Introductio in Analysin ... (FNL-SPN) 9/12
Title: Introductio in Analysin Daemonium Infinitorum pt 9
Fandom: SPN-FNL
Pairing: Sam/Tim (Sam/Tim/Dean in a few places)
Rating: Adult (Here there be smut!)
Length: 50k words
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight
Author's Note: This is the cleaned up master version of a story I began writing for MiniNano back in November 2007. Sam Winchester is racing against time to save his brother Dean's life, and he's got Tim Riggins along for the ride ... and a bit more. ;)
The plan was to finish it and post it before the end of S3 of SPN and S2 FNL -- obviously that didn't happen.
Thank you to![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
tartysuz and ixchel55 for their swift beta.
Legalese: SPN and FNL are copyright their respective copyright holders. This work is a labor of whatiffery, not a labor of lucre.
"What are you researching?" Dean asked as he picked up another slice of pizza.
"London Bridge," Sam replied, pausing to jot a note down.
"Is it haunted?" Tim asked, an almost pathetically eager note in his voice.
Dean drained his beer and set it on the table. "Might be." He cracked his neck. "They used to brick cats and dogs into the foundations of towers and bridges for luck back in the day."
Yeah, the last vestiges of pagan rituals, Sam thought. He leaned back in his chair, ran a hand through his hair and with careful patience said, "Dean, Tim, to get that bridge from England to Arizona, they took it apart, numbered and lettered each piece, put it in a crate, and shipped it over. And guess what?"
Dean raised a hopeful eyebrow as he took another enormous bite of his slice.
"If there had been a cat or a dog or, God forbid, a person, it would have been found! And it would've been mentioned because that's exactly the sort of juicy tidbit that newspaper reporters love to mention. There's nothing special about the bridge!"
"Then why were you researching it?" They asked archly.
"Because I was curious about it." Both of them looked so crestfallen at the answer that Sam had to laugh inside. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Not that I don't think there might be a job at Lake Havasu."
"Really?" Dean tried to play it cool, but his eyes gleamed.
Sam clicked on a tab in his browser and flipped the laptop towards them.
"Brain eating parasite found in Lake Havasu," Tim read.
"What?!" Dean grabbed for the laptop. "Man, that sucks. I was totally looking forward to getting in the water." Pause. "Wait. You ... think this is demonic somehow? Kind of like how Bobby thinks ebola is like the vampire virus, but mutated?"
"Think about it," Sam said, ticking off points on his fingers. "All of a sudden it shows up, almost out of nowhere, in a place where it's never been before, in a place that's kind of strange for it to occur, and it kills you because you got water up your nose? Please."
Tim and Dean looked at each other for a long moment.
"Well ... oh why not?" Dean threw his arms up in the air. "Been too long since we had something other than a meat and potatoes poltergeist or haunting."
Tim frowned in thought and asked, "So ... how are we going to kill it? It's not like you can salt and burn a lake. Or can you?"
~oo(0)oo~
"And sometimes it really just is a nasty bug," Dean muttered almost disgustedly as they left the trees and shade of Lake Havasu City in the rear-view mirror and climbed back into the desert.
"Still, it was good to see you spoiling for a Hunt again, Sammy, been too long."
Sam made a non-committal noise. If only you knew why I was hoping to find a demon.
"So," Dean continued, "How about you, Timmy? Have a good time, or are you pouting, too?"
The now much tanner Tim snorted and replied, "I had a good enough time. Not a fantastic one, though." A mischievous glint entered his eyes and he leaned forward, resting his arms on top of the front seat. "So, how about sharing some details on those blonde chicks from last night?"
Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands. Dean had had a fantastic time -- drank and partied all night long the entire time and surfed from bed to bed to bed. Several hickeys of various shapes and colors ringed his neck.
He and Tim on the other hand, had spent the nights crammed into a pup tent that really wasn't big enough for the two of them in a loud campground, where circumstances hadn't permitted more than two quick emergency handjobs. College students were, generally speaking, more liberal, but Sam and Tim knew better than to press their luck. And, while Tim hadn't actively chased any girls, the problem was that they chased him. How Tim had managed to stay faithful (and he had) and yet still retain his het credentials, Sam did not know. He flirted and charmed but somehow managed to send them along without pissing them off. A part of Sam had wanted to point at the torc around Tim's neck and yell, "See this? It means he's mine. Back off!" on several occasions. For his part, Sam had simply glared at any girl who too came close to him.
