A Love Like Religion

Sam groaned and rolled over, chains clanking noisily. When he looked down he saw that his wrists were bound in anti-demon manacles, though there were a few minor modifications to the symbols that he didn’t recognize. He frowned. Why had Dean put him in these? Wouldn’t normal shackles have sufficed?

He looked around. He wasn’t sure which room he was in. It was barren and dark, the only light was a dim, yellowed bulb in the ceiling above him, but the flooring told him he was somewhere in the dungeon area. He tried standing. His head pounded slightly in protest and his legs felt a little like jelly, but he managed. Not that he could get far, the chains of the manacles were barely long enough to allow him to stand up straight, let alone walk around. He sighed, tugging at them experimentally. They felt solid.

Defeated for the moment, he sat back down to think. Why hadn’t Dean killed him? He’d been absolutely sure that was Dean’s plan as he’d chased him up and down the halls of the bunker with a fucking hammer, the one that Dean had hit him over the head with to knock him unconscious. He touched the tender area experimentally and flinched, but when he pulled his hand away there was no blood, it had all dried. Exactly how long had he been out for?

Footsteps echoing down the hall outside the door made him freeze. Can’t run, nowhere to hide. He was completely trapped.

The door opened and Dean strode in, looking for all the world like the cat who’d caught the canary.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Sam scoffed. “Cut to the chase, Dean. Why didn’t you kill me? What do you want?”

Dean feigned being hurt. “Sammy, why would I kill you? My own brother? No, I’ve got plans for you.”

“Plans?”

Dean stepped closer and crouched down to Sam’s level. He reached out a hand and grabbed Sam by the chin, firm, but gentle.

“I think you’ve got some unfinished business in Hell, don’t you, Boy King?”

Sam wrenched his head free of Dean’s grasp and glared. “No! I walked away from that a long time ago, Dean. You helped me!”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, Sammy. You went down that road once, you didn’t even know how close you were to the finish line, but I did. I can get you there again, Sam. We can get there together.”

He pulled a knife from his belt and brandished it in front of Sam.

“Don’t do this, Dean. Just…let me go. I can fix this, I can fix you. We have a demon cure, remember?”

“When you remember the power, Sam,” Dean said, slicing his wrist open, “You’ll know why I don’t want to be cured.”

Sam backed away as much as he could, but the manacles didn’t allow him to get far before Dean was on him, pinning him to the dirty dungeon floor and shoving his bloody wrist into Sam’s mouth. He clenched his teeth, tried to keep his mouth closed, but he could feel the blood pooling on his tongue and in the back of his throat, enough to choke on.

“C’mon, Sammy, drink up. You know you want it.”

The worst part was that he did. He wanted it more than anything. Dean’s blood was different from the other demons he’d drained. Fuller, richer. Sweeter than Ruby’s and like velvet on his tongue. It made him salivate and he fought the urge to swallow. The other effects of demon blood were already showing themselves and he hadn’t even swallowed a drop. He felt heat rise in his body and felt his cock hardening painfully beneath his jeans. He fought so hard, and he was doing well, really, he was doing even better than he would have imagined, until Dean started to palm him through his jeans.

When Dean squeezed, Sam moaned. It was only a little, only for a second, but it was enough to open his throat and allowed the blood to trickle down. He swallowed reflexively, and knew instantly that he was lost. The warm tingle spread through his body and grew into a flaming heat. Before he knew it he was gulping down Dean’s blood like he had been lost in the desert and it was the first water he’d seen in days.

“That’s it, Sammy. I knew you could do it.”

After a moment, Dean took his arm back, a thin web of saliva and blood still connecting him and Sam, kept his other hand on the bulge in Sam’s jeans. Sam panted and tried not to thrust up into his brother's hand, but the need and the want building up inside him mixed with the raw power of Dean’s blood coursing through his veins nearly had him begging for more.

“Just…just because you’ve got me hopped up on demon blood doesn’t mean you can make me use it.”

Dean smiled, adding pressure that made Sam gasp and squirm beneath him.

“I won’t have to make you. Power is funny like that. It’s its own drug and it wants to be used. You can’t resist it forever.”

He got up then and walked towards the door.

“I won’t do it, Dean!”

Dean paused in the doorway and gave Sam a sad, piteous smile. “See you in a few hours for your next dose.”

He closed and locked the door behind him.

“Dean! DEAN!”