Craving

"You're here?!" Sam asked, looking around the room, and frowning at himself for doing so. He bounded off the bed and went to the window, pulling back the lacy curtain. There in the drive, Dean's Lamborghini. "I'll be right down...there...down, down there. Bye!" Sam flipped his cell closed, tossing it onto the bed as he hurried from the room.

Within seconds, Dean was at the front door, hoping to hell Sam's enthusiasm wasn't going to last. The last thing he needed was sudden movements, or the sound of a too fast beating heart ... or a thousand other things that could go wrong. It was so humid, he was wiping the moisture clinging to his face off when the door opened.

Immediately, Dean felt the heat emanating from Sam and took in his high color. Keeping his distance, he nodded, "can I come in?" Even when Sam pulled the door open wider, he waited for him to move away.

Dean Cullen was here, standing on his doorstep. It wasn't until after Dean asked to come in that Sam realized he was staring and blinked before dropping his gaze to the floor. "Uh, yeah, sure," answered as he waved Dean into the house with a sweep of his arm.

As he watched Dean walk into the house, Sam mentally berated himself about his uncouthness. Dean probably thought he was a total moron. Just give the guy the creeps next time, Winchester. Sam frowned at himself and cleared his throat as he closed the door. Turning back to face Dean, Sam licked his lips. "So, uh, what are you doing around here?"

"Must not listen well, huh?" Seeing Sam's blank look, he wondered whether the human had even listened to him on the phone. He'd hung up so fast it was possible he hadn't been. "Project?" Dean lifted his notebook up to remind Sam. "If it's a bad time, we can meet tomorrow after school."

Sam's eyes slid from Dean's perfect face to the notebook he held. Right. The project. He had said that on the phone. Dammit. Stop acting like such an ass, Sam. You're gonna freak him the hell out. Sam nodded, "The project, yeah, I, uh, knew that." He licked his lips before looking down and shaking his head. 'Naw, it's not a bad time. I was just, uh, trying to work on it myself in my room."

Seeing various expressions chase across Sam's features, Dean wanted to demand he tell him what he was thinking. He hated that Sam was a puzzle... he hated that he was an interesting puzzle ... one that Dean was quickly and dangerously becoming almost obsessed with unraveling.

Sam glanced toward the stairs and back at Dean, "You, uh, wanna go to my room?" He asked, then grimaced, Okay, that was dumb."With me." he added, And that sounds even worse. Nothing like asking if you can jump him in your bedroom. , he grimaced again, "I mean to work on the project." Sam mentally rolled his eyes at himself.

Lifting his eyebrows and nodding his head to the side in a half shrug as Sam stated the obvious, Dean passed him and walked to the stairs. Even though he was biting the inner part of his lip, his mouth curved up in an amused smile.

Sam huffed softly, as followed Dean to the stairs, "Uh, go ahead," he waved an arm up the stairs. "They're a lot more sturdy than they look," he muttered, suddenly wishing that his great aunt’s house didn't look like it was about to crumble in on itself. Nervously fidgeting when they reached the door, Sam reached from behind Dean and pushed open his bedroom door, letting Dean go first.

Quietly, he closed the door behind them, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Dean, not saying anything as his eyes traveled over Dean's form. He was so beautiful, so perfect. And Sam was certain Dean had been hit by lightening and just walked away from it, like it was nothing. After a few moments, Sam caught himself staring and tore his gaze away, looking down at the floor and clearing his throat.

The room was so fucking small, and the closed windows only sealed in Sam's scent, making it much more concentrated. For a full moment, Dean thought about diving out of the room and never coming back. This idea of exposing himself to temptation to see if he could somehow desensitize himself to this particular boy's scent, his allure... it seemed crazy now. So fucking crazy when their eyes locked and he knew Sam wouldn't fight him. He'd seen hunger in his eyes too. He could hear his blood rush... sing... call him.

