Carribean Calypso - S/D Minibang Part 2
Oct. 29th, 2013 12:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amberdreamsBack to Part One
Part Two
He’s soaring above the city, the thin air caressing his skin. Some small part of him is filled with wonder that he feels no fear, being so high. He doesn’t even know how he can be flying, because even though he has feathers, he has no wings. Instead he seems to be progressing by undulating his snake-like body, moving through the air as if it’s water. It feels good. Natural. The sun is warm on his back, the sky the kind of brilliant blue he’d only seen in the warmer states, like California. For some reason, remembering the Sunshine State makes him feel melancholy, though he has no idea why. He gazes down at the city spread out below him and wonders why it looks wrong. He’s expecting to see condos and high-rises, factory units and highways full of traffic, but this place is different. Mile after mile of canals and low, flat-roofed houses interspersed with wide avenues leading to huge square stepped pyramids. Temples, he thinks. He knows this place.
Tenochtitlan. His city.
He feels a cool breeze stirring his feathers. Behind him, heavy dark clouds are gathering, but instead of apprehension at the thought of being caught in whatever tempest is brewing, he feels exhilaration and a sense of joyful anticipation.
His brother is coming, riding on the storm winds and the lightning. When they meet, they will join, and be whole again.
Dean woke up with a start, disoriented by gravity, by the strange heaviness of his limbs, the weight of the comforter that had tangled itself around his foreign-feeling legs, tying him to the ground. He had a moment of sheer panic before his heart slowed and he settled back into his own skin. He groped for the tattered shreds of his dream, but it was gone, dissolved by the familiar smells of two grown men in close proximity, and by the soft sound of Sam snoring. The surge of emotion that swept over him as he registered Sam’s presence was so overwhelming it took his breath away.
It was a heady mixture of love, lust and relief that completely distracted him from the strange burning sensation that was prickling across his back. He was horrified that his usual morning wood seemed to be more interested in thoughts of inappropriate sex with his little brother than memories of the scorching hot times he’d had with Seema, or any other chick for that matter. It sent him staggering to the bathroom as fast as he could manage on weirdly wobbly legs. Though banging one out in a shower stall where his shoulders touched two sides at once was not a pleasant experience.
As the day wore on, all memory of his bizarrely vivid dream was lost in the normality of their investigation routine. Sadly, half the people they needed to talk to were night owls, and unlikely to make an appearance until the evening, which made Dean extra annoyed by the fact that he’d been wide awake and buzzing at seven in the morning. If there were a couple of occasions during the day when he’d felt ill at ease in his own skin, he put it down to having too much caffeine and too little sleep. He knew he was being extra grouchy with Sam, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He was on edge and didn’t know why.
That evening there was a ball in the largest of the three dining rooms, and though Dean grumbled, he knew it was a great opportunity to catch their chief suspects with their guards down. Russell’s troupe would not be on stage tonight, but mingling with the guests on the dance floor. The trouble was, this meant biting the bullet and dressing up, and Dean didn’t know how he was going to cope with seeing Sam in his full drag queen regalia again. Then there was the disturbing fact that Sam needed help getting into that costume, and the only person available to assist was Dean.
And Dean wanted to help, if helping meant he could touch Sam. He wanted that badly.
All day, he’d been fighting the urge to be close as possible to his brother. He had been resisting the constant need to put out a hand to make sure Sam was still there, was still warm and breathing, as if the evidence of his own eyes wasn’t enough anymore. It was disorientating, disturbing. It felt like an echo of the terrible emptiness and terror he’d felt when Sam died, when his little brother’s turgid body had been lying on that stained mattress while Dean fell apart in the room next door. As if at any moment he could lose Sam again, and this time he would never get his brother back. Part of him knew that it was his own fault, because this time it was him who would be leaving, and it was his choice.
He supposed it was time they went back to their cubbyhole of a cabin and started choosing their dresses for the ball, and that had to be one of the most weird-ass things Dean had ever thought of doing, in a whole lifetime of weirdness.
His hands shook, just a little bit, when he helped Sam into that red and black corset, Sam’s skin hot as coals under his fingers, agitating the staticky unease under his own skin. He steadied Sam as he stood tall in those fucking awesome red leather boots, those long legs going on for miles, and submitted without a word to Sam’s sure touch with the eyeliner pencil when Sam offered to beat-up Dean’s face. Dean was wearing the shimmering black sheath dress Sam had picked out for him, in spite of his previous sausage-related remarks, so Dean guessed he looked okay. Either that or Sam was being a bitch so he’d look good next to his lumpy brother. Dean’s outfit was finished off by red shiny stilettos that made the two of them look coordinated. Complementary. Different but matching. It felt right.
As they entered the ballroom, Dean could feel the attention of the room snap into focus on them, and a small part of him relished the impact they were making. It was weird and should have felt uncomfortable when he was so used to working under the radar, slipping in and out anonymously, but he was kind of proud of how striking Sam looked, and knew he looked pretty stunning too.
After a few moments Dean looked around, feeling like he’d lost some time somewhere. He found Sam immediately, over by the bar talking to Culpho. Sam was perched somewhat awkwardly on a bar stool, clearly still too uncomfortable in the drag queen get-up to move with any great ease, but considerate enough to not want to tower over the smaller guy. Nothing strange there, but some part of Dean wasn’t satisfied, was still scanning the room searching for something, or someone – a missing element of himself that he needed to find. Which made no sense. His brother was right there, and that was the only thing Dean ever needed to feel complete.
Dean spotted the dancer, Seema, chatting with a good-looking guy – who was he again? The one with a puppy dog look that put Sam’s to shame …oh yeah, Twix like the candy bar. What a stupid name for a choreographer slash artistic director.
Seema saw Dean and her dark eyes lit up. She beckoned him over and tugged him down onto the stool between her and Twix, who was looking at Dean with a strangely hungry expression on his face that made Dean shiver and look twice at the colour of the guy’s eyes, just in case. Nope, nothing demonic or hinky there, they were shrewd and honey-brown and normal. Twix’s smile looked genuine enough as Dean leaned on the bar next to Seema, so Dean shrugged it off as the guy just being annoyed that Dean had butted in, and turned his attention to the lithe dancer. The strange restlessness he’d felt earlier had disappeared and he settled down for the evening, ready to deploy all his considerable charms on the pretty dancer. She certainly didn’t seem at all put off by the drag queen get-up, in fact she was remarkably eager to peel off some of Dean’s layers and go for a repeat experience with what he was packing underneath. Dean was very happy to oblige, and welcomed her invitation to slip back to her cabin, leaving Sam to his investigating.
What? He was on the case too. He just worked in different ways…
Seema took his hand and tugged him off his stool. He gave Sam a jaunty wave and threw a grin over his shoulder at Twix before heading across the heaving dance floor for the exit. Funny, when he’d thought heaving, he hadn’t meant it literally, but after he’d taken a couple of steps away from the bar, it felt like the smooth surface under his feet was actually moving. He thought for a moment that the weather had taken a turn for the worse. It was hurricane season, after all. Maybe the boat was pitching about on rough seas, but looking around, nobody else was reacting to the way the floor felt like it was rising and falling.
Feeling a little nauseous, Dean took another step after Seema. Immediately there was a peculiar tugging sensation in the middle of his back, as if someone had sunk a fishing hook into his flesh and was attempting to reel him in.
“What the…?” Dean muttered as he stubbornly took another step forward, only to find himself falling forward into darkness.
Dean opened his eyes. He seemed to be lying face down on a polished wooden floor. That was a little unexpected, and he wasn’t having much luck getting his brain in gear enough to work out why. He was pretty sure he usually went to sleep in a bed, but hey, whatever. He was on the floor now, and that probably meant he should be getting up and back to…Where the hell was he anyway?
He tried to lift his head to look around and found that he couldn’t move. The first flash of panic rushed through his veins and he struggled and strained until he managed to give out the faintest of grunts.
“Dean!”
Sam. That was Sam’s voice; something familiar and comforting. Dean’s heart steadied a fraction from its frantic racing, and then Sam’s huge feet came into view. At least he thought they belonged to Sam, but those kinky red pointy boots encasing his little brother’s size thirteens were a little confusing. Hands were gripping his shoulders and then he was being turned over onto his back, Sam pushing away the many offers of assistance.
“Did she faint?”
“I bet she laced that corset too tight. Happens to me all the time, darling.”
Dean wondered who this fainting woman was they were all talking about, then remembered. Oh. Yeah, that’d be him then. He was in drag and he’d fainted on the way to have bendy sex with that dancer girl. Fuck. How mortifying.
He blinked. That was progress.
Sam’s face came into view, little furrows of anxiety between his brows. Huh. That was kinda cute… though Sam could probably do with plucking those eyebrows. They were looking a bit unruly. The world tipped and Dean shut his eyes. Whoa. Dizzy. When he risked opening them again, he was sitting upright, Sam’s body pressed up against his back, holding him in place. It felt nice. Warm.
“Dean. Dean, are you with me?”
Well duh. Of course Dean was with Sam. Dean was always there. He wasn’t the one who kept leaving. That’s what Sam and Dad were best at. There was another dizzying lurch and Dean was on his feet before he had time to remember that he had booked a one way ticket to Hell in just a few months time, and that you couldn’t get any farther away from your little brother than that. Seeing his own hypocrisy wasn’t Dean’s strong point even when his brain was firing on all cylinders, so he could be forgiven for ignoring it now, when he had something weird fuzzing up his thoughts.
He was vaguely aware of the hum of people talking, and the low beat of music playing. Everything was swirling around his head in a dizzying manner and he flapped a hand at it in irritation to get it to just stop already. He leaned heavily on Sam, who was saying something about too much champagne with a laugh that even in his current state Dean could tell was strained and false.
Then somehow he had missed a chunk of time, because he found himself magically at the door to their cabin, seemingly in the time it took for him to register Sam’s arm sliding round his waist – not a freaking girl, Sammy, dammit – and his own arm being slung around his brother’s shoulder in the ballroom. This was never going to work. Sam might be able to teach some of the old queens to tango but Dean wasn’t bendy enough to get those sweeping back movements right without cracking several vertebrae and besides, feeling this dizzy, he’d just end up in a heap on the floor, and oh, maybe that’s how it had all started. Had he been tangoing with Sam? Because if he remembered right, he’d just woken up on the floor, hadn’t he?
Before he could explore the puzzle of that, Sam had manhandled him through the door and there was another moment of swooping disorientation before he found himself lying on his back on the bed in an untidy sprawl of limbs. He grunted irritably as Sam didn’t let him rest then, but knelt on the bed and rolled Dean onto his side. What the…? Oh. The reason for the manoeuvre became clear when he felt Sam’s fingers unfastening the zipper on his black cocktail dress. He’d completely forgotten he was all dressed up with nowhere to go. He lay there in a fog of embarrassment as Sam undressed him with swift economy, moving Dean’s unresponsive body around like a doll. Any other time, Dean would have been making some snarky comments to cover his chagrin, but he hadn’t yet regained control of his vocal chords, and could only huff and moan a little, which he did a couple of times until he was hit with the realisation that it really sounded like sex noises, and he quickly shut up.
