Pairing: Sam/Meg, Sam/Dean
Summary: Meg is up to no good and Sam is right in the middle of it.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by WB and Eric Kripke et al. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: dubious consent, wincest, AU some time after Shadow
Spoilers: Up to and including Shadow
Author's Notes: Thanks to Soph for the beta. This is 23 out of 31 short fics, all involving masturbation in honour of the Merry Month of May. This may turn into a longer fic at some point. All fics were written with knowledge up to Hell House, no canon after that was used since that's as far as I've seen.
Word count: 3,749
Link: to other mmom fic
"Come on, Sam, wake up."
A cheerful voice called to him and slowly Sam opened his eyes to see a smiling face looking down at him.
"I thought you were going to sleep all day," the woman said, kissing him on the nose. "That'll teach you to drink so much."
Sam blinked; he was having trouble focusing and everything around him seemed somehow fuzzy on the edges. Except that was, his companion's eyes, which for a second he found strange, but his mind flitted away from the thought as if it wasn't important.
He was confused and something about his current situation was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what it was. It felt as if he was still dreaming and he sat up to try and clear his head.
"You look like you have the worst hangover," Meg said and grinned at him as if it was all a big joke. "Y'know if you can't take it you shouldn't drink so much, Sammy."
A man's face flashed into his mind and was gone in a moment. Sam looked at Meg and frowned as he tried to chase down any of the thoughts that were dancing through his head.
"You big dope," Meg chided, and ran her fingers down the side of his face, "I know just the cure for a hangover."
The sheet he'd been sleeping under had pooled around his waist and with a wicked smile Meg pulled it out of his lap. It was then that Sam realised he was naked and this caused him to frown again; he didn't sleep naked, did he? There was something about sleeping naked that wasn't right and this time he grabbed the thought mercilessly. Sleeping naked meant you were unprepared, but he could not figure out what he could possibly be unprepared for.
"Stop thinking so hard, Sam," Meg said, sidling up to him on all fours, "it'll make your head hurt more."
It was only then that he noticed she was naked as well. He couldn't for the life of him remember her being naked before and he shook his head; he was clearly more hungover than even Meg seemed to think. How could he have missed that he was in bed with a beautiful, naked woman? Dean would be so disappointed in him.
The thought caught him off guard and a man's face flashed in his mind again, but then Meg's gentle fingers brushed lightly over his cock and all coherent cognitive function vanished in a flash of arousal. It was almost as if his mind was wiped clean at the contact and he groaned.
"Isn't this better," Meg whispered, leaning into him and nibbling the lobe of his ear. "Let yourself go, Sammy."
The man's face again and Sam almost opened his eyes where they had fallen closed as Meg caressed him, but a firm stroke down the length of his cock took away his mind again. It was a heady experience, as if his whole existence revolved around the sensation and every time Meg touched him it cleaned the slate of his memory. Part of him knew this was wrong, but the rest didn't care.
"Kneel up, Sam," Meg said, and he opened his eyes to see her drawing back slightly, although she continued to stroke him lightly, "I want to see you."
His limbs felt heavy and lethargic, but Sam did as he was asked, coming to rest kneeling on the mattress. There was something odd about that as well that he could not put his finger on, and he shook his head again, but the fog in his brain would not clear.
"You're thinking again, Sammy."
There was the flash of the man's face this time, but something else happened as well; the bright, sunny bedroom vanished for a moment and Sam saw somewhere dark. He smelt blood, but it was gone so quickly that he could not see anything properly.
"Touch yourself for me, Sam," Meg said, drawing his attention away from the fleeting second of mystery.
She drew one finger up from under his balls and along the length of his erection, flicking the head of his cock gently and removing a drop of precome. As Sam watched, mesmerised by her movements she took up a position about a foot away mirroring his own before slowly licking her finger and sucking the end gently. Sam felt his cock throb and he was completely captivated by Meg.
"Touch yourself and show me how much you love me," Meg said, running her other hand slowly across her body. "I'll give you anything you want."
He was the puppet and Meg was the puppeteer as he moved to obey without any thought of resistance. Fingering the head of his cock lightly he sank into the sensation, but he did not close his eyes, keeping his gaze firmly on Meg. She was beautiful and arousing as she ran her hands over her own body, never losing her smile or the intense look in her eyes.
