That Sweet Fall Into Sin

Title: Subconscious
Author: Jinni (jinni.tth@gmail.com)
Rated: NC17
Disclaimer: All things SPN belong to Eric Kripke, et al.
Warnings: Wincest, m/m graphic sex
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Notes: So I’m already thinking of a remix of this. Anyone interested? Let me know.
Notes2: The fic was inspired by a conversation with friends...something along the lines of River being able to "kill people with her brain"... and me wondering if Sam could screw someone with his. The conversation inspired an icon...which inspired a fic.
Summary: Sam might not have control over his powers when he’s awake, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he isn’t in full control while he’s asleep.


~*~*~

Dean woke, coming hard and fast, the firm pressure around his cock not letting up as his dick pulsed with every successive wave of release. He groaned and pressed into the touch, unthinking as his brain imploded for that span of time between when his cock started pumping and the final blessed spasm of orgasm left his body, leaving him covered in sticky, warmth.

He must’ve been loud, because the next thing he knew Sam was calling across the span between the beds, through darkness, his voice heavy with sleep, “Dean? What’s wrong?”

The embarrassed flush that had crept into his cheeks left and Dean breathed a soft sigh of relief that Sam didn’t seem to know what had happened. Jerking off around his brother? Yeah, sure, he’d done that before. But only when Sam was sleeping and he was always damn sure to keep his voice down, to not make any noise that would give himself away. The absolute last thing he needed was Sam to wake up and realize that Dean was jerking off just a few feet away. At least, that’s what Dean had told himself for the last six months, as feelings that shouldn’t even exist within him for Sammy had began to spiral out of control.

It was just too much time spent together, just the two of them, he told himself. It was – not natural – but not to be unexpected. That didn’t make it less wrong.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, sounding a little less sleepy.

Other than just having the best wet dream I’ve had since I was a fucking teen? Yeah, I’m peachy, Dean thought. Out loud, he said, “Yeah, must’ve had a nightmare or something.”

Sam snorted as if to say that it served him right for the mocking he usually gave Sam over the same thing and then he yawned loudly. “’Kay. Night.”

“Night.”

Dean sat up enough to pull his t-shirt over his head, using it to clean up the mess he’d made on his stomach. What the fuck had that been? Try as he might, he couldn’t piece together exactly what the dream itself had been about, just that slow and steady pressure up and over his cock. Big, strong hands encircling him. A guy, then. And, yeah, that was okay. He liked guys just as much as he did girls.

It had felt real. Like someone was actually in bed with him, jacking him off.

Still, not one to look a gift orgasm in the mouth – especially one that had felt that good, Dean shrugged it off. What point was there to over-thinking something like that?

~*~*~

The next night found him panting in bed, again.

And he was sure this time that he could feel something around his dick, stroking him with a firm squeeze through the wracking shudder of his orgasm.

He was fucking positive that something was there touching him.

Then again, he rationalized, it could have just been a dream. He sure as fuck was tired enough after a day spent chasing ghosts – literally – around a local cemetery.

“Dean?”

“Another nightmare,” Dean told Sam with a sigh.

“Dude – seriously. That’s my gig,” Sam laughed, exhaustion and something tighter - tension? - in his voice. “Now stop waking me up. I was having the best dream.”

Dean would’ve laughed if he wasn’t having a minor freak out.

~*~*~

The next night Dean stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, too tense to sleep and desperate to get an answer to what the fuck was going on. He liked a good wet dream as much as the next guy, but this was pushing it. He’d thought things through and maybe – just maybe – this was some sort of spirit or a new kind of succubus. He was sure he’d felt a hand on him when he woke up the night before. Positive. And, fuck yeah, it had felt good. But a lot of things in life felt good and ended up being bad for you. Like succubi.