Licking his lips, he staggered back as far as he could get, "you were working there, go ahead," he said nodding toward the bed. "Mind if I open the window?" He didn't wait for permission, but went ahead and pushed it up. Pulling the single chair right next to the window, he sat down and tried to get a hold of himself... to control his need.

Sam let his arms drop as he slowly walked toward the bed. He didn't get the chance to answer about the window before Dean was opening it, not that he really cared, though it made him frown slightly. Was there something wrong with the way his room smelled? He tried to sniff the air, without seeming like he was, but couldn't smell anything. Crap. What the hell... Maybe it was musty. Aunt Cathleen hadn’t been using this room in a while. Maybe he had gotten used to the smell, but Dean wasn't.

"My aunt, she didn't use this room much before. Uh, I tried to air it out before, sorry if it's still stuffy," Sam muttered as he took a seat on his bed, drawing his legs up as he grabbed the tablet of paper placing it on his knees.
He looked over at Dean again, hazel eyes traveling over the other guy’s form, searching for a sign that he wasn't losing his mind, that he had indeed suffered some sort of injury from the lightning bolt. It wasn't that Sam wanted him to be hurt, he didn't...but if he wasn't, then it made no sense. His mind went back to his father's journal about the supernatural creature's they had hunted together. No. No way. Sam frowned at himself. This obsession of making everything he didn't understand right off into something supernatural was crazy. He needed to get a grip. Dean Cullen was not supernatural. Couldn't be.

"It's... not that." Forcing the words out, Dean flipped his notebook open and made himself look at it, instead of at Sam, as he started to tell him some of his ideas. It took every last shred of control he had to keep his ass in his chair, to keep his distance, to concentrate on something other than how much he wanted to taste Sam Winchester.

At first, it was hard as hell. Later, as their conversation got more animated and they started to argue and negotiate over what would go into the project, it was still hard as hell, but Dean thought he'd regained a lot of his control. There was one thing that might help him some, but how would he go about telling the human to stop parting his lips like that, or to stop sticking the eraser end of his pencil in his mouth?

"Okay, I think using pictures in sepia is a great idea, It will give the magazine and authentic old world feel to it," he agreed looking up and catching Sam looking at him. Dammit, he wanted to know what was in Sam's head, what he was thinking when he looked at him.

Sam eyed Dean as he sat there, the eraser of his pencil between his lips, head tilted down as he looked up from under his brows at the guy. "Mm-hm." Sam agreed, but just kept staring, the events at school replaying in his head over and over again. There was no possible way he could be wrong and if he wasn't then Dean couldn't be 'just a normal guy'. Shit! Maybe he should call his Dad to see what he thought he had stumbled onto. Even as he thought it, Sam erased the very thought from his mind. He knew his Dad. Knew John Winchester would be all over Dean Cullen and his family. No, he couldn't let anything happen to Dean... why exactly, he wasn't even sure himself. It wasn't like Dean seemed to give a rats ass about him.

"What are you thinking?" The demand echoed the single thought that had been on Dean's mind for too long. Seeing Sam's nostrils flare slightly, he stilled, not knowing what the hell to expect, yet dying to know.

Sam's eyes narrowed as he pulled the pencil slowly away from his mouth, licked his lips. "What?" Sam shook his head, "What makes you think..." Sam moved then, his long legs sliding out in front of him before swung them over the side of the bed, facing Dean. He sat there, on the edge of his bed, hazel eyes looking into green/gold. “You get hit by lightening and then just walk away like it's nothing. How? And don't tell me that I imagined it. I know better, Dean. Tell me how. I saw it. I saw you," Sam said him, voice low, intense as his eyes searched Dean's unflinching.

Dammit. Weren't human minds supposed to come up with ways to explain the unexplainable? Yet this one was challenging him on what happened, and clinging to what he'd seen. "You think I got hit by lightning and walked away. That would make me an it, wouldn't it?" Dean raised his chin. "Only a fool would invite something that could survive lightning up to his room alone. You don't strike me as a fool."
Sam raised an eyebrow, "I know of only a few things that could do something like that. Seeing as I can't see through you and I've touched you and you feel pretty solid, that counts that one out. The other," Sam moved slightly closer, barely remaining on the bed. "Christo?"

