Disclaimer: I lay no claim to Dean, Sam, or their manly gas-guzzler; they all belong to people a lot luckier than I. Ellie and Cam, however, are all mine. And yes, that's a Hellblazer homage. Is anybody surprised?

Warnings: dubious consensuality. Utter crackheadedness. This is what happens when the two pretty male leads of my new eye-candy show are brothers, and I stubbornly fail to develop an incest kink: I get creative.

The Secret Life of Demons
or, How Dean Winchester Woke Up Gay

by Maya Tawi

2005-2006

"It's simple," Dean insisted as he pulled onto the highway ramp and stomped on the accelerator. Illinois flew past the window at a breakneck speed, and Sam couldn't say he was sorry to miss it. "The place is a couple hours away, and we'll be in and out before sunset. It'll be nice to have an easy job for a change."

Sam snorted at the window. "Don't ever say that, man. That's how horror movies start."

"Our life is a horror movie, mon frere." Dean cut in front of a slow-moving SUV and sped up some more; Sam double-checked his seat belt. "In the great orgy of life, this one's gonna be a damn good quickie."

Sam kept staring out the window and didn't reply. Arguing, he was quickly learning, was pointless. Dean called the shots, and more to the point right now, Dean was the one behind the wheel.

Not that he really wanted to argue. As far as he was concerned, Dean was probably right, albeit tempting fate to some extent. It was just... sometimes it would be nice if his brother even pretended he had a say in these things.

They'd been on their way through Illinois, heading for Kansas City, Missouri; a friend of their father's had called, saying John Winchester had given him Dean's number-- not the recording, but the man himself. Dean had seen the news story in a diner and had immediately opted for a detour. Sam, of course, had put up his usual objections-- what if Dad was in Kansas City now, and they'd lose the trail by stopping?-- but even to him, the exercise was starting to seem tired and rote. Dean did what he wanted, and that, by extension, was always what their father wanted. As far as he was concerned, if John wanted them to find him, they would. And if he wanted them to take over the family business, Dean would stop in every no-name town from California to New York in order to comply with his wishes.

It just wasn't fair. Dean had lured Sam on this epic road trip with the promise of finding Dad and learning what had happened to Jess, and now, almost five months later, that promise had yet to be fulfilled. More and more, it seemed like Sam was just along for the ride. He was starting to feel seriously gypped.

Still, it seemed simple enough. Six men missing, two found dead, seemingly from exhaustion and dehydration; all last seen at the same bar. A succubus, and one with a predictable hunting pattern. In and out, like the man said.

Then again, Dean was tempting fate. And if there was one thing Sam had learned since the beginning of said epic trip, it was that when confronted with temptation, fate rarely bothered to resist.


"Looks familiar," Dean commented, idling by the curb outside Lucky's. Another good omen; this one was going to go down smooth.

Sam heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Try to keep your mind on the job, Dean."

"Hey," Dean said, offended. "I am all business." He parked and cut the engine, watching the action inside through the street-front windows. There was a pool table, and the men crowded around it seemed to be taking bets, which meant the job might even pay for itself. "So, plan of attack. We go inside, scope the place out. When we see the succubus make her move, you distract her and I'll get the poor sap out of the way."

"Great," Sam said sourly. "I've always wanted to be succubus bait."

Dean arched his eyebrows. "Hey, man, you wanna switch roles, I'm cool with that."

"Forget it."

"I mean, if you can't trust yourself to behave--"

"I said forget it." Sam glared at him and reached for the door handle.

"Hey," Dean said cheerily. "Maybe you'll even get laid."

Dead silence. He shot his brother a sidelong glance, trying not to feel guilty about the remark. Sucked, what happened to Jessica, but Sam had to move on already. It was time for him to get with the program. Revenge was all well and good, but revenge wasn't business; it was personal, and Sam tended to get all too caught up in the personal.

"Here," he said at last, into the stony silence. "Wear this."

Sam eyed the proffered pendant dubiously. "What is it?"

"An Eye of Guazzo, according to the guy who sold it to me. It's supposed to ward off a succubus." He swung it back and forth on the end of the chain. "What are you waiting for, a jeweler's appraisal? It's the real thing, all right?"

"Kind of gaudy, don't you think?"

Dean shrugged. "Fine, don't wear it. Get your life sucked out through your dick instead. Been nice knowing you, bro."

Sam snatched the pendant away just as he started to withdraw his hand, and fastened it around his neck, glaring all the while. "You're obnoxious, you know that?"

"It's part of my charm," Dean said smugly, and opened the door. "You coming or what?"

"Not if I can help it," he heard Sam mutter.

Sam tucked the silver pendant under his shirt as they crossed the street, and Dean watched with approval. The charm would keep him from falling for the succubus' moves, and as long as she didn't see it, she'd be none the wiser. If she did, though, there was always the risk that she'd recognize what it meant.

Sam fingered the chain and frowned. "Shouldn't you be wearing one too?"

"Shoulda, woulda, coulda. We've only got the one." Dean grinned. "Guess you'll have to put on one hell of an act."

"You owe me for this," Sam warned.

"Tell you what," Dean said, feeling magnanimous. "I won't remind you of this every chance I get, and we'll call it even." He opened the door and sniffed appreciatively at the familiar aroma of mingled stale beer and cigarette smoke, then gestured his brother inside. "Come on. Let's go bag us a she-bitch."


Sam shifted uncomfortably on his stool and made a face, remembering why he usually let Dean make his fund-raising jaunts solo. The smoke stung his eyes and settled in his clothes, and the bar stool felt suspiciously sticky under his ass.

"I coulda made that," Dean said.

Sam blinked at him, then turned. Dean was watching the pool game with the avid expression of a dog lusting after a bone. The current object of his scorn was muttering under his breath as he peeled a bill from a roll of twenties.

"Down, boy," Sam said.

Dean shook himself. "Right. Work, then paycheck."

Sam bit back his instinctive retort and looked around the bar. "Are you noticing the distinct lack of women here?"

"So when she gets here, she'll be easy to spot. What's your point?"

Sam just stared at him, wondering if his older brother could possibly be that naÔve. Or maybe he was just being obtuse. It was a fine line.

"I don't think," he began, then fell silent, mouth still open, as the door swung open.

He wasn't the only one. A stuttered hush rippled through the crowd, and when Sam looked around, he saw that almost everyone was watching the new arrival as well. He quickly revised his earlier assumptions, and was relieved he hadn't said anything to make an even bigger ass of himself.

The woman was gorgeous, with long wavy hair and even longer legs. Her hair was a true red, not auburn or gold; if he didn't know better, he would have suspected it came from a box. But succubi didn't have to improve on nature. They came that way.

Beside him, Dean muttered, "You were saying?"

Sam ignored him, watching the succubus' progress across the room. She scanned the crowd, seeming to be looking for someone-- her next victim, at a guess-- and when her gaze rested briefly on Sam, he held his breath and tensed for action. But then she looked away and started for the opposite end of the bar.

"That," Dean announced, "is one fine piece of ass."

"Dean!" Sam hissed.

He rolled his eyes. "What, I can't look?"

"I knew you should've been the one wearing the jewelry."

"Ye of so little faith." Dean leaned over the bar, affecting a casual stretch as he watched the action. "And... we have supper, ladies and gents!"

Sam shot what he hoped was a similarly casual glance over his shoulder. The succubus was leaning over someone, speaking to him in low, urgent tones. Her victim faced the opposite wall; all Sam could see was longish dark hair and a slender build in a tailored black suit.

He frowned. "Something's wrong. She looks pissed."

Dean shrugged. "So maybe he's not biting."

"Is that even possible?"

"What'd they teach you in that fancy college, boy?" Dean smacked him none too gently on the shoulder. "It won't work if he's not interested. Say the guy's gay. He ain't buying that."

So not naÔve, then. Sam looked around the room again, reassessing his reassessment. After the first ripple of curiosity, the other men had mostly turned back to their business, leaving only a few lingering interested starers. If his original impression had been right after all, the initial wave of interest could simply have been surprise at seeing a woman walk in.

Except it didn't make sense. Six men had already disappeared, which meant she'd have to have been in often enough to make an impression already. And a gay bar was pretty shitty hunting ground for a succubus. Even allowing for the few bisexuals she'd manage to pick up, the law of averages would be working against her.

"Maybe she likes a challenge," he murmured.

"You talking to yourself now? You're crazier than I thought." Dean didn't wait for an answer; he slid off his stool, all business now. "Let's get to work."

The feeling of something off intensified as Sam drew closer. This wasn't just a succubus being rejected by her intended meal. This was quickly developing into a full-blown argument.

"Dean," he began, but Dean had pulled ahead, already out of earshot. Sam shook his head, ignoring the pervasive unease that was settling in his gut. He was imagining things. Dean wouldn't listen to him anyway.

