dragonspell: (Cruxifiction)
dragonspell ([personal profile] dragonspell) wrote2010-11-13 11:28 am

Fic: SPN (Sam/Dean): Can You Blame Me? | R | 2765 words

Title: Can You Blame Me?
Author: [livejournal.com profile] dragonspell
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: Slight spoilers for 6.08 and other current episodes.
Summary: It’s nearing midnight and Sam is in a bit of a mood. Or rather, the man masquerading as Dean’s brother is in a mood.
Word Count: 2765

It’s nearing midnight and Sam is in a bit of a mood. Or rather, the man masquerading as Dean’s brother is in a mood. Dean’s well aware that the guy he’s currently sharing a room with isn’t Sam. Oh, sure, he’s wearing Sam’s body and he’s got Sam’s face but Dean can see that little bit missing in his smile; it’s just not there. Not like Not!Sam has smiled all that much since he last hooked up with Dean. Especially since he stopped pretending.

Dean appreciates that, he does. The not pretending thing. It makes it easier on him to keep the reality of it all front and center. It’s just that sometimes…

The guy that he’s got in place of Sam is currently stalking around the hotel room more jittery than a junkie craving a fix. It’s a bit of a new development but Dean figures that he really shouldn’t be surprised. He knows that there’s more than a few things wrong with Sam at the moment—a little bit of restless leg syndrome is the least of his problems.

It’s nothing that they can fix, though, until they figure out a way to kick Crowley’s ass. Dean knows full-well that Crowley has no intentions of giving them back Sam’s soul. Never make deals with demons.

But they hadn’t made a deal, had they? Crowley had proved that point—smacking them in the face with cold, hard truth. Or would that be the burning hot truth? Because that’s what Dean can’t stand. Sam’s body is up here, playing house with him while Sam’s soul is still down in the Pit, burning for all eternity.

…How damaged is Sam going to be when he comes back up?

Dean slams the book that he hasn’t been reading for the past half hour, tossing it and his useless thoughts away. Not!Sam stops his pacing and stares at Dean like he’s expecting Dean to make a move. Dean just shakes his head. “I’m done for the night,” he says. “Gonna hit the hay.” They’ve gotten nowhere in the past few hours and Dean knows that his brain isn’t working as well as it should. Maybe he’ll be better in the morning.

Not!Sam nods. “Okay.” He’s staring at Dean just a little oddly but that’s just par for the course these days. Frankly, Dean’s been doing a little staring of his own right back because it will never stop being weird that the guy doesn’t have to sleep. It’s like he’s never tired and that’s just impossible. “I’ll…keep researching.”

“Whatever.” Dean rolls on to his side and punches his pillow, molding it into something he can use. He’s still fully dressed, reverting back to old habits, but it’s because he knows that he can’t quite trust the guy that’s wearing Sam’s face. There’s Sam’s memories in there but, if the past few weeks have proven anything, Sam’s sense of restraint is fucking gone. And if Dean is possibly going to be dragged out a sound sleep and maybe into a fight, he wants to be dressed for it.

He’s kicked off his boots, though, because there’s prepared and then there’s uncomfortable. Dean would rather not do uncomfortable.

Sleep’s a long time in coming and it’s not because Dean’s not tired but because he has the uncomfortable feeling that Sam is staring at him—the same as he does every night. It’s why he’s taken to putting his back to him. It’s a vulnerability but at least it means that Dean’s not spending the entire night staring back.

They’re on downtime, in between hunts. They’ve been looking for a new job for a day or so but it’s not like they’re been dedicated. They need a break every now and then, after all. Make sure that they’re still sane.

Well. Relatively sane.

These are Dean’s favorite times, though, because for once they’re not out there risking their lives and they’re not focused on all the people that whatever creature they’re hunting has been hurting. Instead, they’re just focused on themselves and Dean—Dean can take that.

Sam’s looming over him on the bed, slowly crawling up his body, and Dean licks his lips in anticipation. He’s got an odd sense of déjà vu, that he’s done this before but that’s just silly be of course he’s done this before. Him and Sam have been doing this for years.

When Sam’s fully of top of him, Dean just tilts his head back and pushes up and his and Sam’s lips are connecting, soft and gentle. Sam starts out with a soft press before pulling away for a moment and then he’s back, a little bit hard. He kisses Dean soft and sweet and tentatively, working himself up to it and it’s what Dean lives for. Dean buries his hands in Sam’s hair and holds him still, set to keep them that way from now until Doomsday.

Sam moans, low in his throat and skates a hand underneath Dean’s shirt, pushing it up, daring to go higher and Dean encourage him with a happy squirm. Sam’s hips drop downward, rubbing himself off against Dean’s body and Dean likes that. Arching upward, wanting more, he opens his mouth underneath Sam’s, tongue flicking out and after a few beats, Sam’s pushing him down and doing the same.

