(Supernatural Fanfiction) Chuck Made Them Do It: Chapter Two

Chuck Made Them Do It: Chapter 2

Rating: NC-17 (Overall, including this chapter).
Characters: Sam/Dean
Summary: And onward it goes… 

It was 6:23 in the morning, and Dean was ready to commit murder. He didn’t bother with calming breaths or counting to ten, he just looked at Sam and his rage soared to new heights. Not because Dean was angry with Sam—on the contrary, Dean felt sorry for his brother. Sam was merely a by-product of what Dean was really mad at, what Dean was ready to commit murder for.

Sam was nestled right next to Dean, on the same bed.

That same bed they had sex on the night before.

Very gay, very incestuous, illegal sex.

And it was all Chuck’s fault.

Dean could see it now. He would wake up Sam, and they would head out to Chuck’s place. They would politely ring the doorbell and wait for Chuck to answer, and as soon as his weasely, bearded face appeared—BAM! Dean would shoot Chuck right between those baby-blue eyes.

Dean chuckled softly under his breath. Oh yeah, right between the eyes.

Or maybe he would stab him. Right in the gut, making sure to twist the blade before wrenching it out. Yes, that would work, too.

He mulled over possibilities for a minute, and finally decided that he would make his decision in the car. It was a day and a half drive to Chuck’s, so he would have plenty of time.

Dean looked over at Sam. The kid was still snoring away, completely oblivious to the absolute wreck of the world that awaited him when was conscious. Dean considered a moment. Might as well destroy that peaceful bubble now.

“Wakey, wakey, Sam,” Dean nudged the younger Winchester in the shoulder. Sam cracked one sleep encrusted eye open.

“What?” he asked. Then, “What time is it?”

Dean glanced at the clock. “6:28.”

Sam groaned. “Why’d you wake me up so early?” He grunted, shifted his weight, then stopped. His eyes opened all the way and all traces of sleep vanished. “Why are you in my bed?

Dean crossed his arms and shook his head. “Your bed is over there. This is my bed.”

Sam looked around. Sure enough, his bed—so claimed because his bag was on it, was completely untouched and definitely not slept in. “What—how?” he said inelegantly.

Dean just frowned at Sam. Sam looked confused, then a flash of remembrance, and finally settled into gut-wrenching panic.

He jumped from Dean’s bed and exploded, “Holy fuck, Dean! What the hell?” Without even waiting for Dean’s answer, Sam started to pull on clothes.

Dean waved his cell phone at Sam. “I already checked up on it.”

Sam stopped, one foot halfway into his pants. “How the hell do you check up on something like, like this?” He was an equal mix of rage and blind panic.

Dean waited a moment for Sam to finish dressing. The kid even put on his jack and socks before he calmed down a bit. He answered him.

“Chuck.”

The word stopped Sam in his tracks. Confusion reared back on his face. “Chuck?”

Dean nodded, “Chuck made us do it.”

Sam frowned at Dean. “How?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Apparently there was a contest.”

“A contest?” Sam repeated. Dean rolled his eyes. Sometimes Sam asked too many questions. Couldn’t the kid just accept that Chuck is a crazy, perverted menace and that they had to kill him? Dean waited for Sam to stumble on the answer himself.

“Why would Chuck enter a contest—Oh.  Oh God.” Sam gagged. “That’s sick.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Now let’s go kill him.”

Surprisingly, Sam nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” He turned and grabbed his bag.

Dean blinked. Sam stood there, bag over one shoulder, and stared at Dean.

Dean shook himself out of his surprise. He was wholeheartedly expecting to have to fight off Sam’s “But Dean!  Murdering humans is wrong,” arguments.

“Sure,” Dean said. “We’ll go kill Chuck… right after I shower.” He got up and walked, sans clothing, to the bathroom.

It dawned on Dean, halfway to the tiny cubicle of a washroom, that he didn’t know why he needed a shower first. Yes, he was sticky and dirty from last night (grave digging and incestuous sex seemed to take a toll on one’s hygiene), but really, in another situation Dean might have skipped the shower. He had before—like after the Double Mint twins, where Sam had wrinkled his nose at him for sixty miles.  So, why the sudden need for clean right now?

He was in the shower, soaping up, when he heard the curtain pull back on the bar. He spun around.