"Excuse me, sir," he heard Dean say as he slipped in between the succubus and the man in the suit, flashing what he hoped was a suitably besotted smile, "do you have the time?" and then several things happened at once. The succubus looked up at him, her annoyance giving way to hunger, and the man behind him said something too low for him to catch.

"What's your name?" the succubus purred, running light fingers down his arm, and Dean said "Okay" in an oddly strangled-sounding voice. "Sam," he answered, distracted, trying to keep an eye on the succubus and an ear on Dean at the same time, and when caution won out and he glanced over his shoulder, Dean and the man in the suit were already gone.

"What's wrong, baby?" The succubus trailed her fingers up to Sam's jaw and tugged his head back around. Sam had just opened his mouth to say something, he didn't know what, when her sharp green eyes drifted over his shoulder and narrowed in annoyance.

"Son of a bitch," she spat, and pushed him away.

Sam stumbled back against the bar, knocking over the suit's abandoned beer. He barely managed to catch the succubus' arm as she started to shove past him. "Hey, wait, what's going on?"

She yanked her arm away, glaring at him, the hunger banked down to a dim ember. "You're working with him, aren't you? I should have known!"

"What," Sam began, then stared at her, open-mouthed, as realization hit. "Shit. You're not the killer, are you?"

"Not this time," she said bitterly, rubbing her wrist. "That would be my brother. The one who just walked out with that hot blond piece of ass."

"Shit," Sam said again, and spun for the exit, only vaguely disturbed that she'd used almost the exact same phrase to describe Dean as he'd used for her.

This time she was the one who grabbed him. "Hold it. If you don't know Cam, then who the hell are you?"

"That hot blond piece of ass," Sam said grimly, "is my brother."

And that was fate, biting Dean right in the aforementioned ass.


Dean followed the man out the door in a daze. Something was nagging at him, some voice in the back of his head insisting this was wrong, wrong, wrong, but he couldn't quite focus on it. He couldn't focus on much beyond his sudden all-encompassing need to get laid.

As soon as the door swung shut, the man slammed him back against the brick and attacked his mouth. There was really no other word for it. There were lips and teeth and tongue, and hands where there shouldn't be, and when it was over, Dean was hard and panting and really wishing he'd worn looser jeans.

"Come on," the man said, in the same husky rasp bedroom he'd used inside, saying, You wanna get out of here? He tossed something over his shoulder that landed with a clatter, and Dean could neither see what it was nor bring himself to care. "Let's go somewhere. You got a car?"

Dean nodded dumbly and, when that didn't seem to be sufficient, pointed at the Impala across the street.

The man bared his teeth in an approving grin. "Excellent. I'll drive."

A tiny part of his soul shivered and died when he dug the keys out of his pocket, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from handing them over. His dick demanded obedience, and it didn't leave much room for protest.

Wrong, that voice insisted as he clambered into the passenger seat and they pulled away with a screech of rubber on asphalt. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Who gives a shit? he thought back, and he must have said it out loud, because he was rewarded with another flash of white teeth as the sped on into the night.


Sam spun and slammed his fist against the brick wall. "Ow," he said a moment later.

The succubus arched one perfect eyebrow. "Problem?"

"The car's gone," he said through gritted teeth.

She rolled her eyes. "Quelle surprise. What now, boy genius?"

"You tell me," he snapped. "What the hell is going on?"

She looked thoughtful. "You want the long version? Because, not to belabor the point, but your brother doesn't have much time."

"But Dean's not gay!"

Again, the eyebrow shot skyward. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes!" Sam said, then opened his mouth and shut it again.

She folded her arms over her ample chest. "I'm sensing ambivalence."

"Sense away," he muttered, flipping open his cell phone and hitting the speed dial. Dean's phone didn't even ring, instead going directly to voicemail. He jabbed the redial button; still no answer.

"His phone's off," he reported, trying to quell the sense of growing panic.

"Guess he didn't want to be interrupted."

"Dean never turns off his phone." It was true; he even left it on while it was charging, convinced their father would call if he turned it off for just a second.

The succubus stared at him. "Are you seriously arguing with me about this? It's off now, ergo, you're wrong. Deal."

"Could you stop talking for, like, a minute?" Sam snapped, and she shrugged and flounced away down the sidewalk. She stopped at the curb and crouched down, poking at something he couldn't see.

Sam rolled his eyes and hit redial a second time, and this time the call went through. He sagged back against the wall with relief and, as soon as the ringing cut off, demanded, "Where the hell are you?"

"About ten feet away from you," came the succubus's voice, and when he looked up, she waved Dean's phone at him. "Guess he really didn't want to be interrupted."

Sam snapped his phone shut. "He's not gay, okay?"

"And yet," she drawled, sauntering back towards him, "all evidence to the contrary." She studied her fingernails. "You wanna argue semantics, or you want to save your brother's life?"

Sam stared at her, at a loss.

"They say it runs in families," she added, glancing up at him through lowered lashes.

"What are you--" Sam stopped. "I'm not gay either!"

"All evidence to the contrary," she repeated. "I hate to sound smug, but if you had a thing for chicks, trust me: your brother would be the last thing on your mind right now."

Sam yanked the pendant out from under his shirt. "Sorry to puncture your ego, but I think that's more to do with this than with me."

Several emotions flashed across her face-- anger, annoyance, surprise, awe-- before she settled on what looked like honest bemusement. "Damn, you boys came prepared, didn't you?" Then she narrowed her eyes. "So what is this, some kind of hunting trip? Thought you guys'd catch a killer, be the big heroes?"

Sam scowled back. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Dumbasses," she muttered.

"Look," Sam began, then stopped and took a deep breath. "What's your name, anyway?"

She eyed him with suspicion. "Why?"

"I have to call you something."

"Baby, you can call me anything you like," she purred. Sam raised his eyebrows and waited, and she shook her head, looking irritated. "Damn it. Sorry. Got away from me for a second."

He waited some more.

"Ellie," she said finally.

"Is that your real name?"

"What do you care?"

"At this point," Sam said, "very little. Where would your brother take Dean?"

Ellie shrugged. "Usually, that alley over there." She pointed behind the bar. "Obviously he didn't want to stick around tonight. Guess big sis puts a damper on his mood."

"Fine," Sam snapped. "Where else would he go?"

"Like I know the details of my brother's sex life? You don't even know yours."

Dean's sex life was the last thing he wanted to contemplate at the moment. He opened his cell phone again and started to dial.

Ellie cocked her head to the side. "What are you doing now?"

"Calling a taxi," he said, as the 411 operator's voice came on the line. "Yes, just a second--" He covered the phone with his hand. "What town is this, again?"

"You're not too bright, are you?"

Sam stared at her, and she dangled a ring of keys in front of his face.

"Never mind," he told the operator, and hung up.

Ellie grinned. "What, you think I walked here? In these heels?"


The guy kept his hand in Dean's lap as he drove, which was distracting enough that it took him a while to recognize the pained grinding sound, and to realize that it wasn't coming from his own throat.

"Dude," he said, gritting his teeth with the effort of forming coherent words, "you gotta shift."

"Shift what?"

Dean stared. "You're joking, aren't you? Please tell me you're joking."

The man moved his feet experimentally. He didn't, however, move his hand. "Why do you have three pedals?"

"All right," Dean choked out, "that's it. Pull over."

The hand tightened on his crotch, and Dean saw stars. "You really want me to stop?"

"Ummm." He tried to think; lust warred with common sense, and that warning bell was coming back, faint but unmistakable. Something wasn't right. Something....

An ominous clunk from the engine made up his mind. "Hell yes, I do. You're gonna strip my damn gears."

"Well," the man allowed with another blinding smile, "we could try that too."

Dean licked his suddenly dry lips, contemplating the lurid images conjured by that statement, only slightly troubled by where the gears would fit in. Then, as the car shuddered to a stop, he lunged for the door and threw it open, intending to jump out. He didn't get very far.

"You gotta unbuckle first," the man said, watching him. "Even I know that."

He shrank back in his seat, fumbling at the seat belt buckle with clumsy fingers, hampered by his confusion and his raging hard-on and the fact that he really, really didn't want to leave. The compulsion to flee was fading, but the sense of urgency remained, and if he could just figure out how the damn thing worked....

Then the man leaned over him, bracing one hand against the well of the open door and effectively cutting off his escape. Dean's fingers froze, and he reluctantly looked up and found himself staring into lurid green eyes. Too green. Not natural.

"Who the hell are you?" He forced the words out one by one, each syllable a concerted effort of will.

"Baby," the guy purred, "I'm the man of your dreams."

Dean raised a hand and spread his fingers across the man's chest, intending to push him away. He got the first part right, at least. "Then we got a problem," he gritted out, "'cause I don't dream about any men."

Closer, closer.... "Are you sure?"

