Lesser Shadows
by Maygra

Sam/Dean, Meg
Rated NC17,  Rape

Shadow spoilers, scene progression AU. Scene insert for "Shadow", fitting in between when Meg takes them prisoner and before they head back to the hotel.

Many thanks to Bone and Poisontaster for the excellent beta.

The characters and situations portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB. This is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link to this story without appropriate warnings. Please do not archive this story without my permission.

(3,400 words)

To read, scroll down:

Lesser Shadows

He thought she was just fucking with Sam. She had an agenda and time to kill before the killing started but he really thought she was just fucking with Sam.

Until she took his knife away and then she really was fucking with Sam.

“C’mon, Sammy, you and I can still have a little dirty fun.”

”Want to have fun? Go ahead then, I’m a little tied up right now,” Sam said. Dean could hear both the revulsion and the strain in Sam’s voice as her hands and mouth moved over him and the sudden grunt he made when she obviously went after something a little sensitive.

He didn’t miss the vicious irony of him giving Sam such a hard time about getting laid or being less of a monkish freak when the little bitch suddenly couldn’t keep her hands – or her mouth -- to herself.

Sam made an odd sound between pain and something else when she settled on his legs. "Don't you have a phone call to make or something?" Dean snarled at her.  Come on over here, you bitch.

"It can wait," she said and stared at him--glared at him--before she leaned back again. She had one hand on Sam's throat and the other between his legs. Sam shoved upward with his thighs and knees trying to throw her off. She slammed his head back into the wooden support hard enough to make the ceiling drop bits of plaster.

"Pleasure before business. You understand that don't you, bright boy?" she asked and tightened her grip on Sam in both places.

Sam made a harsh, choking sound, and even from here Dean could see the moisture escaping from the corners of Sam's closed eyes. Dean jerked at his ropes because damn it, he'd worked them long enough there should be some fraying. He hazarded a glance; Sam was desperately trying to work his own blade free from the hidden wrist sheath, but Meg was so close to him, she’d see it or choke him to the point where he passed out and dropped it. Dean needed to get her attention on him.

“What’s the matter, Meg?” Dean said, watching Sam’s face turn an alarming shade of red while he fought for air. “Pretty girl like you, I wouldn’t think you’d have any trouble getting somebody willing to play your games.”

She slid her gaze away from Sam’s face and looked at Dean again. Her other hand tugged at Sam’s belt, then his zipper, jerking both out of her way. She eased her grip on Sam’s throat long enough for him to suck in a breath, then shoved her hand into his underwear, palming Sam's dick and pulling it out past the cloth.  “Maybe this is my game,” she said, her small hand working Sam’s dick with hard, practiced jerks and twists.

Damn, if she wasn't doing this, working Sam as much to taunt Dean as to torture Sam. "I've got some games you might like," he tossed at her, because Sam was making that noise deep in his throat that Dean had heard a hundred times. It was pain Sam wouldn't give voice to but there was a different groan under there as well. Fucking bitch. "Come on, sweetheart. I'll give you my undivided attention," he promised. I'll rip your throat out with my teeth if I have to.

“Feeling left out, are we?” she asked then turned back to Sam. “How’s that, baby? You like that?” she murmured against his ear. “Did Jessica do you like this? Could she get you all worked up like I can?” She nibbled her way along his cheek toward his mouth, catching his chin in her hand.

Sam jerked his head away and her lips landed on his jaw. “Fuck you,” Sam hissed out and Meg smiled, licked up along the torn flesh on his cheek.

“Well, I’d like that, but as you said, you’re a little tied up,” she said and worked her hand on his dick a little faster. “That’s it, Sam. You know you want it. Want me. Don’t you?

Sam’s eyes met Dean’s for one brief second before he closed them tightly. His hips jerked up and he bit at his lip like he was going to bite through it in another second.  His shoulders flexed and he jerked his head back up, almost head-butting Meg, but caught her chin instead. Her response was immediate; small hands fisted together and swung wide with a lot of power, catching Sam right on the jaw. Sam’s head whipped back toward Dean, fresh blood on his lips.  “Like it a little rough, do you, Sam?” she hissed and dug her fingers in hard around his flesh. Sam choked off a scream, body twisting under the assault.