So he’d decided to wait up and see if anything happened out of the ordinary. One night of missed sleep wouldn’t kill him and might go a long way towards putting his mind at ease. It could have just been a very realistic dream a small part of his brain was still trying to insist. Dean swatted at that part with a mental hand and squirmed a little in the bed, easing in for a long night.

The lights were off and Sam was fast asleep, breathing deeply. The only light was coming through the too-thin curtains over the single window. If whatever this was only came to him when he was sleeping, then Dean was going to do the best fake out that he could.

He shut his eyes.

Time passed. Minutes. An hour. It was getting harder for him to stay awake with every second that ticked by, the feat made even more so difficult with his eyes closed and nothing but the inside of his eyelids to stare at.

Two hours had passed by his estimation when he felt it – a light slide of hand over his leg. It felt like a caress. Like the gentle touch of a lover, if he had to be honest. It squeezed at his calf, and a gentle pressure circled for a moment at the muscle – like a thumb massaging away the tension. It didn’t work. Dean stiffened, but otherwise didn’t move, waiting to see if the thing would give itself away. Just a little hint to let him know what it was and then he could waste this bitch. Get back to nights where he wasn’t molested in his fucking sleep.

Or, turned out, when he was awake.

The ghostly hand moved higher, gently massaging as it went. Squeezing and grasping. With every inch that it moved, Dean felt his heart hammer just a little more.

“Okay, that’s enough of that, you freak,” he muttered under his breath, keeping as quiet as possible. The last thing he wanted was to wake Sammy up with this shit. Not yet, anyway. Not until he could figure out a way to make it sound like he hadn’t been getting jacked off by something supernatural for the last two nights.

Ohgodfucknobad, Dean’s thoughts went ragged as the presence did the same thing it had done every night so far. Long, firm fingers danced over his dick, teasing the limp flesh. They dipped between his thighs and it was instinct alone that had Dean spreading his legs, welcoming the touch before he realized just what the fuck he was doing. Then he was moving the sheet away, prying at the invisible hand, trying to get it off of him. He could feel each individual finger as he pushed at it.

But the fucker wouldn’t budge. It moved only where it wanted, which was a continuing tease of Dean’s cock. He bit his lower lip, body responding automatically even though his heart wasn’t into it. He tried to pry at the fingers, but though he could feel them, it was as if they couldn’t feel his touches.

He was helpless to it, and that freaked him the fuck out like nothing else had so far.

“Sam!” he called out, uncaring at this point that waking Sammy up meant that he have to explain that he had a ghostly hand on his fucking cock. “Sammy!”

“What?” Sam snapped awake, alert and ready so quick that Dean reminded himself to be proud later, when he wasn’t –

Wait.

It was gone.

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Sam was there, at the side of the bed, staring down at him through sleep-mussed hair. Dean exhaled and sat up, hoping that the room was too dark for Sam to notice that his dick was hanging half out of his boxers. He ran a hand through his own hair, trying to think.

“I think something’s haunting me, dude.”

~*~*~

“Figures you’d get the frisky spirit,” Sam said with a laugh on the fourth night. They’d both turned in early, after a day spent researching. The room still smelled of sage from the purification they’d done that afternoon. Protection sigils and salt marked the door and window. Still, they were going to both stay awake tonight.

It sort of figured that nothing happened.

~*~*~

“Again?” Sam asked sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand rubbing at Dean’s arm. “Seriously – what the fuck?”

“Don’t know,” Dean muttered. Five nights of this crap. Well, except for last night when, of course, Sam had been up to try to get a glimpse of whatever the fuck it was. It was just his luck that whatever this was didn’t want Sam to be awake when it made its move. It was a prudish pervert of a spirit, if such a thing even existed. Must be why it disappeared every time he woke Sammy up.

Wait.

Things clicked together in Dean’s head so quickly that his breath left him in a rush.

”What?”

“Nothing,” Dean lied through his teeth. “Just tired.”

Sam nodded and gave his arm a final pat. “We’ll figure this thing out, man.”

