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sweetprinceTitle: And Through The Darkness, Light
Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural it wouldn't be on at 9:00 on Thursdays
Summary: Vampires and werewolves have waged a nocturnal war against each other for centuries. But all bets are off when a vampire warrior named Dean, who's famous for his strength and werewolf-hunting prowess, becomes smitten with Sam, who the werewolves place a vital importance on. Supernatural/Underworld Crossover
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Chapters: 3/3
Genre: AU, SPN/Underworld Xover
Rating: NC-17
Acknowledgements: Love you my dear wifey,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
whimsicalwonder, even if you are an enabler of the worst sort.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Missouri warned him that fear of John was safer than false bravado, but Sam had met him and he hadn’t felt it. The man was large and growly and gruff, but the only thing that Sam saw when he looked upon John was hope, hope that Sam could be all the prophecy said he was.
“How do you know that I can be the one you wish for?” Sam asked, feeling very much like Neo in the Matrix.
John smiled. “Because you asked that question.”
“I have no training in fighting,” Sam said slowly. Clearly this John was going to be completely impossible to read.
John shook his head. “You are still a cub yet, you will learn.”
He tried one last token protest. “I know next to nothing about your cultures.”
John nodded. “You will learn that too.”
“I—oh, I hope I do not fail.” Sam finally said with a large sigh. Or end up sans head and hands, which appeared as an increasingly more likely eventuality. He’d heard how the best vampire fighters always fought with swords over firearms.
“You will not, because you cannot!” John said with finality. Sam made a face at his tone, if only that concept had worked on 7th grade math tests. “We must arm you.”
Sam shook his head. “I can’t use a gun! I won’t use a gun, I’ve fought all of my life not to use them.”
The werewolves around the room smiled, John included, one outright laughed. “Give the boy a piece of steel!”
Sam huffed out a breath. “Listen, I’m really not cut out for killing people.”
The werewolf who spoke last, another Get by the name of Bobby, nearly choked. “A wolf that won’t fight?”
John shook his head. “The Children of Gaia will adore him.”
Sam had no idea what was going on.
“Clearly we’re going to have to train him within an inch of his life!” Bobby replied.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, boys,” a voice drifted in through the doorway. The dim-lighting did little to illuminate the figure standing just outside the door.
“Oh, Gaia help us!” Bobby said, rolling his eyes. Sam knew Bobby’s eyes were not impeded by the low-light in the same way that he was. John had explained that after his first change, several of his own senses would heighten.
The figure stepped fully into the room, revealing herself to be a tall dark-skinned woman with black hair, black claw marks tattooed onto her cheeks. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Bobby.”
Sam swallowed, she was extremely beautiful, but Sam knew, in an instant, that she was probably more dangerous than John. Or at the least, a little more unpredictable. He wondered how he knew, but he remembered Missouri’s words that Silver Fangs were great readers of people. Maybe that was why he was so fucking nuts over Dean. Remembering his manners, he got to his feet. “I’m Sam—”
“Winchester, last scion of the Silver Fang,” she interrupted. “I know.”
“Sam, this is Windy, pack leader of the Wendigo,” John introduced her.
Sam swallowed again, from the little he’d learned about the Wendigo, he knew to be wary of them. They were the largest of all the wolves and almost as insular as the Red Talons. “It’s my honor to meet you.”
She nodded respectfully back. “The honor is mine, my liege.”
Sam ignored the awkwardness that welled up at the title and wiped his palm on his pants. The pants Dean had got for him, he remembered with a sudden sense of melancholy. “I fear I am not up to the task.”
“Yes, so I heard from outside the door, excuse me for eavesdropping.” Suddenly her fist was rising, blade flying up toward his eye. Bobby bolted upright in his chair, but John held him back. The blade had never connected: Sam had caught the arm flying up, whirled her around and bent the arm with the blade back into her back.
She laughed, long and hard. “I bet you didn’t even know you could do that.”
Sam dropped her hand and stepped away, sputtering apologies left and right. She shook her head at him, waving them all aside. “If you will let me, I will make you into the warrior you must be, young cub.”
Sam wondered at how much his life had changed. Now he was going around being called cub by men and women who hardly looked any older than he was, writhing around in caves with green-eyed vampires, and debating what weapons he could use to fight with.
Bobby was well and truly angered now and he growled low in his throat. “You would let a Wendigo do a Fenrir’s job?”
Windy turned and snarled at Bobby. “You would do it better?”
Bobby never got to answer, Missouri swept into the room, garbed in midnight purple robes. “Peace, all of you.”
“Have you another suggestion?” Windy asked, her expression closed.
Missouri let out a breath. “The Silver Fangs must lead and to lead they must show no preference or special deference to any one tribe. Let a wolf from every tribe teach him.”
“What would a Strider teach?” Bobby protested. “How to lose his way home? And the Shadow Lords or the Glass Walkers?”
Missouri glared at him and Windy resumed her snarling. Other werewolves, sensing the dischord, came into the room and quickly joined in on the arguing. It descended into utter chaos in only a few short moments. The werewolves were not good at settling disputes or yielding where they must. Sam watched John, whose face betrayed his long suffering patience, John could not control them and he, a hapless just out of law school young man, must learn to do so.
Sam sighed. It was going to go swimmingly, he thought with no small amount of sarcasm.
“Quiet, all of you!” he cried, his voice rising above all the rest. They turned to him, with disbelieving eyes. He might be the last Silver Fang, but he was still a youngling, and an unblooded one at that. “Have the Glass Walkers and the Shadow Lords not rallied to my banner? Or have I mistaken their sigil when I walk through these tunnels? I am quite new at this.”
A young werewolf at the back of the room finally spoke-up. “They have my liege, you are unmistaken.”
“All of you, from what I understand, we can’t do this unless we work together.” Sam hoped they understood what he was trying to tell them. He hoped they wouldn’t merely dismiss him. That would certainly be a good way to start of his rule. “Missouri’s idea is a good one and I would like to hear what all of you have to say.”
All of the werewolves looked at him in silence and slowly they nodded their heads.
“I didn’t choose to lead you, very likely I will do a horrible job of it, but I am hoping with all of your help, that that will be more of a possibility than an eventuality.”
Windy broke through the crowd. “Winchester, let me have the honor of instructing you today.”
Sam blushed heatedly. “If you wish it.”
She nodded. “I do. Come with me back to our quarters and meet some of my tribe.”
Sam left with her, hoping that these Wendigo wouldn’t be quite as fearsome with him as Missouri had promised they would be. He hadn’t realized that in that instant, he had won of the hearts of the tribe leaders, shown them why it was the Silver Fang had led them for so long. They were born, not made.