Again there was the sense of something wrong, some elusive bit of knowledge just out of reach. Dean opened his mouth to say, Damn right I'm sure, and got as far as the I when lips closed over his again, and suddenly he was rethinking that surety.

It wasn't like the first kiss; it was slower, more thorough, fingers curling around the back of his neck and brushing against his hair, and before long he was squirming in his seat. The guy's other hand drifted down his chest to his waist, and the sound of his jeans unzipping nearly made him come right there.

A second later, he was coming, at the first touch of warm skin on his dick. In any other situation, it would have been embarrassing. In any other situation, he wouldn't have had another man's hand down his pants in the first place.

He would have thought the orgasm would clear his head, but if anything, he was even more confused than before. Dean watched, scattered and speechless, as the man raised his hand and licked it clean with every evidence of enjoyment.

"That's gross, man," he said, feeling his lip curl.

"You don't seem to mind," the man returned, reaching down again, and Dean realized at the shock of contact that he was still hard. He glared down at his bobbing dick and thought, What the hell do you think you're doing? It didn't answer, which was a good sign. At least he wasn't insane. Yet.

He was, however, staring at his own dick like he'd never seen it before, and still waiting for some kind of explanation. So maybe he didn't have that far to go.

"This is," he said finally, and he shook his head, "so wrong, I don't even--"

"Don't you?" The guy kissed him again, forestalling any possible response, and Dean thought he could taste his own come. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he was pretty damn sure how he felt about not being sure.

The stranger slid off his lap and out the passenger side door, and for a moment he thought that was it, this-- whatever it was-- was over, and he could drive off and just forget it ever happened. The relief felt a hell of a lot like disappointment.

Then the guy propped his arms on the roof of the car and leaned his head in the door. "Well?"

Dean blinked. "Wha?"

The man's smile was way too fucking smug for comfort. "Well, are you going to drive, or what?"


Ellie's car was an old Honda Civic, which surprised Sam; he would have expected a succubus to have flashier transportation. She caught his look and laughed, but offered no further comment. She really did have a nice laugh.

Sam clutched his pendant. Come on, cheap jewelry, do your thing.

"So," he said finally, "just out of curiosity, and not that I don't appreciate the favor, but why aren't you trying to kill me right now?"

Ellie shot him a quick sideways glance. "Why would I do that?"

"You're a succubus," Sam said patiently. "It's what you do."

She snorted. "And you're a human. Do you go around shooting everyone who doesn't agree with you?"

"Only on weekends."

"It's nature versus nurture, Sam," she said, deftly switching lanes. "The world's changed. We can't go around killing people if we want to have our own lives too."

"But you have to feed to survive," Sam pointed out.

"Exactly. Feed, not kill." Ellie shrugged. "I have a boyfriend. He gives me what I need, when I can. It's enough."

Sam tried to wrap his mind around someone willingly feeding a succubus, with spectacular failure. "But you were hitting on me," he said instead.

She shrugged again. "Like I said, it's enough. That doesn't mean I don't want more sometimes. Usually I can control it, but...." She trailed off and sighed. "This thing with Cam, it's got me rattled. I wasn't thinking."

"Speaking of," Sam said, watching her. "What is this thing, exactly?"

Her lips thinned, and she glared at the road ahead. "He's being an ass."

"I don't think so. Taking the last doughnut, blasting Metallica for fifty miles when you've got a migraine, that's being an ass. Dragging my brother off for some kind of death by kinky sex--"

"Seriously," Ellie said. "Tell me that's not an asshole thing to do."

Sam scowled. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Right there," she said, pointing. A neon light blinked Vacancy just past the next traffic light.

"You think they're going to a motel?"

"It's our best shot. Cam'd never bring someone home. Dad would kill him."

Sam stared at her. "You guys live with your parents?"

"One big happy," she agreed, pulling into the parking lot. "Come on, let's go."


The most disconcerting thing, in a situation that was just chock-full of disconcertment, was that there was never a question of whether Dean was going to say no. The man told him to drive, he drove. He would hear the word in his head, was even convinced at times that he wanted to say it, but it never quite made it past his lips. Lips that still felt tingly and swollen and goddamn, he had to stop thinking about that.

Driving had helped, a little. At least he had something else to focus on, like trying to shift gears and keep from stalling or driving off the road when the guy in the passenger seat kept doing distracting things with his hands and his mouth, until finally Dean had to threaten to crash his car if he didn't keep both body parts to himself-- but even that wasn't a no, it was a later. No was a physical impossibility.

And now the guy was dragging him through the lobby door of a seedy motel, and Dean had nothing left to think about except what they were doing there, or more to the point, what they were going to do there. The thought didn't make him want to run screaming into the night, and that scared the hell out of him.

"Lissie!" the man called, leaning over and slapping a hand on the check-in desk. "You got customers!"

The woman who tottered out of the back room was ancient, with her hair pulled back so tightly it almost smoothed out the wrinkles lining her face. When she saw Dean and his companion, her withered lips curled into a smirk, and he knew exactly where those wrinkles had come from. "Cameron," she said in a high, reedy voice. "Doing brisk business, I see."

The words jarred Dean out of his increasingly confused contemplation, and he turned to the man in dismay. "Dude, you're a hooker?"

Cameron gave a short laugh. "Not exactly."

"Exactly what, then?"

"Cash," the old woman said, ignoring him. "Up front."

"Come on, Liss, you know I'm good for it."

"I know no such thing. I'm a businesswoman, Cam. Business takes money."

Cam sighed and elbowed Dean. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand.

Dean stared at it in disbelief. "Oh, you'd better be asking for a high five."

"It's this or the car," Cam said. "Your choice."

"Yeah, well, I think I'll take the option that doesn't involve me shelling out fifty bucks for a room we're only gonna use for about an hour."

The old woman tittered. "You really think it'll take that long?"

Dean stared at her, open-mouthed, and she sighed and pointed. "Please, honey. I can see that thing from here."

He yanked his jacket down over his crotch, face starting to burn. "And I'm definitely not giving my money to her."

"Oh, no?" The woman smiled, her tongue darted out, and for a brief, heart-stopping instant, Dean really, really wanted to fuck her.

"Liss!" Cam scolded, smacking her on the arm. "Stop that!"

The smile became a scowl. "Spoilsport," she growled, and Dean blinked, jarred out of a vivid, truly disturbing fantasy involving her withered body and the check-in desk.

His sexuality was very confused right now.

"Get your own," Cam said, resting a possessive hand on Dean's arm.

His spine crawled, and he took a step back, intending to put some distance between himself and the very distracting presence currently molesting his bicep. The distraction followed, smirking down at him through a fringe of thick dark hair. "Going somewhere?"

"Car," Dean forced out, which totally wasn't what he'd meant to say. "Car sounds good to me."

"Up to you," Cam said again. He slid his hand up Dean's arm, over his shoulder, and breathed in his ear, "But don't tell me you'd rather do this there. Not when we could have a bed, and a door that locks."

"The car locks," he protested, but weakly.

"The car," Cam purred, "has windows. I don't think you want anyone seeing what I'm going to do to you."

Shit. The words went straight to his groin, making his knees tremble with some compulsion he didn't quite understand. He glanced around desperately, eyes resting on the old woman's avid expression, and that was enough for him to muster one final attempt at protest. "This is too weird for me, man."

The hand curved around the back of his neck, long fingers curling against his throat and brushing the edge of his Adam's apple. "I'll make it worth your while," Cam promised, and this time Dean could feel soft lips against his ear.

Dean swallowed and felt his throat bob, nudging those tempting fingers. A flush of warmth spread from his neck down to his chest, then lower. Suddenly it was way too hot in the small room.

"Weird can be good," he allowed finally.

"My thoughts exactly," Cam said, nudging a knee against his throbbing dick, and Dean saw stars.

He wasn't sure what happened next, but somehow his wallet made its way from his pocket to Cam's hand, and two twenties and a ten ended up on the check-in desk, and the old woman was handing over a key and saying "Room six" without even bothering to hide her leer.

"So what exactly are you?" Dean hissed, recovering his powers of speech as he was propelled out the door.

Cam was scanning the room numbers. "What do you mean?"

"From where I'm standing, you've got my wallet in your pants. Sounds like a hooker to me."

"Does it matter?"

"I don't pay for sex. I'm old-fashioned that way."

"First time for everything," Cam said, spotting the room and fitting the key into the lock. "Here we go. Number six."

"There is no number six," Dean muttered, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why he wasn't just walking away. Except now he'd invested cash in this venture, so he might as well see it through.

As rationalizations went, it was pretty pathetic.

Cam didn't give him time to further ponder the question. As soon as the door swung shut behind them, he slammed Dean back against it and started doing his damnedest to suck on Dean's tongue.