Dean glared at Meg only to find her watching him again instead of Sam. He showed her his teeth. “Why don’t you try that with me, sweetheart?” Dean said. “I like it rough,” he taunted and jerked his hands, feeling the ropes give fractionally.

“I bet you do,” she said and eyed him, easing off Sam and crawling her way toward Dean to check his bonds. She pressed close, small breasts rubbing against his chest as she pulled on the ropes and checked the knots. She leaned heavily against him and glanced back at Sam. “Is it the rough part or do you just like watching me get your little brother off?” she purred. “That what you like, Dean? Or maybe you just want a little of that for yourself…is that why you haul him all over, won’t let him have life of his own?”

“You’ve got a seriously twisted view on life, sister,” Dean said flatly.

She smiled, dragging a finger along the cut beside his eye and licking the blood off her fingers. “Maybe you’re just jealous. Jealous that I can get something from Sam that you can’t.”

“And what would that be?” Dean asked her.

She licked at his mouth, then up along his ear. “His full attention. He makes you work really hard for that, doesn’t he? So, let me show you how it’s done. Not that you’ll get a chance to try it,” she said and rose, stalking back toward Sam. She kicked his legs apart wider before dropping to her knees. Her hands slid around the waistband of Sam's jeans and she tugged hard, pulling them down and Sam forward. Sam clamped down on another cry when the angle twisted his shoulders and arms against the ropes. He tried to get his feet under him to push back, to relieve the pressure.

Dean glanced quickly at Sam's hand to see him wrap his fingers tightly around the thin blade, but only so he wouldn't lose it. Blood welled between Sam's fingers as Meg pushed up his shirt, bending her head to lick across his stomach. Dean felt blood slicking his own wrists as he tried sawing the ropes against the pillar.

"Don't…" Sam's voice was barely a whisper, body tense as Meg bent over him, pink tongue darting out to lick at the head of his cock. She smiled at his protest and shot a triumphant glance Dean's way, holding his gaze as her mouth opened and slid around Sam's dick like she'd been made for him. Her fingers curled tightly around Sam's flesh and jerked again, pumping him slow and steady.

And God help him, Dean was harder than Sam was and the little bitch knew it. He felt like the worst kind of traitor.

Meg lifted her head, a trail of saliva still connecting her lips with Sam's cock. "Oh, come on, Sammy. Your mouth's saying no, but your body's saying yes," she said. "And look, you've got your big brother all hot and bothered. He wants me to. He'd like to see me go down on you. Hell, baby, he'd probably like to be doing it himself. He's got a big enough mouth for you."

"Shut up," Sam gasped out. His head tilted toward Dean but he wouldn't look at him. "Do what you're going to and get it over with."

"Now, now, Sam…Sammy. It's no fun if you give in so easy," she said and slid her hand back between Sam's legs, up under his cock, and leaned into him. Sam gave another harsh grunt of sound, pitched a little higher and jerked, trying to pull away only to have Meg grab his balls hard and bend her head again.

Sam held out longer than Dean thought he would, ignoring the bobbing blonde head between his legs, resisting it with everything he had until sweat broke on his face and his chest heaved. His throat worked but not another sound escaped his lips; he squeezed his eyes shut and Dean could see him swallow, the tension making every muscle in Sam's body rigid.

There was nothing Dean could do to help him. The ropes wouldn't give and watching Meg forcing Sam to something he didn't want made Dean's throat tighten and his stomach twist even as his own dick grew harder at the wet sounds of her mouth on Sam's skin. She nursed on him like a kitten until Sam was trembling, hips flexing even when he tried to hold himself still.

Sam's head came up and back sharply, spine arching, and Meg backed off fast, squeezing him viciously, keeping him from coming, chuckling soft and low when Sam twitched and shuddered and gasped under her hands.

"You cock-teasing cunt," Dean snarled at her.

She looked at him, still holding Sam's dick in a tightly clenched fist, her lips swollen and wet and red enough that Dean would swear it was blood, Sam's blood, she licked away. She fingered the pendant around her neck. "Don't you want some of this? See how nice I am? Be nice back and maybe I'll let you finish him off. Take care of your poor, baby brother," she said, and let Sam go.