*
Dean drove the little car hard; he had to get to Sam and the tunnels as fast as possible. He had been wrong, so wrong, about everything. Not just about the reasons for the war, which in his book hadn’t changed much in the way of his thinking. As far as he was concerned, the person who cast the first stone didn’t matter. But then Amelia had been murdered by Jo in cold blood, and his only recourse, he had thought, was to awaken Eleanor.
What folly that had been.
Jo had stumbled upon him as he was finishing the last rites. He’d expected her to rage at him, to try her hardest to kill him, but she hadn’t, she had only laughed long and mirthlessly, a frightening look upon her face.
“You fool,” she had said, “you complete and utter fool.”
Dean hadn’t had any clue of what to make of that. He’d pulled his gun on her the moment she’d entered the room, but she had hardly seemed phased. He thought it must have been because she had nothing left to lose.
“Always you have held to Eleanor’s apron strings, waxing poetic about how great she is!” she’d continued, her face twisting and ruining her good looks. “But you are wrong to think it was werewolves who killed your family.”
Dean’s gun had wavered. He hadn’t been sure he could take anymore revelations.
“Werewolves have too much honor for what they did to your family,” her voice was vicious and inexorable, and Dean only wanted it to stop. “Eleanor had all these precious rules for the treatment of humans, she wanted us to control our desires and not let them control us.”
“Stop!” he’d said back, finally finding his voice. “Stop it!”
“Don’t want to hear this, Dean Darling?” she had laughed again. “All your precious little dreams ruined? Well let me crush them farther! It was Eleanor who killed and tortured your family. Occasionally the bloodlust would be too great in her and she would be overtaken by a kind of madness, your family just happened to be in her path.”
“I don’t believe you!” But he’d known it had been true. Jo didn’t have the art to make a story like that up and when Eleanor had awakened the betrayals hadn’t ended there. They’d thrown him into his room, locked all the doors, stationed guards at all the entrances. Jo had told Eleanor some twisted story, that he’d been consorting with werewolves, that he was a traitor to his kind, that he sought to usurp Eleanor’s throne. That Dean had sought to profane the sacred right of awakening. It had been laughable the things spilling out of Jo’s mouth, while Dean was forced to listen and completely unable to defend himself.
And Eleanor, that lying murderous whore, had let her. She had accepted Jo with open arms, commended her even for rooting out so debauched a traitor as Dean was. She had thrown Dean into his room, stating that they would deal with him when they returned from dealing with this Werewolf prince upstart.
But Sarah had helped him escape and now here he was, racing after the contingent of death dealers, led by Eleanor herself, straight into the tunnels, on Dean’s information, to eradicate the only person he’d ever allowed himself to love, even if it had only been a moment, in the four centuries he’d been alive.
He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen. It was raining again when he got to the tunnels, he pulled off the grating that covered a shaft and jumped down inside. He had only his memory to guide him in here, and he could only hope that he wouldn’t run into any werewolves here. They wouldn’t know to grant him mercy.
But the werewolves were too busy, fighting the death dealers, to worry about one vampire making his way through the tunnels. The vampires had been wrong to come here, Dean could hear them losing. They had chosen to fight on werewolf turf and they had gone in vastly underestimating the enemy.
Dean wasn’t sure how Eleanor could have allowed them to do that.
Finally after what seemed like hours of tunnel, in which every dying vampire he heard was a friend and every dying werewolf was Sam, he finally reached a lab. A werewolf in a white coat lay dead upon the floor, his throat cut and his eyes bugging out of his face. Dean could see he hadn’t even been given the chance to change.
He heard shouting behind the curtain and he found Jo, standing over John, the Jericho Ash had designed in her hand.
“So much for trusting you, eh?” John coughed weakly, the silver coursing through his veins. The only thing that would save him was a transfusion or six and that was only if they got the silver out before his veins and arteries turned to dust from the silver poisoning.
Jo shook her head. “Things changed a little on my end, you were no longer an asset.”
John sighed. “You can’t stop it now, you treacherous snake.”
Jo kicked him viciously in the ribs and he coughed again, this time blood dotted his lips. John only laughed.
“It won’t die with me, our resistance. The last scion will rise tonight!”
Jo kicked him again. “Still clinging to those stupid prophecies? May they die with you.” She shot John four more times in the head, and he collapsed, silent at last.
“He’s right about Sam!” Dean finally spoke up. Jo whirled, once again finding herself on the wrong end of Dean’s gun. “He’s something else.”
“So you couldn’t stay away for long!” she snarled. “Just know that all of this is your doing! And your filthy canine lover is going to die—”
She hadn’t even finished the sentence before Dean had pumped UV rounds into her and she fell to the floor before blowing up much the way that Gordon had only days earlier.
“You spend too much time talking,” he said to the unrecognizable pile of flesh and limbs and dust that was Jo.
He ran back out into the tunnels, hoping against hope that he hadn’t wasted much needed time. He raced around a corner, drawing closer to the heart of the battle. He arrived just in time to see Sam get shot, twice, through the heart. The vampires melted off to find fresh targets, leaving Dean alone with Sam’s still body.
“No! No! No!” he screamed, flinging himself down on top of Sam’s still warm body. “No, Oh God No!” Bloody tears welled out of his eyes as he lay, ear pressed to Sam’s heart, desperately wishing to hear it beat again.
“Don’t leave me, I was stupid, I only just found you.” He cried bitter tears, only drenching Sam’s bloody shirtfront further. “I’m not sure I know how to live without you.”
He sounded heartbroken and wretched to his own ears, but he didn’t know how to stop the bitter sobs that escaped him. “Storm Lords! Why?” he cried out, as if the heavens could hear him and if they could, like they cared.
He didn’t expect the massive kick to his side that sent him sprawling into the wall, nearly seven feet away. The last thing he thought as he succumbed to unconsciousness on the cold bloody concrete was that he didn’t care anymore, he only wanted to die.
When he came to again, what he guessed was only forty-five minutes later a large white wolf and Eleanor were fighting. Eleanor was winning but the Lycan was certainly giving her a run for her money. He looked blearily for Sam’s body, but it was gone, all that was left was a bloody mess upon the floor. What had they done to the body? Dean would murder a thousand times over anybody who tried to defile it in any way. And then it clicked as he watched the way the white wolf fought against Eleanor that it was Sam.
Eleanor had been fighting with the sword that she always kept strapped to her side, but it was lying discarded not a few feet from Dean. God he hoped that Sam wouldn’t get all masculine werewolf pride on him when he did what he was about to do. The minute Sam got far enough away from Eleanor, he was on his feet, jumping up and over Eleanor, his sword sweeping in a wide arc.