Dazed by the onslaught, Dean felt himself go limp and pliant, barely noticing as his leather jacket was wrestled off his shoulders and down to the floor. When was the last time he'd really been kissed, anyway, besides a surprise thanks-for-saving-my-life peck on the cheek? Long before he'd shanghaied Sam on this little road trip, that was for sure. Sam's fucking college-boy tunnel vision didn't leave a lot of room for extracurriculars.

Sam, Dean thought as now-familiar hands wormed their way up his shirt. Oh shit, Sam--

Then a fingernail scraped over his left nipple, and the thought was lost in a blaze of pure arousal. He shuddered and tried to hold onto it, but it was like trying to grab a handful of smoke. It was a close thing, but he'd be willing to bet he'd never been this turned on in his life.

Something about that wasn't quite right, but again Cam didn't give him time to think. He pulled back from Dean's mouth with a wet sucking sound; Dean kept moving his lips for a few seconds before he realized the contact had been broken. "You're distracted," Cam murmured, squeezing his ass for emphasis.

"You're being pretty damn distracting," Dean panted.

"I'm not the distraction. I'm the main event."

"This isn't happening," Dean moaned, thudding his head back against the door. "I'm not--"

"It is," Cam said, punctuating the words with a warm swipe of tongue down his throat, "and you are."

He slammed his head back again, and the pain cleared his mind just a little. "I'm supposed to be working," he muttered, closing his eyes. "Looking for-- for...."

Cam froze, and Dean's eyes flew open. "What the hell, man?" he demanded, before he could stop himself.

Cam's eyes were narrowed and glittering. "Looking for what?"

Dean stared at him, trying and failing to remember anything from before he'd walked up to Cam in the bar, weighing his options against the hard-on currently threatening to bust his zipper. The guy was like walking, talking Viagra. He couldn't think past the increasingly painful ache in his jeans, and suddenly he didn't know why he was even bothering. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting Cam's hands moving again.

"Looking for what?" Cam repeated, and Dean made up his mind, just like that.

"Hell if I know," he said, and yanked his shirt over his head.


"Another bust," Ellie reported, letting the door swing shut behind her with the anemic tinkle of a chime, singular.

Sam levered himself up off the side of the car with a sigh. "That's three down, how many to go?"

"I look like a phone book to you?"

"No," he said, opening the door, "you look like someone who knows the address of every crappy motel in town. You sure you're getting your needs met at home?"

She narrowed her eyes and tapped blood-red fingernails against the steering wheel, and for a long, tense moment, Sam expected her to go for his throat. Then she relaxed, tossing lush red waves over her shoulder, and drawled, "I have no complaints."

"He must be some guy," Sam ventured by way of apology, as she started the car.

"He is," Ellie said. "Next subject, please."

"Fine. Are you sure they're going to a motel?"

"Of course not," she snapped, stomping on the gas pedal and peeling out of the parking lot in a move eerily reminiscent of Dean. "It only makes sense. But it's assuming a lot that my brother's going to do something that makes sense."

Sam watched her as she drove, considering. If there was one thing he knew all about, it was passive-aggressive sibling relations. She wasn't just talking about the motel thing.

"So," he said, breaking the tense silence, "let's say-- just for the sake of argument-- that Dean is gay. Or bi, or whatever."

Ellie snorted. "I see you've been thinking about this."

"Trying hard not to," Sam muttered, then raised his voice over the noise of the engine. "What about your brother? What's his name, Cam? I've never heard of a gay incubus."

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. When she spoke, her voice was a little too casual. "So an incubus you can accept, but not a gay one?"

"Hey," Sam said, "I'm not the one with the acceptance issues. I'm embracing the idea."

"Yeah, I can see the embracing from here."

"You have to admit," he pressed, "it's not exactly usual."

"Dad said the same thing," Ellie said bitterly. "Only with more creative words. Or less creative, depending on your point of view."

Sam eyed her narrowly. "But you don't have a problem with it?"

"What's your fucking point?"

"Now that's creative."

"Look," Ellie said through gritted teeth, "my family, my business. You're just the dumb fuck who decided to stroll up to a succubus with nothing but a mystical condom between you and certain death. Forgive me if I don't feel like spilling my guts to someone who in all likelihood came here to kill me."

"Did not," Sam said, curling protective fingers around the mystical condom in question. At least he assumed she was talking about the pendant.

"And you can't lie for shit. What the hell good are you?"

"I make a mean apple pie," he said. "So if you don't trust me, why didn't you leave me back at the bar?"

Ellie sighed. "I know what it's like dealing with younger brothers. I got a soft spot. So shoot me."

"Dean's older than me."

"My condolences, then."

Sam echoed her sigh. Between the two of them, they could've powered a windmill. "What are you going to do when we find them?"

"If we find them, you mean."

"When," Sam said firmly, ignoring the sudden chill in his blood. He hadn't even considered the alternative. If Dean died....

You'd be free, a nasty, insinuating voice whispered in the back of his head. You could go back to California, get another job. Live like a real person. You never wanted this to be your life.

Go back, sure, but back to what? Jessica was dead, and he still didn't know why. He'd tried the normal life thing, and it didn't work. The demons had followed him. How fucking symbolic.

If Dean died tonight, Sam would keep doing what they'd been doing: looking for their father, trying to find some answers. Only now he'd be doing it alone.

"I won't let you kill Cam," Ellie said, her voice flat and final.

Sam glanced at her, unnerved by how closely her words mirrored his own thoughts. Sibling death; a fun game for everyone to play. "But if he's killing people--"

"I'll deal with it. He's just going through a phase."

"Yeah, a phase of killing people!"

"We're strong," Ellie said conversationally, and Sam blinked at the non-existent segue. "Demons, I mean. Strong and fast. But you know all about that, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said warily. "So?"

"So I could rip that tacky-ass piece of jewelry off your neck before you could even blink, and then I could do anything to you-- anything-- and you wouldn't even want to stop me. I don't like killing people, Sam, but I'll do it if I have to. And protecting my family counts as a big have to." She flashed him a sweet smile, baring a set of too-sharp teeth. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yeah," Sam said again, his mouth dry. "I would."

"Oh look," Ellie said. "There's our next stop."

Sam tucked the pendant back under his shirt and thought longingly of Dean's shotgun, stowed safely in the trunk of Dean's car, which was parked wherever the hell Dean was that he wasn't, because he was stuck in a crappy Civic with a pissed-off demon who could kill him as soon as look at him.

It was going to be a long night.


"What the hell is this?"

Dean paused in the act of unbuttoning his jeans and looked down. Cam was crouched at his feet, unlacing his boots. Or at least he had been. Now he was staring at the knife strapped to Dean's ankle, and looking none too happy about it.

"It's a knife," Dean said with what he felt was commendable patience. "You know, pointy end goes in the bad guy?"

Cam shot him another narrow, glittering look. "You knife a lot of bad guys?"

"I lead a full and interesting life."

"Apparently," Cam said sourly, setting the knife aside with a look of disgust. There was a moment when Dean was convinced that was it, the man was going to get up and walk out, and he wasn't sure whether to be worried or relieved when Cam attacked his boots again with renewed vigor. Or maybe just worried that he was even contemplating being relieved.

He waited, shifting uneasily on the edge of the bed, as Cam finished unlacing and pulled his boots off without another word. Then he pushed Dean backward onto the mattress, which protested with a squeak of rusty springs, and finally peeled off his jeans. Dean groaned as his dick sprang to much-needed freedom, and almost missed Cam going through his pockets.

Almost but not quite, as Cam pulled out his brass knuckles, his lighter, and a small Ziploc bag of dried herbs, looking less and less happy as he went.

"Jesus fuck," Dean said, propping himself up on his elbow. "What the hell are you, a narc? It's sage, okay?"

Cam made a face. "Are you planning on doing some cooking later?"

"Why, you want an invite? I thought the dinner came before the sex."

Cam picked up the knife from the carpet and stood, and Dean watched in growing disbelief as he turned and walked into the bathroom.

"Hey!" Dean protested, too late; three plops and a splish, and four of his most prized possessions met their watery doom in the toilet bowl. Well, the sage was negligible, but the rest-- "I paid good money for those, asshole!"

Which was a bald-faced lie, both the paid and the good parts, but still: definitely not cool.

Cam closed the bathroom door behind him. "You won't be needing those."

"I just might now," Dean said, half-rising from the bed. "Anyone ever teach you to respect a man's weapons?"

"Depends on the weapon," Cam drawled, pushing him back down to the mattress, and Dean almost wasn't pissed anymore. Except... the anger had cleared his head somewhat, and maybe it helped that the distance from the bed to the bathroom was the farthest apart they'd been since this whole insane night began, and it was like looking at one of those old Magic Eye pictures; he'd been fuzzy, and now the scene suddenly snapped into sharp focus. Too sharp. He was lying on a motel bed with a stranger, naked except for his socks, and Cam was leaning over him, all hungry green eyes and wet red lips and, hey, those were some pointy fucking teeth there, why hadn't he noticed that before?