However, all of that meant that Sam had had precious little time and space to hike out to the more remote canyons and inlets along the lake shore and perform the rituals needed to determine what unnatural entity plagued the lake, much less try to teach Tim anything. Also, his research in the local library had turned up next to nothing, and though he followed up as thoroughly as the circumstances permitted, none of his (admittedly slender) leads panned out.
It really was just an amoeba that liked the soft mud of the more stagnant and shallow areas of the drought-depleted lake, where, thank you global warming, the sun heated the water to near bathtub temps in the summertime.
(Fuck.)
~oo(0)oo~
Sam had barely gotten into the bedroom, slung his duffel on the bed, and unzipped it when Tim shut the door, locked it, and pounced him, knocking the bag to the floor, spilling a week's worth of dirty clothes everywhere. "Jesus, Tim! Dean --"
"Rubbed it in our faces all fucking week," Tim said before kissing him hard.
Well.... Yeah, actually, Dean had.
Tim bucked against him, the bulge in his well worn jeans pressing against Sam's hipbone. "Do you have any idea," he growled, "how incredibly damn hard last week was?"
Sam cupped his hand around Tim's ass and answered with a thrust of his own. "It's been hard for me, too."
Tim sighed dramatically. "If we had had to stay there much longer I would've lost it completely."
Sam shook with laughter and pecked Tim on the lips. "Me too." Pause. "Some of those girls were mighty fine."
Tim froze and studied him. "Yeah," he said softly and swallowed hard. A split second later, though, another thought occurred to him and he grinned roguishly. "The old me would've been knee deep -- no -- hip-deep in pussy."
They both laughed at that.
The expression on his face shifting to something more pensive, Tim continued, "Don't take this the wrong way, Sam, but sometimes, I really miss going down on a girl. So I'd be looking at them, thinking about what this one or that one might taste like, what kind of noises she might make, and that would get me thinking about what it's like to go down on you. Damn that pup tent -- if it wasn't so small ...." Tim's hands slid under the hem of Sam's shirt and pushed it up and his voice turned smoky as he murmured, "Thinking about what you smell like." He sniffed deeply at Sam's chest before he planted a trail of kisses leading to Sam's nipple. "What you taste like." He sucked the nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking, wringing an involuntary ooooh from Sam. "The noises you make."
Sam burned to say something in kind, tell Tim that he had felt much the same way. That yeah, he still found women beautiful and desirable, but that his thoughts had turned ever back to Tim, and how wonderful it was that they had such honesty in their relationship that they could talk about things like this. And um, yeah, damn that pup tent. And that large happy Mormon family who sailed up the little inlet that lead to the secluded beach they were on just as he was about to give in and pin Tim (who had been going shirtless and had a streak of bright red dirt on his cheek) to the ground. "We need to get naked, right now."
Tim smirked down at him. "Dean is right. You are a master of the obvious."
~oo(0)oo~
It began with a frantic bump and grind to take the edge off. To Sam it seemed like only three strokes after their dicks met they both groaned and shot all over each other. When he caught his breath again, Sam pressed Tim back down into the mattress and began by licking the mess off his belly, secretly amused at the way he had Tim jittering and swearing softly under his breath with only a few strokes of his tongue. Slowly, leisurely, with lips and hands he worked his way back up Tim's body, lingering at all the "hot spots" he had discovered in their time together ... that line along the angle of his hip, the ticklish places at the bottom edges of his rib cage (which made Tim's stomach ripple and flutter like mad), his nipples (which Sam sucked and nipped into hard little peaks), his neck (nibbling and tonguing along the edges of the torc) ... until Tim groaned and twisted beneath him, arching in a futile quest for friction and release.
And he begged. Nothing specific. Just lay there on the faded sheets and begged Sam please, please, please, until Sam silenced him with a kiss.
"Oh God, Sam, please," Tim gasped when Sam finally let them break for air.
Sam chortled wickedly at that. "Please what, Tim?"
"You know ..." Tim whispered breathlessly, eyes glazed, before he claimed Sam's lips in another feverish kiss.
Mimicking Tim's voice to the best of his abilities, Sam said, "Please, Sam, roll us over." And he did just that, laughing back up at Tim who looked down at him, wonderingly, as if he couldn't figure out how Sam had turned the two of them so quickly. Then that slow smile spread across Tim's face, so Sam continued in drawl, "And spread 'em, so I can hammer you into the bed."
Tim jerked violently. "Jesus, Sam!" He gasped. "For reals?"
Sam shook with laughter. "Yeah, before I have a moment of sanity and change my mind."
Tim gave him an earnest gaze. "Swear to God, I'll make it good for you this time -- better than last."
Sam reached up and cupped Tim's face, then ran a finger along the rim of the torc, "It wasn't bad for me, Tim. It's just that I don't -- I'm not wired quite the way you are."