He landed behind Sam, watching as the top half of Eleanor’s head slid away from the rest. Her body folded in on itself, arms and legs splayed every which way. For a moment Dean wished she had suffered more, but it was gone in an instant. Sam was alive. Before Sam could even realize what hit him he had an armful of vampire, holding him tight and begging for forgiveness.
Sam growled gently against him, but Dean took it as a sign of pleasure rather than of anger, and he didn’t let go.
“It was you,” Missouri said wonderingly as she stepped into the room, the sounds of gunfire and cries of pain had long ago died off.
Dean turned away from Sam. “What was me?”
“All along we had thought that Mary and John would be the ones to unite our two races, but it was you.”
Dean blinked. “I don’t understand.” He turned back to Sam who was slowly melting back to his human form. The young man’s eyes were heavy-lidded and he stumbled against Dean.
“You will.” Missouri smiled and left the room. Dean was just about to protest when Sam collapsed against him. He sighed, hooking one leg beneath his knees and another under his back, carrying him out of the tunnels for the last time. They were done with that. Dean would never walk among the light again, but he would be damned if Sam suffered the same.
Sam slept for three days under Dean’s watchful eye, now that the threat from the coven was neutralized, the werewolves left the tunnels to perform the rites for their dead. The Glass Walker tribe who Ash was thick as thieves with begged the honor of housing them. Dean, who had been expecting some woodland huts or something very earthy, had been completely taken aback.
They had brought them to a trendy penthouse suite, setting Dean up with his own rooms, although everybody quickly realized he wasn’t content to stay there. He wasn’t sure what it was he felt for Sam, everything that had seemed so startlingly clear when Sam looked to be dead went back to being uselessly murky again, but everyday that Sam was asleep was another day Dean worried that he wouldn’t open up his eyes.
Finally he had to leave to feed or risk turning into a useless wraith. When he came back to the rooms, Sam was gone, and for what felt like the first time in ages, Dean smiled, sinking back against the doorway. It was over, it was finally over.
Now it was time to move on.
*
Sam had never taken a shower that felt so good in his entire life. The hot water pounded into his muscles and the feel of clean hair was so welcome he was nearly soppy with pleasure. It had been a hard week. He’d come to only to learn that John was dead, and while he hadn’t known the man well, he wasn’t quite sure he could do this without him. Furthermore Jim had died and now half of his lab was impossible to decode. Windy had been all for burning the entire damn thing down, but the Glass Walkers with the added voice of Ash had set up such a ruckus that she’d subsided.
Meg, who he’d only met a few times before John’s death, came to see him everyday while he lay bedridden and unconscious of the cares of the world and Missouri claimed that she had become his staunchest supporter in the Wittan, the Wolves Council that had met while he was asleep.
Windy said they were still mired down in what decision to make about Dean and Ash because they were waiting for Sam to weigh in. Windy had admitted that the alluring vampire was good and trustworthy and very handy with a blade. The red talons who had little love for humans (and very much hate) despised vampires even more and somehow Dean had managed to avoid getting into conflict with them. Windy said they were probably silenced somewhat by his brashness and in so doing he’d endeared himself very much to the Get of Fenris.
“I would even go so far as to say they like him,” Windy had laughed over breakfast. Sam smiled. He found Dean very likable, but it was becoming apparent that the vampire had few friends among the werewolves, especially the Bone Gnawers, after having spent so many centuries massacring them.
Just as Sam was about to leave to go take his shower, she had stopped him, a slight smile upon her face. “He will make a good mate.”
Sam had coughed and choked and blushed the entire way back to his rooms unsure of what to think about that. Even now as he leaned against the cool tiles, it wasn’t far from his mind. When he’d been asleep he’d dreamed of snow and ice and Dean’s cool blue eyes melting back to green. He could smell Dean now, could pick him out of over a thousand different scents, and it had been stamped all over his room, despite Dean’s absence.
It had cheered him immensely.
Now as the water rushed over him, his mind was stuck on that smell, of blood and spice and expensive cologne. He thought about Dean wrapping his strong arms around Sam’s lean waist, pressing the two of them together as he reached around and stroked Sam’s cock to hardness. He imagined Dean’s fangs lengthening to sink into his shoulder, and once, he would’ve found such a thought immensely disturbing, but now—now it was quite possibly the sexiest thing he could think of.
He’d woken up in that room with a hard-on that had yet to go away and it had made him shift uncomfortably all through his morning meal as Windy gave him the news. He had felt guilty and irreverent in the face of all the funerals that were being held, and he knew Windy noticed, hell she’d probably smelled it, why else would she make that comment about Dean. All he wanted now was to come, for that ache for Dean to go away. He wasn’t sure where they stood anymore, but he wanted him, oh he wanted him. He had to hope that the way Dean had reacted when he was fighting Eleanor meant something and that it wasn’t just hatred for what Eleanor had done to him.
He thought of Dean’s wicked smile and suddenly he was coming desperately undone. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, allowing the water to wash away the evidence. After a few more minutes lazing under the spray, he finally stepped out, knotting a towel loosely around his waist.
He stepped into the room, knowing before he even entered that Dean was inside and with a little frisson of joy, he found the vampire lying in the center of Sam’s gigantic bed, propped up against the pillows reading a book.
Dean spied him over the top of the novel and whatever they were going to say to each other was completely forgotten when Dean’s eyebrows raised and his lips pulled upwards in a grin. “You just came.”
Sam could feel himself flushing a deep rose and he had to fight to keep himself from stuttering, but oh god, Dean’s voice had been smoky sweet as he said those words; Sam practically felt it as tangible as a touch. “How did you know?”
Dean set the book aside and rolled his eyes. “I’m a vampire.”
Sam knew this, it had been a little hard to escape even in the tumult of the last few days. “You’re a jerk.”
Dean laughed. “I could make a very naughty joke about that…”
Sam rubbed at his face with one hand. “400 years old, you say?” When he looked back at Dean, the vampire’s eyes were intense upon the water beading on his chest, and Sam dearly hoped he wasn’t bright red again.
“Oh yes, every inch of it,” Dean said softly, his voice just a little bit hoarse and his eyes continuing to roam over Sam’s body. “Come here.”
Like Sam planned on going anywhere else! He held on tightly to the towel as he walked over to straddle Dean’s thighs. Dean arched up to touch his mouth to Sam’s, moaning low at the contact. Sam hadn’t even realized the extent of how much he’d wanted this again until Dean’s tongue was slip sliding into his mouth and very wickedly, his strong blunt-fingered hands were sliding up Sam’s thighs underneath the towel.
Sam pulled back after long moments of lazy kissing that was more lip than tongue, and he looked down at Dean’s full mouth, slicked up all shiny with spit and swollen with blood. God, he didn’t understand how the vampires got anything done with someone as pretty as Dean running around.