She came at Dean on all fours, that same smile on her face -- halfway between psychotic and playful. It suited her, which was scary as hell.

Sam shifted behind her, trying to be quiet and Dean caught the glint of steel and found Sam's too bright eyes on him.

Dean swallowed and gave her a teeth baring grin. "Maybe I do. What's it going to cost me? An arm? A leg? My dick?"

She grinned and crawled into his lap, gripping the collar of his shirt. Her mouth hovered just over his while she ground down on him. She licked her lips. "I can make it easier than that…won't even hurt. How about your soul? Just a little promise to make. A shifting of loyalties and you can take whatever you want," she said and kissed him lightly, her tongue bathing his lower lip. "Taste that? That's your brother. He's really very sweet."

"Don't you have to check in with someone else before making promises you can't keep, sweetheart?" Dean asked and pushed his hips up. She caught the challenge with her eyes. "You could slip those too tight jeans of yours off and put in a down payment -- good faith and all that," he said.

He didn't dare look away; wasn't sure he could. She had eyes like a snake. But Sam needed time and Dean was willing to do whatever it took to buy him that time.

"You really do have a big mouth. Maybe that's where I'll have the daevas start. Take out that nasty, foul tongue of yours and feed it to you."

"But if you do, then I can't do this," Dean said and lunged forward, capturing her mouth. It was hard to do with no hands but unexpected enough for her to be stunned for a moment, and even kiss him back before biting down sharply on his lower lip.

She stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowing before darting her gaze to Sam. She got up suddenly, kicking at Dean and only barely missing his balls but close enough to make him hiss in pain. "Trying to distract me?" she asked, standing over Sam, straddling his right leg before nudging the toe of her boot against his exposed dick. Sam tensed up and Meg smiled, squatting down. "Thought maybe your big brother could do a better job? Not my type, Sam. He's really not…but the daevas will love him," she said and fingered the pendant again, starting to murmur. Shadows twisted in the corners.

Dean hadn't even been sure, couldn't be until Sam's arms moved, gripping Meg's shoulders but this time the head-butt was dead on and she went over, flat on her back.

"The altar, Sam! Get the altar," Dean said watching the shadows racing across the ceiling, stretching and uncurling.

Sam almost tripped over his jeans before he could pull them up enough to move, but he got his hands around the edge of the table and heaved and the whole thing went over.

The shadows flitted and snaked across the walls and ceiling. Then Meg was screaming before Dean realized the shadows weren't coming for them. The crash of glass mingled with her shriek and then Sam was there, cutting him free and helping him up.

She looked far less threatening seven stories down and broken.

Sam was still breathing too hard and shaking a little: shock, adrenaline rush, Dean wasn't sure. "I guess the daevas didn't like being bossed around," Sam said.

Dean studied him. Sam was still shaking and flushed, eyes fixed on Meg's body. "Guess not. Hey, Sam," he added. "Next time you want to get laid, try to find a girl who's not buckets of crazy," he said, which got Sam's attention, distracting him from the body. "Let's go," he said and scanned the room, looking for their guns and keeping a wary eye on the shadows.

He found the shotguns and their packs only before he realized Sam hadn't moved from the window, kind of hunched over.

"Sam?" he said and reached for him. Sam staggered back, his eyes a little glassy and rubbing at his head again. He looked like he might pass out. "Whoa, whoa, whoa…Sam," Dean said, shoving his shoulder under Sam's and wrapping an arm around his waist.

Sam almost fell again, jeans sliding down his hips, and Dean pushed him back, propping him against the wall. The blood from Sam's face was still dripping along his cheek, staining the collar of his shirt. Under his hand Dean could feel more dampness along Sam's back but that wasn't what was making Sam shake and tremble.

Sam fumbled awkwardly for his jeans, pulling them up. If he hadn't been so pale he'd have been blushing like crazy. "Just give me a minute," he said, trying to breathe deep.

Dean didn't have to be any kind of psychic to guess at what was happening. But adrenaline was a funny thing, endorphins too. Both of them should be hurting more than they were and later they would, but right now, pain registered way down on the list and everything else -- every other sense; smell and hearing and taste and touch and sight -- was spiking like they suddenly had super powers.