"I want you, Sammy," she said, pink tongue licking her lips.
The room flashed dark a second time and Meg changed; she was still naked and still touching herself, but her body was covered in thick red lines that made strange shapes all over her.
"I want you to come for me," Meg's seductive words made the darkness vanish, but this time the doubt remained. "Come for me and call my name."
The man's face with intense hazel eyes lingered in his brain longer this time, but Sam could still not resist the temptress in front of him. He stroked himself, feeling the delicious sensations in his body begin to build as he let himself fall prey to lust and desire. Meg was smiling a sweet, seductive smile as she dipped her fingers between her legs and let out a small moan.
"Come for me, Sam," she encouraged as he sped up his movements.
He could feel his orgasm building now; the tightness in his balls and the tension in his muscles as the heat of arousal burnt away any sensible thoughts in his head. He was so close and he wanted this; he wanted to come and he wanted Meg to be watching. Finally he put his head back and closed his eyes, seeking the release from the pressure inside him.
"Tell me who you love, Sammy."
His orgasm began just as she spoke and it crashed over him as the man's face flashed into his mind again. He felt his body jerk as he bucked into his hand and he spoke the only name in his head: "Dean."
"No!" the woman's shriek was angry and terrified at the same time and Sam slammed back into reality like a run away train.
He opened his eyes and the bedroom was gone. Meg was kneeling in front of him covered in what looked like runes written in blood and he had just enough time to glance down at himself to see similar runes before power hit him like a battering ram. It was how Sam imagined being connected to the mains and burnt alive at the same time would feel like as his blood turned to fire and every muscle went into spasm. The energy felt dark and evil as it tried to burn away his mind, but he felt it touch something deep inside of him and it seemed to change. The darkness was filled by a blinding light and the flow turned; what had been slamming into his body exploded outwards and he had just enough awareness left to see white light erupt from the lines on his body and hear Meg screaming before the world went away.
Dean crept into the warehouse with his gun in hand praying that he was not too late. He had returned to their hotel room to find it trashed and Sam gone and he had been searching ever since. They had known that someone was preparing for a very nasty bonding ritual, what with two kids vanishing and some seriously badass sigils being left on their walls, but Dean had never imagined that whoever was doing this would come after them.
It scared the hell out of him to think what the sicko might do to Sam, and he really didn't want to know how they had been found out. The original plan had been to find the kids, kill the evil and get out of town, but now Dean was more worried about finding Sam than two twelve year olds. Who the hell their perp was intending to bond with was another mystery. Sam had found the ancient ritual when surfing a very obscure web site and it involved tying another person to you with sex using the blood of two virgins and demon power.
The fact that it was Zoroastrian in origin had immediately made Dean think of Meg, but that bitch was dead so it couldn't have been her. According to Sam's research there were also two versions of the ritual, one involving dark magic and resulting in a master slave relationship and one involving willing virgin blood donors, light magic and ending up with more of an equal partnership. From the kidnappings and the runes left at the crime scenes, this was definitely not the latter.
There had been a couple of relics stolen from a local church as well that they had been unable to place in the ritual, which was what Sam had been working on when he'd been taken. The notes Dean had found strewn all over the floor were something to do with a power transfer and turning a human being into something not quite mortal, but the two rituals hadn't gone together and Dean had been more worried about finding Sam than figuring it out.
The trail to the warehouse had been difficult to find and Dean was well aware that mostly he was here through pure dumb luck, but he was not about to argue with fate. Even the setting was giving him very bad feelings because it reminded him too much of Chicago. As he slipped into the main room of the building he froze. There were signs of ritual everywhere; candles, sigils on the walls and the smell of blood in the air, but the most significant thing was that it was all trashed. Candle holders were overturned and wax was everywhere where they had fallen, and in some cases it looked like the candle had actually exploded. Every last design on the walls had been damaged in some way and there appeared to be singe marks around many of them.
