Work Text:
Intangible
By: Lexalot
Summary: Some things you just can’t touch.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I disavow all knowledge that may imply that these characters aren’t mine to do with as I please :)
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Spoilers: Nightmare
Warnings: Incest!
Note: Written for the Sam Slut-a-thon, Prompt #2: Hands
***
“Come on, Sam, I think I found something.” Dean chewed on the pen as he sat on the lumpy motel bed, perusing the pages of their father’s journal. He poured back and forth, over and over.
No answer from behind the bathroom door. So Dean just kept reading. Searching, trying to read between the lines, behind them, through them, within them, without them, hoping to decipher anything he could. Coming up with the same answer. Whether he was trying to get an answer from his Dad who was God only knew where or his brother who was in the next room, the result was identical.
Just as Dean flipped a page, he felt a warm hand flatten against his back. He hadn’t even heard Sam emerge from his dingy little fortress of sulkitude. Dean turned, but Sam wasn’t there.
Okay, that was odd. But he was probably just imagining things. Being a hunter can get to you sometimes. Everything seems like it’s something, but there are plenty of times it turns out to be nothing.
Dean’s eyes fell to the page with the scribble on it. Guess Dad had been in a real hurry that day. Probably chasing some ghoul with his usual zeal. Some of this had to be translated in the margin though. The entire entry was barely legible. And just as Dean took the pen out of his mouth to make a note, he felt something… invisible… brush along the side of his face.
What the fuck…?! Dean dropped the notebook and jumped off the bed, because whatever it was that he felt was eluding him. He stared at the bed, glanced back into the mirror, held his hand out over the bed. No apparition, no reflection, no cold spot. No trace of anything like that then or now. Maybe his imagination was playing tricks on him. It happened. Even the most skeptical and careful hunters could be so into a job or a state of mind where their senses went a little haywire for no reason. But Dean’s instincts all told him he was safe, that there was nothing here. And yet he had been pretty damn sure a minute ago that something was here with him.
Whipping out the EMF meter just to be certain, Dean scanned the entire room. Not the faintest reading. It set his mind at ease just enough that he set the device down on the dresser by the bed. If it happened again, he would have that right there to tell him it wasn’t just the brink of a nervous breakdown the likes of which he had always jokingly thought might put him out of the business one day. Still… he wanted to perform a simple inspection of the room. If there was a corpse under the bed or if during his shower Sam had tripped over a guy buried in ice in the tub with his kidney stolen, then Dean might know what was going on here.
Now this was getting a little into crazy territory. After all, Dean was checking under the beds, moving furniture away from the wall and then back again, and then banging on the walls to see if there were any unusual hollow spots where a body might be walled up inside. Yeahhh, this was starting to look more and more like crazy by the minute.
“Dean?” Finally, Sam’s voice from the bathroom. “Everything okay out there?”
After that little impromptu burst of paranoia, the room managed to seem much more of a wreck than when they had checked in an hour ago. “Yeah…” Suddenly Dean felt a little foolish.
“What the hell are you doing out there?”
Christ, Dean. “I felt like redecorating.” Dean was more than a little embarrassed, but it rushed to the surface as disappointment. And that quick, he was back to normal. He sighed in spite of himself and realized that he had to tear the room apart to get Sam’s attention while he was locked up in that bathroom. “What the hell are you doing in there?” Dean fell back onto his bed, calm, reassured, the memory as fleeting as the intangible event itself. “What? Are you jerking off?”
The muffled voice behind the white door rose again. “You can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that?”
Dean muttered the answer to his own question. “That’s a yes.” A grin flashed across his face and melted away as the room became quiet again and Dean’s eyes became heavy.
It was late, and he’d been driving all day. It was darker than he was used to, because the lighting at this place sucked. And all Dean wanted to do was rest. Time started passing slowly, allowing him to drift further and further away from everything that always cluttered his brain, kept it needlessly busy, overworked and underpaid. Whenever the hell Sam decided he was done, Dean probably wouldn’t remember what the hell it was he wanted to show him.
And that was when it happened. Again. Much bolder. Much more tangible. A short wave of heat down his neck, that kind of tangible. His eyes shot open, but he didn’t move. Except to peak over at the EMF meter, which was completely flat. That wasn’t possible. It just… wasn’t!
That was when, whatever it was, it shifted into overdrive. A drawn-out, rippling current traveled down his chest. He looked down at himself; his t-shirt remained perfectly in place, but he distinctly felt… what had to be a hand… running back up over his chest. Then down again. Dragging along his nipple, past his ribs, rubbing over his abs, and down just below his belt. Dean’s eyes grew large, and then his breath hitched as he felt the pressure on his skin wrap like a blanket of heat around his cock. Squeezing and pulling. Then another sensation rounded his inner thigh, hot and heavy. He stared at his leg as he felt yet a third weight snaking a trail up the other thigh; the denim didn’t even rise. None of his clothes raised the slightest as the sensations started to engulf him. Dean felt what he could only believe were unseen hands, but there weren’t any there.