“What the…”
Sam seemed to have stopped the undressing, probably because Dean had no more clothing to strip off apart from his sturdy drag queen equivalents of tightie-whities, but that note in his little brother’s voice didn’t bode well. Neither did the fact that this pause in proceedings had left Dean on his front, ass up and face mashed down into his pillow. Apart from being undignified, breathing was quickly becoming Dean’s newest problem. Cotton and foam were not air, and surely Sam was going to realise that Dean was close to suffocation soon, wasn’t he? Because Dean could do fuck all about it right now.
Then all thoughts of breathing leaked out of Dean’s mind. Sam was trailing warm fingers up his spine, and his already cool skin was shivering under the touch, inducing a giddiness of a totally different, more pleasurable order that made him want to moan his brother’s name out loud. And that was all kinds of wrong. Even though nothing else was apparently able to move, his dick was reacting with considerable enthusiasm. When he got full command of all his faculties again, he was going to have a stern word with his stupid cock about timing and brothers and all that shit.
Luckily, or maybe not so luckily, all hint of inappropriate sexual arousal fled at Sam’s next words.
“Fuck, Dean. That tattoo, it’s moved. I can only see the serpent’s tail here on your back. It’s a lot bigger too…” Sam trailed off as he grabbed Dean’s shoulders and flipped him onto his back, and thank Christ his erection had already wilted. He could do without the added embarrassment of pointing a stiffy at his little brother. The bonus was that he could now gulp in lungfuls of precious air and mumble a “Sam, what the fuck”, even though what came out sounded more like “Mm whh ff.”
Sam had heard a lifetime of Dean-speak though, and understood him perfectly. He shoved a couple of pillows under Dean’s head, propping it up so he could stare down his own bare chest and see what Sam was talking about.
Well, shit.
The feathered serpent that had been nestled so small and neat just under his left shoulder blade wasn’t there any more. Couldn’t be there, because here it was, on his chest. It had grown, uncoiled and slithered up over his shoulder and was now positioned with its jaws opened wide around his anti-possession tattoo. It was far-fetched to think a tattoo could be somehow alive, but he had to believe the evidence of his own eyes. Absorbed in this impossible absurdity, Dean didn’t notice Sam’s intense scrutiny until Sam’s hands were on him again, tracing over the serpent’s path as it snaked over his collarbone and down his pectoral muscle.
Sam’s fingers felt hot, burning even. If he could’ve moved, he would have flinched away from the touch that was trailing heat down his body, and not in a good way. A prickling, searing burn was radiating out from every place Sam touched, and Dean was having difficulty breathing again, with no way of letting Sam know the distress he was in. Just as he was starting to feel nostalgic for the numbness that had been gripping him previously, Sam removed his hand.
There was a final burst of intense burning energy that seemed to flare through his entire body and then the pain was gone. Dean blinked tears from his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath.
“Fuck!”
His voice sounded hoarse but Sam looked at him as if it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard. Dean sat up, shuffling backwards until the bones of his spine hit the chill of the cabin wall. Every muscle in his body was vibrating. He was sweating like he’d done one of Sam’s ridiculous workouts, but otherwise, felt fine. Absently he noticed that he was still wearing the red stilettos, though the rest of his drag costume was strewn haphazardly around the cabin where Sam had stripped him down to his hold-it-all-in underwear. That was kind of kinky.
He stared at Sam.
“What the hell just happened?”
“I don’t know. But touching the tattoo seemed to release you from whatever hold it had over you. Assuming it is the tattoo that’s causing this.”
“The tattoo is possessing me?”
“I don’t know, maybe…? I need to…”
“Do more research?”
That came out a lot snappier than Dean intended but hell, Sam wasn’t the one infected with an animated snake tattoo here. Dean was wrung out, with all the strength of a wet rag, but with just one look Sam still managed to fill Dean with guilt for snapping at him. Dammit.
“Okay, okay, I get it. Go talk to whoever you have to talk to. I’ll just…” Dean flapped his arms at Sam in a shooing motion, discovered that his arms were actually made of lead, and let them fall back onto the bed. “I’ll jus’ have a lil’ nap.” He mumbled, his eyes already closing. Jeez. Being cursed or bewitched or tattoo possessed, whatever, was a tiring business. He didn’t even notice Sam carefully covering him with a comforter, as he was sound asleep within seconds.
Sam stood watch over his sleeping brother for a few moments, making sure this was a natural sleep and not the tattoo taking hold again. Finally satisfied, he scrubbed a hand through his hair while he thought about this whole situation. Someone, or something, had to be controlling the tattoo. But who? And why?
Unless the tattoo itself was alive.
This case from the start had been too many questions and not enough answers, and while that had been a concern when civilians’ lives were at stake, now it was Dean’s life in the balance, and that had tipped the scale over to intolerable. Sam didn’t know how much time he had to solve this, but he was sure there was none to waste.
A look of grim determination settled over his features. The tattoo was definitely Quetzalcoatl. That was even more evident now it had gotten larger, and the design showing the feathers on the serpent was clearer. Whether it had a life of its own (or was trying to get one by sucking its victims hearts dry), or was being controlled by someone or something else, Sam needed to find a weapon to kill the thing. Somehow he knew their conventional hunting tools were not going to work in this case. All the information he’d been able to glean about the ancient South American god pointed to Pre-Columbian weapons being their best bet, which meant something made of a stone like jade, flint or obsidian.
Sam’s eyes lit up as he remembered the gift shop on Deck Ten. He was sure he’d seen a very beautiful black obsidian knife in amongst the display of mostly tacky Mexican souvenirs. The shop would be closed now, of course, but that was no problem for a resourceful Winchester with a well-used set of lock picks.
Sam wasted no time in turning the idea into action. He was in and out of the small souvenir shop in minutes, thankful that the cruise company hadn’t thought to install an alarm system. The knife was a work of art. Its leaf-shaped blade was about six inches long and had an edge sharp enough to shave with. Sam carefully slid the blade back into its leather sheath then slipped it down the front of his corset where it nestled invisibly between the whalebone staves of the bodice.
His next port of call would be the dancer, Seema Banerji. She had been present both times something had happened to Dean, first the tattoo and now this shut down of Dean’s body. Sam didn’t think for a moment Dean had actually fainted, however much he was going to tease Dean about it when all this was over. A guy who had clung onto consciousness for hours when he’d had three broken ribs and a collapsed lung wasn’t going to fade away just from wearing a tight corset. And Sam had noted how this affliction, whatever it was, had at least partially paralysed Dean. There was no doubt about it. This was something supernatural, therefore it must have something to do with the creature they were hunting.
Sam chewed at his bottom lip with frustration, hating that he was no closer to finding out what this particular monster was than when they’d set foot on board the Empress two days ago. He was not about to let some freaking monster outwit a Winchester.
When Sam arrived back at the ballroom, the party was in full swing and looked set to carry on all night. The extra height the heeled boots gave him meant he could scan the room even more easily that usual, and he quickly discovered that the Indian dancer was nowhere to be seen. He was about to leave when he caught sight of the guy who’d been with Seema and Dean earlier. Twix. Another one on this boat who didn’t seem to have a surname, just like Culpho. Sam’s eyes narrowed.
He wasn’t sure why, but he felt drawn to the man, who seemed blissfully unaware of Sam’s towering presence. Twix seemed totally absorbed in drinking an electric blue cocktail. Forgetting all about his previous lack of confidence walking in heels, Sam strode quickly across the dance floor, ignoring pounding beat of the music and the flurry of queens he left in his wake.
Twix looked up at him when he arrived at the bar and smiled as if he’d been anticipating Sam’s arrival.
“Samilicious! How’s Winnie? Feeling better, I hope.”
Sam opened his mouth. Shut it.
“It’s Sam.” It wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but he couldn’t have anyone call him that ridiculous nickname. Not even…
“Who are you?”
Twix’s smile never wavered.
“Who do you think I am? Because I know who you are, Sam Winchester. You are a hunter, and you are trying to stop me bringing my brother back. I can’t allow that.”
Sam took a step backwards, suddenly uncomfortably aware that apart from the knife he needed to kill the serpent, he was unarmed, and worse, wearing a frigging dress.
“Don’t worry, Sam. I’m not going to kill you, not here, and not yet anyway. I have a proposition for you. It’s about Dean’s deal.”
“We don’t make bargains with murdering monsters.” Sam said, but without conviction, and the creature’s mention of Dean effectively stopped him retreating any further. “How do you know about Dean’s deal?”
Twix shrugged. “Everybody knows. You’re famous, you Winchesters. Hunters hate you for opening the doors of Hell, and demons talk about you all the time. Especially you, Sam. Azazel’s chosen one.”
The blood drained from Sam’s face but he stood his ground.
“Not chosen anymore, and besides, Azazel is dead. What can you do for Dean?” He made no attempt keep the scepticism out of his tone.
“I can’t do anything, but my twin can. If you and your brother help me bring him back.”
“Your twin?”
“Quetzalcoatl. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” Twix was looking at Sam with a calculating expression in his light brown eyes, as if he was assessing Sam and finding him lacking. Unconsciously Sam straightened up to his full height, forcing the shorter man to tip his head back to maintain eye contact. So this was Quetzalcoatl’s twin brother, Xolotl, god of lightning and death. He was a lot prettier than the pictures Sam had seen in the sources. At least this version had a human head and, Sam confirmed with a quick glance downwards, his feet were on the right way round.
“I suspected.” Sam said.
Twix nodded, satisfied, then slipped off the barstool. He gestured dismissively at the sparkling bodies gyrating on the dance floor. It was late, and several of the queens were looking somewhat dishevelled by now, wigs askew and make-up shiny with sweat. He caught a glimpse of a grinning Russell grinding groins with a slim queen who looked like a younger, twink version of Ru Paul. Sam had a fleeting thought that it was just as well Dean was out of it, and couldn’t make caustic comments about the DJ’s dubious taste in music as Abba’s Dancing Queen boomed out of the speakers. Though he might have approved of Xolotl, since one of the god’s roles had been patron of ballgames.
“Let’s take this discussion somewhere quieter.” Twix said. He grabbed Sam’s elbow and steered him towards the nearest exit. The two slipped through the crowd as easily as a hot knife through butter. Sam guessed Twix was using what Dean would no doubt call freaky mind powers to persuade people to move out of their path. Certainly he could feel the god’s power prickling his skin like static where Twix was still grasping his arm.
They didn’t speak again until they reached the dark silence that shrouded the back of the theatre on Deck Five. Twix, or should that be Xolotl, finally released Sam and moved away to sit down on a large packing case. He gestured for Sam to do the same but Sam shook his head. He preferred to stay on his feet, ready to move. He felt vulnerable enough as it was, dressed like this and armed with only a small knife made of volcanic glass. He wished he’d thought to conceal at least one steel knife in the top of one of his boots. It probably wouldn’t have been effective against a god but it would have made him feel a bit better.
