gothic_elvis: (sam&dean: erotically co-dependent)
[personal profile] gothic_elvis
Title: Endlessly
Author: [ profile] gothic_elvis
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG13
Word Count:: 1,232
Summary: An interlude for what happened after they got to the motel and while Dean was asleep.
Warnings: Very slight spoilers for 6.08
A/N: This grabbed me at 8 in the morning after six hours of sleep and just wouldn't let go. I may or may not have stolen the title from a Muse song.
Thanks to [ profile] theron09 for the absolutely fantastic beta job.

A/N 2: This could almost, almost be considered one-sided [or even gen] but it references to past experiences and the desire to actually touch so I consider it Sam/Dean.

Dean strode into their motel room, Sam behind him, saying nothing as he stripped off his jackets and threw them hard onto a chair. Obviously, it was frowned upon to call someone a mouth breathing dick monkey if your name wasn't Dean and you didn't have a soul.

Sam flipped open his laptop and sat down at the table under the window, peripheral vision catching Dean's movement to the bathroom and the way he slammed the door shut, using much more force than necessary.

Sam could barely swallow back a sigh.

Though his emotions hadn't been a factor in his actions over the past few months, he knew enough from before that this wasn't how it was supposed to be. Sam had thought that at least after they'd solved the problem, Sam's missing soul, Dean would be a little more tolerant of him. The lack of caring didn't bother him though he knew it should; it was only for Dean's peace of mind and to keep the hunting going smoothly he was making an effort at all to change.

The act of caring - or rather lack of caring, carried over into everything; he didn't care if he had no soul, didn't care what people thought of him, didn't care when Dean rounded on him with those tired eyes filled with anger and disbelief after he'd spoken out of turn with a witness.

If he were being honest, he'd tell Dean he didn't miss it. Caring and sympathy got in the way, had a tendency to blindside the true heart of the matter and make outcomes more difficult to get to.

Dean's dramatic exit from the bathroom turned his eyes from the screen and he watched as his brother threw himself onto the furthest bed from himself, hands reaching up to grasp under the sheets; face stuffed into the pillow.

"Goodnight, Dean."

It was a ritual he'd started their first night in a motel together after reuniting, before he knew that Sam didn't ever use his own bed. Sometimes, Dean would be bothered enough to repeat it, other times it was a grunt or snort; sometimes he did nothing at all.

Tonight was a mixture between the two, muffled words and a grunt into the pillow that Sam didn't even try to decipher.

Sam's lips quirked minutely and he shook his head as he turned back to the laptop.


Sam didn't know how much time had passed, had stopped glancing at the little clock on the screen after so long.

His eyes burned and a quick glance told him it was 3:56, still nighttime.

He shut the computer and silently padded into the bathroom to commence his usual before bed routine. What he did after that now wasn't usual, and he wasn't particularly proud of it, but he didn't feel ashamed all the same.

Shutting the door so that just a crack of light remained from the bathroom, Sam went to stand over Dean's sleeping form; his back was to the other bed, curled slightly in on himself from the position on his stomach.

Dean would swear up and down until he was blue in the face that he was a light sleeper - Sam knew differently. It was true that he had been a lot more tense before Sam's problem had come to light, but now that it was in the open Sam had noticed a change in how he slept. When he snored it meant he felt he was truly comfortable and peaceful. And Dean was going off like a whistle on steroids.

Sam leaned over and lightly ran his fingertip down the length of Dean's nose, watching as it scrunched and protested. He repeated the action until a hand subconsciously swatted out at the intruder and Dean rolled over onto his side, facing Sam.

Worked every time.

Sam reached down to pull off Dean's shoes, setting them quietly on the floor before sitting on his bed and kicking off his own.

Then, he grabbed his pillow and placed it closer to the edge of the bed, laying on his side and putting his arm beneath it to prop himself up.

If he could feel, he thought this might just be his favorite time of the twenty four hours.

Dean looked totally serene. No lines marring his face, full lips not downcast in a frown, long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he dreamed.

After he'd turned over, his snoring had stopped and the room was completely silent; only Sam's breathing audible.

Looking at Dean used to get his heart pumping, make the blood flow that much faster - just looking. When it was touching...every time he had thought he'd explode from the sheer pleasure of having the permission to touch that gorgeous body with his unworthy hands. It was like dying every time; being stabbed with a knife straight to the heart only to find he didn't care. He would have gladly walked into that blade every opportunity if it meant that he could hold his brother.

Now, looking at him, he felt none of that; he felt no familiar stirring in his groin that came from watching Dean's pink tongue swipe over those lips. Nothing from the slight curve of his hip and the uneven line of his legs.

If he were fooling himself he could say that's why he wants his soul back - to be able to feel that attraction and desire again. Feel that magnetic pull towards Dean that existed ever since he was a child; follow Dean, be like Dean, hear him laugh again.

But he's not fooling himself, not anymore. Knows the only reason he needs his soul back is for Dean, only for Dean; always for Dean.

He wondered what Dean would say if he propositioned him. 'Just like old times?' he'd say before grabbing his dick through his jeans, rubbing hard. Would he push him away? Punch him? It was a masochistic edge that hoped the latter. It was only when he was in pain that the always present emptiness ceased its gnawing at him. He had learned to ignore it, strange as it was, even if it was the closest he'd come to feeling in over a year. The knowledge that something was missing, wasn't right, pained him when he wasn't active.

Sam was pulled from his thoughts when Dean's breath shuddered and he frowned, wishing not for the first time that he could tell what Dean was thinking, dreaming. He had no doubts that it was about himself. Unfortunately, he didn't care enough to ask him.

He lay there for a few hours, just staring, not touching him again after stroking his nose. He didn't deserve to touch his brother anymore. That's what held Sam back, kept him from grabbing onto Dean and using him for the pleasure. Dean didn't want it and he didn't need it.

It was the first time in his life he didn't truly need his brother. He didn't feel alone and lost like he knows Dean does.

Sam only wished he could bring himself to care.

He stood after what could have been forever, went to pick out some clean clothes from his bag and change then sat back down at his laptop to resume researching and wait for Dean to wake up. Ready to keep moving in his endless state of nothingness.

Comments welcomed and adored.

Date: 2010-11-13 08:02 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This is lovely. The longing that's portrayed even with the lack of feeling in Sam is just perfect. ♥

Date: 2010-11-13 09:19 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you so much! :D


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