"You think I'm Jesus?" Snickering, Dean shook his head. "I guess I should be flattered." He was more than aware that Sam had closed some of the distance between them, but he felt as if he was in control of himself at the moment.

Sam frowned. Well, he obviously wasn't a demon. "No, I don't think you're Jesus," he told him as hazel eyes swept over his form. "That leaves werewolf and vampire. So which is it? Do you eat raw flesh or drink blood, Dean Cullen?" Sam asked him, quirking a brow.

Dean's eyes darkened. "Do you really expect me to answer that, Sam Winchester." If he thought these things, if he believed in monsters, why wasn't he running out that door screaming? Why was this boy sitting there and talking about it as if it was an every day event?

He could see Sam had an answer, but before he voiced it... before Sam could even hear it, Dean heard Sam's phone start to vibrate. Leaning forward only a little, he saw the name flashing on the front of his phone. "It's your girlfriend again. Guess she didn't get enough of you this afternoon." In a fluid motion, Dean collected all his stuff and practically shot out the door without seeming to run.

Sam's eyes widened, before he looked over at the nightstand. "Huh?" Sure enough, as Sam leaned over toward his cell, Stacy's name was flashing on the caller ID. Damn it to hell.
Sam looked back toward Dean, "She didn't get enough... what?" But Dean was gone, up and out the door ... unless he went out the window. He’d been looking at his cell andhadn't seen Dean leave.

Without answering his cell, Sam pulled to his feet and walked to the window and watched the Lamborghini pull out of his driveway. "Dean! Dammit!" he swore, raising a hand to slam his palm against the wall near the window before letting his forehead fall to rest against the cool glass.

"It's not hard, Dean." Sam whispered, "I'll figure out which one you are."

* * *

Sam walked sleepily from the bathroom back into his bedroom, his thoughts filled with one thing, one person, Dean Cullen. Dean's face, the way he moved, the way he sounded, his eyes. Black as night, or green/gold. Was he a werewolf? Sam shook his head. Vampire? Vampire's could certainly get along here in this overcast nightmare of a town where the sun seems to have forgotten to ever shine, except for brief glimpses, before the next rain fall.

Reaching a hand out, Sam tugged back the soft cotton blanket and sheet, before slipping into bed and covering up. He never slept with more on than a pair of boxers and a tee, and sometimes not even the tee. Tonight was one of those nights. It was warm up here in his room, the air muggy as it blew lightly into the room every so often.

Sam lay in his bed, staring at the chair Dean had vacated only hours before. It was earlier than he normally went to sleep, but he couldn't think of homework anymore. The only thing he could think of was Dean Cullen. Slowly Sam closed his eyes. "I’ll find out, Dean." he whispered softly into his empty room, a small smile curving his lips.

*
[Dream]

The fog rolled in, swirling around thick as a blanket. No light penetrated through it, not even the moonlight which merely gave it an eerie glow. It was silent, except for the lapping of water against rock and sand in a distance.

Sam walked through the fog, lost and disoriented by the thickness of it. Unable to even see his hand in front of his face now that even the moon disappeared. His hightop sneakers made no sound as he walked through the night, slowly, quietly, carefully. Like he was taught, like a hunter seeking his prey.

Dean sat in the middle of it all, on a chair with a high back, his legs spread wide. Waiting. Knowing he'd come. That he couldn't help himself. He'd be curious. Thirsty for knowledge. Hungry...

The fog swirled and cleared before Sam, seeming to part like a curtain of clouds, exposing the figure sitting in the chair.

Sam glanced behind him back toward the sounds of water lapping against the rocks, before looking back as he took a step forward, then another, slightly slanted hazel eyes focused on the eyes seated boy. "D - Dean..." Sam's voice was soft, husky as he approached.

"Did you figure it out yet?" Dean's gaze pierced right through Sam as he demanded an answer.