“We’ve established that you recognised my brother’s presence in Dean’s tattoo, but hadn’t yet worked out that I was involved. So who were you looking for in the ballroom tonight?”
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not,” Xolotl acknowledged the point and moved on. “I think I owe you an explanation. I have been searching for centuries for a way to restore my brother to himself. Quetzalcoatl suffered greatly when the Christians came. I and the other gods diminished and faded as our worshippers lost most of their beliefs, but several of us survived because although they called us by different names, our roles still existed and fear of us was deep-rooted. My power lies in the storms and in death, and that doesn’t change. But my brother was the god of resurrection, and as such could not exist side by side with your Jesucristo. His position was usurped and I nearly lost him entirely.”
Sam bit his lip. He knew he should just kill this god who was responsible for so many deaths, but Dean had less than a year to live, which meant Sam had less than a year to find a way to save his brother from the Pit. A god with powers of resurrection might just offer a way out for Dean. Added to that, Xolotl was trying to save his own brother too. Sam could recognise the hint of desperation on Xolotl’s face because it was a mirror of his own. A tiny voice was asking him, what was the difference between them? What wouldn’t Sam do to save Dean? He had no answer, but the dilemma kept his hand off the obsidian knife.
“The tattoo?”
“Yes. Quetzalcoatl was dying, but his powers of resurrection were still there. I managed to harness enough to capture his essence in the ink of a tattoo on the skin of one of my faithful worshippers, and I have nurtured that essence ever since. Moving from host to host, transferring by the power of life and reproduction, and gaining a little more strength with each transfer. Now I think my brother has sufficient vitality to be able to regenerate in his own form, with Dean’s help.”
“And just how would that help Dean get out of his deal?”
“If my brother were to share some of his essence with Dean, your brother’s human body would become impossible to kill.”
“Dean would be invulnerable?”
“Not invulnerable, no. He could be harmed, but he would not die. Quetzalcoatl’s power would resurrect him if his body was close to death.”
Sam was pacing now, unable to keep still. The hope he was feeling was like too much caffeine, the stimulation making his heart race. He hadn’t forgotten the trail of death that had led Xolotl to this moment, but the withered hearts of the previous victims faded into the background, pushed aside by the heady picture of Dean staying with him, by Sam’s side where he belonged, forever.
What’s dead should stay dead, Sammy, said Dean’s voice inside his head. Sam huffed out a bitter laugh. Yeah, right, Dean. That’s why you brought me back too, hey? He told himself he was just gathering information, not making a decision, but he knew it was a lie. If this had any chance of succeeding, he was going to try it. He had to.
“How would this work?”
Xolotl unsuccessfully tried to conceal a triumphant smile, and Sam winced internally. He might save Dean from Hell by doing this, but he was pretty certain he was probably damning himself at the same time.
Xolotl explained the process and Sam acquiesced. The first step, Xolotl said, was to bring Dean here to perform the ritual to revive Quetzalcoatl. Sam nodded slowly and made to leave to fetch his brother, but Xolotl halted him with a gesture.
“No need to go anywhere, Sam Winchester. Quetzalcoatl has brought your brother to us.”
Sam’s head whipped around so fast he heard a vertebrae crack. Sure enough, there was Dean entering the backstage area, looking wobbly as a new-born foal. At some point Dean had gotten dressed again. He was in the same black outfit he’d been wearing earlier, minus the wig. His face was pale under the still smudged makeup. His eyes were open but his expression was dazed and unfocussed. Sam didn’t think Dean even saw him standing in the shadows as he came to a halt in front of the god of thunder.
“Strip.” Twix said.
Dean’s hands were moving before his brain even registered the instruction. Vaguely he understood that somehow he was under a compulsion, but he didn’t have the strength to resist. The dress unfastened, slipping to the floor to pool around his feet. The padding followed, leaving Dean standing in his drag queen underwear, swaying on his six inch heels. If he’d been able to feel anything, he’d have been embarrassed about how slutty he must’ve looked, in just stockings and garter and camisole. His wig was gone and his short hair was plastered to his skull with sweat.
The buzzing inside Dean’s head got louder and his skin was almost fizzing, it was tingling so badly. He couldn’t think straight. Then Twix put his hand on Dean’s chest, right over his heart and the curse exploded into life inside him.
“Brother,” Twix said. “Quetzalcoatl.”
Twix’s voice crackled like electricity, and Dean was filled with horror as he felt the snake becoming fully aware under his skin. His whole body was shuddering beyond his ability to control it, and he found himself dropping to the floor on his hands and knees. The snake was moving, its tongue flicking in and out as its feathered head slid up around his pectoral muscle. Then all concerns about it reaching his heart fled when he felt its muscular tail extend down his spine and its tip parted his buttocks.
Oh hell no.
No way was he going to star in some sick Japanese Hentai porn while some monster-dude watched and got his rocks off. Dean started to struggle in earnest, but it was hopeless. Quetzalcoatl was controlling him, and the god’s snake form would not be denied. Dean shivered as the tip of the tail found his hole and started pushing inside. He supposed he should be grateful that the god-snake-whatever was thoughtful enough to self lubricate, or this would have just ripped Dean apart. As it was, Quetzalcoatl was sliding in as easily as it could, for a first time penetration. Then after the first few seconds when Dean involuntarily clenched as tight as he could against the painful intrusion, the prehensile tail pushed past the first ring of muscle and was worming its way deeper into his ass.
Dean hung his head and panted for breath, trying not to think about how this must look, how he must look, spilt open and unresisting.
“Quetzalcoatl, my brother, my twin. I have waited for you so long. I have missed you all this time. Too many years have I spent alone.” Xolotl said.
Dean wanted to groan at the excruciatingly bad dialogue, but all that came out of his mouth was a hiss that sounded like a name. Fuck. It looked like the ancient god had control of his tongue now too. He was starting to feel like he’d ended up in a bad porn version of that Harry Potter film with all the snake talk and the huge python.
Xolotl…
When he’d toyed with the idea of letting a guy fuck him (and yeah, he had thought about it in the past), this was not how he’d imagined it going. At some point Quetzalcoatl’s twin had lost his clothing and with it most of his resemblance to a human being. He now had the head of a dog and though his body was a man’s, it was muscular and hirsute and oh holy shit, very erect. There was no doubt in Dean’s mind about what the god intended to do with that particular attribute, as Xolotl moved out of sight behind him. Just when he thought his situation couldn’t get any worse, two hands grasped his hips. Lightning shot through his bones with a crackle so loud he thought he’d gone deaf. If he’d had control of his vocal chords he would have screamed them raw, but as it was, when the breath left his body it hissed out a different message altogether.
Yessssss, brother. Join with me. Set me free.
Xolotl needed no encouragement. Something hard and blunt nudged at Dean’s hole where he was already stretched wide around Quetzalcoatl’s snake tail. Oh no, no, no that was just not going to happen. It was impossible; he couldn’t take it. For a brief second, Dean’s desperation won out over the feathered serpent’s will, and he twisted in Xolotl’s grip to look around. He caught a glimpse of glowing eyes and distinctly non-human teeth before his head was wrenched back to face front. Those sharp, yellowed teeth he’d seen sank into the meat of Dean’s shoulder, holding him in place, and the dog-headed monster’s breath puffed rank in his nostrils as Xolotl shoved his dick deep into Dean.
This time he was allowed to scream.
It was Dean’s scream that finally released Sam from the strange paralysis that had gripped him. This was not what he’d intended, nor what he’d discussed with Twix. Xolotl was hurting Dean and that was unacceptable.
This was brutal and wrong, and was going to kill his brother.
Galvanised into action, Sam pulled the obsidian knife out of his bodice, silently thanking the tourist industry for having that souvenir shop on board. Now he just had to pray that his research had been correct, and that this volcanic glass would kill both the dog-headed god, and his serpent twin.
He leapt forward, silent as a panther.
He swam back to consciousness with a sense of déjà vu. Sam was shoving his anxious puppy face into Dean’s squashed-up-on-the-floor-face, and hadn’t they done this dance already today? Except this time Sam’s face was splashed with something red that wasn’t lipstick. In fact it looked like blood, and that was enough to wake Dean right up. Shit. Sam was hurt and he needed to get up to check his little brother out.
He wriggled and rolled onto his side. Now he could get a good look at him, Dean could see that the blood Sam was covered with wasn’t his own, and for a change it didn’t seem to be Dean’s either. All of which was good. Feeling a bit happier, Dean managed to sit upright, then winced at the rawness as he landed his weight on his buttocks.
“Ugh, fuck.”
“Dean!” Sam sounded ridiculously relieved, considering he usually got all po-faced if Dean swore too much. Sam’s hands were everywhere, and Dean belatedly realised he had lost most of his clothing again. His cheeks heated when Sam brushed over a bare nipple, and in spite of the soreness in his ass, his cock gave an interested twitch. Oh, no, not again.
Distracted by trying to suppress all inappropriate thoughts about his brother, it was a few moments before Dean registered what Sam was saying.
“Dean, I’ve killed Xolotl, but the minute his twin died, Quetzalcoatl snapped back into the tattoo on your skin. I think I know how to get rid of it, but um…”
“Spit it out, Sammy.”
“You aren’t going to like it. Xolotl told me how Quetzalcoatl was transferring from body to body. By sharing life. Erm, seed, you know?”
Dean leaned back, shifting his weight off his ass and closing his eyes. Until he realised the something warm and solid he was leaning on was in fact Sam, and jerked upright again.
“Just peachy,” he groaned. “More fucking.”
“If you want, we could get someone else to do it, though I’d still have to be here to kill the serpent when it manifested…”
Dean’s eyes flew open and the look on Sam’s face almost killed him dead. Sam was flushed bright red with embarrassment but underneath all that was an expression so lost and full of fear of rejection, Dean felt all his own misgivings slip away. Fuck. He was damned anyway. What difference would a little incest make?
“God no,” he said, “If anyone is doing any fucking tonight, it’s going to be you. I wouldn’t trust anyone else. Even though you are hung like a fucking horse.”
If anything, Sam’s blush deepened, but Dean was happy to see that other vulnerable look fade into a shy grin. Now they just needed to find something to use as lube, because no way was he letting anything else be shoved into his body without greasing the way as thoroughly as he’d grease Baby’s engine. He reckoned it was about time his body had some tender loving care, and who better to give it to him than Sam?
Half a tub of Vaseline and some time later…
“Just fucking fuck me already will you? Fuck!”
“Why, you sweet-talker. I hope you are a bit more eloquent with the girls, Dean.” Sam was grinning, Dean could hear it in his voice. His brother was enjoying this a little too much, Dean thought.
“Fuck you!”
“Mmmm, I rather thought it was the other way round,” Sam said, as the head of his cock pushed in, and Dean was abruptly lost for words, though he did manage a loud and pained groan that was, disturbingly, echoed by Sam.
“God. Dean, so tight…uh…”
Dean felt a perverse sense of satisfaction that he didn’t seem to be the only one struggling for words. In fact, his brain seemed to want to babble nothing but nonsense now, possibly trying to take his mind off the fact his little brother was fucking him up the ass.
