Summary: Sam's been having visions of a sex demon and now they've become a little to much for him to deal with.
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.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Soph for the beta. This is 30 out of 31 short fics, all involving masturbation in honour of the Merry Month of May. 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: 2,111
Link: to other mmom fic
Sam's eyes shot open and he lurched from the bed without even pausing for breath. He was so strung out by the sensations running through his body that he almost fell flat on his face as his legs tangled in the bed sheet, having to scrabble to continue in his goal to reach the bathroom. This was the third night he'd dreamt of the same thing, only tonight it was so much more vivid as if he was even more in tune with the thing in his head.
Without pausing he lunged at the shower, turning it on full blast as cold as it would go and stepped in. It was winter and the water was icy as it hit his fevered skin and the shock caused his whole body to shudder, but it did not chase away the arousal he could feel coursing through him. He could barely think as the things he had seen reached deep into his mind and body and he slowly slipped down the wall of the shower, unable to do anything to help himself. He barely registered when the water was turned off.
"Sam," Dean's voice felt like it was a million miles away, "Sammy what's the matter?"
Sam couldn't reply and was only peripherally aware of anything around him until that was Dean touched him. It was like being connected to the mains and Sam screamed, scrabbling away from the contact as every nerve in his system surged, making the arousal in his body almost unbearable. He curled in on himself, trying desperately to claw on to some self control and push the feelings back to something manageable.
"Sam, talk to me," Dean said and his brother sounded worried, but at least he did not touch him again. "Tell me how to help you."
"Can't," Sam managed to force out between gritted; he'd felt a ghost of this the night before and the only way to do anything had been to ride it out.
The problem was the previous night he'd been in a state to help himself, but now he could barely move. It just seemed to be getting worse and worse.
"Sam," Dean's voice was firm, "tell me what's going on so I can help you."
If Sam had not been in so much distress he would have been mortally embarrassed.
"Demon," he said, doing his best to come up with something coherent, "vision. Won't ... go away."
"You're having visions of the demon we're hunting?" Dean sounded worried and annoyed now.
"Yes," Sam could not help the mew of overload that followed his statement.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me, Sam?" Dean demanded and made the mistake of touching him again.
There was no further Sam could go, although he tried to shrink through the wall away from the contact.
"Not useful," Sam tried to focus on anything except the arousal that was threatening to take his mind and speaking at least took effort, "don't see, just feel."
"Shit, Sam," Dean still sounded exasperated, "we're dealing with a sex demon that likes to drive people insane. If you're homing in on that you need help and you need it now."
Sam could not help but agree.
"Never ... been this ... intense," he forced out, "need ... can't ..."
The demon they were after had an unusual mo; it did not feed off sex, it ensnared its victims with sex, made sure they were hooked and then drove them insane by refusing to give them release. It trapped people in their own homes and fed off their desperation and it usually took about three days.
"Sam," Dean said pointedly, "sometimes you're an idiot."
Sam would have disagreed, but he could not find the words. The only way to break the spell of the demon was human contact, real prolonged human contact and Sam was beginning to realise that's what he needed. Of course trying to find that in a town that proclaimed to have been born again and where everybody was terrified to have sex could be a problem, especially since anyone not completely into the whole thing would cause him more distress than help. It was all about will and want and if both parties didn't want it then there was no chemical reaction to release the cursed individual.
Hands touched him again and his instinctive reaction was to shy away, but something was different and he found himself moving into the sensation rather than away from it. He could not stop a moan of arousal falling from his lips, but this time it did not feel like his skin was so sensitive it hurt; it felt like the most wonderful feeling in the world. Sam managed to gather just enough brain power to open his eyes in time to see Dean's face millimetres from his own, and then they were falling shut again as lips pressed to his and any sensible thoughts dissolved in the heat of the kiss.
Dean's hands seemed to be everywhere as Sam let himself be devoured. The tiniest of guilty feelings nestled at the back of his brain, but most of him did not care that it was his brother kissing him, only that he was being kissed. The underlying need for sex was not going away, but it was being fed and it was pleasure that began to fire off synapses in his brain rather than frantic desperation. Sam needed release and at last he could feel the arousal building to an outlet rather than spiralling in on itself into tighter and tighter circles in his body.
When Dean's hand slipped into his shorts Sam put his head back against the wall and something between a whimper and a moan escaped his throat. Dean's lips artfully worked his neck as calloused fingers freed his cock and began to fist him roughly. It was as if Sam had never felt anything like this before as his nerves fired with an intensity he had never in his life felt. At that moment he had never wanted anything with greater need than what Dean was doing. It was like his whole being was focused on one objective and the entire universe had narrowed down to this one act.