"So why are you?"
Because I want something that will leave a mark, so to speak, in the morning. Because tonight I want to lie here and let the world happen to me. "Because I'm in the mood for something different ... if you are."
Tim responded by thrusting against him.
The fact that Sam wasn't wired quite the same way as Tim didn't mean that Sam got nothing out of it as Tim carefully, methodically, prepared him. Quite the opposite. By the time Tim started pumping with two fingers in, Sam's cock was hard and leaking and he was the one hissing at Tim to please please please get on with it. Tim laughed low and throaty in reply as he slicked himself and slowly drove in.
Sam flexed and choked back a cry -- this was it. This what he needed tonight: the sensation of legs stretched and bent back to the point of strain, coupled with that unyielding hardness driven in again and again and again, tension-release, tension-release, tension-release, until a different kind of tension began to coil at the base of his spine ... and then Tim wrapped a gel slick hand around his leaking dick and Sam had no more thought, no more analysis. Pure instinct took over and his body rocked and bucked with each thrust/stroke that took him closer to the static whiteout of orgasm.
Reality slowly crept back in when the blood stopped hammering in his ears. Mostly in the form of growing awareness of Tim's sweat-slick, panting body half draped over his).
"I'm not going to ask you if you liked that," Tim murmured happily in his ear, little tendrils of breath tickle-teasing along the edge of Sam's neck.
Sam turned his head and murmured, "I'm still seeing stars, Timmy." He kissed Tim's forehead. "I might have to ask for this more often."
Tim pushed up on one arm and frowned thoughtfully down at him. "Well, okay," he said after a moment. "But so long as it's not too often."
Sam hooked a finger in the torc and tugged gently. "Greedy." He smiled up at Tim and then against his will, yawned hugely.
Tim smiled and nodded, blushing a little. "Damn right I am." He also cracked a yawn of his own, and snuggled back down, one arm draped over Sam.
"We should clean up," they both murmured in unison.
"My body feels like a wet noodle," Sam added.
"Shower and get the sheets in the morning," Tim replied.
Sam gave up the struggle to stay awake and let sleep pull him under.
~oo(0)oo~
"Hunting again, Sam?" Dean asked as he poured coffee into a travel mug en-route to the back door.
Sam found it hard to believe that Dean had kept his job this long. Well, not that he had kept it -- Dean was a hard worker. That he kept on going back to something so ... daily. Forcing his voice to a calmness he didn't feel, Sam replied, "Yeah, the bug's bit me, I guess."
Dean gave a harrumphing laugh. "And here I thought you were domesticated and all."
I need to find a demon, Dean. We've got to get on the road again because there's nothing here and time's running out. With a nonchalance he didn't feel, he replied, "Maybe I'm bored." He stretched, feeling the bones in his back crackle. "It's not like I have my studies anymore. Frankly, I'm surprised you've been okay with staying here this long."
Dean took another guzzle and picked up his keys. "I've had my reasons." He shrugged. Just before he went out the door, though, he paused and continued, "Should I give notice?"
Putting the pen down, Sam leaned back in his chair and said, "Yeah ... never thought I'd say this, but it's time to go."
"Go where?" Tim asked from the hallway, scrubbing blearily at his eyes. His workday didn't start until 10am on most days, so he didn't roll out of bed until he absolutely had to.
"We're leaving Phoenix soon," Sam said.
Tim's eyebrows lifted. He scratched idly at his ribs before he said, "When?"
"Two weeks," Dean replied. "Give notice today at work."
Tim blinked at that. "Where to?"
"Wherever the Hunt takes us," Sam said.
Tim ambled over to the fridge, poured a glass of orange juice and chugged. "Cool. I hope it's someplace with a beach. Like Florida. Or maybe even New Orleans." He lifted a knowing eyebrow. "Mardi Gras."
"That's the ticket!" Dean said.
So much for wanting to hit the San Francisco bay area, Sam didn't bother to rein in his groan. "Mardi Gras," he replied, biting the words out, "has come and gone. This is business."
They blinked sheepishly at that. "So, we'll just do our own thing," Dean said and finally headed out the door.
Muttering a calming mantra under his breath, Sam set back to researching and jotting down notes on what he found as Tim fixed himself a giant bowl of Wheaties.
"You go through so much milk, we ought to buy a cow," Sam joked. "Or get you in a 'got milk' ad."
Tim smiled and shoveled in a huge spoonful of cereal. "So," he said, speaking around the food in his mouth, "we really going to New Orleans?"
Sam hated to crush the hope in his eyes, but that didn't stop him from saying, "Only if I find something legit."
