Maybe I could save the world ~Bon Jovi ++++ Dean might have a slight obsession with his brother. Might, because God and all his angels knew Sam drove him batshit crazy like no one else in his life ever had, including his father. Might because there was no one Dean could get madder at faster than Sam and sometimes for things even Dean admitted were kind of ridiculous. Might because the urge toward fratricide came on him almost as often as the urge to shove Sam onto or into the nearest flat surface and fuck him until both of them were stupid and unable to come up with anything more intelligible than groans and grunts that would be erudite for a Neanderthal.  It was a lot easier to admit that Sam was the single most important person in his life -- hard to deny that one when you sold your soul to get him back. He could and had tried to wave it off as duty and even copped to being unable to bear the thought of going on without Sam around to irritate the starch out of him. But he could have dealt with it, let Sam be pissy and aggravated and scared because the end score of that one was that Sam would still be breathing and Dean pretty much thought there were no torments in hell that could be worse than living in a world where Sam wasn't. But one of things Sam did or was that most often pissed Dean off was that he was stubborn, and he could be righteous to a fault. And really, when he was committed to a course of action it would take more than a few demons, or the threat of damnation to get him off track. Old yellow-eyed Azazel had miscalculated badly in picking Sam as his heir apparent. Had he been able to turn Sam, he might truly have had a formidable leader of the legions of hell, a Boy-King with a will and ruthlessness that might truly have laid waste to the world.  Of course, that's not what happened, and it didn't play out like that and Dean had put the bullet in Azazel himself, and no other demon could quite fill his slimy shoes, at least as far as influencing Sam was concerned. But Dean really hadn't thought Sam would find a way to get him out of his deal and really, really hadn't wanted Sam to try because the only way Dean knew to get out of a bad deal was to make a worse one and Sam was quite capable of doing that.  Sometimes his brother didn't have the common sense of a two-headed gerbil.  Okay, and so maybe ditching Sam the week before the deal was due was a bad idea and unfair, but Dean really didn't want Sam to have to watch the crossroads bitch and her pet poodles tear him to pieces. Or have the last thing for Sam to hear from Dean was him screaming in terror and begging for his life and soul. That just wasn't how big brothers did things.  It might have worked if he'd cut it a little closer, left Sam the day before instead of the week before -- because a week -- well that was just too much time for Sam's big dolphin brain to go into overdrive without Dean there to check it.  The bitch had shown up, just as promised, with her pooches, and Dean had thought maybe a little dignity was in order but he was actually kind of shaking in his boots because those dogs looked hungry. And not in a way a few puppy treats would satisfy, and one of them was eyeing Dean's crotch like he knew exactly where he'd take the first bite.  But before the bitch could do anything but smile at him, Sam was there, arriving on the spot in somebody's new Honda Accord (and Dean would never let him forget it) and looking like, well, a week of bad road, and a little crazed around the eyes. He was barefooted and stripped to the waist in jeans that looked like they'd been dipped in mud or blood or God knew what and Sam's entire torso and arms were covered in symbols and inks and some of them were freaking glowing. Dean wasn't entirely sure Sam's eyes weren't as well -- but Sam looked both pissed off and calm and had his head up and his back straight and Demon or no, the crossroads bitch took a step back.  "Too late to deal now, Sam. He's mine." "Think again," Sam said easy as you please and whipped out a rolled scroll of something nearly as long as he was tall and flung it at her feet. The whole thing unrolled with writing so tiny and dense it looked like one big mass of black -- or red --  and put his back to her. "Let's go, Dean," he said and had reached for Dean's arm. "Hey! Hey! You don't get to cut me out like this!" the bitch shrieked. Sam gave her a look that scared small children. "That's what you get for being a middle man. Take it up with your bosses." She'd glared and snarled and then snatched up the contract, rolling it up. "Don't I at least get a kiss out of the deal?" Sam had turned on her, and this time she held her ground.  Then he punched her in the mouth, knocking her on her admittedly fine ass, and stood over her. "Hope it was good for you, baby," he said, sweet as honey. He grabbed Dean's arm and hustled him off the crossroads, left the Honda where it was before Dean could even ask, "What did you do?" He did ask, of course. Eventually. Immediately in the case of Sam making his own deal to which Sam responded. "Not all of us are self-sacrificing idiots, Dean. You aren't going to have to haul my ass out of hell, and I didn't trade your soul for the souls of millions.  Just drive." It was enough for right then because a glance in the rearview showed the crossroads demon laying on the ground kicking her arms and legs like a three-year old having a tantrum and the dogs rolling around in the dirt doing the same thing. It was almost worth whatever Sam had done just to see it.  