Dean's fingers worked his cock and Sam felt his reality dissolving. It barely took any time at all before the universe disappeared in a flash of white hot pleasure and Sam lost control of most of his motor functions. He had never felt an orgasm as completely mind blowing and he finally found out all about le petit mort as his brain shut down.
When he came to, Sam discovered Dean trying to move him.
"Dean?" he asked, still disorientated and not sure why his brother would be trying to drag him out of the shower without waking him first.
"Sam," he found himself being released and Dean was looking intently into his eye all of a sudden, "thank god, I thought you were really hurt or something."
Sam was still not quite following.
"Why?" he asked, feeling as if he was trying to restart his brain synapse by synapse.
"Because, dude," Dean said in an exasperated voice, "I've been trying to wake you for the last ten minutes. I think you must have shot your entire brain through you cock, except of course I know you already lost it before or you would have told me what was going on."
Sam felt his face heating up; with rationality finally having a look in he was beginning to think that Dean was right. Not telling Dean the truth had seemed so logical at the time, but now he was beginning to feel stupid.
"Fuck," he said pointedly as he started to realise that he'd been a little too eager to keep secrets, "that bastard thing implanted a suggestion."
Dean did not look overly impressed, but did stand back and offer him a hand up, which he accepted. As Dean pulled him to his feet Sam was very glad his brother had seen fit to put him back in his shorts even if he was soaking wet.
"No excuse, Sam," Dean said as he walked back into the other room; "first rule, always tell your brother about shit like this."
"Sure, Dean," Sam replied, a little annoyed by the dismissal, "like you tell me everything. Exactly how long have you wanted to do that anyway?"
Sometimes his mouth worked just a bit faster than his brain and Sam caught up with what he had said just as he had finished saying it. The silence in the room was palpable. Dean had just saved his ass again and he had to go and accuse him of god knew what, but he could not escape the logic of his subconscious for dragging that out of his mouth. For the interaction to have worked Dean needed to have been as into it as he was, and Sam had the excuse of a demon in his head, but Dean didn't. His brother was frozen, facing the opposite wall with his back to Sam and nothing happened for what seemed like forever.
"A long time, Sammy," Dean's voice was quiet, but eerily calm when he finally spoke, "a long time."
Sam knew that tone; it was Dean's 'I hate this, but I knew it was coming so I'm dealing with it' tone. It was reserved for dealing with tragedy and moments when Dean thought one of them was about to die; Sam was not sure what his brother believed this situation to be. As he stood there looking at Dean's unmoving back he had a moment of clarity so strong that it took his breath away. The months of bitching, the arguments, all the 'when its dead I'm leaving' speeches all fell into place in his head and added up to one thing in his contrary brain; he had known.
The knowledge blossomed like a flower in the sun and he found himself wanting to laugh. He had known; deep inside, he had understood and it had scared the hell out of him and he had been pushing Dean away. Sam felt part of himself split and fall away, as if he was shedding his skin and being born anew and it all made ridiculous sense. He'd been running from himself and this for longer than he'd understood what this was and now there was nowhere left to run to.
Quietly he padded up behind Dean, seeing his brother's shoulders tense at his approach and before he could rationalise himself out of it his wrapped his long arms around Dean.
"Me too," he said in little more than a whisper.
Dean sagged against him as if all the strength had suddenly left his body and Sam held him. It was hard to believe how much strength it had taken for Dean to admit what he had and Sam knew that he never would have had the same courage. He knew he had not even been brave enough to admit the truth to himself, whereas Dean had and he found his admiration of his brother going up another notch. Dean could be a jerk at times, but he was a good man.
"Sammy," Dean said eventually, "you're making me all wet."
Sam laughed and let go; there were so many possible comebacks to that line that he didn't know which one to pick.
"Guess I better take off these wet clothes then," was the one he eventually picked as Dean gave him the one eyebrow unimpressed look, "and so should you, because, well y'know you wouldn't want to catch a cold or anything."
He'd always been the one with the innocent face, but he did his best to imitate one of Dean's lecherous grins. Being the way he was, Sam's instinct was to talk about this situation and figure it out, but he knew Dean was a doer, not a talker. Talking could wait for later, for now he wanted to make damn sure this was settled.
"My, my, Sammy," Dean said with a small smile, "who knew you were such a horny devil?"
"Not you," Sam shot back, "or you'd have jumped me ages ago."
Dean's smile became a full fledged grin.
"Too true, Sammy," Dean said, looking him up and down with a gaze that Sam was sure was undressing him. "Now you said something about clothes."
Sam smiled again and reached for the bottom of his wet T-shirt. This was going to be fun and he had no problem letting Dean think he was in charge, at least for now.