“Do you want to try this, then?” he asked breathlessly as Dean continued to kiss his throat and shoulders, long sucking kisses that would definitely leave marks behind tomorrow.
“This?” Dean chuckled, his voice pitched low as he yanked the towel off of Sam’s hips. “I definitely want to try this.”
Sam moaned as Dean fastened over his pulse point, god help him he wanted Dean to bite him so bad. “Dean, as much as it may pain you to realize, I’m being serious.”
Dean pulled his mouth from Sam’s skin, sliding his hands up to cup Sam’s jaw. His eyes were green, the green his mother and father had gave him, the green that had seemed to pierce his soul when he’d first looked to them, nearly a lifetime ago. Maybe Dean couldn’t say it aloud, but he was telling Sam with his eyes.
I want this, I need this
“You’re not nearly naked enough…” Sam said as Dean’s callused palm ran up his back, slowly learning the contours of his body. Dean shook his head, flipping them both over, pressing his cloth covered body to Sam’s naked one.
He dipped his head to press another kiss to Sam’s lips. Sam smiled against his mouth, as he used his long fingered hands to skate up and under Dean’s black shirt, pulling it up as he went. His fingers dipped into the dips and grooves in his muscles, a strong sense of satisfaction suffusing him as Dean hissed into his mouth.
He finally pulled the shirt over Dean’s head when the vampire pulled away for air. Dean’s beautiful pale skin was interrupted by a freckles and he hoped he got the chance to memorize each and every one. The vampire was so comfortable in his own skin and sexuality it was breathtaking to behold.
“It’s been awhile,” he said slowly, grinding his cloth covered erection into Sam’s. He laughed at Sam’s incredulous look. “Once upon a time I did exactly what you thought I did, but that was centuries ago.”
“Centuries?” Sam squeaked.
Dean sat back on Sam’s hips and began unbuttoning his pants. “I’ll tell you about it some other time.”
After what felt like a torturously long time, Dean was finally naked and Sam was confronted with Dean’s blood dark cock. “I haven’t ever done this before…”
Dean smiled again, his slightly elongated eyeteeth gleaming. “I have.”
He slid down Sam’s body, nuzzling the wiry curls at the base of his cock, tonguing a trail over his hip and watching as Sam’s muscles tensed and bunched under the skin. He arched against Dean’s mouth as Dean completely ignored his cock in favor of driving him mad. Finally when he felt like the heat and desire spiking out of his groin would kill him, Dean finally wrapped those wondrous lips around the head of his cock and sucked hard.
Sam was embarrassed at the moan that burst past his lips at that, but Dean hummed around his cock as he took more of him in, seeming to enjoy the way Sam was losing it fast. Dean pulled back up, pressing his tongue hard against the knot of nerves just under the cockhead, pressing down on Sam’s hip with one firm hand to keep him from thrusting too hard.
Sam was good, he held himself still, his fingers making deep grooves in the soft comforter, but it had been a long time for him as well. Only a few random drunken hookups after Jessica had been killed.
Dean was giving him an amazing reintroduction though. He supposed centuries of knowledge would do that. Dean’s hand was sliding around, fingers running teasingly down the cleft of his ass, the nerves there hardwired directly to his dick. Dean continued to suck and toy with him, pulling back every time Sam came close till Sam was begging him to please, please, please just let him come.
Dean pulled off completely, shushing him gently, I’ve got you those eyes told him. The vampire pushed his legs up till his feet were flat on the bed, fingers running tantalizingly down his inner thighs. Sam vibrated with tension and the first press of Dean’s tongue against his puckered opening nearly broke him.
“Oh God,” he cried, unable to keep himself from twisting on the sheets, nearly pushing Dean away from.
“Good, that’s good,” Dean whispered, before thrusting his tongue against the reddened flesh, just pushing past the tight ring of muscle. It was so much sensation, too much almost, his cock was weeping pre-come, and it was good, so good. Dean’s tongue was curling on his skin, giving him absolutely no quarter; finally he pulled away again, coming to lie beside Sam on the bed.
“Do you think you can take my fingers?”
Sam shot him a dark look. “If you don’t take me with something I think I might frenzy.”
Dean shook his head with a slow smile, bringing two fingers of his hand up to his mouth and sucking them in, the same way he’d sucked on Sam’s cock.
“Oh lord,” Sam watched with eyes darkened by lust. Dean rolled on top of Sam again, his cool body pressed to Sam’s warm one. He kissed Sam with lips that tasted dark and smoky, like Sam himself, as his hand dipped down between Sam’s thighs. He thrust the two fingers inside at the same time he thrust his tongue into Sam’s mouth.
Dean was gentle, he scissored them in and out, tongue fucking Sam’s mouth as he got used to the sensation. Sam’s body was tightening and arching off the bed. His erection wilted slowly and suddenly Dean was pulling back and away from his mouth.
He looked down at him with knowing eyes. “You have to relax.”
It didn’t hurt, it was just odd, but he had a good idea that when Dean’s cock was inside him it was going to hurt like a bitch.
“You have to relax, Sam,” Dean whispered again, bending his head to toy with a nipple with his tongue and then he did it, he hit that one spot inside of Sam hard and completely on purpose too.
Sam cried out, his back bowing and his eyes fluttering back into his head. Dean did it again, bringing him steadily back to the brink. He repeated it over and over again till he was whining and pleading with Dean again.
“Have mercy,” he finally said. “Just take me.”
Dean watched him for a long moment, before finally nodding. “Turn over then.”
Sam shook his head furiously from side to side. “No, I have to see you.”
“It’ll hurt more.”
Sam stared up at him solemnly. “Let it.”
“Ah,” Dean moaned low, his voice tight with strain, and for the first time Sam noticed that the vampire was not so calm himself. “All right, all right.”
He settled his weight between Sam’s spread thighs, making sure their gaze remained unbroken as he carefully thrust into the young werewolf. Sam threw his head back, tried not to let the stretch and burn get to him too much, but it hurt, there was no denying that fact.
“Relax,” Dean said again, his hands sliding up and down Sam’s body. Finally when Sam felt as accustomed to the situation as he ever would be, Dean began to slowly thrust in and out, long and deep, making sure to graze his prostate on every upstroke.
Sam’s erection rubbed between their two bodies, the friction shorting out Sam’s brain. He wouldn’t last long now, he couldn’t, he’d wanted to come for too long now. Dean’s right hand laced with his, their fingers gripping tight, never letting go as they lost themselves to pleasure.
Sam came first, Dean’s name on his lips and Dean followed soon after. Not once did their gazes break, even when it felt like they were flying apart in a million directions. When it was over they lay entangled for hours, their thoughts on the future and what it would bring.
I can’t waste a minute of it.
*
And it's done. I'm kind of sad about that. Anyway, I hope you like it.
Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural it wouldn't be on at 9:00 on Thursdays
Summary: Vampires and werewolves have waged a nocturnal war against each other for centuries. But all bets are off when a vampire warrior named Dean, who's famous for his strength and werewolf-hunting prowess, becomes smitten with Sam, who the werewolves place a vital importance on. Supernatural/Underworld Crossover
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Chapters: 3/3
Genre: AU, SPN/Underworld Xover
Rating: NC-17
Acknowledgements: Love you my dear wifey,
whimsicalwonder, even if you are an enabler of the worst sort. Chapter One
Chapter Two
Missouri warned him that fear of John was safer than false bravado, but Sam had met him and he hadn’t felt it. The man was large and growly and gruff, but the only thing that Sam saw when he looked upon John was hope, hope that Sam could be all the prophecy said he was.
“How do you know that I can be the one you wish for?” Sam asked, feeling very much like Neo in the Matrix.
John smiled. “Because you asked that question.”
“I have no training in fighting,” Sam said slowly. Clearly this John was going to be completely impossible to read.
John shook his head. “You are still a cub yet, you will learn.”
He tried one last token protest. “I know next to nothing about your cultures.”
John nodded. “You will learn that too.”
“I—oh, I hope I do not fail.” Sam finally said with a large sigh. Or end up sans head and hands, which appeared as an increasingly more likely eventuality. He’d heard how the best vampire fighters always fought with swords over firearms.
“You will not, because you cannot!” John said with finality. Sam made a face at his tone, if only that concept had worked on 7th grade math tests. “We must arm you.”
Sam shook his head. “I can’t use a gun! I won’t use a gun, I’ve fought all of my life not to use them.”
The werewolves around the room smiled, John included, one outright laughed. “Give the boy a piece of steel!”
Sam huffed out a breath. “Listen, I’m really not cut out for killing people.”
The werewolf who spoke last, another Get by the name of Bobby, nearly choked. “A wolf that won’t fight?”
John shook his head. “The Children of Gaia will adore him.”
Sam had no idea what was going on.
“Clearly we’re going to have to train him within an inch of his life!” Bobby replied.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, boys,” a voice drifted in through the doorway. The dim-lighting did little to illuminate the figure standing just outside the door.
“Oh, Gaia help us!” Bobby said, rolling his eyes. Sam knew Bobby’s eyes were not impeded by the low-light in the same way that he was. John had explained that after his first change, several of his own senses would heighten.
The figure stepped fully into the room, revealing herself to be a tall dark-skinned woman with black hair, black claw marks tattooed onto her cheeks. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Bobby.”
Sam swallowed, she was extremely beautiful, but Sam knew, in an instant, that she was probably more dangerous than John. Or at the least, a little more unpredictable. He wondered how he knew, but he remembered Missouri’s words that Silver Fangs were great readers of people. Maybe that was why he was so fucking nuts over Dean. Remembering his manners, he got to his feet. “I’m Sam—”
“Winchester, last scion of the Silver Fang,” she interrupted. “I know.”
“Sam, this is Windy, pack leader of the Wendigo,” John introduced her.
Sam swallowed again, from the little he’d learned about the Wendigo, he knew to be wary of them. They were the largest of all the wolves and almost as insular as the Red Talons. “It’s my honor to meet you.”
She nodded respectfully back. “The honor is mine, my liege.”
Sam ignored the awkwardness that welled up at the title and wiped his palm on his pants. The pants Dean had got for him, he remembered with a sudden sense of melancholy. “I fear I am not up to the task.”
“Yes, so I heard from outside the door, excuse me for eavesdropping.” Suddenly her fist was rising, blade flying up toward his eye. Bobby bolted upright in his chair, but John held him back. The blade had never connected: Sam had caught the arm flying up, whirled her around and bent the arm with the blade back into her back.
She laughed, long and hard. “I bet you didn’t even know you could do that.”
Sam dropped her hand and stepped away, sputtering apologies left and right. She shook her head at him, waving them all aside. “If you will let me, I will make you into the warrior you must be, young cub.”
Sam wondered at how much his life had changed. Now he was going around being called cub by men and women who hardly looked any older than he was, writhing around in caves with green-eyed vampires, and debating what weapons he could use to fight with.
Bobby was well and truly angered now and he growled low in his throat. “You would let a Wendigo do a Fenrir’s job?”
Windy turned and snarled at Bobby. “You would do it better?”
Bobby never got to answer, Missouri swept into the room, garbed in midnight purple robes. “Peace, all of you.”
“Have you another suggestion?” Windy asked, her expression closed.
Missouri let out a breath. “The Silver Fangs must lead and to lead they must show no preference or special deference to any one tribe. Let a wolf from every tribe teach him.”
“What would a Strider teach?” Bobby protested. “How to lose his way home? And the Shadow Lords or the Glass Walkers?”
Missouri glared at him and Windy resumed her snarling. Other werewolves, sensing the dischord, came into the room and quickly joined in on the arguing. It descended into utter chaos in only a few short moments. The werewolves were not good at settling disputes or yielding where they must. Sam watched John, whose face betrayed his long suffering patience, John could not control them and he, a hapless just out of law school young man, must learn to do so.
Sam sighed. It was going to go swimmingly, he thought with no small amount of sarcasm.
“Quiet, all of you!” he cried, his voice rising above all the rest. They turned to him, with disbelieving eyes. He might be the last Silver Fang, but he was still a youngling, and an unblooded one at that. “Have the Glass Walkers and the Shadow Lords not rallied to my banner? Or have I mistaken their sigil when I walk through these tunnels? I am quite new at this.”
A young werewolf at the back of the room finally spoke-up. “They have my liege, you are unmistaken.”
“All of you, from what I understand, we can’t do this unless we work together.” Sam hoped they understood what he was trying to tell them. He hoped they wouldn’t merely dismiss him. That would certainly be a good way to start of his rule. “Missouri’s idea is a good one and I would like to hear what all of you have to say.”
All of the werewolves looked at him in silence and slowly they nodded their heads.
“I didn’t choose to lead you, very likely I will do a horrible job of it, but I am hoping with all of your help, that that will be more of a possibility than an eventuality.”
Windy broke through the crowd. “Winchester, let me have the honor of instructing you today.”
Sam blushed heatedly. “If you wish it.”
She nodded. “I do. Come with me back to our quarters and meet some of my tribe.”
Sam left with her, hoping that these Wendigo wouldn’t be quite as fearsome with him as Missouri had promised they would be. He hadn’t realized that in that instant, he had won of the hearts of the tribe leaders, shown them why it was the Silver Fang had led them for so long. They were born, not made.