It was like a war zone and Dean's eyes were drawn right to the middle. What he saw turned his blood to ice and he moved forward a few steps without thinking. Seeing Sam lying naked on a dirty blanket covered in blood symbols had momentarily removed his reason, but Dean was a professional and he drew himself to a halt. Rushing in to a trap would just get him and Sam killed. For now he tried to ignore the burned body just in front of his brother's prone form.
He'd already given himself away, but he was not about to walk into the middle of the room without checking it our first. As calmly and efficiently as he could manage he sidled around the wall, checking every corner for danger. There was one locked door that had some undamaged runes on it and Dean had a dim memory of seeing them before in Dad's journal; something to do with protection, so he left that for now. Only when he was sure there was nothing lurking in the darkness did he edge towards the middle of the room.
That it had been Sam being bound by the ritual was all too clear, and he dreaded what he would find. There had been all sorts of warnings associated with the ritual and it looked as if it had gone seriously wrong. Dean hoped that the charred body was the perpetrator because the bastard, bitch he corrected himself as he came close enough to the corpse to see that she was not all burned and there was evidence of a breast, deserved whatever they had got. He went to her first, just to make sure she was dead; some things, evils things, played dead and then tried to bite you on the ass when your back was turned.
He moved her head with his boot and her face turned to reveal one side that was undamaged. The woman must have been turning away when whatever happened had happened, but even so it took him a second or so to recognise her. His reaction was instantaneous; he put two bullets in her brain just to make sure.
In response to the shots there was a groan from Sam and Dean knelt down next to his brother. At least Sam was alive; they could deal with any after effects later. He'd been frantic with worry for hours and seeing Sam virtually unconscious and covered with dried blood did not help his calm at all. He slipped off his jacket and placed it over Sam, casting his eyes around the ritual circle to see if he could figure out how far Meg had gone with the incantations before something had gone wrong.
He picked up the overturned bowl just in front of Sam and examined it with as much detachment as he could manage. There was blood in the bowl and a residue on the edge that was clearly semen; if Sam had come then the ritual had been complete. Dean almost lost it at that point because if Meg had bound Sam to her and she was now dead then Sam would not be far behind.
Finally, putting his gun away, Dean turned all of his attention to Sam, pulling his brother into his lap and wrapping his jacket around Sam better.
"Sammy," he said, urging his brother to wake, "you in there, Bro?"
Eyes that seemed to have been drained of colour opened slightly and he could see Sam trying to focus on him. There was no life in those eyes and Dean felt despair welling up inside of him; Sam was dying.
"Dean?" Sam asked in little more than a whisper.
"Yeah, it's me, Sammy," Dean said, holding himself in check. "I need to know what happened, Sam," there was still one small chance that he could find a way to save Sam, but it was so remote that Dean did not dare let himself hope. "Did you say her name, Sam?"
It was possible that the ritual had gone wrong because Sam had refused to say the bitch's name. If he had managed to hold off then there was a slim chance Dean could get him back.
Sam frowned up at him, clearly confused and then shook his head slightly. Dean almost died of relief. Sam could still die, but he was not bonded to the blond bimbo from hell.
The words were so quiet Dean almost missed then and even when he did realise what Sam had said he could hardly believe it. For a moment his mind just stopped working as he stared down at his half dead brother. It clicked back on when he saw Sam closing his eyes again.
"Sammy," he said, holding his brother's chin so that Sam's head did not fall to one side, "you said my name?"
There was the slightest of nods in reply.
"She asked me who I loved," Sam's voice was weak. "Always been you."
Dean did not know what to do or say because he knew for a fact that Sam was not talking in any platonic sense. The ritual was based on sex; it had nothing to do with familial or brotherly love and Sam's confession left him stunned.
"'m sorry, Dean," Sam said quietly, "you were ... n'ver meant to know. Ran so ... far away, but you f'nd me."
Sam's eyes were closing again and Dean knew his brother was slipping away. He refused to let that happen and he wracked his brain to try and remember everything Sam had told him about the ritual. He needed to figure out why Sam was dying if his brother had said his name and why he hadn't felt anything. This was supposed to be a kick ass bonding ritual, but he hadn't felt a thing and he needed to know why. Then it hit him; something Sam had said in passing in the car to do with suicide by ritual. Dean wanted to hit himself in the head for not paying attention, but he tried to drag the memory up clearer instead.