Succubus? Incubus? Demon? He’d never known anything like it. What the fuck was it?! Dean was starting to freak. “Sam?” It was barely a whisper. Sweat glistened to the surface of his skin, his heart was starting to race… This probably wasn’t a moment he needed his little brother walking in to witness but this was getting out of hand. This thing was entirely out of his control, and it was getting worse by the second. What really scared him was that it wasn’t so scary. Almost every inch of his flesh was being constantly caressed, and he was being ruled by the pleasure it gave him. His eyes shut tightly and he realized he was holding fistfuls of sheet in each hand and beginning to writhe around on the bed like a blonde chick in a heavy metal video. He needed help, and he needed it now. “Sam!”
The molestation abated, but Dean’s hormones didn’t.
The bathroom door opened hastily as Sam responded to the urgency in his brother’s voice. “Dean?” Sam froze in the bathroom doorway, firmly clutching a towel at its knot, his skin glowing with the moist air the hot shower had left behind. Puzzlement was his first response when he saw Dean spread out on his bed, flushed and breathing heavy, looking like he desperately needed a cigarette. That, or another moment or two alone. “What happened?” Concerned, disoriented, at least as much as his brother.
“I don’t know.” Dean’s voice was lust-roughened and waking-soft. “I was just… lying here… and I felt someone… or something… and it… Wow!” Coherency escaped him save for the lingering euphoria. His eyes met his brother’s, accidentally full of residual desire.
Pierced by the gaze, Sam swallowed hard, a solid gulp that Dean heard across the room, and in that instant, a hard stroke ran along the curve of Dean’s ass and another one ghosted over his nipple at the same time, teasing enough to send his body into shock from the ache. He lifted his hips off the mattress and threw his head back. He couldn’t control it; all he could do was respond. And Sam saw the whole thing as it unfolded this time.
The echoes from the touch of those unseen hands rampaged through his senses straight to his cock, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from moaning loudly and following that with a jagged, “Fuck!”
“Oh, God.” Sam gasped, and shook his head. “Dean…”
Dean fought to regain control but the yearning that had been planted within him was still alive and afire. Need burned through him, even as he was worried by how worried Sam looked at that moment. “Sam?”
“I’m sorry.” Sam’s voice sunk into a pit of shame. “God, Dean, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to… for you to…”
Dean’s face gradually moved from longing to comprehension. “You did this?”
Sam’s eyes welled, and after a second of staring at Dean in horror, he slammed the door shut and sealed himself back inside the bathroom. Knee-jerk reaction, Sam Winchester style. Dean recognized the flight response from Sam’s awkward high school years.
“Sam.” Dean called to his brother, pulling out of his sex-addled thoughts to clearly see the bigger picture here. “You were thinking about me, weren’t you?” Somehow… with the intensity of the attention that had been lavished upon him in those reverberating lone moments, Dean didn’t feel angry or disgusted or violated. He felt… loved. “And your abilities… You must have tripped a trigger for your telekinesis or something…” And hungry for more. Like he’d never received affection before in his life. Not like he wanted. And not from whom he wanted. Not from Sam. It was the love they always shared as brothers. But amplified. Taken to a whole other plane. Literally. It was cosmic, it was a gift, and it was absolutely intangible. “Sam?” And it was beginning to feel icy cold in here when there had been such heat only precious minutes ago. “Sam, talk to me!” He couldn’t lose all this now.
“I’m sorry. I’m so… I don’t know how I did it, and I didn’t even realize that it was happening… I just wanted to touch you so badly… I’d never…” Sobs came one by one. What wasn’t choked back by Sam was mostly muted by the door.
“Sam.” Dean was sliced open by the sounds coming from the bathroom. Why did he have to hear Sam nearly in tears? Couldn’t he have heard him masturbating instead? Maybe then this wouldn’t be the mess it had become. “Sam… listen to me. It’s okay.” Dean had spent plenty of time on his own, away from his brother, away from his father, but he never knew until now that it was possible to actually feel distance. Like it was a concrete object that could harm him. He wanted to be close again. He needed to be touched again, but Sam was holed up in that damp little room. Sam didn’t understand what Dean was feeling, and neither did Dean honestly, but he knew it felt good. Good like he was finally able to put his finger on happiness. “Sam, do something for me. Try to do it again.”
A moment’s silence. But it was silence. The sobbing came to a complete halt, and then… “What?”
“Please… Sammy…” Dean’s entire being throbbed. No one had ever touched him like that. Really, how could they? And he developed an appetite for it so fast that it was beyond craving. He wanted Sam to devour him without leaving so much as a fingerprint. “Please.” Desperation in his gentle appeal.