The rest of the questions had to wait because the minute they were clear of the crossroads, Sam just lost it. Like in ways that made Dean think he was having a seizure or some kind, shaking and crying and completely not the guy who had just calmly told a crossroads demon to kiss his ass then dropped his pants to let her do it. He wouldn't let Dean stop though. Finally Dean had just hooked an arm around Sam and hauled him across the seat and done what he'd always been good at -- comforting and soothing Sam until they were miles down the road and a blinking "vacancy" sign was as close to home as they were going to get.  The shower revealed that not all of the marks on Sam's body were temporary, and the real tattoos were fresh and still reddish and swollen. There were bands on Sam's wrists and upper arms, on his chest and back and one that wrapped around his left thigh and finished on his hip that Dean knew had to hurt going on. He hadn't been able to get any more details out of Sam then, because Sam showed all the signs of either shock or exhaustion or both, and looked ready to lose it again if Dean got too far from reaching distance. And Dean finally put an end to the quivering lower lip and the too-quick breaths of an incipient panic attack by dumping Sam in the bed and climbing in after him. He really had intended only to calm Sam down a bit, let him get it out of his system with tears or whatever, and vowed not to make fun of Sam while he did it. But he had no resolve at all when Sam went all grabby-hands on him, and making that low sound in his throat that could have been anger, or need, or a kind of weird sub-vocal mark of possession. (Likely, since Dean heard it most often when they were both naked and tangled so deep and tight in and around each other there were almost always bruises afterward.) But he didn't necessarily have a better response, and he honestly wasn't sure he wanted to know what Sam had done just then and he was starting to actually let the fact that he was still alive and absolutely not in hell sink in.  Which didn't exactly put the kabosh on his own anger or sense of shock. But here was Sam, all naked and still wet and Dean was only slightly less wet and so hard the minute Sam grabbed at him, he was kind of surprised his dick didn't break when Sam pulled him hard against him, frantic and uncoordinated.  Also, guaranteed to have them both coming without anything close to being satisfying--well, okay, satisfying on some level, but if Sam was going to be stupid and Dean was going to be saved that deserved a little more than a quick jerk and come.  So Dean pinned Sam to the bed, which really wasn't as difficult as it might seem with Sam outweighing and out reaching him in most things. Sam actually had to have a least a minimum of rational thought for all that extra to work for him and right now, rational wasn't even a word in Sam Winchester's personal lexicon. His pupils were blown wide like he was on drugs and there was a flush on his throat and chest, and his mouth was wet and warm and sweet and there was that sound, when Dean held Sam's wrists crossed above his head and pressed his own weight down and along Sam's body. Panicked or not, Sam was an incredibly good kisser and Dean wasn't modest about his own skill. Nor distracted when Sam shifted his legs and drew them up, framing Dean's thighs and hips and giving an invitation and inclination that no one could miss or actually resist. Which made Dean glad he was pretty much the only one to ever see it. Not to mention immediately ready to take advantage of the opportunity.  No lube and no prep made for a slightly less comfortable fit than they usually went for, but Dean only dropped his head, and sank his teeth into Sam's shoulder. That got a surprised yelp, but also got Sam to rock his hips up higher, arching against the press of Dean's dick to his hole and hands fisting and forearms tightening where Dean still held his wrists.  Minor discomfort eased the edge off for both of them and Dean took the lull to seriously angle for the best spot. The tight clench of Sam's ass around him easing fractionally when he rocked, nudging deeper and caught the back end of the gasp Sam gave when he got it right, a different sound escaping him when Dean did it again, and again. Sam's legs wrapped around him like extra arms, restricting his movements to small jerks and thrusts.  And that was when Dean had to acknowledge the slight obsession he had. Because Sam was making those sounds, those tight, half bitten-back sounds, and his body was tight and stretched and every muscle was flexed and pumped and flushed. Every exhale had Dean's name ghosting with it and Sam wasn't fighting or urging him faster or harder, he was only giving in, and that was something only Dean ever got to see. Something Dean would be the only one to ever see.  He eased one hand down and Sam kept his arms where Dean left him, eyes open  and only barely focused on Dean's face, even when Dean's hand cupped his cheek and his thumb made a sweep against Sam's lower lip, then gentled down rubbing along Sam's chest to his belly, fingers slicking through the pooling pre-come glistening on Sam's skin. He stroked up along Sam's hard dick and rocked in, letting Sam brace one quivering thigh against his upper arm, Sam tembling like he might shake apart. Hard to deny how much Dean liked seeing Sam like this, liked being the one that could reduce Sam to this. He had less liking for the kind of emotional breakdown Sam had shown earlier, but this was a whole other thing, all trust and need and Sam as eager for it as Dean was in giving it to him. There was shit-all Dean would take from Sam on most days -- even with the threat of hell eternal hanging over him, but he'd never had any problem in taking this once Sam had offered it and done so by refusing to let Dean back down from the fact that they'd become everything to each other, and that had started long before either of them had ever made any conscious choice of which path they'd take.  "Come on, ease up," Dean said and pulled back and free, ignoring the soft sound Sam made, but it was the only protest and Sam didn't resist being rolled to his belly or hesitate in throwing his legs wide and lifting his hips. This time though, Dean went for the lube, even though Sam was stretched and open for him already, breathing still coming in sharp, short pants.  Dean got him up on his knees, one soothing hand rubbing along Sam's spine as he pulled him back further, guiding his dick into Sam's ass and spreading his legs wide across his own thighs. He could keep Sam and himself on the edge for a long time like this, even when Sam's palms slapped against the wall at the head of the bed. Sam would rock his hips back but Dean controlled it, one hand on Sam's dick and the other pressed flat to his stomach, feeling the muscle ripple and flex and tremble there while he fucked into Sam slow and steady and easy as you please.  "What kind of deal did you make, Sam?" he asked, pressing up and in sharply, enough to make Sam gasp and squirm, then squeezing his cock tight enough to make him moan and stutter. "You've got marks on your body that I didn't put there. What else has its claws in you?" "It wasn't…it wasn't…" Dean leaned in mouthing the fresh tattoo on Sam's shoulder, tracing the design with his tongue and raking the sensitive flesh with his teeth. "Nobody gets a free pass…" Thick wetness spilled across his hand and Sam jerked, but Dean only gripped him tighter and slid his other hand between Sam's thighs. His fingers framed where he was tucked, tight and warm, in Sam's body, a little pressure and Sam almost fell forward on the bed, definitely whimpering. "Please, Dean…" Dean's fingers dug a harsh rhythm into the sensitive spot just behind Sam's dick, until he was almost choking he was begging for it so hard. But Dean had faced down hell's own demons in his time and appealing as the mewling sound coming from Sam's throat was, he had more invested in this than an orgasm -- his or Sam's. Dean thrust in and pulled Sam back, cheek pressed to his shoulder. "Tell me…" "It wasn't….what I gave up to get you back. It was what I was willing to do if I didn't…" Sam gasped out.  "And what was that, Sam? Storm the gates of hell? Lay waste to the world…build your own army of demons?" Dean could actually imagine Sam making that kind of deal -- he'd have done no less, but Sam didn't have it in him to be a destroyer of worlds. Dean knew he did.  Sam shook his head, still rocking, trying to get some friction, some relief, and Dean was at about the physical limit of what he could take -- he'd either have to give it up or give in. "No…I…I'd have quit it all. That's what I had… it's all I had... without you…we hold it back. You and me..." Dean shoved him down and followed him, pinning Sam's shoulders and pushing in and out of him until his spine and gut seized, coming hard and fast into Sam's ass, and listening to Sam sob out his frustration into the sheets. Dean pressed his forehead to the sweat slick skin between Sam's shoulders for a moment before reaching underneath Sam and stroking him steady and sure and almost got bucked off for his trouble when Sam came, groaning into the sheets and chest heaving like he was having trouble breathing. But then he went boneless and Dean could feel Sam's heart jack-rabbiting all the way through his back even as he milked the last few spasms and squirts of come from Sam's dick.  He nosed the hair at the nape of Sam's neck, raked teeth across his throat just to feel Sam shudder. He thought maybe someone sold Sam a bill of goods, but truth was he was here, and not in hell, and the pounding of his own heart and the pleasurable ache and warmth in his groin and belly were a pretty good indication that he wasn't dead.  Sam relaxed underneath him, head still turned to the side, broad back a perfect platform for Dean to rest against. "It was never…it was you. It was never about me," Sam said quietly, sounding sleepy and sated and much, much calmer. "It was always you." Dean stretched his arms along Sam's, fingers curling over and between his hands. He wasn't sure he believed he and Sam alone were holding back the forces of evil, but he supposed they made a difference. Although why the other side couldn't just show their fucking hand already, he had no idea. "Somebody's sure got a lot of confidence in us. Hey, wait. If you didn't make a deal with demons or devils…" He could only barely see the corner of Sam's mouth curve up in a smile.  "Oh, hell no…" he said and rolled away. Sam twisted around, still grinning. "I still don't believe in fairies, Tinkerbell." Sam lifted his head enough to plant one wet, sleepy kiss on Dean's mouth. "Doesn't matter if you believe in fairies. Only that they believe in you." Dean snorted and tugged Sam down. "Well, if we're supposed to save the world, did you at least negotiate a pay raise?" Sam stared at him and the started laughing, burying his face in Dean's neck, and body shaking with it. Maybe there was a little tinge of hysteria still but Dean only wrapped an arm around him. "Not quite," Sam said between  giggles…giggles for God's sake. Dean might have to punch him. "I did get all our sins forgiven," Sam added. "Big help that is…wait. All of them?" Sam just started laughing again and hearing it, Dean added another thing to his list of obsessions about Sam.  But it was still second to making Sam gasp out his name.  ~end~     [ email ] [ comment] [ index ]