A hand job in the car was one thing. Enthusiastically stripping in the presence of someone who made his dick want to stand up and tap-dance, well, that was just human nature. But this... something was seriously wrong here, and Dean had the horrible feeling that if he just concentrated, he'd know exactly what it was.

He mustered the last of his resolve and shoved. Cam rolled off him with a long-suffering sigh. "Now what?"

"I'm outta here," Dean said, sitting up and grabbing for his jeans before he could change his mind. Cam beat him to them, holding them above his head, just out of reach, and for the first time Dean realized just how tall he was. Tall. And male. And this was so fucking wrong.

"I will hurt you," he warned, curling his fingers into fists.

Cam shrugged. "If you're into that."

"I am not into that," Dean bit out. "I'm not into this. I don't even-- you--" He stalked forward, sudden rage descending like a wet red mist, shorting out the ever-present current of lust. "You whammied me! You son of a bitch, you did something to me!"

"Let me guess," Cam said with a smirk. "First time?"

"Last time," Dean spat, "give me those," and he swung.

The blow never connected. Cam was a dark-colored blur as he stepped out of the way, and Dean found himself off-balance, flailing at empty air. Cam spun him around and shoved with superhuman strength, and Dean belly-flopped on the bed, gasping for breath as the impact knocked the wind out of him.

He pushed himself up, adrenaline surging. He caught a glimpse of his jacket out of the corner of his eye, still crumpled on the carpet by the door, and lunged for it. His gun was still in the inside pocket, Cam hadn't found it and subjected it to the unhygienic baptism, and if he could just get to it, turn this situation around--

He didn't even make it off the bed. "You want them," Cam purred, pushing him back down again, "you got 'em," and before he knew what was happening, his wrists were yanked over his head and lashed to the railed headboard with his own ratty jeans. Dean stared at the knot in disbelief, then twisted his head around and gaped. Cam was crouched over him, and his eyes weren't glittering anymore; they were honest-to-God glowing.

"You're not human," Dean wheezed.

Cam stood, dusting off his hands with visible satisfaction. "And you came here looking for me. Lucky you, you found me."

Lucky. And just like that, it all came crashing back. Sam, the bar, the succubus, her victim. Who, it seemed, wasn't a victim after all.

He was a fucking idiot.

Dean wrestled with his bonds, pulling and twisting until his wrists scraped raw against the denim, but the knots were too tight, tighter than seemed possible. He'd never before considered the restraining properties of a pair of old Levis; clearly an oversight on his part. Frustrated, he rattled at the headboard, and someone thumped on the other side of the wall and yelled, "Keep it down, asshole!"

"Call the cops!" Dean started to yell back, but he didn't get very far before a hand closed over his still-raging hard-on, and how fair was that? He whited out, the words fading to a gurgle in his throat.

"Don't tempt me!" their neighbor shouted.

Dean twisted around again, breath hissing through his teeth. "You," he growled. "You're the one. You're an incubus."

Cam stroked him viciously, and he slammed his forehead against the rails, hard enough to see dancing black spots. Even the impact felt good. He was so, so fucked. "Took you long enough."

"You're dead," Dean gritted out. "You are so fucking dead."

"Funny you should say that," Cam mused. "Fucking, yes. Dead, not so much. You, on the other hand...."

Dean opened his mouth to yell again, and with another superhuman blur of motion, Cam whipped the tie from around his neck and slipped it between Dean's teeth, tying it off in another one of those impossible knots. Dean shook his head furiously and rubbed his face against his arm, trying to dislodge it, but the gag didn't budge.

Cam grinned. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Dean snarled.

"You were a challenge, you know," Cam continued, sitting back on his heels as he started to unbutton his pants. "Right from the start, I could tell you were fighting it. I thought it was just the sexuality thing, but it wasn't just that, was it? You knew. I should've guessed."

He hadn't known, and never in a million years would he have guessed. An incubus who preyed on men-- it was unheard of. And yet here was pretty pressing evidence to the contrary.

And besides-- "There is no sexuality thing," he snapped, or tried to, anyway.

Cam cocked his head to the side. "Sorry, didn't catch that."

He tried again. "I'm not gay!"

It was apparently clear enough, because Cam smiled and patted him on the ass. Dean kicked at him, ignoring the surge of heat that went through him at the contact, and Cam dodged effortlessly. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?"

"Fuck you!" That, at least, translated in any circumstances.

He struggled back to his knees and craned his neck around again. It ached, keeping his head in this position so long, but he wasn't about to take his eyes off the bastard for a second.

Cam was grinning again. "You know so much about us. Don't you know how it works? If you weren't interested, you wouldn't be here."

And he did know. He'd told Sam the exact same thing. But he was willing to entertain the possibility that he'd been wrong.

Please, God, let me be wrong.

Sam, he realized, with another burst of adrenaline. Sam would be looking for him. Sam would find him. That was what baby brothers were for.

"My brother's looking for me," he mumbled around the gag. "He'll find me."

Cam leaned in close, and Dean tried to headbutt him, with a marked lack of success. "You do realize I can't understand a word you're saying, right?"

Dean stretched his lips wide, doing his best to enunciate. "My brother," he repeated, "is coming for me. Asshole."

"Tall guy, dire need of a haircut?" The recognition must have shown on his face, because Cam shook his head in mock-sympathy. "Your brother ran into my sister. Trust me, he's not going anywhere." He pursed his lips. "Might be coming, though."

Sister? Son of a bitch, he hadn't been completely wrong. So there was a succubus involved. And Cam didn't know about the Eye of Guazzo. Which meant....

Which meant the succubus would have slit his throat and left him in a ditch somewhere, and Sam still wasn't coming for him.

"Oh, cheer up," Cam said, seeing him deflate. "I promise I'll make it good for you. Trust me: by the end, you won't even care."

He shoved his pants down around his thighs and leaned forward, and Dean finally let his head drop down and closed his eyes.


"This is pointless," Sam said, throwing himself into the passenger seat and slamming the door.

"How much do you love your brother?" Ellie asked, clasping her hands beneath her chin in an imitation of earnest curiosity. "Answer: not so much after all. Tea and cookies at my place."

Sam glared at her. "I mean we're wasting our time. None of these guys have seen them. And we're how far past the city limits?"

Ellie dropped the pose and started the car again. "Hey, if you have a better idea, feel free to share."

He sighed. "Let me think a minute."

"Don't strain yourself."

Sam ignored the remark; long years of practice. "Only two of the bodies were found. One was in the Dumpster behind the bar--"

"Where we know they aren't," Ellie interrupted. "That's helpful."

"Speaking of things that aren't helpful," he said pointedly.

She raised her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Shutting up and letting the big strong man think."

He ignored that too. "Where was the second one?"

"You're so well-informed, you tell me."

"I would," Sam snapped, "if the newspaper clippings weren't in Dean's car."

"You really should put a Lojack on that thing," Ellie said.

Sam bared his teeth. "I'll keep that in mind for the next time my brother's kidnapped by a homicidal incubus."

"Kidnapped, enticed," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You say tomato...."

"Ellie," Sam said through clenched teeth. "Please. You have to know this."

She sighed and closed her eyes, squeezing the bridge of her nose. "Across town somewhere, I think."

"You think?"

"Hey, it's a start."

Sam frowned. "Can we get our hands on a copy of the article? I mean, I know the library's closed now, but is there an online version?"

"Yeah, that'll be the day." Ellie hesitated, then said with obvious reluctance, "I have it on my desk."

He stared at her. "And you didn't think to mention that?"

"Excuse me if I'm not too keen on showing a demon hunter where I live, okay?" she shot back.

Sam took a deep breath, swallowing his rising anger. "Look," he said patiently, "we don't have time for this. I'm trusting you. You have to trust me too."

"Oh, I have to, do I?"

"Ellie," he said, staring at her and willing her to believe him, "I promise, all I want to do is find my brother and get the hell out of here. I don't want to hurt you. You'll never see either of us again. Swear to God."

"That doesn't mean much to me," she sniffed, but she seemed to be relenting.

"Fine." Before he thought better of it, Sam yanked the pendant over his head and held it out to her; she recoiled, staring at it in disbelief. "Take it," he insisted. "I'm trusting you with my life now. I want you to do the same."

Ellie's mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments before she found her voice. "Are you insane?" she blurted, shoving his hand back. "Put that back on!"

Her slanted green eyes were wide, her dark lips parted with concern. Sam stared, fascinated, at the tip of the pink tongue moving across her teeth.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Ellie sighed, grabbing the pendant and leaning across him. Sam's pulse pounded at the contact, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair-- something wild and green and dangerous, ravines and dark forests and lightning strikes, and just a hint of smoke....