“Just keep your mind on the job, Sammy,” he wheezed, as he waited for Sam’s next move with some trepidation. He still wasn’t convinced that huge monster his brother called his dick was going to fit, however much lube was used.
“God, why do gay guys think this is such a good idea? I mean, there’s no way your gigantic cock is gonna fi…fuck!”
That last came out as an undignified squeak as Sam’s hips jerked and the aforementioned monster cock shoved inside another couple of inches. Dean dropped his forehead down onto his forearms and panted like a woman in labour while Sam’s sweat dripped onto his back. Was it his imagination or could he hear something sizzling where the moisture hit his skin?
“Shit, Sammy, this had better fucking work. I don’t want to die impaled on my little brother’s dick. It’s just not dignified.”
“Christ, Dean. Are you always this mouthy when you have sex?”
Sam shifted slightly, causing Dean to give out another involuntary moan. He twisted his head to give Sam his best scornful look. “Oh yes, I always scream and beg when I’m on my hands and knees having incestuous butt-sex with my brother, because, you know, I do this all the fucking time…Oh man, will you just give it to me, please? It can’t hurt worse than a dislocated shoulder or a bullet wound, or a were cat’s claws, right?”
“Dean, if you’d just relax a little and let me…” Sam put one large hand onto Dean’s hip to hold him steady, and that was all the warning Dean got before Sam was thrusting right in. Dean might have been shocked to feel Sam’s balls slap up against his ass, if it wasn’t for the fact that Sam’s dick had just ignited something deep inside his anus that had fireworks going off in every nerve-ending in his body. All the breath seemed to have been punched out of him so he couldn’t even cry out as Sam pulled back, thrust forward and …Holy Fuck! Did it again. And again.
Guess that explained why gay sex was so popular after all. The joys of the prostate hadn’t been overstated. Dean’s body jumped involuntarily as Sam stroked over his prostate again, Dean’s dick jerking in sympathy, while leaking pre-come onto the polished wooden floor.
Sam was getting into a rhythm now, and Dean was absolutely on board with that idea. His own dick, that had been distinctly unimpressed with proceedings up till now was suddenly hard enough to punch holes in the floor and was aching for some attention. Dean wanted to oblige but his arms were busy trying not to turn into jello from supporting his weight, while his thighs burned from attempting to thrust back onto Sam’s glorious magic healing-cock. Actually, right now, Dean didn’t really care if the healing cock thing was a complete fallacy. His whole world had narrowed down to the heady rush of blood that was throbbing through him in time with every thrust Sam made. It was pure and exhilarating, and nothing that it should have been.
Dean was drowning, and he didn’t care.
“Oh crap, it’s coming…” Sam said. It took Dean a few moments to realise Sam had said ‘it’ not ‘I’m’, and a couple more precious seconds to remember what they were actually there for, and the real reason they were having sex. With each other.
Then he felt it, like Sam had said. The tattoo – no, Quetzalcoatl - was moving. In a prickle and brush of feathers on his skin, the serpent wormed away from where it had been coiled around his heart, and began making its way up around his shoulder and down his back, towards where he and Sam were joined. Sam wasn’t letting up and Dean thought if Sam came, when Sam came, that would be when Quetzalcoatl could make the leap, would somehow transfer from his body to Sam’s. It would start trying to take over his little brother’s body like the god had been trying to possess Dean. Now Dean’s breathing got thicker, harsher, more strained, not because of the pounding Sam was giving him, but from sheer fear.
He couldn’t have said what it was that scared him the most. That they’d succeed in ganking this ancient god of life and resurrection that he was busy blaming for the overwhelming lust he was feeling, leaving him with no screen between his illicit desires and his conscience. Or that they would fail, and Sam would be hurt, or dead again, or perhaps worse, not Sam any more.
It didn’t occur to him to fear that he might die. In some ways, Dean thought of himself as already dead.
It was hard to concentrate on the task at hand when Sam had Dean clenched around him like this. His brother was so fucking beautiful spread open and willing, and even though Dean’s hole was already stretched from the earlier penetrations, it was still hot and tight and perfect around Sam’s cock. Because it was Dean, and Sam had dreamed about this for longer than he would ever acknowledge.
Sam had been gentle but thorough while prepping Dean, and not just because he wanted to make each moment he could caress his brother’s soft skin last as long as possible. Stroking his hands down Dean’s flanks and finally being allowed to linger over the smooth firm curve of Dean’s ass was blissful enough, but the first time he sank a long finger into the furled muscle of Dean’s hole was just amazing. Feeling the heat of Dean’s body and the way the muscles fluttered against the intrusion had Sam on the verge of coming before they had even started. He’d had to grip the base of his cock hard to get himself back under control. And remind himself that this was important, was about more than ‘just’ sex; as if sex with Dean could ever be ‘just’ anything.
He could hear the apprehension and the uncertainty underneath Dean’s bluster. Sam could always see right through Dean’s defences when he was brave enough to let his own barriers down. Sam hadn’t needed his Psychology classes at Stanford to tell him why he had built up so many walls between himself and Dean over the years, just like he didn’t need anyone else’s analysis of why they were all crumbling now.
He slicked up his cock and kept his eyes open when he pushed into Dean because he didn’t want to miss a single moment. He wanted to smell the sweat, see, taste and touch, and most of all he wanted to hear Dean coming apart as he thrust deeper, buried himself inside his brother as if the act of fucking could blend them into a single focused soul.
When Quetzalcoatl awoke, Sam was almost too far gone to notice, and the feathered god had reached the dip in Dean’s back before Sam pulled himself back from the brink, and in a panic groped for the black knife, still slippery with Xolotl’s blood.
Dean’s body was quivering under him as Quetzalcoatl reared up from Dean’s spine, its form solidifying into a sinuous deadly head, jaws open wide and hissing. Sam didn’t hesitate. With one movement, he thrust both knife and dick home, the one into Quetzalcoatl’s sinewy neck, the other into his brother. Sam came with a shout, spurting hot come deep inside Dean while the ancient snake god splintered into nothingness along with the black glass of the knife.
Well, that felt suitably climactic, Sam thought, as his body juddered against Dean’s thighs, Dean clenching around his dick, milking every last drop out of him. He hoped Dean had got off as well, because he was really too wrung out to take care of his brother for the next decade or so. Sam slumped forward and draped himself around Dean’s warm back, snuffling something into Dean’s ear which might have been ‘love you’ but was safely unintelligible.
Yeah. The job was done. Any regrets at maybe losing a chance to save Dean, the fear and sense of urgency, it had all faded into the background for a while, overlaid with a pleasant buzz of contentment. Sam was too fucked out and yeah, happy even, to do anything except allow his exhaustion to claim him. He was sure worry would have its pound of flesh soon enough.
Sam was nursing the horrible green cocktail Dean had bought him earlier, while anxiously scanning the room for his missing brother.
Dean had been shifty and evasive in the two days since they’d killed Quetzalcoatl, and Sam didn’t like it. Although Dean appeared to be relaxed about what had happened between them, Sam was anxious and on edge. He was sure if they hadn’t been trapped aboard the cruise ship for another three days, Dean would have done a runner by now. Sam couldn’t believe Dean wasn’t a nuclear meltdown waiting to happen, as soon as the full implications of their incestuous god-killing exploits hit home.
Now Dean had disappeared for what felt like hours after saying he was just hitting the head, leaving Sam alone propping up the bar and fending off advances. There were far too many amorous queens around for comfort and Sam made a very obvious target with his broad shoulders and height. Even out of costume, the Winchester boys seemed to be a hit with the Courtiers. At first Sam was too busy giving the latest one the firm brush off to notice that the stage was occupied by someone new, and more to the point, someone who wasn’t totally awful. Tonight was open mike night, and so far the number who’d chosen to sing bad karaoke had been excruciating.
When his current companion stopped talking to Sam and started staring open-mouthed at the figure in the spotlight, Sam finally started paying attention as the beautifully mellow tenor voice filtered through the microphone.
He's home again from another day
She smiles at him as he walks through the door
She wonders if it will be okay
It's hard for her when he doesn't respond
He says babe you look a mess
You look dowdy in that dress
It's just not like it used to be
Then she says...
“Wow,” said the sparkly pink lip-sticked Queen leaning on Sam’s arm. “It’s Raquel! I never thought I’d see her on stage again! How fabulous!”
But her words faded into insignificance and all Sam’s attention was honing in on the stage, because Russell had stopped singing the opening bars and another voice, rough and husky, far less tuneful and a hundred times more familiar, had taken up the song’s refrain.
I may not be a lady
But I'm All Woman
From Monday to Sunday I work harder than you know
I'm no classy lady
But I'm All Woman
And the woman needs a little love to make her strong
You're not the only one
Sam’s stomach flipped as the spotlight swung across the darkness to highlight Dean. His brother had on a plain sheath dress that clung at the hips and did nothing to hide the muscular, masculine breadth of Dean’s shoulders. He had a wig on, one that gave him a soft bob that framed his fine cheekbones without making him look like anyone other than himself. His face was very simply made up, just some kohl accentuating his huge eyes, lip-gloss giving them a sheen under the lights that made them look just-kissed, and god, but Sam wanted to. Very much. The strength of the feeling that swept over him came as a total surprise.
Sam blinked as the spotlight switched over to Russell as the queen of drag queens’ turn to take over the song came again. Dean’s after-image was burned into Sam’s retinas as if he could still see him standing there in the dark, with those high-heeled pumps emphasising Dean’s muscular calves and the bow of his legs. When the chorus came round, and Dean’s voice kicked in. Sam knew Dean was looking right at him, was singing just for him. His crazy, macho, utterly masculine brother wanted to tell the whole freaking world how he was all woman for Sam, and Sam was on his feet without a thought in his head other than he wanted Dean.
He was weaving his way through the small tables with their candles and white tablecloths, overwhelmed by this huge wave of affection and love, and determination and lust, all mixed up together into some sort of heady cocktail of emotions that meant he didn’t have a second thought about stepping onto the dark part of the stage where he’d last seen Dean standing. His blood was thrumming so loud he could barely hear Russell singing his part of the song, but when Dean’s turn came round again, his brother’s voice up close coming out of the deep dark just before the light hit him? Well, that he heard with his whole body. Dean’s voice was gravelly and intoxicating and vibrated through Sam’s soul like undertow moving shingle down a shore.
You'll always be a lady
Cause You're All Woman
From Monday to Sunday I love you much more than you know
You're a classy lady
Cause You're All Woman
This woman needs a loving man to keep her warm…
Then Sam was reaching for Dean and pulling him off the stage, to a cacophony of cheers and catcalls, whoops and whistles, leaving a grinning Russell to finish off the musical entertainment on his own.
Sam had other more entertaining prospects in mind.