*
Dean drove the little car hard; he had to get to Sam and the tunnels as fast as possible. He had been wrong, so wrong, about everything. Not just about the reasons for the war, which in his book hadn’t changed much in the way of his thinking. As far as he was concerned, the person who cast the first stone didn’t matter. But then Amelia had been murdered by Jo in cold blood, and his only recourse, he had thought, was to awaken Eleanor.
What folly that had been.
Jo had stumbled upon him as he was finishing the last rites. He’d expected her to rage at him, to try her hardest to kill him, but she hadn’t, she had only laughed long and mirthlessly, a frightening look upon her face.
“You fool,” she had said, “you complete and utter fool.”
Dean hadn’t had any clue of what to make of that. He’d pulled his gun on her the moment she’d entered the room, but she had hardly seemed phased. He thought it must have been because she had nothing left to lose.
“Always you have held to Eleanor’s apron strings, waxing poetic about how great she is!” she’d continued, her face twisting and ruining her good looks. “But you are wrong to think it was werewolves who killed your family.”
Dean’s gun had wavered. He hadn’t been sure he could take anymore revelations.
“Werewolves have too much honor for what they did to your family,” her voice was vicious and inexorable, and Dean only wanted it to stop. “Eleanor had all these precious rules for the treatment of humans, she wanted us to control our desires and not let them control us.”
“Stop!” he’d said back, finally finding his voice. “Stop it!”
“Don’t want to hear this, Dean Darling?” she had laughed again. “All your precious little dreams ruined? Well let me crush them farther! It was Eleanor who killed and tortured your family. Occasionally the bloodlust would be too great in her and she would be overtaken by a kind of madness, your family just happened to be in her path.”
“I don’t believe you!” But he’d known it had been true. Jo didn’t have the art to make a story like that up and when Eleanor had awakened the betrayals hadn’t ended there. They’d thrown him into his room, locked all the doors, stationed guards at all the entrances. Jo had told Eleanor some twisted story, that he’d been consorting with werewolves, that he was a traitor to his kind, that he sought to usurp Eleanor’s throne. That Dean had sought to profane the sacred right of awakening. It had been laughable the things spilling out of Jo’s mouth, while Dean was forced to listen and completely unable to defend himself.
And Eleanor, that lying murderous whore, had let her. She had accepted Jo with open arms, commended her even for rooting out so debauched a traitor as Dean was. She had thrown Dean into his room, stating that they would deal with him when they returned from dealing with this Werewolf prince upstart.
But Sarah had helped him escape and now here he was, racing after the contingent of death dealers, led by Eleanor herself, straight into the tunnels, on Dean’s information, to eradicate the only person he’d ever allowed himself to love, even if it had only been a moment, in the four centuries he’d been alive.
He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen. It was raining again when he got to the tunnels, he pulled off the grating that covered a shaft and jumped down inside. He had only his memory to guide him in here, and he could only hope that he wouldn’t run into any werewolves here. They wouldn’t know to grant him mercy.
But the werewolves were too busy, fighting the death dealers, to worry about one vampire making his way through the tunnels. The vampires had been wrong to come here, Dean could hear them losing. They had chosen to fight on werewolf turf and they had gone in vastly underestimating the enemy.
Dean wasn’t sure how Eleanor could have allowed them to do that.
Finally after what seemed like hours of tunnel, in which every dying vampire he heard was a friend and every dying werewolf was Sam, he finally reached a lab. A werewolf in a white coat lay dead upon the floor, his throat cut and his eyes bugging out of his face. Dean could see he hadn’t even been given the chance to change.
He heard shouting behind the curtain and he found Jo, standing over John, the Jericho Ash had designed in her hand.
“So much for trusting you, eh?” John coughed weakly, the silver coursing through his veins. The only thing that would save him was a transfusion or six and that was only if they got the silver out before his veins and arteries turned to dust from the silver poisoning.
Jo shook her head. “Things changed a little on my end, you were no longer an asset.”
John sighed. “You can’t stop it now, you treacherous snake.”
Jo kicked him viciously in the ribs and he coughed again, this time blood dotted his lips. John only laughed.
“It won’t die with me, our resistance. The last scion will rise tonight!”
Jo kicked him again. “Still clinging to those stupid prophecies? May they die with you.” She shot John four more times in the head, and he collapsed, silent at last.
“He’s right about Sam!” Dean finally spoke up. Jo whirled, once again finding herself on the wrong end of Dean’s gun. “He’s something else.”
“So you couldn’t stay away for long!” she snarled. “Just know that all of this is your doing! And your filthy canine lover is going to die—”
She hadn’t even finished the sentence before Dean had pumped UV rounds into her and she fell to the floor before blowing up much the way that Gordon had only days earlier.
“You spend too much time talking,” he said to the unrecognizable pile of flesh and limbs and dust that was Jo.
He ran back out into the tunnels, hoping against hope that he hadn’t wasted much needed time. He raced around a corner, drawing closer to the heart of the battle. He arrived just in time to see Sam get shot, twice, through the heart. The vampires melted off to find fresh targets, leaving Dean alone with Sam’s still body.
“No! No! No!” he screamed, flinging himself down on top of Sam’s still warm body. “No, Oh God No!” Bloody tears welled out of his eyes as he lay, ear pressed to Sam’s heart, desperately wishing to hear it beat again.
“Don’t leave me, I was stupid, I only just found you.” He cried bitter tears, only drenching Sam’s bloody shirtfront further. “I’m not sure I know how to live without you.”
He sounded heartbroken and wretched to his own ears, but he didn’t know how to stop the bitter sobs that escaped him. “Storm Lords! Why?” he cried out, as if the heavens could hear him and if they could, like they cared.
He didn’t expect the massive kick to his side that sent him sprawling into the wall, nearly seven feet away. The last thing he thought as he succumbed to unconsciousness on the cold bloody concrete was that he didn’t care anymore, he only wanted to die.
When he came to again, what he guessed was only forty-five minutes later a large white wolf and Eleanor were fighting. Eleanor was winning but the Lycan was certainly giving her a run for her money. He looked blearily for Sam’s body, but it was gone, all that was left was a bloody mess upon the floor. What had they done to the body? Dean would murder a thousand times over anybody who tried to defile it in any way. And then it clicked as he watched the way the white wolf fought against Eleanor that it was Sam.
Eleanor had been fighting with the sword that she always kept strapped to her side, but it was lying discarded not a few feet from Dean. God he hoped that Sam wouldn’t get all masculine werewolf pride on him when he did what he was about to do. The minute Sam got far enough away from Eleanor, he was on his feet, jumping up and over Eleanor, his sword sweeping in a wide arc.