Her hands met behind his neck, and the sense of vertigo vanished as suddenly as it appeared. Sam stilled, exhaled, and cracked one eye open.

"Well," he said after a moment. "This is awkward."

Ellie collapsed back in her seat, somehow managing to flounce even in the confines of the car. "Fine," she growled. "Point made, you fucking moron. Noble fucking gesture, my ass...."

She threw the car into reverse and squealed backwards out of the parking space, still grumbling under her breath. Sam turned and stared out the window so she wouldn't see him smile.


Cam hadn't lied. Dean was enjoying it.

Enjoying it despite himself, because he knew what was happening now, and as much as he half-hoped otherwise, he couldn't recover the comforting haze of confusion that had gotten him this far. That dam had broken, and it couldn't be rebuilt.

But that knowledge didn't stop him shivering at the touch of Cam's hands on his skin, even as he was cataloguing the many ways in which he was totally fucked. Including, first and foremost, the literal way.

"Damn," Cam sighed, as the first slick finger wormed its way inside Dean's ass despite his best efforts to clench. "You really haven't done this before, have you?"

Dean buried his face in the pillow and wondered how much it would have to hurt before he didn't want it anymore. His brain was getting some seriously conflicting messages here.

"You shouldn't try to resist," Cam added. "It'll only hurt more."

"Shut the fuck up," he told the pillow, even as his muscles relaxed despite himself.

"Better," Cam said with approval, working the finger in deeper. "You know, it's been a while since I've had a virgin."

"Could do without the running commentary."

Cam didn't understand, of course, or more likely caught the gist and chose to ignore it. "You want to know what I thought, the first time I saw you?"

It was pointless, really, like a dentist waiting until the drill was molars-deep before saying And how was your vacation, but Dean couldn't resist the urge to reply. "I really don't."

He shouldn't have bothered. "I thought, there's a mouth made for sucking cock."

"I'll bite it off."

That, Cam did understand. "No, you won't," he said with utter certainty. "You'll do it and you'll love it, and you'll beg for more."

"Like hell," Dean started to say, and then a second finger pushed inside, and the garbled words became a less-garbled whimper. Who was he kidding? Cam had the supernatural on his side. Dean didn't stand a chance.

The fingers angled, probing deeper, and a white-hot jolt shot up his spine. His whole body jerked, and a low groan rose in his throat.

I am so dead.

Another electric prod. "How do you feel about me now?"

This time he didn't bother to respond. He was shaking with the effort of not pushing down on those fingers, and trying hard to remember why he didn't want to.

"I could leave right now. Just get up and walk out. You want me to do that?"

Dean ground the tie between his teeth and envisioned the expensive fabric ripping to threads in his mouth. Yes, he thought, I do, but his brain wasn't in charge anymore-- if it ever had been-- and even without the gag, he would have been hard-pressed to form the words. He wondered if that was how all Cam's victims felt at the end, if they realized they were dying and tried to fight it, or if they just slipped away without even noticing, all awareness long since fucked out of them. It was a sobering thought, but not a very helpful one.

Cam was humming something. It was the Jeopardy theme, he realized, and fought the sudden, inexplicable urge to cry.

"Time's up," Cam said cheerfully. "Or do you want me to do this?" And Jesus, that was a third finger.

Dean bucked at the invasion, unsure whether he was trying to push up or down. The sensation of fullness was overwhelming, mind-blowing even, and some distant and fading voice of rationality wondered, if at three fingers he already felt stuffed like a Christmas turkey, how the hell was he going to take something that-- unless Cam was seriously overcompensating-- was probably a lot wider and longer? The rest of him couldn't wait to find out.

Shut up, he ordered whatever part of him was doing the thinking, probably his sadly neglected dick. Oh my God, shut the hell up. You don't want this.

He did.

Fucking traitor.

"Tell me you're ready," Cam said, in a low voice that seemed to crawl inside Dean's skin and snake through every nerve ending in his body. "Tell me how much you want it."

The fingers probed that now-familiar spot, ripping a moan from someplace deep inside that Dean didn't even know he had.

"Tell me," Cam insisted, working the fingers back and forth without mercy. "You want my dick in your ass. You want me to fuck you and come inside you, and then you want me to do it again. Tell me."

"Screw you," Dean panted.

Cam crooked his fingers and gave a sharp twist. "What was that?"

Fuck, it was too much. He couldn't....

"Fuck me!" he shouted finally, furious and desperate, and in spite of the gag and the pillow pressed against his mouth, the words rang out loud and clear, echoing off the walls.

There was another thump, just above his head. "Jesus, shut up!"

He'd be mortified later, he knew. Or he would be, if there was going to be a later.

"That's what I like to hear," Cam said with approval. The fingers slipped out, leaving Dean empty and spinning from the loss of contact. He automatically pushed back to follow, and ended up half-impaled on the hot, hard flesh that replaced them. He choked at the pressure and the pain, head swimming. Way bigger than three fingers. How the hell did people do this?

"You want rough?" Cam murmured against his shoulder blades. "I can do that."

Dean shivered and whimpered and did a bunch of other unmanly things that didn't bear thinking about. It occurred to him that Cam wasn't wearing a condom, and also that that was the least of his worries. Still, it would've been nice to at least pretend that Dean would be alive later to worry about STDs.

He hovered there for a few endless moments, tethered like a kite on a string, half-afraid that he'd just snap off and whip away. Then Cam grabbed his hips and shoved the rest of the way inside.

The force of the impact rocked him forward, slamming his much-abused skull once more against the headboard. His mouth flew open in shock, but no sound came out; he didn't have the breath left to yell. Cam didn't give him time to recover. He pulled out and slammed back in, then did it again.

It took a few strokes for his lungs to recover, but finally Dean could breathe again, and sucked in a great gasp of air and promptly went dizzy at the oxygen rush. His body was two throbbing points of awareness, his full, burning ass and his aching dick, and there wasn't enough blood left in his brain to remember why he'd even bothered to resist. All he could do was clutch the headboard, brace himself, and hang on for the ride.

"So... fucking... tight," Cam grunted in time with his thrusts. "Fuck. So good...."

Dean whimpered again, arching his back as the sensations blazed up his spine. He felt his balls draw up, felt himself start to fall, and Cam reached down and wrenched the orgasm out of him with a single vicious stroke.

He shuddered as he came, blacking out for just an instant. When he came to, he was flat on his stomach, knees having given out, and Cam was still driving into him. Dean's legs spread themselves wider, automatically giving Cam more room. The man-- incubus-- whatever-- swore one last time, plunged in to the hilt, and came.

The wet heat spreading inside him felt utterly alien. It also felt way too damn good.

Cam didn't even stop to rest before pulling out with a faint but obscene wet sucking sound. Dean glanced over his shoulder, too drained to turn his head all the way around. He couldnít think to form words, but Cam saw his hopeful expression and laughed.

"Nice try," he said, though not unkindly. "We're just getting started."

Dean buried his face in his arms and moaned. Beneath him, his spent cock struggled back to life with a traitorous twitch.


After everything he'd seen, Sam thought he was unshockable. He'd even grown somewhat accustomed to Ellie, who had turned out to be one bizarre revelation after another. He didn't think she could surprise him anymore.

He was wrong.

Ellie caught his look and sighed. "What, you expected an altar of skulls? Maybe some red velvet drapes?"

Sam pointed. "You have a Sailor Moon poster. You don't get to be snippy anymore."

"Oh, please," Ellie said. "Like you don't have any embarrassing obsessions."

"Is that guy throwing a rose? What kind of distance can you get on those things?"

"Sit down and shut up," Ellie ordered, shoving him at the bed.

Obedient, Sam sat, and looked around in amusement as Ellie rifled through the stacks of paper on her desk. "Your room is pink."

"I didn't pick the color, and I told you to shut up."

The house itself was jarring enough-- a perfectly ordinary brick split-level, with a manicured lawn and a station wagon parked in the driveway. Still, that hadn't prepared him for this. In addition to the incriminating poster, Ellie's baby pink walls also featured a collage of magazine clippings, a battered and faded poster of Kurt Cobain, and a sepia-toned portrait of a smiling young couple. A small bookcase in the corner held what looked like a stack of romance novels.

It was depressing as hell.

He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until Ellie turned around and glared at him, hands on her hips. "What's so depressing about it?"

Sam blinked at her, then opted for the truth. "You have a more normal life than I do."

Her scowl faded, and her hands fell back to her sides. "Here," she said after a moment, holding him the newspaper clipping. "It was an alley off Green Street. Totally the other end of town from Lucky's."

Sam snatched the article from her hand, abruptly reminded of the dire situation. "That's weird. Why would he go there?"

