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The Wanting Comes In Waves

All Sam/Dean, All The Time

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lions mane

Fic: Lion's Mane (Sam/Dean, NC-17) - Chapter 1 of 6

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*~ Love is the best endeavor

Waiting in the lion's mane ~*

That momentary temptation to just give up and stay a teenager, unburdened by the Mark, is something he can’t stop thinking about. Even when he’s not consciously chewing it over, it’s still there, getting into all of his unconscious musing. Practically the whole drive back towards the Bunker from Oregon he’s going over the possibilities he’d just given up without a thought. Being free of the Mark so easily like that. If only he could go back in time, have a do-over, just not back to being a teenager again, thanks. That would be too much to handle, having lived this life once already, and having to repeat that much of it, no thanks.

He remembers Sam’s face when he was telling him that he was glad ‘he’d pulled a Dean Winchester’, whatever the hell that means. Sam was likely just glad not to get stuck with a teenager to raise. Well, maybe it was more than that. Whatever. His easy way out of the Mark was nothing compared to saving Sam’s life. Not even a real hesitation in the moment. But now, thinking about the possibilities, he can imagine it. Of somehow having a chance to go back to an earlier time, before he’d made the Mother of All Bad Decisions. Have a do-over. Isn’t he kinda due one by the Universe or whatever by now?

Dean spends the next hundred miles or so going over and over that time when he’d gone off on his own and ended up taking on the Mark. He chastises himself for what must be the thousandth time for doing such a thing. Even Cain himself had tried to stop him, questioned why he’d do it without having the whole story. Like a fool, he’d gotten caught up in the moment, and Crowley’s flattery.  If only he could go back to that moment and pull himself aside for a little chat, or a whack upside the head. But there’s not an easy way out like that, not for him, not for something like this.

He looks over at Sam and marvels that he’s still here beside him in the car, on the job, having his back.


Sam feels something like a caress on the side of his face, then he notices Dean looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, eyes on the road, buddy,” he teases his brother.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just turns the music up and keeps his eyes forward.

Sam can see Dean’s messed up about something, though. He can see all the energy his brother is putting into thinking and trying to hide it. This is his m.o. when he doesn’t want Sam to ask, when he’s not done processing whatever the hell he’s obsessing about. So Sam does what he’s figured out works. He backs off from diving in with questions, he tries to keep his body language loose and open, just in case Dean wants to start talking. He also hides his disappointment that it doesn’t happen, because he can’t push Dean like he used to, not with the Mark in the way like it is these days. There’s so much left unsaid between them though, that it’s starting to feel insurmountable, a pile of crap that neither of them wants to deal with.

When they stop for the night, about half the distance in Evanston, Wyoming, Sam realizes there’s not a lot to say to each other that isn’t about the Mark, or the case, or this whole coven thing.  So he’s kind of relieved when they both choose to talk about the locals that they see in the diner instead. They play the ‘make-up-a-life-story-game’ a few times, until Dean’s got Sam in stitches trying to hold in the laughter. The waitress really does look like Linda Evans after she got in that fight with Joan Collins.

“I think that goes to show we’ve both watched way too much TV if we can remember anything that specific about a show like Dynasty,” Sam says, stealing the last fry from Dean’s plate.

Dean watches him nibble at the fry delicately, eyes riveted on Sam’s mouth and widening when Sam slowly licks the little dab of ketchup on his lower lip.  “I swear, Sammy, that show just needed to have witches on it, then it woulda been perfect.”

“You and your soap operas, man, I swear,” Sam teases.

Sam’s in such a good mood from their win on the case —well it feels like mostly a win to both of them— that he agrees to go to the bar before they head back to the room.  He’s content to lean up against the wall in their booth and watch Dean play pool for a while. He enjoys the hell out of seeing his brother stalking the other bar patrons like they’re his prey. God that never stops being hot as hell. Dean finally beckons him over once he’s beaten everyone else that’s taken a turn.

“C’mon, play ya for high stakes, winner tops tonight,” Dean whispers in his ear, with a wicked grin.

With a nod, Sam accepts, shrugging off his jacket and finishing the last of his beer in one long gulp.  He lets Dean break first, but then proceeds to annihilate him, ball by ball sinking into the pocket.

Dean shakes his head at his trouncing. “You are such a damn pool shark, I swear.”

“Don’t know why you always forget, unless you wanted me to win?” Sam teases, knowing that he’s mostly right.

“Cashing in already, huh?” Dean asks with a wink, raising his near-full glass of beer to his lips.

“You know it. Let’s go,” Sam says, taking the glass out of Dean’s hand, wrapping an arm around his waist and marching him out the door.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with that beer yet,” Dean protests.

“Too bad,” Sam says, keeping them moving back to the motel across the street.  He’s got them in the door and Dean pinned up against the wall before Dean can even think about taking off his jacket.

“All I had to do to get this was lose at pool, huh?” Dean snarks as they both toe out of their shoes.