He landed behind Sam, watching as the top half of Eleanor’s head slid away from the rest. Her body folded in on itself, arms and legs splayed every which way. For a moment Dean wished she had suffered more, but it was gone in an instant. Sam was alive. Before Sam could even realize what hit him he had an armful of vampire, holding him tight and begging for forgiveness.
Sam growled gently against him, but Dean took it as a sign of pleasure rather than of anger, and he didn’t let go.
“It was you,” Missouri said wonderingly as she stepped into the room, the sounds of gunfire and cries of pain had long ago died off.
Dean turned away from Sam. “What was me?”
“All along we had thought that Mary and John would be the ones to unite our two races, but it was you.”
Dean blinked. “I don’t understand.” He turned back to Sam who was slowly melting back to his human form. The young man’s eyes were heavy-lidded and he stumbled against Dean.
“You will.” Missouri smiled and left the room. Dean was just about to protest when Sam collapsed against him. He sighed, hooking one leg beneath his knees and another under his back, carrying him out of the tunnels for the last time. They were done with that. Dean would never walk among the light again, but he would be damned if Sam suffered the same.
Sam slept for three days under Dean’s watchful eye, now that the threat from the coven was neutralized, the werewolves left the tunnels to perform the rites for their dead. The Glass Walker tribe who Ash was thick as thieves with begged the honor of housing them. Dean, who had been expecting some woodland huts or something very earthy, had been completely taken aback.
They had brought them to a trendy penthouse suite, setting Dean up with his own rooms, although everybody quickly realized he wasn’t content to stay there. He wasn’t sure what it was he felt for Sam, everything that had seemed so startlingly clear when Sam looked to be dead went back to being uselessly murky again, but everyday that Sam was asleep was another day Dean worried that he wouldn’t open up his eyes.
Finally he had to leave to feed or risk turning into a useless wraith. When he came back to the rooms, Sam was gone, and for what felt like the first time in ages, Dean smiled, sinking back against the doorway. It was over, it was finally over.
Now it was time to move on.
*
Sam had never taken a shower that felt so good in his entire life. The hot water pounded into his muscles and the feel of clean hair was so welcome he was nearly soppy with pleasure. It had been a hard week. He’d come to only to learn that John was dead, and while he hadn’t known the man well, he wasn’t quite sure he could do this without him. Furthermore Jim had died and now half of his lab was impossible to decode. Windy had been all for burning the entire damn thing down, but the Glass Walkers with the added voice of Ash had set up such a ruckus that she’d subsided.
Meg, who he’d only met a few times before John’s death, came to see him everyday while he lay bedridden and unconscious of the cares of the world and Missouri claimed that she had become his staunchest supporter in the Wittan, the Wolves Council that had met while he was asleep.
Windy said they were still mired down in what decision to make about Dean and Ash because they were waiting for Sam to weigh in. Windy had admitted that the alluring vampire was good and trustworthy and very handy with a blade. The red talons who had little love for humans (and very much hate) despised vampires even more and somehow Dean had managed to avoid getting into conflict with them. Windy said they were probably silenced somewhat by his brashness and in so doing he’d endeared himself very much to the Get of Fenris.
“I would even go so far as to say they like him,” Windy had laughed over breakfast. Sam smiled. He found Dean very likable, but it was becoming apparent that the vampire had few friends among the werewolves, especially the Bone Gnawers, after having spent so many centuries massacring them.
Just as Sam was about to leave to go take his shower, she had stopped him, a slight smile upon her face. “He will make a good mate.”
Sam had coughed and choked and blushed the entire way back to his rooms unsure of what to think about that. Even now as he leaned against the cool tiles, it wasn’t far from his mind. When he’d been asleep he’d dreamed of snow and ice and Dean’s cool blue eyes melting back to green. He could smell Dean now, could pick him out of over a thousand different scents, and it had been stamped all over his room, despite Dean’s absence.
It had cheered him immensely.
Now as the water rushed over him, his mind was stuck on that smell, of blood and spice and expensive cologne. He thought about Dean wrapping his strong arms around Sam’s lean waist, pressing the two of them together as he reached around and stroked Sam’s cock to hardness. He imagined Dean’s fangs lengthening to sink into his shoulder, and once, he would’ve found such a thought immensely disturbing, but now—now it was quite possibly the sexiest thing he could think of.
He’d woken up in that room with a hard-on that had yet to go away and it had made him shift uncomfortably all through his morning meal as Windy gave him the news. He had felt guilty and irreverent in the face of all the funerals that were being held, and he knew Windy noticed, hell she’d probably smelled it, why else would she make that comment about Dean. All he wanted now was to come, for that ache for Dean to go away. He wasn’t sure where they stood anymore, but he wanted him, oh he wanted him. He had to hope that the way Dean had reacted when he was fighting Eleanor meant something and that it wasn’t just hatred for what Eleanor had done to him.
He thought of Dean’s wicked smile and suddenly he was coming desperately undone. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, allowing the water to wash away the evidence. After a few more minutes lazing under the spray, he finally stepped out, knotting a towel loosely around his waist.
He stepped into the room, knowing before he even entered that Dean was inside and with a little frisson of joy, he found the vampire lying in the center of Sam’s gigantic bed, propped up against the pillows reading a book.
Dean spied him over the top of the novel and whatever they were going to say to each other was completely forgotten when Dean’s eyebrows raised and his lips pulled upwards in a grin. “You just came.”
Sam could feel himself flushing a deep rose and he had to fight to keep himself from stuttering, but oh god, Dean’s voice had been smoky sweet as he said those words; Sam practically felt it as tangible as a touch. “How did you know?”
Dean set the book aside and rolled his eyes. “I’m a vampire.”
Sam knew this, it had been a little hard to escape even in the tumult of the last few days. “You’re a jerk.”
Dean laughed. “I could make a very naughty joke about that…”
Sam rubbed at his face with one hand. “400 years old, you say?” When he looked back at Dean, the vampire’s eyes were intense upon the water beading on his chest, and Sam dearly hoped he wasn’t bright red again.
“Oh yes, every inch of it,” Dean said softly, his voice just a little bit hoarse and his eyes continuing to roam over Sam’s body. “Come here.”
Like Sam planned on going anywhere else! He held on tightly to the towel as he walked over to straddle Dean’s thighs. Dean arched up to touch his mouth to Sam’s, moaning low at the contact. Sam hadn’t even realized the extent of how much he’d wanted this again until Dean’s tongue was slip sliding into his mouth and very wickedly, his strong blunt-fingered hands were sliding up Sam’s thighs underneath the towel.
Sam pulled back after long moments of lazy kissing that was more lip than tongue, and he looked down at Dean’s full mouth, slicked up all shiny with spit and swollen with blood. God, he didn’t understand how the vampires got anything done with someone as pretty as Dean running around.