"One way to find out," Ellie said, leaning over the computer on her desk, a cheerful white iBook. Her fingers flew over the keyboard for a few seconds, and then she made a small, satisfied sound and straightened. "There's a motel on Green Street, two blocks down."

"That's it," Sam said, and stood. "Let's go."

"You're awfully confident," Ellie said doubtfully as she followed him down the hall. "If they ever were there, they might not be anymore."

"They will be."

"Your faith is touching, but--"

"Where are your parents?" Sam asked, holding open the front door for her.

She brushed past him and rolled her eyes. "Why, you wanna meet the folks?"

"I'm changing the subject. Work with me here."

Ellie shot him a pointed look, then glanced at her watch. "Today's Tuesday, right? Probably still at salsa dancing. They go up to Chicago twice a month for lessons."

"See," Sam said, "that should surprise me, and yet it totally doesn't."

"We'll make a man of the world of you yet."

"That was them in the photo?"

"Yeah," Ellie said with a rueful smile. "Mom fed on the photographer after the shoot. It's one of her favorite stories."

Sam stopped, staring, as she unlocked the car and slid inside.

After a moment, she leaned over and rolled down the passenger window. "Well? Are you coming or what?"


"You're an incubus," Dean muttered sometime later, when Cam eased the gag from his mouth. He was sprawled face-down on the bed, spent but somehow still hard, and couldn't put up a fight now even if he wanted to. He barely had the voice left to whisper. He'd lost track of his orgasms somewhere along the way, and wondered distantly if this was how it felt to be a chick, if it was this fucking exhausting for them. No wonder they always claimed to have a headache.

"So you said," Cam agreed, turning him over on his back. His hands twisted in their bonds, cutting off his circulation.

"Incubus," he repeated, squinting up as Cam knelt over his chest. There seemed to be two Cams. That couldn't be normal. "You're gonna kill me. You're killing me now."

"And what better way to go?"

The man had a point.

Dean stared cross-eyed at the dick bobbing in front of his face. It was just as big as it had felt, and his sore ass twinged in memory. "Dude," he slurred, "that's fucking foul. I know where that's been."

"What do you care?" Cam asked reasonably. "You're dead either way."

Dean pressed his lips together and glared. It took effort.

Cam sighed. "I washed, okay?"

"Did not."

"You wanna taste the soap?"

Reluctantly, Dean opened his mouth and darted his tongue out. It brushed against the soft head, and he closed his eyes. Soap.

"There you go," Cam murmured, as his dick slid inexorably down Dean's tongue and into his mouth.

It felt fleshy and solid, not at all like he'd imagined, or would have, if he imagined that sort of thing. He felt his cheeks bulge, felt saliva collecting in his mouth, and tried not to gag as it brushed the back of his throat.

He didn't bite down once.

"Good," Cam breathed, easing backwards, and his dick left Dean's mouth with a wet-sounding pop. There was another sound, some kind of distant, muffled thump; he assumed it was the blood pounding in his ears. He licked his lips, dazed, and felt hot fingers close over his improbable hard-on. Moments later, Cam's mouth followed.

"Oh Jesus," he spluttered, thrusting up into the wet heat.

Then the window exploded inward, and shards of glass rained down on the bed.


"Number six," Ellie announced as they pulled into the parking lot, and giggled. "Hey, motel six, get it? It's--"

Sam threw open the door and leaped out while the car was still moving.

"Hey!" she called after him. "It wasn't that bad a joke!"

"They're here," he said shortly, and started running for the front door.

"Hey! Hey, heels here!" He heard Ellie clomping after him, abandoning elegance in favor of speed. "Look, not to bring up what's obviously a sore subject, but how do you know--"

Sam pointed without slowing down and called over his shoulder, "That's Dean's car."

Ellie stopped, staring at the Impala. "Ew," she said and made a face. "That thing? How macho."

He reached for the lobby door, and in a blinding flash she was beside him, grabbing his wrist. Sam tried to pull his hand away, but her grip was like steel. "Hey," he protested. "What the hell?"

Ellie didn't look at him; she was staring through the window, at the old woman behind the desk. "Shit," she said with feeling.

Sam reached for the door again, with a similar lack of success. "What?"

"That woman," Ellie said, still staring. "She's...." She sniffed delicately and narrowed her eyes. "She's one of us. Shit."

He squinted through the window, before Ellie pulled him back. "You're kidding. She's a succubus?"

"No, she's the president of the Women's Rotary," Ellie snapped. "Yes, she's a succubus?"

"A succubus running a motel," Sam hissed. "And you didn't think to mention that before? It didn't seem, oh, I don't know, significant?"

"Hey!" She shoved him, and only her iron grip kept him from falling on his ass. "I didn't know, okay? I don't know her, I can just tell. It's not like I'm on a first name basis with everyone in the community!"

"Community?" Sam echoed weakly.

She raised a warning finger. "Hey. You promised."

"I thought it was just you guys! I didn't know there was a community!"

"Keep your voice down!" Ellie snapped. "We don't kill anymore. This town has the second-lowest murder rate in the state."

Somehow he wasn't surprised that she knew that. "But still--"

"Still nothing," she shot back, and released his hand. He reached for the door a third time. She stepped in front of him, and his fingers halted a scant inch from dangerous territory. "Wait outside. I'll take care of this."

"Excuse me? You're in charge now?"

"Yeah," she said levelly, "I am. You obviously don't know what you're dealing with."

"I know how to deal with demons, Ellie."

"I'm talking human nature, boy genius. If that woman's letting Cam use her motel to feed, that's a serious breach of community law. You think she wouldn't kill to keep people from finding out?"

"She's old!" Sam protested, but weakly.

"Don't be ageist, Sam. She could still kick your ass."

He stepped back with a sigh, hands raised in surrender, and muttered, "I liked you better when you were trying to convince me you guys are harmless."

"Not harmless," Ellie said, a brief shadow passing over her beautiful face. "Just restrained." She flicked a dismissive hand at him. "Now shoo."

Sam sulked back to the Impala and kicked a tire in frustration. Then, as raised voices started to filter through the closed door, he popped the trunk and opened the false bottom, closing glad fingers over Dean's shotgun. He didn't share his brother's relish at holding the thing, or even anything approaching Dean's level of comfort, but for once it was a welcome weight in his hands.

Inside, the argument came to a sudden end with a loud crash. Sam spun around, raising the shotgun, and Ellie stopped in front of the door as it swung shut, mid-lipstick touch-up. Her hair was mussed and a small cut adorned her cheek, but she looked otherwise unscathed.

"You promised," she said, her voice dangerously close to a snarl.

Sam quickly lowered the gun. "It's just rock salt. It won't kill anyone."

Still frowning, Ellie capped the lipstick and tucked it away somewhere; Sam didn't dare imagine where. "And if the sidewalk suddenly freezes over, that'll be a great help."

"Slows down angry spirits," Sam explained, and damn, it felt good to be the one who explained things again. "Also slows down almost anything else. Call me crazy, but I doubt your brother will give up any more easily than that woman in there."

And if the bastard really had killed Dean, Sam kind of hoped he wouldn't.

"Clearly you don't understand the power of sisterly disapproval."

"I prefer the power of a twelve-gauge."

Ellie sighed. "Well, far be it from me to deny you your phallic substitute." Before Sam could open his mouth to retort, she added, "They're in room six. Motel six, room six. I'm sensing a pattern here, aren't you?"

Sam didn't bother to answer; he was already running down the walkway to room six.

Ellie sauntered up behind him as he pounded on the door. "Oh, yeah, keep knocking. I think they're gonna answer."

He backed up to the rusty railing and racked the shotgun. "Shut up and stand back."

"Aw," Ellie said. "Testosterone. That's sweet."

The blast shattered the windowpane. Sam climbed through the opening, dropping down and quickly spinning around, shotgun at the ready.

The scene that greeted him was possibly the most disturbing thing he'd seen in his life. And considering his life, that was saying a lot.

Dean was sprawled on his back on the bed, stark naked except for his socks, hands tied over his head with what looked like his favorite pair of jeans. A tie was knotted like a kerchief around his neck. His legs were wrapped around the shoulders of the man kneeling in front of him, whose dark head was bobbing up and down, and he was writhing and whimpering. As Sam watched, paralyzed, the incubus eased a thumb down between Dean's thighs, into--

His paralysis broke. "Hey!" he shouted, racking the shotgun again.

The incubus stilled, shoulders tensed, then pulled back and slowly turned around. Dean's head flopped to the side, and he gave Sam a bleary glare. "Sammy. Ever hear of knocking?"

"I did knock," Sam said, keeping his eyes on the incubus. "You're welcome."

The incubus stood, straightening his clothes and fixing Sam with a narrow, glowing stare. His erection still bobbed in his open fly, but somehow he didn't seem any less threatening because of it. He looked like Ellie, Sam realized-- same elegant features, same slanted green eyes, same pissed-off expression. No wonder he found the guy intimidating.