Part Two
He’s soaring above the city, the thin air caressing his skin. Some small part of him is filled with wonder that he feels no fear, being so high. He doesn’t even know how he can be flying, because even though he has feathers, he has no wings. Instead he seems to be progressing by undulating his snake-like body, moving through the air as if it’s water. It feels good. Natural. The sun is warm on his back, the sky the kind of brilliant blue he’d only seen in the warmer states, like California. For some reason, remembering the Sunshine State makes him feel melancholy, though he has no idea why. He gazes down at the city spread out below him and wonders why it looks wrong. He’s expecting to see condos and high-rises, factory units and highways full of traffic, but this place is different. Mile after mile of canals and low, flat-roofed houses interspersed with wide avenues leading to huge square stepped pyramids. Temples, he thinks. He knows this place.
Tenochtitlan. His city.
He feels a cool breeze stirring his feathers. Behind him, heavy dark clouds are gathering, but instead of apprehension at the thought of being caught in whatever tempest is brewing, he feels exhilaration and a sense of joyful anticipation.
His brother is coming, riding on the storm winds and the lightning. When they meet, they will join, and be whole again.
Dean woke up with a start, disoriented by gravity, by the strange heaviness of his limbs, the weight of the comforter that had tangled itself around his foreign-feeling legs, tying him to the ground. He had a moment of sheer panic before his heart slowed and he settled back into his own skin. He groped for the tattered shreds of his dream, but it was gone, dissolved by the familiar smells of two grown men in close proximity, and by the soft sound of Sam snoring. The surge of emotion that swept over him as he registered Sam’s presence was so overwhelming it took his breath away.
It was a heady mixture of love, lust and relief that completely distracted him from the strange burning sensation that was prickling across his back. He was horrified that his usual morning wood seemed to be more interested in thoughts of inappropriate sex with his little brother than memories of the scorching hot times he’d had with Seema, or any other chick for that matter. It sent him staggering to the bathroom as fast as he could manage on weirdly wobbly legs. Though banging one out in a shower stall where his shoulders touched two sides at once was not a pleasant experience.
As the day wore on, all memory of his bizarrely vivid dream was lost in the normality of their investigation routine. Sadly, half the people they needed to talk to were night owls, and unlikely to make an appearance until the evening, which made Dean extra annoyed by the fact that he’d been wide awake and buzzing at seven in the morning. If there were a couple of occasions during the day when he’d felt ill at ease in his own skin, he put it down to having too much caffeine and too little sleep. He knew he was being extra grouchy with Sam, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He was on edge and didn’t know why.
That evening there was a ball in the largest of the three dining rooms, and though Dean grumbled, he knew it was a great opportunity to catch their chief suspects with their guards down. Russell’s troupe would not be on stage tonight, but mingling with the guests on the dance floor. The trouble was, this meant biting the bullet and dressing up, and Dean didn’t know how he was going to cope with seeing Sam in his full drag queen regalia again. Then there was the disturbing fact that Sam needed help getting into that costume, and the only person available to assist was Dean.
And Dean wanted to help, if helping meant he could touch Sam. He wanted that badly.
All day, he’d been fighting the urge to be close as possible to his brother. He had been resisting the constant need to put out a hand to make sure Sam was still there, was still warm and breathing, as if the evidence of his own eyes wasn’t enough anymore. It was disorientating, disturbing. It felt like an echo of the terrible emptiness and terror he’d felt when Sam died, when his little brother’s turgid body had been lying on that stained mattress while Dean fell apart in the room next door. As if at any moment he could lose Sam again, and this time he would never get his brother back. Part of him knew that it was his own fault, because this time it was him who would be leaving, and it was his choice.
He supposed it was time they went back to their cubbyhole of a cabin and started choosing their dresses for the ball, and that had to be one of the most weird-ass things Dean had ever thought of doing, in a whole lifetime of weirdness.
His hands shook, just a little bit, when he helped Sam into that red and black corset, Sam’s skin hot as coals under his fingers, agitating the staticky unease under his own skin. He steadied Sam as he stood tall in those fucking awesome red leather boots, those long legs going on for miles, and submitted without a word to Sam’s sure touch with the eyeliner pencil when Sam offered to beat-up Dean’s face. Dean was wearing the shimmering black sheath dress Sam had picked out for him, in spite of his previous sausage-related remarks, so Dean guessed he looked okay. Either that or Sam was being a bitch so he’d look good next to his lumpy brother. Dean’s outfit was finished off by red shiny stilettos that made the two of them look coordinated. Complementary. Different but matching. It felt right.
As they entered the ballroom, Dean could feel the attention of the room snap into focus on them, and a small part of him relished the impact they were making. It was weird and should have felt uncomfortable when he was so used to working under the radar, slipping in and out anonymously, but he was kind of proud of how striking Sam looked, and knew he looked pretty stunning too.
After a few moments Dean looked around, feeling like he’d lost some time somewhere. He found Sam immediately, over by the bar talking to Culpho. Sam was perched somewhat awkwardly on a bar stool, clearly still too uncomfortable in the drag queen get-up to move with any great ease, but considerate enough to not want to tower over the smaller guy. Nothing strange there, but some part of Dean wasn’t satisfied, was still scanning the room searching for something, or someone – a missing element of himself that he needed to find. Which made no sense. His brother was right there, and that was the only thing Dean ever needed to feel complete.
Dean spotted the dancer, Seema, chatting with a good-looking guy – who was he again? The one with a puppy dog look that put Sam’s to shame …oh yeah, Twix like the candy bar. What a stupid name for a choreographer slash artistic director.
Seema saw Dean and her dark eyes lit up. She beckoned him over and tugged him down onto the stool between her and Twix, who was looking at Dean with a strangely hungry expression on his face that made Dean shiver and look twice at the colour of the guy’s eyes, just in case. Nope, nothing demonic or hinky there, they were shrewd and honey-brown and normal. Twix’s smile looked genuine enough as Dean leaned on the bar next to Seema, so Dean shrugged it off as the guy just being annoyed that Dean had butted in, and turned his attention to the lithe dancer. The strange restlessness he’d felt earlier had disappeared and he settled down for the evening, ready to deploy all his considerable charms on the pretty dancer. She certainly didn’t seem at all put off by the drag queen get-up, in fact she was remarkably eager to peel off some of Dean’s layers and go for a repeat experience with what he was packing underneath. Dean was very happy to oblige, and welcomed her invitation to slip back to her cabin, leaving Sam to his investigating.
What? He was on the case too. He just worked in different ways…
Seema took his hand and tugged him off his stool. He gave Sam a jaunty wave and threw a grin over his shoulder at Twix before heading across the heaving dance floor for the exit. Funny, when he’d thought heaving, he hadn’t meant it literally, but after he’d taken a couple of steps away from the bar, it felt like the smooth surface under his feet was actually moving. He thought for a moment that the weather had taken a turn for the worse. It was hurricane season, after all. Maybe the boat was pitching about on rough seas, but looking around, nobody else was reacting to the way the floor felt like it was rising and falling.
Feeling a little nauseous, Dean took another step after Seema. Immediately there was a peculiar tugging sensation in the middle of his back, as if someone had sunk a fishing hook into his flesh and was attempting to reel him in.
“What the…?” Dean muttered as he stubbornly took another step forward, only to find himself falling forward into darkness.
0x0x0x0x0
Dean opened his eyes. He seemed to be lying face down on a polished wooden floor. That was a little unexpected, and he wasn’t having much luck getting his brain in gear enough to work out why. He was pretty sure he usually went to sleep in a bed, but hey, whatever. He was on the floor now, and that probably meant he should be getting up and back to…Where the hell was he anyway?
He tried to lift his head to look around and found that he couldn’t move. The first flash of panic rushed through his veins and he struggled and strained until he managed to give out the faintest of grunts.
“Dean!”
Sam. That was Sam’s voice; something familiar and comforting. Dean’s heart steadied a fraction from its frantic racing, and then Sam’s huge feet came into view. At least he thought they belonged to Sam, but those kinky red pointy boots encasing his little brother’s size thirteens were a little confusing. Hands were gripping his shoulders and then he was being turned over onto his back, Sam pushing away the many offers of assistance.
“Did she faint?”
“I bet she laced that corset too tight. Happens to me all the time, darling.”
Dean wondered who this fainting woman was they were all talking about, then remembered. Oh. Yeah, that’d be him then. He was in drag and he’d fainted on the way to have bendy sex with that dancer girl. Fuck. How mortifying.
He blinked. That was progress.
Sam’s face came into view, little furrows of anxiety between his brows. Huh. That was kinda cute… though Sam could probably do with plucking those eyebrows. They were looking a bit unruly. The world tipped and Dean shut his eyes. Whoa. Dizzy. When he risked opening them again, he was sitting upright, Sam’s body pressed up against his back, holding him in place. It felt nice. Warm.
“Dean. Dean, are you with me?”
Well duh. Of course Dean was with Sam. Dean was always there. He wasn’t the one who kept leaving. That’s what Sam and Dad were best at. There was another dizzying lurch and Dean was on his feet before he had time to remember that he had booked a one way ticket to Hell in just a few months time, and that you couldn’t get any farther away from your little brother than that. Seeing his own hypocrisy wasn’t Dean’s strong point even when his brain was firing on all cylinders, so he could be forgiven for ignoring it now, when he had something weird fuzzing up his thoughts.
He was vaguely aware of the hum of people talking, and the low beat of music playing. Everything was swirling around his head in a dizzying manner and he flapped a hand at it in irritation to get it to just stop already. He leaned heavily on Sam, who was saying something about too much champagne with a laugh that even in his current state Dean could tell was strained and false.
Then somehow he had missed a chunk of time, because he found himself magically at the door to their cabin, seemingly in the time it took for him to register Sam’s arm sliding round his waist – not a freaking girl, Sammy, dammit – and his own arm being slung around his brother’s shoulder in the ballroom. This was never going to work. Sam might be able to teach some of the old queens to tango but Dean wasn’t bendy enough to get those sweeping back movements right without cracking several vertebrae and besides, feeling this dizzy, he’d just end up in a heap on the floor, and oh, maybe that’s how it had all started. Had he been tangoing with Sam? Because if he remembered right, he’d just woken up on the floor, hadn’t he?
Before he could explore the puzzle of that, Sam had manhandled him through the door and there was another moment of swooping disorientation before he found himself lying on his back on the bed in an untidy sprawl of limbs. He grunted irritably as Sam didn’t let him rest then, but knelt on the bed and rolled Dean onto his side. What the…? Oh. The reason for the manoeuvre became clear when he felt Sam’s fingers unfastening the zipper on his black cocktail dress. He’d completely forgotten he was all dressed up with nowhere to go. He lay there in a fog of embarrassment as Sam undressed him with swift economy, moving Dean’s unresponsive body around like a doll. Any other time, Dean would have been making some snarky comments to cover his chagrin, but he hadn’t yet regained control of his vocal chords, and could only huff and moan a little, which he did a couple of times until he was hit with the realisation that it really sounded like sex noises, and he quickly shut up.