Dean didn’t respond. His mind was already rushing along lines of logic, putting together evidence.

Whatever this thing was, it came to him while he was sleeping.

If Sammy was awake, it didn’t show itself.

It all made sense now.

Sammy was possessed and it could only use him when he was asleep!!

~*~*~

Sammy was not possessed, Dean was forced to admit halfway through the next day. He’d ‘accidentally’ spilled holy water on him first thing in the morning – nothing.

Then he’d engaged in one of the most fucking ridiculous conversations that he’d ever had in his entire life, while driving to the store to get some more salt.

“You ever wonder what people think of us?” Dean had asked.

”All the time.”

“I mean,” he’d continued like Sam hadn’t said a word. “We go around saying Christo all the time. Here a Christo. There a Christo. Everywhere a Christo.” He’d looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye the entire time, but the only thing he saw on his brother’s face was confusion.

“Dude – I’d ask if you’re possessed, but you just sort of nixed that idea,” Sam had joked.

Dean hadn’t thought it was funny then, and he didn’t think it was funny now.

If Sam wasn’t possessed, why did this seem to be linked to his little brother’s sleeping patterns?

When it came to him that night, Dean just went with it.

He didn’t know what else to do.

~*~*~

Sam was up and out of the bed the next morning before Dean woke up. He could hear the shower running as he slowly pulled himself from sleep, groaning at the feel of come-hardened fabric against his dick.

Fucking hell, this thing was starting to annoy him.

Then again, he was sort of starting to get used to the great hand jobs every night.

Could it be called a hand job if there was no actual hand?

Dean smirked, rolling his eyes at his own stupid thoughts. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and shucked off his boxers, shuffling across the room to his duffle for a fresh pair. Halfway there, he stumbled over something on the floor.

“Damn it, Sam,” Dean muttered, bending to grab his brother’s t-shirt from the floor. Damn kid was always leaving his stuff lying around. His hand flexed in the cotton.

Dean dropped the t-shirt to the floor, more in surprise than anything, hand wiping at his boxers to get rid of the slick wetness he’d unknowingly touched. Only one thing that could be and that knowledge got to him more than it should, tightening things that had no business tightening. Well, well, looked like Sammy’d had a good dream last night. The thought of teasing him came and then went just as quickly. No way in hell he could get away with that shit while he was being haunted by a freaky ass ghost-of-pornos-past.

~*~*~

Night seven arrived with a bang that had Dean whimpering right from the start. There was no gentle lead up and foreplay. This time the fingers were rightthere, around his cock, stroking him to hardness. Dean sucked in a breath and bit the inside of his cheek. Fuck if he wasn’t going to enjoy these little nightly visits if he couldn’t get rid of this pervy sonofabitch.

He bucked into the hand, hips rocking in time with the rhythmic strokes. Something suspiciously like a thumb swiped over the head of his cock and Dean moaned through his teeth, bringing his arm up to press against his mouth at the last moment to muffle the sound.

Sam stirred, murmuring something under his breath, and the hand on Dean’s cock faltered, stuttered.

Dean bit back a groan when the hand started up again.

Then there was a second feeling, between his legs. It pressed firmly against his thighs, and Dean complied by spreading them apart.

Then –

Fuckfuckyesgodfuck.

He didn’t want to think about the fact that this freaky ass ghost or whatever now had what felt like a long, thick finger up his ass. It felt too fucking good once the initial burn had worn off, his body relaxing around the intrusion.

The finger twitched, curved, and Dean was crying out.

He was moaning through his orgasm when Sam snapped awake and his nightly visitor disappeared. Dean bit into the flesh of his forearm, knowing even as he did it that there was no way in hell that Sam couldn’t know exactly what he was doing. Dean wrapped his hand around his cock, replacing the loss he felt not having those spectral fingers around him anymore. He twitched and pulsed in his hand, come streaming from the head of his cock, down and over his hand, splashing onto his stomach.