Sam glanced up at the night sky with its hidden moon, before looking back at Dean and shaking his head. "Doesn't matter which you are. You are... something. Something supernatural," Sam told him as he continued to step closer.

"Is that a catchall phrase?" Dean’s eyes darkened. "You could be Little Red Riding Hood, and I... I could be the big bad wolf." He bared sharp teeth.

Sam stopped in front of Dean, looking down at him. "Yeah? Does that mean you're gonna eat me?" Sam asked softly.

There was dead silence.

"Go ahead. Do it." Sam told him, as one hand clenched and unclenched into a fist, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he watched Dean. Vampire. Sam swallowed, but stood his ground, unwilling to back down. "Well? Meal's gettin' cold. Come on, eat me."

"Come closer," Dean answered in a silky smooth voice, speaking so low, Sam would have to strain to hear. "You're afraid. I can hear your heart."

Sam frowned, as he watched Dean, barely caught his words. Slowly, Sam took one more step so that he was standing so close his shin's hit the edge of the chair Dean sat in. He swallowed hard, jaw clamped shut tightly nostrils flared slightly as he breathed in deeply, watching Dean.

Sam shook his head. "Not afraid, You won't hurt me. If you were going to, you already would have."

"You should be." Dean looked up. Seconds slipped away, but he was motionless... like stone. It was just the two of them. He could do anything he wanted to Sam, and no one would know. Sam had to know that.

Snaking his hands out, he ran them up and down the sides of Sam's legs, then to his ass, dragging him slightly closer. "Still not afraid?" he practically sneered, hearing Sam's heart kick up a notch.

Sam tried to huff, but it came out more like a gasp of breath before he shook his head. "No." he licked his lips, "I'm not afraid. In my life, I've learned that you can't be afraid... not ever. Of anything," Sam told him softly.

"Fear is an instinct. It’s necessary to self preservation." Dean ran one palm up Sam's abs, the other over his back, holding him in a vice-like grip. "By ignoring it, maybe you just walked into the spider's web." His fingers to toyed with the the wastband of Sam's jeans, right above his zipper.

Sam's breath hitched, before he could hide his reactions. Licking his lips, Sam squeezed his hands into fists at his sides, swallowed. "Maybe I like spiders," he suggested, eyes locked with Dean's.

Sam sucked in his stomach a bit more, as he lowered his head slowly to look down at the hand on his stomach, the fingers toying with his zipper. Slowly he raised his head again, looking into Dean's eyes, shadowed by the darkness. "Do you... always play... with your food?"

"Only when my food gets turned on. Is this turning you on, Sam?" He ran his palm down over Sam's zipper, then suddenly cupped him, biting his lip as he felt Sam's instant reaction... his cock filling his palm.

Sam gasped, bit his lip as his eyes closed for a sec and he opened them again. "You... need to ask?" he asked Dean, breathlessly.

"I need an answer. Or are you afraid to answer out loud?" He squeezed him again, surprised by the length of Sam's shaft.

Sam groaned softly, his hips bucking forward pressing his arousal into Dean's palm. "Yes. God, yes. Fuck." Sam told him, his head tilting back as he bit his lip, hands squeezed into fists so tight his knuckles were white.

The answer was everything Dean hoped for, so heated, so anguished... so fucking unguarded even in the face of possible death. Hooking his fingers into Sam's waistband, he tugged him forward, forcing him to straddle him and sit on his lap. So warm... Sam was so warm, his face and throat flushed, making Dean wonder how he'd look in the throes of sex. "Take off your shirt," he said gruffly, working Sam's fly, and opening it up.

One moment he'd been standing there in front of Dean, the next... Sam blinked, then moved to do as he'd been told, pulling his shirt up and over his head and dropping it onto the ground. He fought not to reach out and pull Dean up against him, to crush his lips to Dean's, to taste him and feel him. Instead, he sat perfectly still and waited, hazel eyes watching every movement Dean made.