Sam resolutely fixed his gaze above the waist. "Get out."

"Oh look," the incubus sneered. "A family reunion."

"You got that right," came Ellie's voice from the window, and Sam watched in bemusement as the incubus' face actually paled, his eyes going wide and hunted. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Cambion?"

She dropped down next to Sam, shoes held loosely in each hand, and brushed past him, adding, "Thanks for unlocking the door, asshole."

"I was busy," Sam said.

"So I see." Ellie marched up to her brother and whacked him on the side of his head.

"Hey!" Cam protested, clutching his head and giving her an injured look.

"Don't you dare 'hey' me," Ellie spat, smacking him again. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You were raised better than this!"

"Oh yeah, let's bring Dad into this!" Cam snapped, jabbing an angry finger at her. "It's always about what he wants, what he says! Damn it, Eleanor, don't you ever think for yourself?"

Sam's spine crawled, and he sidled up to the bed, attempting to ignore the shouting match behind him. "Hey," he said softly. "You okay?"

"Sammy?" Dean squinted up at him, looking confused, and Sam didn't bother to correct him. His eyes were glazed, lips red and swollen, hair spiked with sweat. Sam's eyes slid away, past tooth-shaped bruises and, oh God, a suspicious sticky white film, and finally focused on the socks. Socks were normal. He could deal with socks.

He couldn't do anything about the smell, though.

"Yeah," he said, leaning over Dean's wrists. It was hard to inspect the knot while fixated on socks, but he managed. "I'm here. I can't untie this, so I'm going to cut it, all right?"

"They're my favorite jeans, Sammy." Dean sounded a little less fuzzy.

"I know," Sam said consolingly. "We'll get you new ones, okay?" He slipped his Leatherman from his pocket and pulled open the blade.

"I don't want new ones," Dean grumbled as Sam started to saw through the denim.

Behind him, he heard Ellie shout, "--not going to talk about this here!", and then the door slammed. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, and saw that the demons had gone.

"Sam," Dean said suddenly, squirming up into a sitting position. Sam closed his eyes and thought about socks. "Sam, that guy, he's the one, he-- ow! Watch what you're doing with that thing!"

"Sorry," Sam muttered, opening his eyes again. Dean sucked at the blood on his wrist and glared.

He did not want to think about Dean sucking things.

"Forget it," Dean said, wiggling his fingers. "Hurry up, we gotta catch him before he gets away. Who was the babe?"

Definitely back to normal.

He jumped up as soon as the last piece of denim fell away, and made it three steps from the bed before he stopped, a peculiar expression on his face that Sam had absolutely no desire to decipher.

"You can't go out like that," Sam said hurriedly, and pulled off his sweatshirt, in case Dean felt the urge to share. That happened sometimes. "Here, tie this around your waist or something."

Dean did, knotting the sleeves over his hip for maximum coverage of necessities. Sam couldn't tell for sure, but he thought his brother might actually have been blushing. "Thanks," Dean mumbled. "I'll give it back to you."

"Please don't," Sam said with feeling. "It's yours."

That was definitely a blush. If he weren't so traumatized by the moment, Sam would have wished for a camera.

"Why didn't you shoot the fucker?" Dean demanded suddenly, starting for the door.

Sam blinked. "Okay, that's new. Five minutes ago you would've shot me."

"Five minutes ago he still had the whammy on me!"

He couldn't resist. "The... gay whammy?"

Dean growled and snatched for the shotgun; Sam stepped away and hid it behind his back. "Gimme that."

"You can't kill a demon with rock salt, Dean."

"Fine. Give me a knife. We'll see how much tail he gets with his dick in another zip code."

Sam sighed. "Let's just go, okay?"

Dean growled again and stomped into the bathroom, then emerged a moment later, clutching his knife and his knuckle duster, both dripping. Sam resolved not to ask. "Come on," he said, grabbing his leather jacket from the floor and shrugging it on. "I feel like killing something."

"Really?" Sam countered. "I feel like getting you to a hospital, then getting the hell out of Illinois."

Dean stopped, one hand on the doorknob. "No hospital."

"Dean, you're probably dehydrated, you could be injured--"

"And I've got the car keys. No hospital."

Sam sighed again. He was doing a lot of sighing tonight. "We can't kill him, Dean."

"Give me a few minutes. I'll figure out a way."

"No, I mean, we can't." He tried not to shrink at Dean's glare. "I promised."

"You promised," Dean echoed.

"Look," Sam said feebly, "can we just go?""

"What is wrong with you, man? They're evil! Evil cock-sucking demons from hell!" Dean threw open the door for emphasis and stormed out, then paused in the walkway. "Oh, wait."

Sam followed with a sigh. "What now?"

"Unfinished business," Dean said shortly, and pounded on the door of room five. Sam watched, bemused, as the door was flung open and a skinny, middle-aged guy began, "What the hell--"

Dean decked him, and he folded up like a lawn chair.

Sam jumped. "Dean!"

"Next time," Dean was snarling, "call the freaking cops, asshole!" He kicked the downed man once more for good measure and slammed the door shut behind him. Sam decided he didn't want to know.

He had to jog a little to catch up with his brother, who was stalking down the walkway with deadly intent. "Dean--"

"Evil," Dean bit out over his shoulder. "That word ring a bell, Sammy? Remember the part where we kill evil things?"

"Look, Ellie's going to take care of it, okay?"

Dean whirled on him, eyes blazing. "Ellie?" he demanded. "She's Ellie now? Shit. She whammied you too, didn't she?"

"No, she didn't," Sam said, and sighed again. "It's... complicated."

"Complicated my ass!" Dean retorted, as they rounded the corner to the parking lot. Sam had expected Ellie and her brother to be long gone, but to his surprise, the Civic was still there, its owner leaning against the trunk. She gave him a little wave as Dean continued, "They're demons, they have to die. End of story."

Ellie rolled her eyes but, for once, kept her mouth shut.

Sam steered Dean to the car, neatly stepping between him and the succubus. Quietly he asked, "Are you sure that's why?"

Dean's eyes snapped up, and he pulled away. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it," Sam said, opening the trunk and tossing the shotgun back inside.

Dean unlocked the driver's side door and yanked it open with an angry flourish. "No, Sam, just say it. Say whatever the hell you're thinking, right now, or so help me God--"

"Fine." Sam folded his arms over his chest. "I'm thinking you want to kill Cam because he made you realize you're gay."

Dean paused halfway into the car, lowered his head for a moment, then stood. He leaned over the roof, spreading his heads over the metal, and said in a low voice, "I am not."

"Look, it doesn't matter to me if you are. I'm just saying--"

"No. We do not talk about this. Ever." Dean slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door behind him.

Sam hesitated, then took a couple steps toward Ellie. She waved him to a stop and said, "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Keeping your promise," she said, and smiled a little.

"I hope you realize," Sam said, "I'm gonna be catching shit for this for the next ten years."

She cocked her head to the side. "Oh, I don't think so. I don't think he'll want to talk about this for a while."

"He'll be okay," Sam said, with more certainty than he felt.

"I don't doubt it," Ellie said, and stood. "One question, though. You were so sure they'd be here, even before you saw the car. How did you know? Really."

Sam gave an awkward shrug. "It just made sense."

"Uh-huh," she said after a moment, and shook her head. "Here, I think this is yours." She tossed him something small and dark, and he caught it one-handed. Dean's wallet.

He really didn't want to know.

"We should go," he said, and glanced at the Civic and Cam's huddled form in the backseat. "You probably should too."

"Yeah, Mom and Dad will be home soon." Ellie opened the door, then stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "Hey, Sam? If you're ever in town again, stop by. We'll go for coffee or something."

"If I'm ever in town again," Sam said, "I'll probably shoot myself."

"Yeah." Ellie gave him another faint smile. "But stop by first."

Dean slammed his fist against the passenger window, and Sam shot her a quick answering smile and opened the door. Before Dean could get started, Sam said, "Dean, it's no big deal, okay? You think after all the weird shit we've dealt with, this is gonna be a problem?"

Dean started the engine with an angry flourish. "There is no 'this'. Shut up."

"Hey, you told me to say it."

"And now I'm telling you to shut up."

Sam waited until they had pulled onto the highway and were heading out of town, then asked innocently, "So what, you're bi, then?"

"Sam," Dean said through clenched teeth, "I swear to God--"

"Just checking," Sam said, trying not to smirk. "Kansas City, then?"

Dean grunted.

He heard Dean shift slightly in the driver's seat, caught him grimacing out of the corner of his eye. He considered offering to drive, then thought better of it.

"I knew you should've worn the necklace," he muttered instead, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Dean said, "Shut. Up."

FIN

Email: mayatawi@populli.net

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