“God, Dean,” Sam choked out, voice strangled.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind Sam, Dean’s body relaxing with the final aching pulse of his release. He wiped off with his shirt and rolled onto his side.

By the time Sammy came out of the bathroom, Dean was pretty sure he was doing a reasonable impression of someone that was sleeping.

Whatever the case, Sam didn’t say a word.

~*~*~

Awkward didn’t begin to describe the next morning. Dean tried to keep a smirk on his lips, an uncaring gleam to his eyes, but it was damned hard with Sam doing his best to look anywhere but at him.

”This is getting out of control,” Sam said finally, over the sandwiches Dean had run out to get them for lunch.

”You don’t say,” Dean snapped. He took a bite of his sandwich. It tasted like sand in his mouth, and it was all that he could do to swallow the lump of bread and meat in his mouth. He reached for his soda, knocking back a good half of the can before he set it down again. The sandwich was pushed away.

”Is there anything else you can tell me about it?”

Dean blinked. “Other than the fact that he has great technique?” he deadpanned.

“He?”

Oh. Shit.

Dean looked away from Sam’s wide-eyed stare. He cleared his throat and glanced at the sandwich, wondering if he could manage to choke down another bite of it if it meant that he didn’t have to answer Sam’s question just yet.

”How do you know it’s a guy, Dean?” Sam asked, voice low and reasonable.

“I just know,” Dean growled. He pushed away from the table and started pacing the room. He wanted to be cocky about this, just fess up to Sam, but the last thing he wanted was to alienate him.

“You just know,” Sam echoed. Then he laughed. “Been with a lot of guys, Dean?”

Dean flushed and stopped in his tracks. Fuck it. When he looked at Sam again, his chin was lifted and his eyes were clear. There wasn’t a damn thing he had to be ashamed about. So he liked to sometimes play for the home team. Who the fuck cared?

“You have,” Sam breathed.

Was it just Dean’s imagination, or did Sam’s eyes just get darker, his chest rise and fall a little faster?

No. That was stupid – crazy thoughts. Why the fuck would Sam…

Dean’s brain shut down and refused to go any further than that. He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for Sam to say something – anything – about what Dean had just unwittingly revealed to him.

Sam laughed softly, and shook his head. Whatever haze had clouded his eyes was gone and in its place was left something purer. A wide, gentle smile, lips stretching over teeth until the smile took up his entire face. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

Dean frowned. “What type would that be, little brother?”

Sam shrugged. “Same kind I am.”

Oh.

Just when he thought his life couldn’t be thrown anymore off balance, Dean thought.

How the hell was he supposed to keep those dirty, impure thoughts to himself knowing that?

~*~*~

That night was a time of experimentation. He let the hand whisper over his skin, tugging at his half-hard cock for a long minute, grinding up and into the solid pressure. Then he forced himself to sit up, seeing if the feeling would follow. It did. Dean licked his lips, head dropping. The hand on his cock sped up. Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Getting the will power to stand up and put one foot in front of the other was difficult, but he managed.

The entire time, the feeling stayed with him.

Walking around with a hand jacking him off? That was something that Dean had to admit was something pretty fucking weird. Not as weird as the ghostly hand being there in the first place, but pretty damn weird nonetheless.

He was standing over his brother’s bed before he even realized he was moving in that direction. Dean sucked in a breath through his teeth, knowing that this was so sick, so wrong. This was his brother, for Christ’s sake! Dean’s hands fisted at his sides, and he told himself to turn around, walk away, to finish this in his bed instead of standing over his brother like a goddamnedpervert.

But his feet weren’t listening. His eyes traveled over the smooth plane of Sam’s back, wondering when he’d taken his t-shirt off. At least he could honestly say that he’d never looked at Sam like this before he left for Stanford. Back then Sammy had been lean angles and gangly limbs.

He had never had thoughts like these before Sammy grew up. It was a small comfort, but one that he clung to.