“What the…”
Sam seemed to have stopped the undressing, probably because Dean had no more clothing to strip off apart from his sturdy drag queen equivalents of tightie-whities, but that note in his little brother’s voice didn’t bode well. Neither did the fact that this pause in proceedings had left Dean on his front, ass up and face mashed down into his pillow. Apart from being undignified, breathing was quickly becoming Dean’s newest problem. Cotton and foam were not air, and surely Sam was going to realise that Dean was close to suffocation soon, wasn’t he? Because Dean could do fuck all about it right now.
Then all thoughts of breathing leaked out of Dean’s mind. Sam was trailing warm fingers up his spine, and his already cool skin was shivering under the touch, inducing a giddiness of a totally different, more pleasurable order that made him want to moan his brother’s name out loud. And that was all kinds of wrong. Even though nothing else was apparently able to move, his dick was reacting with considerable enthusiasm. When he got full command of all his faculties again, he was going to have a stern word with his stupid cock about timing and brothers and all that shit.
Luckily, or maybe not so luckily, all hint of inappropriate sexual arousal fled at Sam’s next words.
“Fuck, Dean. That tattoo, it’s moved. I can only see the serpent’s tail here on your back. It’s a lot bigger too…” Sam trailed off as he grabbed Dean’s shoulders and flipped him onto his back, and thank Christ his erection had already wilted. He could do without the added embarrassment of pointing a stiffy at his little brother. The bonus was that he could now gulp in lungfuls of precious air and mumble a “Sam, what the fuck”, even though what came out sounded more like “Mm whh ff.”
Sam had heard a lifetime of Dean-speak though, and understood him perfectly. He shoved a couple of pillows under Dean’s head, propping it up so he could stare down his own bare chest and see what Sam was talking about.
Well, shit.
The feathered serpent that had been nestled so small and neat just under his left shoulder blade wasn’t there any more. Couldn’t be there, because here it was, on his chest. It had grown, uncoiled and slithered up over his shoulder and was now positioned with its jaws opened wide around his anti-possession tattoo. It was far-fetched to think a tattoo could be somehow alive, but he had to believe the evidence of his own eyes. Absorbed in this impossible absurdity, Dean didn’t notice Sam’s intense scrutiny until Sam’s hands were on him again, tracing over the serpent’s path as it snaked over his collarbone and down his pectoral muscle.
Sam’s fingers felt hot, burning even. If he could’ve moved, he would have flinched away from the touch that was trailing heat down his body, and not in a good way. A prickling, searing burn was radiating out from every place Sam touched, and Dean was having difficulty breathing again, with no way of letting Sam know the distress he was in. Just as he was starting to feel nostalgic for the numbness that had been gripping him previously, Sam removed his hand.
There was a final burst of intense burning energy that seemed to flare through his entire body and then the pain was gone. Dean blinked tears from his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath.
“Fuck!”
His voice sounded hoarse but Sam looked at him as if it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard. Dean sat up, shuffling backwards until the bones of his spine hit the chill of the cabin wall. Every muscle in his body was vibrating. He was sweating like he’d done one of Sam’s ridiculous workouts, but otherwise, felt fine. Absently he noticed that he was still wearing the red stilettos, though the rest of his drag costume was strewn haphazardly around the cabin where Sam had stripped him down to his hold-it-all-in underwear. That was kind of kinky.
He stared at Sam.
“What the hell just happened?”
“I don’t know. But touching the tattoo seemed to release you from whatever hold it had over you. Assuming it is the tattoo that’s causing this.”
“The tattoo is possessing me?”
“I don’t know, maybe…? I need to…”
“Do more research?”
That came out a lot snappier than Dean intended but hell, Sam wasn’t the one infected with an animated snake tattoo here. Dean was wrung out, with all the strength of a wet rag, but with just one look Sam still managed to fill Dean with guilt for snapping at him. Dammit.
“Okay, okay, I get it. Go talk to whoever you have to talk to. I’ll just…” Dean flapped his arms at Sam in a shooing motion, discovered that his arms were actually made of lead, and let them fall back onto the bed. “I’ll jus’ have a lil’ nap.” He mumbled, his eyes already closing. Jeez. Being cursed or bewitched or tattoo possessed, whatever, was a tiring business. He didn’t even notice Sam carefully covering him with a comforter, as he was sound asleep within seconds.
0x0x0x0x0
Sam stood watch over his sleeping brother for a few moments, making sure this was a natural sleep and not the tattoo taking hold again. Finally satisfied, he scrubbed a hand through his hair while he thought about this whole situation. Someone, or something, had to be controlling the tattoo. But who? And why?
Unless the tattoo itself was alive.
This case from the start had been too many questions and not enough answers, and while that had been a concern when civilians’ lives were at stake, now it was Dean’s life in the balance, and that had tipped the scale over to intolerable. Sam didn’t know how much time he had to solve this, but he was sure there was none to waste.
A look of grim determination settled over his features. The tattoo was definitely Quetzalcoatl. That was even more evident now it had gotten larger, and the design showing the feathers on the serpent was clearer. Whether it had a life of its own (or was trying to get one by sucking its victims hearts dry), or was being controlled by someone or something else, Sam needed to find a weapon to kill the thing. Somehow he knew their conventional hunting tools were not going to work in this case. All the information he’d been able to glean about the ancient South American god pointed to Pre-Columbian weapons being their best bet, which meant something made of a stone like jade, flint or obsidian.
Sam’s eyes lit up as he remembered the gift shop on Deck Ten. He was sure he’d seen a very beautiful black obsidian knife in amongst the display of mostly tacky Mexican souvenirs. The shop would be closed now, of course, but that was no problem for a resourceful Winchester with a well-used set of lock picks.
Sam wasted no time in turning the idea into action. He was in and out of the small souvenir shop in minutes, thankful that the cruise company hadn’t thought to install an alarm system. The knife was a work of art. Its leaf-shaped blade was about six inches long and had an edge sharp enough to shave with. Sam carefully slid the blade back into its leather sheath then slipped it down the front of his corset where it nestled invisibly between the whalebone staves of the bodice.
His next port of call would be the dancer, Seema Banerji. She had been present both times something had happened to Dean, first the tattoo and now this shut down of Dean’s body. Sam didn’t think for a moment Dean had actually fainted, however much he was going to tease Dean about it when all this was over. A guy who had clung onto consciousness for hours when he’d had three broken ribs and a collapsed lung wasn’t going to fade away just from wearing a tight corset. And Sam had noted how this affliction, whatever it was, had at least partially paralysed Dean. There was no doubt about it. This was something supernatural, therefore it must have something to do with the creature they were hunting.
Sam chewed at his bottom lip with frustration, hating that he was no closer to finding out what this particular monster was than when they’d set foot on board the Empress two days ago. He was not about to let some freaking monster outwit a Winchester.
When Sam arrived back at the ballroom, the party was in full swing and looked set to carry on all night. The extra height the heeled boots gave him meant he could scan the room even more easily that usual, and he quickly discovered that the Indian dancer was nowhere to be seen. He was about to leave when he caught sight of the guy who’d been with Seema and Dean earlier. Twix. Another one on this boat who didn’t seem to have a surname, just like Culpho. Sam’s eyes narrowed.
He wasn’t sure why, but he felt drawn to the man, who seemed blissfully unaware of Sam’s towering presence. Twix seemed totally absorbed in drinking an electric blue cocktail. Forgetting all about his previous lack of confidence walking in heels, Sam strode quickly across the dance floor, ignoring pounding beat of the music and the flurry of queens he left in his wake.
Twix looked up at him when he arrived at the bar and smiled as if he’d been anticipating Sam’s arrival.
“Samilicious! How’s Winnie? Feeling better, I hope.”
Sam opened his mouth. Shut it.
“It’s Sam.” It wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but he couldn’t have anyone call him that ridiculous nickname. Not even…
“Who are you?”
Twix’s smile never wavered.
“Who do you think I am? Because I know who you are, Sam Winchester. You are a hunter, and you are trying to stop me bringing my brother back. I can’t allow that.”
Sam took a step backwards, suddenly uncomfortably aware that apart from the knife he needed to kill the serpent, he was unarmed, and worse, wearing a frigging dress.
“Don’t worry, Sam. I’m not going to kill you, not here, and not yet anyway. I have a proposition for you. It’s about Dean’s deal.”
“We don’t make bargains with murdering monsters.” Sam said, but without conviction, and the creature’s mention of Dean effectively stopped him retreating any further. “How do you know about Dean’s deal?”
Twix shrugged. “Everybody knows. You’re famous, you Winchesters. Hunters hate you for opening the doors of Hell, and demons talk about you all the time. Especially you, Sam. Azazel’s chosen one.”
The blood drained from Sam’s face but he stood his ground.
“Not chosen anymore, and besides, Azazel is dead. What can you do for Dean?” He made no attempt keep the scepticism out of his tone.
“I can’t do anything, but my twin can. If you and your brother help me bring him back.”
“Your twin?”
“Quetzalcoatl. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” Twix was looking at Sam with a calculating expression in his light brown eyes, as if he was assessing Sam and finding him lacking. Unconsciously Sam straightened up to his full height, forcing the shorter man to tip his head back to maintain eye contact. So this was Quetzalcoatl’s twin brother, Xolotl, god of lightning and death. He was a lot prettier than the pictures Sam had seen in the sources. At least this version had a human head and, Sam confirmed with a quick glance downwards, his feet were on the right way round.
“I suspected.” Sam said.
Twix nodded, satisfied, then slipped off the barstool. He gestured dismissively at the sparkling bodies gyrating on the dance floor. It was late, and several of the queens were looking somewhat dishevelled by now, wigs askew and make-up shiny with sweat. He caught a glimpse of a grinning Russell grinding groins with a slim queen who looked like a younger, twink version of Ru Paul. Sam had a fleeting thought that it was just as well Dean was out of it, and couldn’t make caustic comments about the DJ’s dubious taste in music as Abba’s Dancing Queen boomed out of the speakers. Though he might have approved of Xolotl, since one of the god’s roles had been patron of ballgames.
“Let’s take this discussion somewhere quieter.” Twix said. He grabbed Sam’s elbow and steered him towards the nearest exit. The two slipped through the crowd as easily as a hot knife through butter. Sam guessed Twix was using what Dean would no doubt call freaky mind powers to persuade people to move out of their path. Certainly he could feel the god’s power prickling his skin like static where Twix was still grasping his arm.
They didn’t speak again until they reached the dark silence that shrouded the back of the theatre on Deck Five. Twix, or should that be Xolotl, finally released Sam and moved away to sit down on a large packing case. He gestured for Sam to do the same but Sam shook his head. He preferred to stay on his feet, ready to move. He felt vulnerable enough as it was, dressed like this and armed with only a small knife made of volcanic glass. He wished he’d thought to conceal at least one steel knife in the top of one of his boots. It probably wouldn’t have been effective against a god but it would have made him feel a bit better.
“We’ve established that you recognised my brother’s presence in Dean’s tattoo, but hadn’t yet worked out that I was involved. So who were you looking for in the ballroom tonight?”