~oo(0)oo~
"It's amazing how much crap you accumulate by settling in one place," Dean grumbled as he started sorting through several piles of stuff in an effort to get everything down to one bag. "I had forgotten. It's been ... decades since I stayed in one place long enough to have stuff."
With a note of wry amusement in his voice, Tim said, "So, I guess we're giving Goodwill back most of the stuff we bought from them?"
Dean snorted at that. "More or less."
Sam looked at Tim and smiled sourly. "Welcome to my childhood."
Dean gave a loud ahem.
"Our childhood," Sam amended. "At most, we stayed a year in the same place. But whenever Dad declared it was time to move on --"
"Or if we had to leave town in an extra hurry --"
"Which we frequently did, you grabbed the essentials and left the rest."
Tim nodded and chewed his lip in thought as he pondered the items spread out on the table before him: two extra hoodie sweatshirts, a belt, his running shoes, a battered copy of Of Mice and Men -- not something that Sam had ever seen him reading -- and a CD Walkman.
"Keep the CD Walkman," Sam whispered in his ear. "We can get one of those tape to CD adapters and bring Dean in to the world of music made after 1994."
"I heard that." Dean shot a mock dirty glare at him.
But to Sam's surprise, Tim's mouth quirked in a half-smile as his hand reached for the book, stroking the cover for a moment.
"Something special about that book?" Sam asked.
Tim nodded. "It's ... one of my last pieces of Dillon. It's -- Landry read it to me. It's the first book he read to me." Sam got the impression from the way that Tim said it that there were layers of meaning behind that statement. Just when he thought he had gotten to know Tim ... that's when he found out how much he didn't know about Tim. "It was in the backpack I took the day I left Billy. I didn't even realize it was still in there, not until after. It .... I don't remember him doing it, but Bobby must have grabbed my backpack out of the truck when he pulled me and Landry out. Or maybe it was Landry, or even me who grabbed it." He sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair. "It's not like I'm going to --"
"Mail it back to Landry," Dean said.
Tim nodded absently and continued, "I mean, I know it's just a book and ...."
"It's not just a book, we get that." Sam swallowed hard and continued, his voice a little raspy, "Sometimes, things are all you have --" He couldn't force the words out. (Jess. Dad. Mom. Maybe Dean.)
"We didn't have a lot of things growing up," Dean spoke softly. "Just people. Just each other. But sometimes, the things are all you have left of the people who are gone."
Tim peeked up at them through his hair. "Like your dad's truck."
"Yeah." But Dean had to clear his throat to continue, "It, and his journal, are pretty much what we have left of him."
Tim nodded yet again, and didn't say anything for a long time after. Later that day he handed Sam three envelopes to mail. The thickest one was priority mail to one of Bobby's dropboxes and contained a lump the size and shape of a paperback. The others were letters with Dillon, TX addresses.
"I still have some people left," Tim murmured in answer to Sam's unasked question. "Growing up, me and Billy didn't have a whole heck of a lot, but I always had Billy."
Tim didn't volunteer any information about Jason Street, and something about the way his eyes lingered on that envelope told Sam that if he asked, Tim's answer would tell him everything and nothing at all.
~oo(0)oo~
"So, you're going mobile again? I was wondering when that would happen." Bobby's voice sounded faintly amused.
"Yeah. I think I found something strange going on in the outskirts of Atlanta."
Bobby hmmned and said, "I'm of half a mind to join you myself. I've never been as mobile as you guys, but this has been as long as I've ever stayed at home since I started Hunting.
"But, I've got the lovebirds still trooping hither and yon on my property -- they're not quite field ready yet, though I've been working on that -- but I've got the feeling that if I decide to take a week away, Landry will get it into his mind to start experimenting again, and who knows what kind of hell he and Tyra will raise."
Sam laughed. "Well, it's not like he's trying to summon demons or something."
Dead silence.
"Holy shit!"
"Yeah," Bobby said in a sour voice. "I thought the boy had more sense than that, but despite the fact that the Mad Scientist and Lil Miss Trouble have been shown a few case file photos of why you don't go summoning demons for fun and games, the temptation to tinker might get the better of them -- again."
Sam heard the sound of a door slamming open and excited voices in the background.
Bobby groaned under his breath before saying, "Well, speak of the devil, they're back, and it looks like they're busting to tell me something about my property lines again."
"My dad's truck still running?" Sam asked.
"Humming right along." Pause. "Only this time, it's Tyra having the Chilton's Manual read to her."
Sam chortled at that image. "See you later, Bobby." And please, please, please don't come to Georgia. My plan will be fucked for sure if you do.