Dean ran his palms up and down Sam's slender waist, his abs... his broad chest. He felt him shiver under his touch, felt his muscles tightening. "You need to breathe. I can't play with my food if it expires on me," a smirk played on his mouth.

Sam's eyelids had lowered, mere slits of hazel as he gazed at Dean's hands running over his body. His breaths started to quicken before he stopped breathing, breath catching in his throat, straight white teeth catching his full bottom lip, biting down on the soft tender flesh.
Breathe? Hm? Oh, yeah, right. Sam sucked in a gasp of air as his lips parted.

"Why are you here? Why would you let me do this?" Dean asked, lifting his knees so Sam slid forward all the way forward, their groins colliding... hard. He just barely bit back a hiss at the heat that shot clear through his system.

Sam groaned and he bit his lip once more. Hm? Why... As the question registered, Sam smiled almost drunkenly, his hips moving against Dean's slowly. "Because, I - I want to be here. Want...this." Sam told him softly before moaning low.

"You sure about that?" Dean bared his teeth again, this time letting Sam get a clear view of his fangs. "How about now?" His hands flat against Sam's back, he was slowly forcing him closer, his gaze never wavering from Sam's face.

Sam nodded slowly, "Yeah," he ground his groin harder against Dean's, "I am," he answered on a gasp. He could feel himself getting closer to Dean, could feel his heart beating faster, though Sam wasn't sure if it was due to excitement or fear. "I'm," Sam swallowed, his gaze fixed on Dean's pointed incisors, "I'm sure." Sam shook his head slightly, the muscle in his jaw twitching again, "You won't hurt me., he insisted softly even as his hand reached out to grab the back of the chair, a small gasp leaving him at the sight of the vampire fangs growing closer and closer as he was pulled slowly against Dean.

Catching the first flash of real fear in Sam's eyes, Dean whispered, "too late."

All of a sudden, there wasn't any space separating them, none. They're bodies touched from groin to chest, pressing, straining closer. Winding his fingers into Sam's soft hair, he pulled back roughly, forcing him to expose the milky column of his throat. Mesmerized, he watched Sam's Adam's apple move as he swallowed, and then he pressed his mouth over it. He sucked hard, desensitizing the area a bit, before scraping his sharp teeth across his skin... pressing them down, just short of piercing into Sam.

Sam's breaths panted out through parted lips, eyes wide as he waited, heart pounding in his chest. Both hands gripped the chair, grip slipping, moving along the expensive fabric surface.

He played with Sam another long moment, threatening to bite the way Sam might be expecting, but the urges of his own body got to be too much. Moving suddenly, he pulled Sam's face closer, welding their mouths together in a fiery kiss... never holding still, always moving his mouth, back and forth, hard and soft, his tongue weaving in and out of Sam's mouth, finally tasting him. More. He needed more, and he took it. It was his right... Sam had walked up to him, had volunteered.

He started to lift his hips, grinding against Sam's ass. "Come on. Show me how much you want this," he said thickly, clenching his abs as Sam's arousal pressed against him.

Sam groaned, hips thrusting back against Dean, moving against him, seeking the friction his body craved. Breathing labored, lips slightly parted, damp and red from the harsh kiss. "Dean... want it... want you." Sam's hands moved from the chair to Dean's shoulder's his upper back. "You won't hurt me." he whispered.

"You've got too much faith in someone you don't know." Dean grit out, adding, "from something you don't know." When Sam still didn't try to get away, something snapped in Dean. "Don't tell me I didn't warn you."

Cupping the back of Sam's head and his ass, Dean easily dragged Sam down over him again, fusing their mouths together. If Sam had no clue before about how strong he was, he did now... because nothing could break Dean's hold, nothing could stop him from the single minded way he was rhythmically pushing Sam's ass forward, raising his hips and fucking up against him, creating friction between them at an unrelenting pace. His pace.

His mouth was no gentler... taking what he needed, what he'd wanted for days. Easily pushing Sam's head from side to side, moving him where he wanted, when he wanted, as he tongue fucked him again and again, pushing inside the hot, moist sheath of his mouth, exploring every corner... taking his mouth, as surely as he'd take him in a few moments.