Sam rolled onto his back, and Dean held his breath, ready to move away. The hand around him clenched, but kept stroking.

Sam’s lips were parted, one arm flung up and over his head. The sheet had shifted and pulled down, baring Sam’s flat, toned stomach. He followed the lines of muscle downward, stopping when he reached the edge of the sheet.

The edge of the sheet that was tented by his brother’s hard cock.

Dean’s knees went weak. He licked his lips and tried to step back, but those damn feet of his still weren’t working.

It was like an epiphany when he figured it all out finally. Sam sleeping. Sam awake. Sam aroused and a hand Dean’s cock. The realization hit him.

Or that might’ve just been his orgasm.

~*~*~

“So – do you dream about me or guys in general, Sammy?”

The look on Sam’s face said it all.

“Dean –“

“You’re the one doing it,” Dean told him, matter-of-fact, trying to ignore the way his cock had leapt to attention. “You and that damned telekinesis.”

“I can’t control that,” Sam argued with a shake of his head.

“When you’re awake,” Dean corrected. “See – I think you can do it just fine when you’re not thinking about it, when its just your subconscious mind in control. So you dream and I’m right there, close by. Your brain wants to make it happen, so it does.”

Sam swallowed, his face flushed, and he looked away from Dean. The look on his face was pain and grief and guilt and regret.

“I’m sorry. I’ve tried not to… tried not to feel that way,” Sam said, finally.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean nodded. He hid a grin at Sam’s startled look. “And I’m thinking that’s not working out so well for us. Want to try something else?”

~*~*~

Sam was bare before him, cock straining upwards. The glistening head was swollen and angry-looking. Dean smirked at the sight, his own cock bobbing between his legs, reminding him that it wanted some attention. He stroked it once, twice, feeling the pressure build. Sam’s breath caught in his throat. His hand strayed up to his own cock, and Dean shook his head, taking it in his free hand.

”You’ve been doing enough touching for both of us lately, Sammy,” he chastised lightly. Wrapping his hands around Sam’s cock, Dean adjusted to the weight of it.

“Didn’t know I was… god, Dean, don’t…harder…I didn’t know I was doing it,” Sam half-protested, half-begged, as Dean started a slow stroke.

It was fitting that this be their first time together. Hand jobs in full light, no hiding in the darkness. No telekinetic hands reaching out to do what their minds hadn’t been able to accept.

“Uh huh,” Dean purred. He leaned over, resting his lips against his brother’s collarbone, nipping at the skin there. Tongue lapping and pressing at the sweat-salted skin, Dean groaned low in his throat. It wasn’t fair that he was already this close.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” he muttered against Sam’s skin. “Wanted you. Wanted this.”

Sam laughed, but it caught in his throat, coming out as a moan. His hips bucked up, cock sliding through Dean’s grasp. In and out, in and out, and Dean didn’t try to stop or control him; needed Sam to come with him and soon.

nownownownownow

The chant filled his mind, and it took Dean a moment through the veil of lust to realize that it was Sam that was saying it. A plea, a cry, a begging gasp of a groan that licked at Dean’s dick, balls tightening against his body. He was coming embarrassingly quickly after that, spilling over his hand. It landed in sticky strings on Sam’s stomach. Sam followed along not even two seconds later and Dean was treated to a sight that he’d only been able to imagine before – his brother’s face as he came, eyes shut tight, lashes fluttered against his cheeks, lips open in a wide ‘o’ as he moaned loud enough that the people one room over had to hear him.

Dean didn’t care.

He looked down at him, watching each and every thing, committing it to his memory. Sam pushed up into his hand one last time, and then his body went boneless and limp.

Dean leaned back on his heels, shaking his head. He laughed under his breath, holding up his hands for inspection, wishing he’d brought something to wipe them off with before he’d hopped into bed.

“What?”

“Was just wondering -- you think if we do this before bed every night your mind might let me get a little sleep?”

END