“Nah, all you ever have to do is ask, you know that by now, or…do…that…ah, don’t stop,” Sam manages to say as Dean works his way into his jeans and takes hold of his cock in one hand. Perfect pressure, but there’s not enough room for Dean to move. He wants more, so he lets go of Dean momentarily, just long enough to slip his own jeans and boxers off. He’s unbuckling Dean’s jeans when Dean slides down the wall and is suddenly kneeling in front of him.

When Dean starts nuzzling into the skin at the crease of his hip, Sam can’t help the groan that escapes. He pushes forward to lean a hand against the wall, looming over Dean below him. He looks so small, reminds him of earlier today, when Dean was suddenly so damn young.

“So hot, Dean, seeing you like that,” Sam finally says when he can find the words.

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise and laughs around Sam’s cock. He pulls off just long enough to ask, “Like what?”

“Like you used to be, when I first, you know,” Sam says in a halting voice that doesn’t sound like him. It sounds like his preteen voice, squeaky and unsure, struggling to hide the sick, constant curl of desire he’d always wished would go away.

Dean slowly keeps jacking him, hand gliding up and down in that mind-blowing slick slide that Sam can never say no to.  “What, me being a teenager did it for ya?”

Sam reaches down and gathers Dean up into his arms, holding him close. “Not exactly, just reminded me of how it all was, for me, back then. When I finally figured it out,” Sam says, kissing him deeply and thoroughly.

“Figured what out?” Dean gasps, as Sam releases him from that mind-blowing kiss. Sam’s got him out of his jeans and boxers before Dean can ask anything else.

“That I wanted you,” Sam says, hoisting Dean up and against the wall, Dean’s legs automatically going around his hips.  He attacks Dean’s neck with a teenage ferocity, sloppy and wild, with too much teeth.

“Dude, I was like sixteen or something!” Dean protests, head against the wall and neck stretched out so Sam can access all of it.  He writhes in Sam’s grasp, moaning at the delicious friction of their bodies together.

Sam presses him into the wall, holding him still, with his hands above his head, held in one of Sam’s big hands. Sam gentles his attack on Dean’s neck and speaks quietly near his ear. “Yeah, I know, and I was twelve, and you were perfect and everything I wanted, right there in front of me, and not something I could ever have.”

Dean grins at the confession and imagines his little brother way back then. “Hmmm, but now you get to have me, all of me.”

“I know. Lucky lucky me,” Sam chortles under his breath as he begins to work Dean open with spit slicked fingers.

“Glad that worked …uh… out for you, uh…eventually,” Dean says between gasps of pleasure.

Sam stops with three of his fingers pulling Dean open wide. “You always said I was a patient little shit, right?”

“Yeah, patient, or stubborn, take your pick, just c’mon, fuckin’ fuck me already,” Dean demands, wriggling down onto Sam’s fingers. “Quit teasin’.”

“I’m gonna pick both. But now, I’m just thankful. That you saved me and that you came back to me today. I’m sorry you didn’t get to stay that way. Without the Mark,” Sam says all that as he carries Dean over to the bed, dropping him down from a great height so that he bounces. Dean sprawls and almost squawks until he sees Sam diving for the lube in his bag.  He spreads his legs wide open for Sam to kneel between.

“It wasn’t the way to go. We both know that,” Dean says, eyes watching Sam’s face, as he warms up the lube in his hands.

Sam doesn’t say anything at first, just slicks himself and Dean just enough, and slides inside, coming back home again. He looks down into his brother’s face, and sees it all there, everything Dean never says. Almost every time he bottoms, Dean is like an open book, unable to keep it concealed.  It’s very clear, he’s just as scared, just as desperate as Sam is.

“Like I said in the car, we’ll figure it out; you know we will, because we have to,” Sam says with a sudden desperation that slips out and colors everything. He can’t keep it together anymore. The worry and fear, the leftover anger and loss— it’s all too much to keep hidden. He finally lets go of the control he was barely holding onto and fucks into Dean in an uncoordinated rhythm. He pounds into him over and over, chanting the words to himself, itcan’thaveyouyou’remine over and over until they slur together into one long lament and promise.

Dean is too busy coming his brains out to hear, but definitely noticed something different about tonight.  “You okay, Sammy?” he asks once they’ve stopped moving and shuddering together, twined together into a beautiful sweat-slicked mess.

Sam flinches and looks up suddenly, his eyes flash with fear at hearing the nickname before he can stop himself, but then he shuts down, knowing he’s already shown too much.  He finds he can’t say anything, not even a fakey ‘sure I’m fine,’ he just can’t make himself do it.

Dean wraps his arms around Sam and holds him tight enough to hurt.  “We will. We’ll figure it out, I know you’re right.”

Sam doesn’t answer, he can’t without blowing up or crying or otherwise ruining what’s been a pretty damned good day, considering.  He just gets up and cleans himself up in the bathroom, brings back a warm washcloth to rub Dean down with, turns off the lights and slides into bed.  He lets himself get pulled into the circle of Dean’s arms, though, he’ll let himself do that much.


Chapter 2