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not,” Xolotl acknowledged the point and moved on. “I think I owe you an explanation. I have been searching for centuries for a way to restore my brother to himself. Quetzalcoatl suffered greatly when the Christians came. I and the other gods diminished and faded as our worshippers lost most of their beliefs, but several of us survived because although they called us by different names, our roles still existed and fear of us was deep-rooted. My power lies in the storms and in death, and that doesn’t change. But my brother was the god of resurrection, and as such could not exist side by side with your Jesucristo. His position was usurped and I nearly lost him entirely.”
Sam bit his lip. He knew he should just kill this god who was responsible for so many deaths, but Dean had less than a year to live, which meant Sam had less than a year to find a way to save his brother from the Pit. A god with powers of resurrection might just offer a way out for Dean. Added to that, Xolotl was trying to save his own brother too. Sam could recognise the hint of desperation on Xolotl’s face because it was a mirror of his own. A tiny voice was asking him, what was the difference between them? What wouldn’t Sam do to save Dean? He had no answer, but the dilemma kept his hand off the obsidian knife.
“The tattoo?”
“Yes. Quetzalcoatl was dying, but his powers of resurrection were still there. I managed to harness enough to capture his essence in the ink of a tattoo on the skin of one of my faithful worshippers, and I have nurtured that essence ever since. Moving from host to host, transferring by the power of life and reproduction, and gaining a little more strength with each transfer. Now I think my brother has sufficient vitality to be able to regenerate in his own form, with Dean’s help.”
“And just how would that help Dean get out of his deal?”
“If my brother were to share some of his essence with Dean, your brother’s human body would become impossible to kill.”
“Dean would be invulnerable?”
“Not invulnerable, no. He could be harmed, but he would not die. Quetzalcoatl’s power would resurrect him if his body was close to death.”
Sam was pacing now, unable to keep still. The hope he was feeling was like too much caffeine, the stimulation making his heart race. He hadn’t forgotten the trail of death that had led Xolotl to this moment, but the withered hearts of the previous victims faded into the background, pushed aside by the heady picture of Dean staying with him, by Sam’s side where he belonged, forever.
What’s dead should stay dead, Sammy, said Dean’s voice inside his head. Sam huffed out a bitter laugh. Yeah, right, Dean. That’s why you brought me back too, hey? He told himself he was just gathering information, not making a decision, but he knew it was a lie. If this had any chance of succeeding, he was going to try it. He had to.
“How would this work?”
Xolotl unsuccessfully tried to conceal a triumphant smile, and Sam winced internally. He might save Dean from Hell by doing this, but he was pretty certain he was probably damning himself at the same time.
Xolotl explained the process and Sam acquiesced. The first step, Xolotl said, was to bring Dean here to perform the ritual to revive Quetzalcoatl. Sam nodded slowly and made to leave to fetch his brother, but Xolotl halted him with a gesture.
“No need to go anywhere, Sam Winchester. Quetzalcoatl has brought your brother to us.”
Sam’s head whipped around so fast he heard a vertebrae crack. Sure enough, there was Dean entering the backstage area, looking wobbly as a new-born foal. At some point Dean had gotten dressed again. He was in the same black outfit he’d been wearing earlier, minus the wig. His face was pale under the still smudged makeup. His eyes were open but his expression was dazed and unfocussed. Sam didn’t think Dean even saw him standing in the shadows as he came to a halt in front of the god of thunder.
0x0x0x0x0
“Strip.” Twix said.
Dean’s hands were moving before his brain even registered the instruction. Vaguely he understood that somehow he was under a compulsion, but he didn’t have the strength to resist. The dress unfastened, slipping to the floor to pool around his feet. The padding followed, leaving Dean standing in his drag queen underwear, swaying on his six inch heels. If he’d been able to feel anything, he’d have been embarrassed about how slutty he must’ve looked, in just stockings and garter and camisole. His wig was gone and his short hair was plastered to his skull with sweat.
The buzzing inside Dean’s head got louder and his skin was almost fizzing, it was tingling so badly. He couldn’t think straight. Then Twix put his hand on Dean’s chest, right over his heart and the curse exploded into life inside him.
“Brother,” Twix said. “Quetzalcoatl.”
Twix’s voice crackled like electricity, and Dean was filled with horror as he felt the snake becoming fully aware under his skin. His whole body was shuddering beyond his ability to control it, and he found himself dropping to the floor on his hands and knees. The snake was moving, its tongue flicking in and out as its feathered head slid up around his pectoral muscle. Then all concerns about it reaching his heart fled when he felt its muscular tail extend down his spine and its tip parted his buttocks.
Oh hell no.
No way was he going to star in some sick Japanese Hentai porn while some monster-dude watched and got his rocks off. Dean started to struggle in earnest, but it was hopeless. Quetzalcoatl was controlling him, and the god’s snake form would not be denied. Dean shivered as the tip of the tail found his hole and started pushing inside. He supposed he should be grateful that the god-snake-whatever was thoughtful enough to self lubricate, or this would have just ripped Dean apart. As it was, Quetzalcoatl was sliding in as easily as it could, for a first time penetration. Then after the first few seconds when Dean involuntarily clenched as tight as he could against the painful intrusion, the prehensile tail pushed past the first ring of muscle and was worming its way deeper into his ass.
Dean hung his head and panted for breath, trying not to think about how this must look, how he must look, spilt open and unresisting.
“Quetzalcoatl, my brother, my twin. I have waited for you so long. I have missed you all this time. Too many years have I spent alone.” Xolotl said.
Dean wanted to groan at the excruciatingly bad dialogue, but all that came out of his mouth was a hiss that sounded like a name. Fuck. It looked like the ancient god had control of his tongue now too. He was starting to feel like he’d ended up in a bad porn version of that Harry Potter film with all the snake talk and the huge python.
Xolotl…
When he’d toyed with the idea of letting a guy fuck him (and yeah, he had thought about it in the past), this was not how he’d imagined it going. At some point Quetzalcoatl’s twin had lost his clothing and with it most of his resemblance to a human being. He now had the head of a dog and though his body was a man’s, it was muscular and hirsute and oh holy shit, very erect. There was no doubt in Dean’s mind about what the god intended to do with that particular attribute, as Xolotl moved out of sight behind him. Just when he thought his situation couldn’t get any worse, two hands grasped his hips. Lightning shot through his bones with a crackle so loud he thought he’d gone deaf. If he’d had control of his vocal chords he would have screamed them raw, but as it was, when the breath left his body it hissed out a different message altogether.
Yessssss, brother. Join with me. Set me free.
Xolotl needed no encouragement. Something hard and blunt nudged at Dean’s hole where he was already stretched wide around Quetzalcoatl’s snake tail. Oh no, no, no that was just not going to happen. It was impossible; he couldn’t take it. For a brief second, Dean’s desperation won out over the feathered serpent’s will, and he twisted in Xolotl’s grip to look around. He caught a glimpse of glowing eyes and distinctly non-human teeth before his head was wrenched back to face front. Those sharp, yellowed teeth he’d seen sank into the meat of Dean’s shoulder, holding him in place, and the dog-headed monster’s breath puffed rank in his nostrils as Xolotl shoved his dick deep into Dean.
This time he was allowed to scream.
0x0x0x0x0
It was Dean’s scream that finally released Sam from the strange paralysis that had gripped him. This was not what he’d intended, nor what he’d discussed with Twix. Xolotl was hurting Dean and that was unacceptable.
This was brutal and wrong, and was going to kill his brother.
Galvanised into action, Sam pulled the obsidian knife out of his bodice, silently thanking the tourist industry for having that souvenir shop on board. Now he just had to pray that his research had been correct, and that this volcanic glass would kill both the dog-headed god, and his serpent twin.
He leapt forward, silent as a panther.
0x0x0x0x0
Dean wasn’t sure what happened next. Everything had gotten even fuzzier after Xolotl shoved that fucking baseball bat up his ass. He remembered finally being able to scream, and the relief he’d felt at vocalising his outrage. Then a ten-ton elephant had landed on his back, crushing him to the floor, and he’d blacked out.He swam back to consciousness with a sense of déjà vu. Sam was shoving his anxious puppy face into Dean’s squashed-up-on-the-floor-face, and hadn’t they done this dance already today? Except this time Sam’s face was splashed with something red that wasn’t lipstick. In fact it looked like blood, and that was enough to wake Dean right up. Shit. Sam was hurt and he needed to get up to check his little brother out.
He wriggled and rolled onto his side. Now he could get a good look at him, Dean could see that the blood Sam was covered with wasn’t his own, and for a change it didn’t seem to be Dean’s either. All of which was good. Feeling a bit happier, Dean managed to sit upright, then winced at the rawness as he landed his weight on his buttocks.
“Ugh, fuck.”
“Dean!” Sam sounded ridiculously relieved, considering he usually got all po-faced if Dean swore too much. Sam’s hands were everywhere, and Dean belatedly realised he had lost most of his clothing again. His cheeks heated when Sam brushed over a bare nipple, and in spite of the soreness in his ass, his cock gave an interested twitch. Oh, no, not again.
Distracted by trying to suppress all inappropriate thoughts about his brother, it was a few moments before Dean registered what Sam was saying.
“Dean, I’ve killed Xolotl, but the minute his twin died, Quetzalcoatl snapped back into the tattoo on your skin. I think I know how to get rid of it, but um…”
“Spit it out, Sammy.”
“You aren’t going to like it. Xolotl told me how Quetzalcoatl was transferring from body to body. By sharing life. Erm, seed, you know?”
Dean leaned back, shifting his weight off his ass and closing his eyes. Until he realised the something warm and solid he was leaning on was in fact Sam, and jerked upright again.
“Just peachy,” he groaned. “More fucking.”
“If you want, we could get someone else to do it, though I’d still have to be here to kill the serpent when it manifested…”
Dean’s eyes flew open and the look on Sam’s face almost killed him dead. Sam was flushed bright red with embarrassment but underneath all that was an expression so lost and full of fear of rejection, Dean felt all his own misgivings slip away. Fuck. He was damned anyway. What difference would a little incest make?
“God no,” he said, “If anyone is doing any fucking tonight, it’s going to be you. I wouldn’t trust anyone else. Even though you are hung like a fucking horse.”
If anything, Sam’s blush deepened, but Dean was happy to see that other vulnerable look fade into a shy grin. Now they just needed to find something to use as lube, because no way was he letting anything else be shoved into his body without greasing the way as thoroughly as he’d grease Baby’s engine. He reckoned it was about time his body had some tender loving care, and who better to give it to him than Sam?
0x0x0x0x0
Half a tub of Vaseline and some time later…
“Just fucking fuck me already will you? Fuck!”
“Why, you sweet-talker. I hope you are a bit more eloquent with the girls, Dean.” Sam was grinning, Dean could hear it in his voice. His brother was enjoying this a little too much, Dean thought.
“Fuck you!”
“Mmmm, I rather thought it was the other way round,” Sam said, as the head of his cock pushed in, and Dean was abruptly lost for words, though he did manage a loud and pained groan that was, disturbingly, echoed by Sam.