Dean laid there helpless. He didn’t seem to be reaching Sam through that door. He couldn’t reach inside and pluck out that ache that coursed through his veins. He couldn’t block out the tumultuous emotion that saturated his soul knowing where that ache came from and why. In lying spread out on the ratty blanket, Dean closed his eyes and wondered how the hell they would ever fix things between them now. Dean didn’t want it to go away, and that was all Sam seemed to want it to do. That was worse than being left hanging like this, tougher than being in the middle while his father and brother tried to destroy one another, and more difficult than knowing he was finally close to being really, truly happy and it was staying just out of his reach.
Then, something tickled his lips. A brush so light and tentative, he wasn’t sure it was real. But, a small river of warmth followed, taking a path along his jaw-line, like a finger tracing the outline of his face. “Sam.” The delicate sound barely made it to the air. That quickly, Dean’s body lit up all over. Like a blaze, the feeling spread from somewhere just under the skin, hitting every nerve in every inch of flesh along the way as ripples of white-hot energy radiated from deep in his balls and cock. Like a thousand fingers touching, exploring, kneading and rubbing.
Another cry of “Fuck!” from Dean, and the bathroom door cracked open. Dean heard the door creak and peered over at his brother. Sam was gazing at him from a slit in the doorway, but as he watched Dean struggle not to touch himself, fidgeting like he might go mad, Sam grew more comfortable letting the door open wider. Soon he was standing fully in the threshold, watching shyly with an ache to match Dean’s. “Sammy, please.”
A sudden stroke at that sinful spot from the inside caught Dean off guard and sent him spiraling over the edge. His jeans started to stain dark from the come soaking through the fabric of his boxers. Sam reached under the towel and started furiously tending to his own cock as he focused his every thought on Dean and making him come. Dean’s body contorted and his hands dug deep into the cheap mattress, ripping it at the seams where he was holding on for his life. And this was fucking phenomenal but Dean knew he wanted to feel Sam really touching him, even as he finished and the invisible grip that held so perfectly to him surrendered to bittersweet release.
His concentration broken with the deed done and then some, Sam stared at his brother, lying limp, eyes sealed shut, and looking even more well-fucked than he had in Sam’s fantasies. But he wasn’t saying anything, and Sam needed a reaction. He needed reassurance. “Dean?”
“Sam.” Dean’s voice was still ripe with voracious desire. His eyes opened and gazed deep into Sam’s. “I need your hands on me.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Sam rushed to Dean, discarding the towel before climbing on top of him and wrestling with his jeans. He clumsily pulled them off one leg at a time with none of the finesse that had been working its mojo on Dean before. And when he settled on top of Dean, Sam worked hard to get the t-shirt up over Dean’s head as Dean sat beneath him helping to free himself from the twisted white cloth. Then, Sam spread out on top of Dean, cradled between his legs. Finally skin against skin. Sam’s hands groping and roaming hungrily. It wasn’t ethereal, but it was perfect.
Large hands dipped down into the coarse curls that sprung up around Dean’s thick sex. Long fingers slipped between Dean’s thighs and begged for entry. In the collision of a frenzied kiss, Sam found the permission he sought and pushed one long and large digit inside. The intrusion stunned Dean, coming from a previously painless encounter, unprepared and unwarned, but pushing down onto Sam’s finger because it was really there and felt too damn good to ever deny. Dean moaned louder as Sam pushed a second finger inside.
Dean arched up into Sam, and that was it; Sam was losing it. He was ready to spill everything he had. He couldn’t wait any longer, and Dean knew it. Sam wrapped one of his massive hands around both their cocks and started long, rough strokes, working his fingers inside Dean just as vigorously. This was what Dean needed. Not just physical contact. Physical satisfaction. The gratification of having Sam’s two giant hands working him over from the front and the back was more than he could ever have wished for, more than he could ever stand. And when they came within seconds of each other, the moment was better than perfect; it was untouchable.
They collapsed into the bed, coming to rest side by side, Sam nestling into Dean’s shoulder. The air felt like a wild current had electrified the entire room for the past hour. An oddly peaceful hush embraced them. This rundown motel room was transformed into a haven. A place where the intangible suddenly became tangible. And it was Sam’s magic that had done all this. By chance, coincidence, or dare they even imagine, fate. Dean breathed comfortably, like the greatest dream ever was calling to him, and Sam propped himself up on his arm to see Dean’s face.
Sam’s eyes scoured his brother’s for any sign of regret or uneasiness. “Dean, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Jesus, Sam.” Dean laughed almost giddily. “You fucked me with The Force! I’m kind of ridin’ Cloud City right now.”
“Yeah, well, that’s now. What do we do next?” Contentment clung to Sam. Much better than angst and brooding did. But there was still some slight root in fearful reality. While his brother was flying high, it was just like Sam to try to keep his feet on the ground. “When tomorrow comes, what happens then?”
With a grin and a claim staked on Sam’s hand, Dean raised a downright wicked eyebrow. “Practice, my young Jedi.”
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