“Do you want to try this, then?” he asked breathlessly as Dean continued to kiss his throat and shoulders, long sucking kisses that would definitely leave marks behind tomorrow.
“This?” Dean chuckled, his voice pitched low as he yanked the towel off of Sam’s hips. “I definitely want to try this.”
Sam moaned as Dean fastened over his pulse point, god help him he wanted Dean to bite him so bad. “Dean, as much as it may pain you to realize, I’m being serious.”
Dean pulled his mouth from Sam’s skin, sliding his hands up to cup Sam’s jaw. His eyes were green, the green his mother and father had gave him, the green that had seemed to pierce his soul when he’d first looked to them, nearly a lifetime ago. Maybe Dean couldn’t say it aloud, but he was telling Sam with his eyes.
I want this, I need this
“You’re not nearly naked enough…” Sam said as Dean’s callused palm ran up his back, slowly learning the contours of his body. Dean shook his head, flipping them both over, pressing his cloth covered body to Sam’s naked one.
He dipped his head to press another kiss to Sam’s lips. Sam smiled against his mouth, as he used his long fingered hands to skate up and under Dean’s black shirt, pulling it up as he went. His fingers dipped into the dips and grooves in his muscles, a strong sense of satisfaction suffusing him as Dean hissed into his mouth.
He finally pulled the shirt over Dean’s head when the vampire pulled away for air. Dean’s beautiful pale skin was interrupted by a freckles and he hoped he got the chance to memorize each and every one. The vampire was so comfortable in his own skin and sexuality it was breathtaking to behold.
“It’s been awhile,” he said slowly, grinding his cloth covered erection into Sam’s. He laughed at Sam’s incredulous look. “Once upon a time I did exactly what you thought I did, but that was centuries ago.”
“Centuries?” Sam squeaked.
Dean sat back on Sam’s hips and began unbuttoning his pants. “I’ll tell you about it some other time.”
After what felt like a torturously long time, Dean was finally naked and Sam was confronted with Dean’s blood dark cock. “I haven’t ever done this before…”
Dean smiled again, his slightly elongated eyeteeth gleaming. “I have.”
He slid down Sam’s body, nuzzling the wiry curls at the base of his cock, tonguing a trail over his hip and watching as Sam’s muscles tensed and bunched under the skin. He arched against Dean’s mouth as Dean completely ignored his cock in favor of driving him mad. Finally when he felt like the heat and desire spiking out of his groin would kill him, Dean finally wrapped those wondrous lips around the head of his cock and sucked hard.
Sam was embarrassed at the moan that burst past his lips at that, but Dean hummed around his cock as he took more of him in, seeming to enjoy the way Sam was losing it fast. Dean pulled back up, pressing his tongue hard against the knot of nerves just under the cockhead, pressing down on Sam’s hip with one firm hand to keep him from thrusting too hard.
Sam was good, he held himself still, his fingers making deep grooves in the soft comforter, but it had been a long time for him as well. Only a few random drunken hookups after Jessica had been killed.
Dean was giving him an amazing reintroduction though. He supposed centuries of knowledge would do that. Dean’s hand was sliding around, fingers running teasingly down the cleft of his ass, the nerves there hardwired directly to his dick. Dean continued to suck and toy with him, pulling back every time Sam came close till Sam was begging him to please, please, please just let him come.
Dean pulled off completely, shushing him gently, I’ve got you those eyes told him. The vampire pushed his legs up till his feet were flat on the bed, fingers running tantalizingly down his inner thighs. Sam vibrated with tension and the first press of Dean’s tongue against his puckered opening nearly broke him.
“Oh God,” he cried, unable to keep himself from twisting on the sheets, nearly pushing Dean away from.
“Good, that’s good,” Dean whispered, before thrusting his tongue against the reddened flesh, just pushing past the tight ring of muscle. It was so much sensation, too much almost, his cock was weeping pre-come, and it was good, so good. Dean’s tongue was curling on his skin, giving him absolutely no quarter; finally he pulled away again, coming to lie beside Sam on the bed.
“Do you think you can take my fingers?”
Sam shot him a dark look. “If you don’t take me with something I think I might frenzy.”
Dean shook his head with a slow smile, bringing two fingers of his hand up to his mouth and sucking them in, the same way he’d sucked on Sam’s cock.
“Oh lord,” Sam watched with eyes darkened by lust. Dean rolled on top of Sam again, his cool body pressed to Sam’s warm one. He kissed Sam with lips that tasted dark and smoky, like Sam himself, as his hand dipped down between Sam’s thighs. He thrust the two fingers inside at the same time he thrust his tongue into Sam’s mouth.
Dean was gentle, he scissored them in and out, tongue fucking Sam’s mouth as he got used to the sensation. Sam’s body was tightening and arching off the bed. His erection wilted slowly and suddenly Dean was pulling back and away from his mouth.
He looked down at him with knowing eyes. “You have to relax.”
It didn’t hurt, it was just odd, but he had a good idea that when Dean’s cock was inside him it was going to hurt like a bitch.
“You have to relax, Sam,” Dean whispered again, bending his head to toy with a nipple with his tongue and then he did it, he hit that one spot inside of Sam hard and completely on purpose too.
Sam cried out, his back bowing and his eyes fluttering back into his head. Dean did it again, bringing him steadily back to the brink. He repeated it over and over again till he was whining and pleading with Dean again.
“Have mercy,” he finally said. “Just take me.”
Dean watched him for a long moment, before finally nodding. “Turn over then.”
Sam shook his head furiously from side to side. “No, I have to see you.”
“It’ll hurt more.”
Sam stared up at him solemnly. “Let it.”
“Ah,” Dean moaned low, his voice tight with strain, and for the first time Sam noticed that the vampire was not so calm himself. “All right, all right.”
He settled his weight between Sam’s spread thighs, making sure their gaze remained unbroken as he carefully thrust into the young werewolf. Sam threw his head back, tried not to let the stretch and burn get to him too much, but it hurt, there was no denying that fact.
“Relax,” Dean said again, his hands sliding up and down Sam’s body. Finally when Sam felt as accustomed to the situation as he ever would be, Dean began to slowly thrust in and out, long and deep, making sure to graze his prostate on every upstroke.
Sam’s erection rubbed between their two bodies, the friction shorting out Sam’s brain. He wouldn’t last long now, he couldn’t, he’d wanted to come for too long now. Dean’s right hand laced with his, their fingers gripping tight, never letting go as they lost themselves to pleasure.
Sam came first, Dean’s name on his lips and Dean followed soon after. Not once did their gazes break, even when it felt like they were flying apart in a million directions. When it was over they lay entangled for hours, their thoughts on the future and what it would bring.
I can’t waste a minute of it.
*
And it's done. I'm kind of sad about that. Anyway, I hope you like it.
