November 2006

Disclaimer: Owned by Kripke, Singer and the CW, lucky bastards!

Sam had tried so hard to resist doing this again. Heíd left home, left his father and, most importantly, had left Dean behind. He had been determined to start over, start freshóto have a new life, a safe and normal life. The ghosts, werewolves and things in the closet that prompted him being given a .45 when he was only five years old were a thing of the past, the nightmare heíd finally woken from. Collegeóbooks, dorm rooms, all-nighters, keggers, varsity football and more importantly varsity cheerleadersóthis was Samís life now. This was his normal. His reality.

So how the hell did he get here?

The bar was beyond seedy and filled to the brim with the dregs of humanity. There were bikers, truckers, rednecks and suckers. Sam hadnít wanted to come here, but the lure of who waited for him inside was too much to resist no matter how long and hard heíd fought. Sam had managed to last three months. That was it. Three months of avoiding this, of denying, of telling himself he was finally Ďnormalí. And yet here he was, lowlife bar with lowbrow clientele, drinking a beer and watching one sucker after another get hustled at the pool table. And Sam couldnít take his eyes off of the badass bad boy who was running the show.

The short dirty blonde hair managed to look soft and shiny even under the old yellow lights of the bar. Green eyes danced as yet another schmuck sauntered up, laid down his cash and left with his tail between his legs after getting soundly spanked at eight ball. Full lips glistened, wet with beer; the smooth column of throat undulated in order to swallow the last of the bottle. "Sorry, fellas, Iíve got to call it a night. Have to hit the road early," came the shivery hot drawl as a leather jacket was shrugged on and the winnings stuffed into an inner pocket. Sauntering over to the bar where Sam sat, he looked down at Sam, a devil-may-care smile plastered on his face. "You cominí or what?"

Another cheap motel room, like so many Sam had been in over the span of his life. Thin walls and thinner blankets. Some fool three doors down raging on about the end of the world and how they were all damned while polishing off the bottle of Johnny Walker Red that he had been holding in his hands when they drove up. Heíd stood at his door, glaring at the two young men, stripping them with his eyes and calling them sodomizers and fornicators before slamming inside to grab his bible and start to preach loud enough for all the guests of the no-tell motel to hear.

It hadnít bothered them at all.

The door had barely been closed and locked when Sam had found himself slammed into its hard surface, his mouth practically raped as the desperation of being too long without a taste of this forbidden need, too long without this touch of sin in both of their lives burned through both men.

Sam couldnít remember their clothes coming off or how they made it to the bed. All he could concentrate on was being touched by these calloused hands after so long without. God, how heíd missed this, missed Dean so badly it had been a constant ache in his gut. How could he have walked away from what they had, no matter how taboo their need for each other had been? But it hadnít been Ďnormalí, and Sam so desperately wanted to be just that that he had denied them both.

"Shh, itís okay, baby; Iíll take care of you, I promise," came the immediate and honeyed promise, and Samís cheeks stained with heat. He hadnít even known he had been making the desperate keening noise that filled the room until his mouth was once more captured and dominated.

Hands were everywhere on his body. They moved, stroked, caressed and bruised. Fingers dug into his hips and his arms, rough nails scratched red gouges along his back and the flanks of his thighs, and Sam reveled in it. Head thrown back, gasping for more, he found himself pinned down, hands held in a viselike grip as his nipples were almost chewed raw and his body was so deliciously abused by teeth and mouth and tongue.

"Please, GOD, please! Iíve missed this so much, missed you," Sam choked out, struggling for purchase, trying to increase the contact of their bodies. He needed more friction, needed the slick slide of cocks grinding against each other, the delicious burn of a cock slowly burying itself in his ass. Sam wanted to be ridden hard, wanted to come, screaming out Deanís name, wanted to be fucked raw and feel it every second of every day for the next month.

"I said donít worry; Iíve got you." Lips made for cock-sucking wrapped around Samís dick and swallowed him whole, making his body arch and go rigid as if heíd been hit with a massive jolt of electricity.

"Fuck, so good, more," Sam sighed as he carded his fingers through soft hair. Fire danced behind closed eyes, and his hips bucked upwards, forcing his cock deeper into the welcoming throat, fucking his face.

The other man pulled up and off of Sam, gasping for breath. "Easy, tiger, Iíd like to keep my vocal chords in one piece if you donít mind," he chuckled gruffly. "If I canít talk, how can I sweet talk the ladies?"

Sam growled, eyes snapping open. "Shut up. Shut the hell up about all your fucking conquests. I donít want to hear it. I just want you to fuck me already," he snarled, lunging upwards to bite down hard on his favorite spot, the patch of skin between neck and shoulder.

"You want it, babe, you got it!" A condom was quickly unwrapped and slid onto a lube-coated dick. Slick fingers worked their way into Samís ass, stretching and loosening him, making him ready, making him crazy.

"Christ, enough with the prep work. Just shove your fucking dick in and ride me!" Sam howled in frustration. Each and every time Dean had done this to him in the past, it had been the exact same shit, draw it out, drag it on, make little Sammy go out of his ever-loving mind until he begged and pleaded with Dean to just get on with it and do him hard and fast.

Sam expected to have to beg some more this time around, so he was surprised when he was flipped onto his stomach and a couple of pillows were shoved under his hips. "Whatever you want, princess," came the sarcastic little quip just as Sam was filled hard and fast with hot dick.

"Yes, oh fuck, please, just fuck me please..." Sam whined, hips canting up and back, long line of back dipping and curving as he hollowed himself out in order to feel it even more.

"Christ, yes!" Hot breath growled in his ear and powerful fingers dug into his hips, holding on so tight Sam just knew heíd have bruises there come the morning.

The pace of their fuck picked up, became almost animalistic rutting as hips slapped together and then separated. The only sounds in the room were the sound of flesh hitting flesh and the squelch of lube accompanied by panting grunts and keening mewls.

Over and over Sam was slammed into harder and harder. He was slowly driven up the mattress by the strength of his loverís thrusts, and soon he was bracing his hands against the headboard in order to keep his head from being slammed into it time and again.

"Oh yeah, is this what you wanted, little bitch? This what you like? Címon, College Boy, scream for me. I want to hear you; I want the preacher down the other end of the motel to hear you," came the breathy growl next to his ear before those sinful lips slid around to the nape of his neck and bit down hard.

It was just the last bit of stimulation Sam needed. "DEAN!" he shouted, but the word was garbled and unintelligible. It was too much; it was just enough. With a choked off scream he came so hard he blacked out.

When Sam came to again, he found himself face down on the bed, the wet spot beneath his stomach, and his ass felt like it has been well and truly reamed. And he was alone in the room.

Groaning slightly as muscles that hadnít been used and abused in a very long time protested, Sam rolled onto his side and sat up with a wince. There, on the nightstand next to the table was a note.

"Thanks for the ride, kid. It made my night. Iíll be your Dean any day."

"God, Dean, Iím sorry," Sam whispered. "I just miss you so damned much."


Cipher: One having no influence or value; a nonentity.


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