It’s great and it’s perfect and it’s something that Dean knows he’s done before. As in exactly and he’s just remembering.

And just like that, the memory’s gone.

Dean’s eyes fly open and he comes face-to-face with Sam. No. He comes face-to-face with Not!Sam. The guy’s straddling Dean on the bed, holding him down and Dean freezes, his brain taking a few seconds to comprehend just what’s going on. Sometime when Dean was sleeping, Not!Sam must have gotten tired of staring and decided to join Dean in bed. “What the Hell do you think you’re doing?” Dean demands.

Not!Sam blinks blankly down at him, not comprehending and like fuck is Dean playing this game. No, there was a fucking line there and it just got crossed. “Get off of me!” he says, shoving at Sam’s shoulders. With Sam’s gargantuan body, though, the man’s like a fucking brick wall. Dean doesn’t like the idea that he’s stuck unless Not!Sam decides to move—stuck unless he wants to hurt Sam’s body and Sam’s going to need that someday. “Now, damn it!”

Not!Sam’s face hardens, settling into defiance and he stays right where he is. Dean can’t help but notice that, yes, that’s definitely Sam’s cock rubbing against his stomach and it’s got to be hard the way it’s filling out the crotch of Sam’s jeans. In another life, that might have thrilled him. Now… “I said get off me!” Dean jams a knee into Sam’s side and it buys him just enough time to get some leverage and shove Sam’s body away from him. He scrambles to the side of the bed, trying to wiggle his way out and he almost makes it before hard arms wrap around him and drag him back. Dean lashes out, kicking because fuck it all. If he breaks rib or something, Sam will just have to deal with it when he comes back. Until then, Dean’s got other things to worry about.

Like the fact that Not!Sam is outmaneuvering him. Each swing that Dean takes, the guy counters, using Sam’s long limbs to pin Dean down and relying on Sam’s weight to hold Dean there. Before Dean even realizes the mistakes that he’s making, Not!Sam has got him pinned face down on the bed, his arms wrenched behind his back and no amount of struggling is going to get Dean out of this one.

And Not!Sam likes it. More than likes it if the way he’s rubbing his dick against Dean’s ass is anything to go by and Dean’s fucking glad that he thought enough to keep his jeans on. He doesn’t want to know what it would feel like to have Sam’s cock rubbing against boxer-clad ass with another guy’s intent behind it.

Dean jerks to the side, trying again to get free and ends up flopping as uselessly as a landed fish. “Fuck!” he swears. If only he could get his knees up under himself, get one of his arms free, something.

“Easy, Dean,” Not!Sam whispers in Dean’s ear and he’s got to be kidding. “You’re fine.”

“Like fuck I am!” Dean snarls, twisting again.

“Yes, you are.” Not!Sam is using Sam’s too familiar mouth to kiss along behind Dean’s ear, moving down the side of his throat, making Dean shiver. It brings it home to Dean that, yeah, this guy in Sam’s body? He’s got Sam’s memories because that used to be Sam’s favorite spot to kiss. He used to love holding Dean down and licking there just because Dean swore that he could just about come from that. “Just nice and easy…” Not!Sam whispers. “You’ll like this.”

Dean’s heart gives a painful thump in his chest because that’s Sam’s voice and those are Sam’s words and he’s heard them so many damn times before but it’s not Sam that’s holding him here. He squeezes his eyes shut and knows that it’s useless to struggle. Not!Sam’s got the advantage and Dean can’t do a damn thing about it. He goes limp, flopping down against the bed and letting the fight drain out of him. He’s done. He can’t do this. He can’t keep fighting this because it hurts too damn much.

He needs to end this, right here. Right now.

Not!Sam doesn’t get it: He thinks that he’s won. He nuzzles happily at Dean’s neck, murmuring stupid things like, “See? That’s better, isn’t it?” Like Dean’s just play-fighting and Sam’s not trying to rape him. It’s Sam’s body above him, Sam’s hands that are holding him down, Sam’s lips that are on his skin, and Sam’s cock rubbing against his ass but Dean’s never been so aware of just how much Sam is not there. Dean swallows hard, his shoulders rolling as he pushes it all down. Deny, deny, deny, he thinks.

He’s good at that. He’s good at pretending. Not!Sam, too, he likes it. He finally releases his hold on Dean’s wrists to slip one hand down underneath Dean’s body, trying to undo the snap on his jeans. He keeps Dean pinned with one hand, still, though, because he might not be the most understanding guy lately but he’s not stupid. Dean sucks in his stomach when Sam’s hands touch his skin, trying to pull away from him but Not!Sam…he’s relentless. He’s not going to let a little intangible thing like the difference between someone else’s wants or not wants stop him.