---
Part Ten
Fandom: SPN-FNL
Pairing: Sam/Tim (Sam/Tim/Dean in a few places)
Rating: Adult (Here there be smut!)
Length: 50k words
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight
Author's Note: This is the cleaned up master version of a story I began writing for MiniNano back in November 2007. Sam Winchester is racing against time to save his brother Dean's life, and he's got Tim Riggins along for the ride ... and a bit more. ;)
The plan was to finish it and post it before the end of S3 of SPN and S2 FNL -- obviously that didn't happen.
Thank you to
tartysuz and ixchel55 for their swift beta.Legalese: SPN and FNL are copyright their respective copyright holders. This work is a labor of whatiffery, not a labor of lucre.
"What are you researching?" Dean asked as he picked up another slice of pizza.
"London Bridge," Sam replied, pausing to jot a note down.
"Is it haunted?" Tim asked, an almost pathetically eager note in his voice.
Dean drained his beer and set it on the table. "Might be." He cracked his neck. "They used to brick cats and dogs into the foundations of towers and bridges for luck back in the day."
Yeah, the last vestiges of pagan rituals, Sam thought. He leaned back in his chair, ran a hand through his hair and with careful patience said, "Dean, Tim, to get that bridge from England to Arizona, they took it apart, numbered and lettered each piece, put it in a crate, and shipped it over. And guess what?"
Dean raised a hopeful eyebrow as he took another enormous bite of his slice.
"If there had been a cat or a dog or, God forbid, a person, it would have been found! And it would've been mentioned because that's exactly the sort of juicy tidbit that newspaper reporters love to mention. There's nothing special about the bridge!"
"Then why were you researching it?" They asked archly.
"Because I was curious about it." Both of them looked so crestfallen at the answer that Sam had to laugh inside. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Not that I don't think there might be a job at Lake Havasu."
"Really?" Dean tried to play it cool, but his eyes gleamed.
Sam clicked on a tab in his browser and flipped the laptop towards them.
"Brain eating parasite found in Lake Havasu," Tim read.
"What?!" Dean grabbed for the laptop. "Man, that sucks. I was totally looking forward to getting in the water." Pause. "Wait. You ... think this is demonic somehow? Kind of like how Bobby thinks ebola is like the vampire virus, but mutated?"
"Think about it," Sam said, ticking off points on his fingers. "All of a sudden it shows up, almost out of nowhere, in a place where it's never been before, in a place that's kind of strange for it to occur, and it kills you because you got water up your nose? Please."
Tim and Dean looked at each other for a long moment.
"Well ... oh why not?" Dean threw his arms up in the air. "Been too long since we had something other than a meat and potatoes poltergeist or haunting."
Tim frowned in thought and asked, "So ... how are we going to kill it? It's not like you can salt and burn a lake. Or can you?"
~oo(0)oo~
"And sometimes it really just is a nasty bug," Dean muttered almost disgustedly as they left the trees and shade of Lake Havasu City in the rear-view mirror and climbed back into the desert.
"Still, it was good to see you spoiling for a Hunt again, Sammy, been too long."
Sam made a non-committal noise. If only you knew why I was hoping to find a demon.
"So," Dean continued, "How about you, Timmy? Have a good time, or are you pouting, too?"
The now much tanner Tim snorted and replied, "I had a good enough time. Not a fantastic one, though." A mischievous glint entered his eyes and he leaned forward, resting his arms on top of the front seat. "So, how about sharing some details on those blonde chicks from last night?"
Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands. Dean had had a fantastic time -- drank and partied all night long the entire time and surfed from bed to bed to bed. Several hickeys of various shapes and colors ringed his neck.
He and Tim on the other hand, had spent the nights crammed into a pup tent that really wasn't big enough for the two of them in a loud campground, where circumstances hadn't permitted more than two quick emergency handjobs. College students were, generally speaking, more liberal, but Sam and Tim knew better than to press their luck. And, while Tim hadn't actively chased any girls, the problem was that they chased him. How Tim had managed to stay faithful (and he had) and yet still retain his het credentials, Sam did not know. He flirted and charmed but somehow managed to send them along without pissing them off. A part of Sam had wanted to point at the torc around Tim's neck and yell, "See this? It means he's mine. Back off!" on several occasions. For his part, Sam had simply glared at any girl who too came close to him.
However, all of that meant that Sam had had precious little time and space to hike out to the more remote canyons and inlets along the lake shore and perform the rituals needed to determine what unnatural entity plagued the lake, much less try to teach Tim anything. Also, his research in the local library had turned up next to nothing, and though he followed up as thoroughly as the circumstances permitted, none of his (admittedly slender) leads panned out.