“God. Dean, so tight…uh…”
Dean felt a perverse sense of satisfaction that he didn’t seem to be the only one struggling for words. In fact, his brain seemed to want to babble nothing but nonsense now, possibly trying to take his mind off the fact his little brother was fucking him up the ass.
“Just keep your mind on the job, Sammy,” he wheezed, as he waited for Sam’s next move with some trepidation. He still wasn’t convinced that huge monster his brother called his dick was going to fit, however much lube was used.
“God, why do gay guys think this is such a good idea? I mean, there’s no way your gigantic cock is gonna fi…fuck!”
That last came out as an undignified squeak as Sam’s hips jerked and the aforementioned monster cock shoved inside another couple of inches. Dean dropped his forehead down onto his forearms and panted like a woman in labour while Sam’s sweat dripped onto his back. Was it his imagination or could he hear something sizzling where the moisture hit his skin?
“Shit, Sammy, this had better fucking work. I don’t want to die impaled on my little brother’s dick. It’s just not dignified.”
“Christ, Dean. Are you always this mouthy when you have sex?”
Sam shifted slightly, causing Dean to give out another involuntary moan. He twisted his head to give Sam his best scornful look. “Oh yes, I always scream and beg when I’m on my hands and knees having incestuous butt-sex with my brother, because, you know, I do this all the fucking time…Oh man, will you just give it to me, please? It can’t hurt worse than a dislocated shoulder or a bullet wound, or a were cat’s claws, right?”
“Dean, if you’d just relax a little and let me…” Sam put one large hand onto Dean’s hip to hold him steady, and that was all the warning Dean got before Sam was thrusting right in. Dean might have been shocked to feel Sam’s balls slap up against his ass, if it wasn’t for the fact that Sam’s dick had just ignited something deep inside his anus that had fireworks going off in every nerve-ending in his body. All the breath seemed to have been punched out of him so he couldn’t even cry out as Sam pulled back, thrust forward and …Holy Fuck! Did it again. And again.
Guess that explained why gay sex was so popular after all. The joys of the prostate hadn’t been overstated. Dean’s body jumped involuntarily as Sam stroked over his prostate again, Dean’s dick jerking in sympathy, while leaking pre-come onto the polished wooden floor.
Sam was getting into a rhythm now, and Dean was absolutely on board with that idea. His own dick, that had been distinctly unimpressed with proceedings up till now was suddenly hard enough to punch holes in the floor and was aching for some attention. Dean wanted to oblige but his arms were busy trying not to turn into jello from supporting his weight, while his thighs burned from attempting to thrust back onto Sam’s glorious magic healing-cock. Actually, right now, Dean didn’t really care if the healing cock thing was a complete fallacy. His whole world had narrowed down to the heady rush of blood that was throbbing through him in time with every thrust Sam made. It was pure and exhilarating, and nothing that it should have been.
Dean was drowning, and he didn’t care.
“Oh crap, it’s coming…” Sam said. It took Dean a few moments to realise Sam had said ‘it’ not ‘I’m’, and a couple more precious seconds to remember what they were actually there for, and the real reason they were having sex. With each other.
Then he felt it, like Sam had said. The tattoo – no, Quetzalcoatl - was moving. In a prickle and brush of feathers on his skin, the serpent wormed away from where it had been coiled around his heart, and began making its way up around his shoulder and down his back, towards where he and Sam were joined. Sam wasn’t letting up and Dean thought if Sam came, when Sam came, that would be when Quetzalcoatl could make the leap, would somehow transfer from his body to Sam’s. It would start trying to take over his little brother’s body like the god had been trying to possess Dean. Now Dean’s breathing got thicker, harsher, more strained, not because of the pounding Sam was giving him, but from sheer fear.
He couldn’t have said what it was that scared him the most. That they’d succeed in ganking this ancient god of life and resurrection that he was busy blaming for the overwhelming lust he was feeling, leaving him with no screen between his illicit desires and his conscience. Or that they would fail, and Sam would be hurt, or dead again, or perhaps worse, not Sam any more.
It didn’t occur to him to fear that he might die. In some ways, Dean thought of himself as already dead.
0x0x0x0
It was hard to concentrate on the task at hand when Sam had Dean clenched around him like this. His brother was so fucking beautiful spread open and willing, and even though Dean’s hole was already stretched from the earlier penetrations, it was still hot and tight and perfect around Sam’s cock. Because it was Dean, and Sam had dreamed about this for longer than he would ever acknowledge.
Sam had been gentle but thorough while prepping Dean, and not just because he wanted to make each moment he could caress his brother’s soft skin last as long as possible. Stroking his hands down Dean’s flanks and finally being allowed to linger over the smooth firm curve of Dean’s ass was blissful enough, but the first time he sank a long finger into the furled muscle of Dean’s hole was just amazing. Feeling the heat of Dean’s body and the way the muscles fluttered against the intrusion had Sam on the verge of coming before they had even started. He’d had to grip the base of his cock hard to get himself back under control. And remind himself that this was important, was about more than ‘just’ sex; as if sex with Dean could ever be ‘just’ anything.
He could hear the apprehension and the uncertainty underneath Dean’s bluster. Sam could always see right through Dean’s defences when he was brave enough to let his own barriers down. Sam hadn’t needed his Psychology classes at Stanford to tell him why he had built up so many walls between himself and Dean over the years, just like he didn’t need anyone else’s analysis of why they were all crumbling now.
He slicked up his cock and kept his eyes open when he pushed into Dean because he didn’t want to miss a single moment. He wanted to smell the sweat, see, taste and touch, and most of all he wanted to hear Dean coming apart as he thrust deeper, buried himself inside his brother as if the act of fucking could blend them into a single focused soul.
When Quetzalcoatl awoke, Sam was almost too far gone to notice, and the feathered god had reached the dip in Dean’s back before Sam pulled himself back from the brink, and in a panic groped for the black knife, still slippery with Xolotl’s blood.
Dean’s body was quivering under him as Quetzalcoatl reared up from Dean’s spine, its form solidifying into a sinuous deadly head, jaws open wide and hissing. Sam didn’t hesitate. With one movement, he thrust both knife and dick home, the one into Quetzalcoatl’s sinewy neck, the other into his brother. Sam came with a shout, spurting hot come deep inside Dean while the ancient snake god splintered into nothingness along with the black glass of the knife.
Well, that felt suitably climactic, Sam thought, as his body juddered against Dean’s thighs, Dean clenching around his dick, milking every last drop out of him. He hoped Dean had got off as well, because he was really too wrung out to take care of his brother for the next decade or so. Sam slumped forward and draped himself around Dean’s warm back, snuffling something into Dean’s ear which might have been ‘love you’ but was safely unintelligible.
Yeah. The job was done. Any regrets at maybe losing a chance to save Dean, the fear and sense of urgency, it had all faded into the background for a while, overlaid with a pleasant buzz of contentment. Sam was too fucked out and yeah, happy even, to do anything except allow his exhaustion to claim him. He was sure worry would have its pound of flesh soon enough.
0x0x0x0
Sam was nursing the horrible green cocktail Dean had bought him earlier, while anxiously scanning the room for his missing brother.
Dean had been shifty and evasive in the two days since they’d killed Quetzalcoatl, and Sam didn’t like it. Although Dean appeared to be relaxed about what had happened between them, Sam was anxious and on edge. He was sure if they hadn’t been trapped aboard the cruise ship for another three days, Dean would have done a runner by now. Sam couldn’t believe Dean wasn’t a nuclear meltdown waiting to happen, as soon as the full implications of their incestuous god-killing exploits hit home.
Now Dean had disappeared for what felt like hours after saying he was just hitting the head, leaving Sam alone propping up the bar and fending off advances. There were far too many amorous queens around for comfort and Sam made a very obvious target with his broad shoulders and height. Even out of costume, the Winchester boys seemed to be a hit with the Courtiers. At first Sam was too busy giving the latest one the firm brush off to notice that the stage was occupied by someone new, and more to the point, someone who wasn’t totally awful. Tonight was open mike night, and so far the number who’d chosen to sing bad karaoke had been excruciating.
When his current companion stopped talking to Sam and started staring open-mouthed at the figure in the spotlight, Sam finally started paying attention as the beautifully mellow tenor voice filtered through the microphone.
He's home again from another day
She smiles at him as he walks through the door
She wonders if it will be okay
It's hard for her when he doesn't respond
He says babe you look a mess
You look dowdy in that dress
It's just not like it used to be
Then she says...
“Wow,” said the sparkly pink lip-sticked Queen leaning on Sam’s arm. “It’s Raquel! I never thought I’d see her on stage again! How fabulous!”
But her words faded into insignificance and all Sam’s attention was honing in on the stage, because Russell had stopped singing the opening bars and another voice, rough and husky, far less tuneful and a hundred times more familiar, had taken up the song’s refrain.
I may not be a lady
But I'm All Woman
From Monday to Sunday I work harder than you know
I'm no classy lady
But I'm All Woman
And the woman needs a little love to make her strong
You're not the only one
Sam’s stomach flipped as the spotlight swung across the darkness to highlight Dean. His brother had on a plain sheath dress that clung at the hips and did nothing to hide the muscular, masculine breadth of Dean’s shoulders. He had a wig on, one that gave him a soft bob that framed his fine cheekbones without making him look like anyone other than himself. His face was very simply made up, just some kohl accentuating his huge eyes, lip-gloss giving them a sheen under the lights that made them look just-kissed, and god, but Sam wanted to. Very much. The strength of the feeling that swept over him came as a total surprise.
Sam blinked as the spotlight switched over to Russell as the queen of drag queens’ turn to take over the song came again. Dean’s after-image was burned into Sam’s retinas as if he could still see him standing there in the dark, with those high-heeled pumps emphasising Dean’s muscular calves and the bow of his legs. When the chorus came round, and Dean’s voice kicked in. Sam knew Dean was looking right at him, was singing just for him. His crazy, macho, utterly masculine brother wanted to tell the whole freaking world how he was all woman for Sam, and Sam was on his feet without a thought in his head other than he wanted Dean.
He was weaving his way through the small tables with their candles and white tablecloths, overwhelmed by this huge wave of affection and love, and determination and lust, all mixed up together into some sort of heady cocktail of emotions that meant he didn’t have a second thought about stepping onto the dark part of the stage where he’d last seen Dean standing. His blood was thrumming so loud he could barely hear Russell singing his part of the song, but when Dean’s turn came round again, his brother’s voice up close coming out of the deep dark just before the light hit him? Well, that he heard with his whole body. Dean’s voice was gravelly and intoxicating and vibrated through Sam’s soul like undertow moving shingle down a shore.
You'll always be a lady
Cause You're All Woman
From Monday to Sunday I love you much more than you know
You're a classy lady
Cause You're All Woman
This woman needs a loving man to keep her warm…
Then Sam was reaching for Dean and pulling him off the stage, to a cacophony of cheers and catcalls, whoops and whistles, leaving a grinning Russell to finish off the musical entertainment on his own.
Sam had other more entertaining prospects in mind.
The End
You can watch Dean's song to Sam here
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You can watch Dean's song to Sam here
Back to Masterpost