He could see Sam staring out the window as Dean drove them and he could almost hear the words falling from his brother's mouth, but he had been watching the road more than listening. It had been something to do with performing the ritual solo and unrequited love.
"Remember, you stupid son of a bitch," he admonished himself and it was like flicking a switch.
Sam had been telling him about lovesick idiots performing the ritual with themselves as the subject to prove their love to someone who had rejected their affections. The only way to stop them dying was for their intended to accept the bond. Problem was, Sam had not mentioned any of the details about that part and he was too far gone to be any help. Dean looked down at his rapidly failing brother and came to a startling decision; he loved Sam anyway he could get him and if stepping over the line from brother to lover was what it took then he was ready, willing and able.
Leaning down he covered Sam's lips with his own and he kissed his brother with everything he had.
"I accept it, Sammy," he said, pulling back only slightly, "I love you and I accept the bond."
He had no other method at his disposal so he kissed Sam again and willed the bond affirmed with every fibre of his being. He felt Sam move in his arms and then his brother was kissing back. Not a weak, I am about to die, response, but a strong and demanding answer to his touch. It was then that the pain started around his heart and Dean groaned into the kiss, hearing an answering moan from Sam. There was a fist around his heart and Dean felt as if something was riffling through his soul; it hurt, but he refused to let Sam go. One of Sam's arms wrapped around his waist and they clung to each other as whatever was going on happened and to Dean it felt like forever.
When the fist released he lifted away from Sam, taking a huge breath as sensation exploded from where the fist had been and spread throughout his whole body. It was warm and gentle and so different from anything he had been feeling that Dean had to stamp on the ridiculous desire to cry. Dean was not a weepy person, not in the slightest, but at that moment it was a close thing. To distract himself he looked down at Sam and there were blue-green eyes staring back at him full of shock and life. It appeared Sam had lost the battle Dean had so closely won because there was a tear tracking down the side of his brother's face.
"Feeling better, Sammy?" Dean asked, for once at a loss for a joke.
Sam just nodded and as they both tried to put their heads in order Dean helped Sam sit up. Talking was not one of Dean's strong points and he was quite glad Sam did not seem to be about to analyse this to death; he did not think either of them were ready for that yet and the hunt was not quite over.
"As much as having you naked now has whole new possibilities," he said, slipping back into the persona he usually showed the world, "we need to find you some clothes and those kids; they might still be alive."
Sam blushed to the roots of his hair, but Dean was glad to see his brother nod. The protected room definitely had possibilities. There had not been enough blood used in the ritual to need to drain the victims and sometimes there were advantages in keeping donors alive until after things were completed for sacrifice and added power later. Kids who were innocent enough at twelve to make really good sacrifices and yet were still on the cusp of adolescence were few and far between and Dean hoped Meg had not been the wasteful sort. Hiding something away from demons usually meant they would want it badly which added weight to Dean's theory.
"There's a door with anti-demon runes," he said as they both stood, falling into professional mode for now; "I'm thinking the kids could be behind it. What we need is a key or something to pick the lock with."
Sam nodded while pulling on Dean's jacket properly. It was his long one, but Sam was so much taller than him that it barely covered anything. Hopefully there would be clothes in the room too, because getting Sam back to the motel mostly naked would not be fun. Dean looked at Meg's blackened body and considered searching it, just in case, when his attention was drawn back to Sam. His brother was walking across the room to the door and Dean did not know why, but something inside him told him to watch. When Sam reached his destination he held out his hand over the handle and lock and Dean heard an audible click.
Sam looked at him over his shoulder with big fearful eyes and then turned back before opening the door. For a moment Dean just stood there and made himself accept this new aspect of Sam; it was not as if they hadn't known Sam was telekinetic, it was just the casual ease with which he opened the door that had Dean's attention. They could, however, deal with that later as well, because as soon as Sam opened the door, Dean heard frightened whimpering. He walked quickly to where Sam was standing and looked in to the room to see two bound, gagged and terrified twelve year olds. It was time to do their jobs; they could deal with the after effects when it was all over.