It really was just an amoeba that liked the soft mud of the more stagnant and shallow areas of the drought-depleted lake, where, thank you global warming, the sun heated the water to near bathtub temps in the summertime.
(Fuck.)
~oo(0)oo~
Sam had barely gotten into the bedroom, slung his duffel on the bed, and unzipped it when Tim shut the door, locked it, and pounced him, knocking the bag to the floor, spilling a week's worth of dirty clothes everywhere. "Jesus, Tim! Dean --"
"Rubbed it in our faces all fucking week," Tim said before kissing him hard.
Well.... Yeah, actually, Dean had.
Tim bucked against him, the bulge in his well worn jeans pressing against Sam's hipbone. "Do you have any idea," he growled, "how incredibly damn hard last week was?"
Sam cupped his hand around Tim's ass and answered with a thrust of his own. "It's been hard for me, too."
Tim sighed dramatically. "If we had had to stay there much longer I would've lost it completely."
Sam shook with laughter and pecked Tim on the lips. "Me too." Pause. "Some of those girls were mighty fine."
Tim froze and studied him. "Yeah," he said softly and swallowed hard. A split second later, though, another thought occurred to him and he grinned roguishly. "The old me would've been knee deep -- no -- hip-deep in pussy."
They both laughed at that.
The expression on his face shifting to something more pensive, Tim continued, "Don't take this the wrong way, Sam, but sometimes, I really miss going down on a girl. So I'd be looking at them, thinking about what this one or that one might taste like, what kind of noises she might make, and that would get me thinking about what it's like to go down on you. Damn that pup tent -- if it wasn't so small ...." Tim's hands slid under the hem of Sam's shirt and pushed it up and his voice turned smoky as he murmured, "Thinking about what you smell like." He sniffed deeply at Sam's chest before he planted a trail of kisses leading to Sam's nipple. "What you taste like." He sucked the nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking, wringing an involuntary ooooh from Sam. "The noises you make."
Sam burned to say something in kind, tell Tim that he had felt much the same way. That yeah, he still found women beautiful and desirable, but that his thoughts had turned ever back to Tim, and how wonderful it was that they had such honesty in their relationship that they could talk about things like this. And um, yeah, damn that pup tent. And that large happy Mormon family who sailed up the little inlet that lead to the secluded beach they were on just as he was about to give in and pin Tim (who had been going shirtless and had a streak of bright red dirt on his cheek) to the ground. "We need to get naked, right now."
Tim smirked down at him. "Dean is right. You are a master of the obvious."
~oo(0)oo~
It began with a frantic bump and grind to take the edge off. To Sam it seemed like only three strokes after their dicks met they both groaned and shot all over each other. When he caught his breath again, Sam pressed Tim back down into the mattress and began by licking the mess off his belly, secretly amused at the way he had Tim jittering and swearing softly under his breath with only a few strokes of his tongue. Slowly, leisurely, with lips and hands he worked his way back up Tim's body, lingering at all the "hot spots" he had discovered in their time together ... that line along the angle of his hip, the ticklish places at the bottom edges of his rib cage (which made Tim's stomach ripple and flutter like mad), his nipples (which Sam sucked and nipped into hard little peaks), his neck (nibbling and tonguing along the edges of the torc) ... until Tim groaned and twisted beneath him, arching in a futile quest for friction and release.
And he begged. Nothing specific. Just lay there on the faded sheets and begged Sam please, please, please, until Sam silenced him with a kiss.
"Oh God, Sam, please," Tim gasped when Sam finally let them break for air.
Sam chortled wickedly at that. "Please what, Tim?"
"You know ..." Tim whispered breathlessly, eyes glazed, before he claimed Sam's lips in another feverish kiss.
Mimicking Tim's voice to the best of his abilities, Sam said, "Please, Sam, roll us over." And he did just that, laughing back up at Tim who looked down at him, wonderingly, as if he couldn't figure out how Sam had turned the two of them so quickly. Then that slow smile spread across Tim's face, so Sam continued in drawl, "And spread 'em, so I can hammer you into the bed."
Tim jerked violently. "Jesus, Sam!" He gasped. "For reals?"
Sam shook with laughter. "Yeah, before I have a moment of sanity and change my mind."
Tim gave him an earnest gaze. "Swear to God, I'll make it good for you this time -- better than last."
Sam reached up and cupped Tim's face, then ran a finger along the rim of the torc, "It wasn't bad for me, Tim. It's just that I don't -- I'm not wired quite the way you are."