Sam hissed when he dragged his jeans up and Dean didn't stop himself from glancing down, wincing inwardly at the hard, swollen length of Sam's erection. It looked painful; there were pronounced scratches along the stretched thin blood-flushed skin, more on Sam's groin and across his belly that hadn't been left by the daevas.

Who, despite having taken Meg down, might still be lurking somewhere. Dean pulled his gaze away to eye the shadows suspiciously.

He wanted to give Sam all the time he needed, but daevas aside, someone might trip over the body on the street below, and they could not afford to have the cops running them down. Fuck! "Sam, we can't wait. We need to go man. Body…cops…"

Sam nodded, and gripped his jeans, pulling them tighter and nearly bit through his lip. And damn it, Sam's jeans weren't that tight.

Dean dropped his bag and moved his hands to Sam's neck. "You trust me?" he asked flatly, almost harshly.

"Yeah. Of course I do."

And he did. Everything else aside, Sam really did seem to trust him--always had-- to make things right. He pushed him back against the wall and reached down, pulling Sam's hands away from his jeans.

Sam only fumbled a little, eyes widening as Dean's hand closed gently but firmly around his dick. "Dean…what…what are--"

"Shh…shh…Sam. Just let me take care of this. Come on, Sam," Dean said, not watching his hand but locking his gaze with Sam's. Sam caught his wrist, once, but held it only briefly before letting his head fall back.

"God…Dean…this is…" But already his hips were rocking slightly into Dean's hand.

"I know…I know, Sam…it's okay…it's okay. Let go," Dean said, crooned it a little. Sam's hand fluttered, flailed slightly until he reached up one to rest on Dean's neck.  Dean jerked him harder, gave a twist to his wrist near the head. Sam was visibly trembling now, panting harshly. His teeth caught his lip hard enough to make fresh blood well up there. His eyes were squeezed closed and they were wet again.

Sam jerked hard, pushed into Dean's hand then pulled him closer, curling his body a little as his hips rocked and he covered Dean's hand on his cock with his own. He buried his face in Dean's neck and Dean held on to him, shifting his stance because his own dick was interested regardless of circumstance or reason and God, they did not need this right now.

He felt Sam shudder again and lift his head as warmth started to spill over Dean's hand.  Dean was caught off guard when Sam's mouth found his -- completely off guard because he was kissing Sam back hard, demanding something he'd never even thought to want before--as his brother came all over his hand.

Sam's dick stopped dribbling come long before Dean pulled his mouth away, and given the way Sam's lips and teeth clung to his lower lip, way before Sam was willing to let him go.

Dean found himself staring at Sam, at his open mouth, reddened lips, the flush in his cheek, the high dilation of his eyes. Sam didn't drop his gaze.

Dean wasn't sure he was ready for whatever he saw in Sam's eyes, in his face.  He wasn't sure he was ready to deal with whatever Sam saw on his.

The sound of distant sirens pretty much robbed them of whatever time they had. Dean pulled his hand away. But he did it carefully, not jerking back. "We have to go, Sam…now," he said, and Sam finally did drop his gaze, looking away, the dull flush extending along his neck. But he got his jeans up with less discomfort, took the bag Dean handed him and moved unsteadily toward the stairs, limping a little.

Dean grabbed the other bags and wiped his hand -- still covered in Sam's spunk -- on his leg with a roll of his eyes before following Sam. It was poor cleaning at best and he couldn't stop himself from bringing his hand up and licking, tasting.

He didn't hate it. He hadn't hated any of it. He certainly hadn't hated kissing Sam.

It kept trying to twist itself up in his brain into something perverted and vicious and ugly, only there was nothing ugly about it except the circumstances, and the perversion and viciousness wasn't theirs.

Sam glanced back at him, to make sure he was there, and even in the darkened stairwell Dean could still see both the confusion and the trust there.  He wasn't surprised when Sam hesitated, paused, and waited for him. Dean reached him, gripped the strap of the bag on Sam's shoulder and gave him a little push to get him moving again.

He didn't let go of the strap though, or Sam.

He didn't even know what this all meant. They'd get back to their room, patch each other up and they would -- as little as Dean liked it -- talk about this.

They were safe enough for now. They had time.

They deserved time for this.