“Sammy?”

Sam, completely naked, stepped into the tub and closed the curtain. “S’called sharing, Dean,” he said and leaned over him.

Dean realized just how small that shower was and how close Sam was all of a sudden. He could feel the heat radiating off his brother’s body as Sam reached around and grabbed the shampoo bottle.

“Want me to?” Sam indicated Dean’s hair.

Dean sputtered, “Oh God,” which Sam took as an affirmative and immediately started lathering the shampoo into foamy peaks on Dean head. Dean groaned into the touch. He breathed out, “Sammy,” and closed his eyes.

And, once again, like a switch was thrown in the deep, dark recesses of their psyche, Sam and Dean were kissing each other, mouths devouring and hands stroking and pulling and caressing in punishing ecstasy. The water sluiced between them, making their bodies slick. They slid against each other and the feeling was incredible, glorious even.

Sam trailed his hands down Dean’s scalp to his face, his neck, and rested them on his chest, leaving a soapy line in their wake. Dean threw his arms up and around his brother’s tall shoulders, not quite laced behind his neck, but not quite dangling loosely either.

It was Sam that broke the kiss. “Dean,” he said.

Dean opened lust-fogged eyes. He could barely hum out an inquisitive grunt before Sam was dropping to his knees. The older brother raised his eyebrows.

“I wanna,” Sam said, and stopped.  He swooped in, arms hugging Dean’s waist and face nuzzling the water slick hairs that trailed down from his belly button to his crotch. Dean gasped, a sound barely heard over the pounding water from the showerhead, but Sam could feel the exhalation of air from his face’s resting place against Dean’s abdomen. He dropped his head lower and began showering Dean’s thighs with kisses.  “I wanna,” he mumbled again, into Dean’s flesh.

Dean braced a hand against the shower wall and whispered, “Yeah,” as he slipped his other hand tightly into Sam’s hair. A small voice in the back of his mind wondered just what exactly did he think he was going to do with his brother, but it was mostly drowned out by exuberant thoughts of ‘Sammy’s gonna, Sammy’s gonna, Sammy’s gonna…!”

And Sammy went down on Dean.

Later, Dean would wonder if Sam was skilled, or just overly enthusiastic, but in the moment when Sam opened his mouth wide and took Dean inside of him, all Dean could coherently think was “Damn.” Sam’s mouth was hot and tight, and he was really careful with his teeth, which Dean appreciated. Sam started slow at first, just taking Dean’s head into his mouth and sucking on it like a lollipop, but then Sam grew braver and tried to take in more of Dean. He got most of the way there, too, before he choked and had to back off. Dean didn’t care. He was wrapped up with the sensation of wet and heat and tight around his dick. Even the choking gasp from Sam was really hot.

Sam worked him, then, drawing one hand over what bit he couldn’t get with his mouth, and he tongued and he licked and he sucked Dean until he could feel his brother stiffen, a small drawing tightness that Sam knew meant he would orgasm soon. He kept going, a tiny faster perhaps, eager to taste Dean on his tongue.

Sam never pulled away, Dean noticed. Not when Dean could barely keep from jerking  his hips forward into Sam’s warm, wet mouth. He was going to cum soon, and Sammy was still going at it, still working him into a frenzy. He tried to warn him, muttering, “Sammy, I—“ over and over again. And Sammy licked the vein that ran along the underneath of Dean’s shaft one too many times, and Dean was jerking, rising upwards and everything was white for just a second. Sam was still licking him, suckling him, but tenderly now; long, slow, sure strokes of the tongue.

Dean unwound his hand from Sam’s hair, not realizing how tightly he had been grasping it. He would have muttered an apology, but Sam looked up at him with lazy, satisfied eyes and Dean realized in the middle of all this, Sam came, too. He took a step back (as much as he could in the small shower) and helped Sam to his feet.

They scrubbed their bodies and shampooed their hair. They turned off the shower and exited the stall.

When they were dressed and packed, they turned to look at each other. It was Sam that broke their long silence since their time in the shower.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go kill Chuck.”

Dean grinned.

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Author: Eris O'Reilly

I'm a writer, artist, knitter, crocheter, cat wrangler, zombie hunter, and law enthusiast. Also, I am a complete and utter fangirl. I like silliness.

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