"So why are you?"
Because I want something that will leave a mark, so to speak, in the morning. Because tonight I want to lie here and let the world happen to me. "Because I'm in the mood for something different ... if you are."
Tim responded by thrusting against him.
The fact that Sam wasn't wired quite the same way as Tim didn't mean that Sam got nothing out of it as Tim carefully, methodically, prepared him. Quite the opposite. By the time Tim started pumping with two fingers in, Sam's cock was hard and leaking and he was the one hissing at Tim to please please please get on with it. Tim laughed low and throaty in reply as he slicked himself and slowly drove in.
Sam flexed and choked back a cry -- this was it. This what he needed tonight: the sensation of legs stretched and bent back to the point of strain, coupled with that unyielding hardness driven in again and again and again, tension-release, tension-release, tension-release, until a different kind of tension began to coil at the base of his spine ... and then Tim wrapped a gel slick hand around his leaking dick and Sam had no more thought, no more analysis. Pure instinct took over and his body rocked and bucked with each thrust/stroke that took him closer to the static whiteout of orgasm.
Reality slowly crept back in when the blood stopped hammering in his ears. Mostly in the form of growing awareness of Tim's sweat-slick, panting body half draped over his).
"I'm not going to ask you if you liked that," Tim murmured happily in his ear, little tendrils of breath tickle-teasing along the edge of Sam's neck.
Sam turned his head and murmured, "I'm still seeing stars, Timmy." He kissed Tim's forehead. "I might have to ask for this more often."
Tim pushed up on one arm and frowned thoughtfully down at him. "Well, okay," he said after a moment. "But so long as it's not too often."
Sam hooked a finger in the torc and tugged gently. "Greedy." He smiled up at Tim and then against his will, yawned hugely.
Tim smiled and nodded, blushing a little. "Damn right I am." He also cracked a yawn of his own, and snuggled back down, one arm draped over Sam.
"We should clean up," they both murmured in unison.
"My body feels like a wet noodle," Sam added.
"Shower and get the sheets in the morning," Tim replied.
Sam gave up the struggle to stay awake and let sleep pull him under.
~oo(0)oo~
"Hunting again, Sam?" Dean asked as he poured coffee into a travel mug en-route to the back door.
Sam found it hard to believe that Dean had kept his job this long. Well, not that he had kept it -- Dean was a hard worker. That he kept on going back to something so ... daily. Forcing his voice to a calmness he didn't feel, Sam replied, "Yeah, the bug's bit me, I guess."
Dean gave a harrumphing laugh. "And here I thought you were domesticated and all."
I need to find a demon, Dean. We've got to get on the road again because there's nothing here and time's running out. With a nonchalance he didn't feel, he replied, "Maybe I'm bored." He stretched, feeling the bones in his back crackle. "It's not like I have my studies anymore. Frankly, I'm surprised you've been okay with staying here this long."
Dean took another guzzle and picked up his keys. "I've had my reasons." He shrugged. Just before he went out the door, though, he paused and continued, "Should I give notice?"
Putting the pen down, Sam leaned back in his chair and said, "Yeah ... never thought I'd say this, but it's time to go."
"Go where?" Tim asked from the hallway, scrubbing blearily at his eyes. His workday didn't start until 10am on most days, so he didn't roll out of bed until he absolutely had to.
"We're leaving Phoenix soon," Sam said.
Tim's eyebrows lifted. He scratched idly at his ribs before he said, "When?"
"Two weeks," Dean replied. "Give notice today at work."
Tim blinked at that. "Where to?"
"Wherever the Hunt takes us," Sam said.
Tim ambled over to the fridge, poured a glass of orange juice and chugged. "Cool. I hope it's someplace with a beach. Like Florida. Or maybe even New Orleans." He lifted a knowing eyebrow. "Mardi Gras."
"That's the ticket!" Dean said.
So much for wanting to hit the San Francisco bay area, Sam didn't bother to rein in his groan. "Mardi Gras," he replied, biting the words out, "has come and gone. This is business."
They blinked sheepishly at that. "So, we'll just do our own thing," Dean said and finally headed out the door.
Muttering a calming mantra under his breath, Sam set back to researching and jotting down notes on what he found as Tim fixed himself a giant bowl of Wheaties.
"You go through so much milk, we ought to buy a cow," Sam joked. "Or get you in a 'got milk' ad."
Tim smiled and shoveled in a huge spoonful of cereal. "So," he said, speaking around the food in his mouth, "we really going to New Orleans?"
Sam hated to crush the hope in his eyes, but that didn't stop him from saying, "Only if I find something legit."