“…make this so good for you…” Not!Sam’s muttering because he knows that it’s what he’s supposed to say. It’s what Sam would say, after all. It’s just that Sam would mean it. Dean holds himself frozen, taking a shaky breath against the cheap motel bedspread. He’s hyper aware of Sam’s fingers as they slide into his jeans—how they press against his stomach and move along his body. They push upward, not so much coaxing as ordering and Dean sucks into another lungful of air as he obeys their unspoken command. He gets his knees up underneath himself as Not!Sam scoots backward. Dean’s legs are pushed apart and Sam’s cock is grinding against Dean’s ass as Sam’s hand slips inside Dean’s underwear.

Dean shivers when Sam’s fingers touch his cock. It feels good—of course it does—but it’s not enough to make him forget just who’s behind him. And it’s not Sam. That’s obvious Sam’s hand only makes a cursory stop at Dean’s dick, a single caress to find out that Dean’s soft before Not!Sam’s moving on. At least he’s stopped talking about how good this will be for Dean or how much Dean’s going to enjoy it. Dean doesn’t think that he could take any more of that.

It becomes apparent that with Dean’s current position—face buried against the bed, ass waving in the air—that Not!Sam’s going to either need another hand or some help to push off Dean’s jeans. He decides to be self-reliant which is exactly what Dean was waiting for. Dean’s being compliant so Not!Sam releases him and uses both hands to tug at Dean’s jeans, impatiently wanting to get on with the show. Dean takes another deep breath, waiting half a moment, and then he’s up, his freed fist slamming into the side of Sam’s face, catching him off-guard and knocking him off onto the floor.

Dean jumps off the bed, running to the far side of the room while Sam pushes himself up. He sits there, stunned, holding his jaw and staring at Dean like he doesn’t understand what just happened.

He probably doesn’t, either, which makes Dean wish that he was close enough to hit him again. He’d happily sink his fist into the guy’s face because it’s not Sam that staring at him. “If you ever touch me like that again, I’ll kill you,” Dean says because it’s all he’s got. His voice is a little breathy but it’s not shaking and Dean will take what he can get. He forces it downward, just a little more. “I’ll kill you and figure out some other way for Sam to get his body back. We clear on that?” The threat’s empty and they both know it but they’ll both also pretend that it’s not.

Not!Sam is still more than a little confused but he nods slowly. “Thought that’s what you wanted,” he says, his little pathetic excuse of an explanation and Dean stares at him.

“What?” Dean asks and Not!Sam shrugs.

“In your sleep. You wanted me to kiss you.” Dean furiously searches his mind, trying to pull up whatever he might have been dreaming about as Not!Sam pushes himself to his feet. He has a hazy memory of Sam and him in some motel out in Wyoming—peaceful and light.

“Sam not you,” Dean whispers, feeling sick to his stomach. He can’t believe that his subconscious just offered up that memory to the imposter that’s standing in front of him.

Not!Sam shrugs casually like it doesn’t matter and adds, “I wanted to.” When Dean doesn’t respond to that, he continues on because Not!Sam’s been taking his whole new honesty resolution to a whole never level. “I’ve wanted to ever since you came back.” He rubs his jaw again and takes a step forward, stopping when he sees Dean bracing for a fight. Dean’s not going to get caught off guard again. Not tonight. “I’ve still got all of Sam’s memories, Dean,” he says. “I still know what you look like, what you feel like when…” He trails off but it’s not for tact. It’s for effect. “…I’m fucking you. I know how much you like it. I think about it all the time.”

Dean feels like he should throw up. Like he should just bend over and lose it all over the mottled carpeting because the sheer wrongness of the moment is making his stomach turn. He doesn’t like how all of this is being turned back around and it’s like having every single one of his memories tainted one by one. It’s like Hell. No, actually, Hell was better than this because it never tried to pretend that everything was just fine and hunky-dory. It let him know exactly what the score was. And Dean thinks he finally realizes just why this guy who’s not Sam but yet is stares at him all damn night—that it’s not just been Dean’s imagination.

“Can you blame me, Dean?” Not!Sam asks like he just read Dean’s mind and Dean shudders.

He can’t deal with this right now. He’ll never be able to, really, but at the moment, he can’t even pretend because he doesn’t have his defenses where they should be and everything feels like he’s being choked with barbed wire. Dean grabs his coat off the chair by the door and swings it around his shoulders.

“Where are you going?” Not!Sam asks. Like nothing out of the ordinary is going on here.

“Out,” Dean says because he doesn’t trust himself to say any more. He can’t.

He spends the night in the Impala, the doors locked and his hands gripping her steering wheel as he stares out the windshield thinking about nothing at all. It stops him from spinning in circles. Inside, he knows that Not!Sam’s still awake, still pacing, and still waiting.

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