Chuck Made Them Do It: Chapter One
Rating: NC-17 (for explicit sexual and incestuous content)
Characters: Sam/Dean, Chuck
Summary: That’s right: Chuck writes a fanfic. Now the boys can’t keep their hands off each other.
Dean thought it was going to be a normal day. A regular salt-and-burn—some research, some grave digging—normal. Even when the ghost showed up halfway through the salting of its bones to throw Dean against a giant statue of Jesus, that was normal (if unwelcome). Sam burnt the bones; the ghost went up. Dean wobbled all the way back to the car, and they made it back to their motel. Totally normal.
Except when Sam insisted on checking Dean for injuries (“I’m fine, Sam, stop poking at me!”), although not necessarily unusual, it did make Dean raise an eyebrow. Finally, he gave in and let Sam strip him of his T-shirt.
“See?” Dean said, “Bruises. Nothing cracked, nothing broken. I’ll be sore for a day but that’s all.”
But when Sam ran a hand, fingertips barely touching skin, up Dean’s sides, that’s when Dean started suspecting things weren’t normal. Maybe even wrong.
“I was worried about you, Dean,” Sam said, and looked at Dean with large, expressive eyes (Puppy dog eyes, Dean thought). Dean furrowed his brows, but Sam continued, “You hit that statue so hard, and I was worried.”
The way Sam emphasized ‘so hard’ made Dean worried. And Sam was creeping closer, crawling on the bed towards Dean like some panther on the prowl, all slinking movements and muscled grace. Dean thought that maybe he was in trouble.
And then Sam whispered, “Oh Dean,” only inches away from Dean’s face, and Dean knew he was in trouble, and that’s when Sam leaned in.
It took a moment for Dean to register that they were kissing, really kissing—all lips and tongue and wet and oh god, when did Sam get good at this? And something snapped inside Dean, just a tiny little ker-snik! and Dean was giving as good as he was getting. He would show his little brother who the sexual god was in the family.
And it was hot and it was good and it was sexy—they were pawing at each other and mauling each other with fingertips and lips, stripping each other quickly because clothes just got in the way and the room was too hot as it was, so who needed clothes? And when Sam touched Dean’s cock, he thought he might die, and when Dean finally touched Sam’s, he thought Sam would die, and they were making all sorts of noises, low panting ones and loud yelping ones and long drawn out moans and fervent repetitions of “Oh yeah,” “Sam,” and “Dean!” And when they came it was almost together, Sam going off just a bit before Dean, so they were coming down together and it was good.
So, naturally, in the morning Dean woke up, took one look at Sam’s naked form curled up around Dean, and called Chuck.
“Chuck,” Dean growled when the phone stopped ringing.
A groggy voice from the other side said, “Dean? It’s six in the morning here—“
Dean interrupted him, “What did you do?”
Chuck was silent. After a moment, Dean prompted, “Chuck?”
“I didn’t think it would take.”
Now it was Dean’s turn to be silent. “What wouldn’t take?”
“The story!” Chuck exclaimed. “It was just a fanfic—it wasn’t really a vision or anything. I thought it was just for fun!!”
Dean cut through Chuck’s babbling. “You wrote a story. About me having gay incestuous sex with my brother?” The last bit was yelled, and Sam shifted in his sleep. Dean froze for a moment, but Sam didn’t wake. He tried to take calming breaths—mostly to keep from waking Sam than to abate his anger. It seemed to help a little.
In the tense, awkward silence after Dean’s outburst, Chuck said quietly, “There was a contest.”
“A contest,” Dean repeated.
“Yeah,” Chuck went on. “It’s hosted by a distinguished fan site, so I thought ‘What the hell?’ and—“
“Chuck?” Dean growled.
“Yes?” Chuck squeaked.
“I’m going to kill you.”
Dean hung up the phone and sighed.