~oo(0)oo~
"It's amazing how much crap you accumulate by settling in one place," Dean grumbled as he started sorting through several piles of stuff in an effort to get everything down to one bag. "I had forgotten. It's been ... decades since I stayed in one place long enough to have stuff."
With a note of wry amusement in his voice, Tim said, "So, I guess we're giving Goodwill back most of the stuff we bought from them?"
Dean snorted at that. "More or less."
Sam looked at Tim and smiled sourly. "Welcome to my childhood."
Dean gave a loud ahem.
"Our childhood," Sam amended. "At most, we stayed a year in the same place. But whenever Dad declared it was time to move on --"
"Or if we had to leave town in an extra hurry --"
"Which we frequently did, you grabbed the essentials and left the rest."
Tim nodded and chewed his lip in thought as he pondered the items spread out on the table before him: two extra hoodie sweatshirts, a belt, his running shoes, a battered copy of Of Mice and Men -- not something that Sam had ever seen him reading -- and a CD Walkman.
"Keep the CD Walkman," Sam whispered in his ear. "We can get one of those tape to CD adapters and bring Dean in to the world of music made after 1994."
"I heard that." Dean shot a mock dirty glare at him.
But to Sam's surprise, Tim's mouth quirked in a half-smile as his hand reached for the book, stroking the cover for a moment.
"Something special about that book?" Sam asked.
Tim nodded. "It's ... one of my last pieces of Dillon. It's -- Landry read it to me. It's the first book he read to me." Sam got the impression from the way that Tim said it that there were layers of meaning behind that statement. Just when he thought he had gotten to know Tim ... that's when he found out how much he didn't know about Tim. "It was in the backpack I took the day I left Billy. I didn't even realize it was still in there, not until after. It .... I don't remember him doing it, but Bobby must have grabbed my backpack out of the truck when he pulled me and Landry out. Or maybe it was Landry, or even me who grabbed it." He sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair. "It's not like I'm going to --"
"Mail it back to Landry," Dean said.
Tim nodded absently and continued, "I mean, I know it's just a book and ...."
"It's not just a book, we get that." Sam swallowed hard and continued, his voice a little raspy, "Sometimes, things are all you have --" He couldn't force the words out. (Jess. Dad. Mom. Maybe Dean.)
"We didn't have a lot of things growing up," Dean spoke softly. "Just people. Just each other. But sometimes, the things are all you have left of the people who are gone."
Tim peeked up at them through his hair. "Like your dad's truck."
"Yeah." But Dean had to clear his throat to continue, "It, and his journal, are pretty much what we have left of him."
Tim nodded yet again, and didn't say anything for a long time after. Later that day he handed Sam three envelopes to mail. The thickest one was priority mail to one of Bobby's dropboxes and contained a lump the size and shape of a paperback. The others were letters with Dillon, TX addresses.
"I still have some people left," Tim murmured in answer to Sam's unasked question. "Growing up, me and Billy didn't have a whole heck of a lot, but I always had Billy."
Tim didn't volunteer any information about Jason Street, and something about the way his eyes lingered on that envelope told Sam that if he asked, Tim's answer would tell him everything and nothing at all.
~oo(0)oo~
"So, you're going mobile again? I was wondering when that would happen." Bobby's voice sounded faintly amused.
"Yeah. I think I found something strange going on in the outskirts of Atlanta."
Bobby hmmned and said, "I'm of half a mind to join you myself. I've never been as mobile as you guys, but this has been as long as I've ever stayed at home since I started Hunting.
"But, I've got the lovebirds still trooping hither and yon on my property -- they're not quite field ready yet, though I've been working on that -- but I've got the feeling that if I decide to take a week away, Landry will get it into his mind to start experimenting again, and who knows what kind of hell he and Tyra will raise."
Sam laughed. "Well, it's not like he's trying to summon demons or something."
Dead silence.
"Holy shit!"
"Yeah," Bobby said in a sour voice. "I thought the boy had more sense than that, but despite the fact that the Mad Scientist and Lil Miss Trouble have been shown a few case file photos of why you don't go summoning demons for fun and games, the temptation to tinker might get the better of them -- again."
Sam heard the sound of a door slamming open and excited voices in the background.
Bobby groaned under his breath before saying, "Well, speak of the devil, they're back, and it looks like they're busting to tell me something about my property lines again."
"My dad's truck still running?" Sam asked.
"Humming right along." Pause. "Only this time, it's Tyra having the Chilton's Manual read to her."
Sam chortled at that image. "See you later, Bobby." And please, please, please don't come to Georgia. My plan will be fucked for sure if you do.
---
Part Ten
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