Sam was on fire. He was drowning and it was a damn good way to die. His breaths came hot and hard, as he tried to keep up with Dean's pace, his kiss, his aggressiveness. But, soon he was pressing a hand against Dean's shoulder, needing air, needing a break. Just for a second.

A small whimper escaped him as he ground himself back against Dean, one hand, the one that wasn't pushing, was gripping Dean, and holding him tightly. Don't stop. Gotta stop, just for a second. Need to get my breath. No, don't stop. He's gonna think you're scared. Another small whimper left him as he stopped pushing against Dean, and instead wrapped that arm around him. Fuck it. He needed this, wanted this more.

Sam's hips moved as hard and fast as he could, keeping up with Dean's pace. Heat started to coil low in his belly and Sam's eyes shot open. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! No, he was not going to come in his pants the first damn time... no! The arm around Dean, pulled back again, palm pressing against Dean's chest as Sam tried to tear his lips away. Tried to tell him he needed to stop.

Hell no, Dean wasn't having that. Sam had wanted to play in the big league, and there was ‘no stopping’ in the big league. Dean didn't give him an inch. Even when he felt Sam running out of breath, he didn't stop. He knew that alone could push Sam over the edge... and he wanted to push him, to watch him fall, to be there to pick up the broken pieces.

He forced Sam to ride him harder, feeling his cock rubbing like a hot iron brand against his stomach... knowing Sam was close, that he wouldn't be able to fight it much longer. As he felt Sam's heart start to stutter, he broke the kiss and said one word. "Come."

Sam had so not wanted to do this. Not like this. He had a million ideas for how it should go, and this wasn't one of them. He squeezed his eyes closed, tried to think of every severed head he and his Dad had seen, tried to think of something, anything. But all he could see was Dean. His face, his eyes, his body. All he could feel was his body against Dean's and all he could taste was Dean. Fuck! Sam's eyes opened as he gasped in a deep breath, grit his teeth, a half growl, half scream tearing from deep inside him.

Sam's fingers suddenly bit into his shoulders. His entire body shuddered, and Dean memorized every sensation, every way Sam rocked against him, every sound he made. He had what he wanted... Sam falling apart right in front of his eyes, and hell ... he was finding it hard to hold back his own release. He bit down on his lower lip, forcing himself to enjoy Sam's climax instead his own.

Sam's eyes had closed at some point along the line, when he wasn't even sure, his body trembled slightly as his head now hung, his hands slowly moving to rest flat on Dean's shoulders.

But, it was then that the stupid stack of book in the corner fell... Sam frowned. Stack of books? There were no stack of books outside, they were....

He opened his eyes slowly to find that he was looking up at the ceiling of his room. He huffed at himself, raising up on one elbow to look through the darkness. The pile of books, some his, some the schools, had managed to somehow not only tumble over, but scatter as if someone had kicked them.

Sighing, he dropped back down against his pillow. It was Probably him in his stupid dreaming and thrashing, maybe he’d banged the paper thin walls and made stuff shake. He rolled over with a groan and was about to stop listening when he thought he heard footsteps across the concrete walkway below. He jumped out of the bed suddenly and went to the window, looking out.

Leaning his forehead against the window, Sam huffed. "You better hope to hell no one was witness to your having a wet dream, dude, or you’ll be the laughing stock of the school." He continued to mutter to himself as he walked sleepily to the bathroom.

Downstairs, clinging to the shadows, Dean's eyes burned with an unholy light as he stared up at the window, his fingers biting into the bark of a tree. "Wet dream..." So that's what that had been. All he knew was that he'd innocently slipped inside Sam's room, wanting to expose himself to his scent again so school wouldn't be so hard tomorrow. He'd figured out that it made it easier to bear... to resist when there weren't big gaps of time where they were far apart. It was based on the theory that the reason Carlisle could stand to be around blood was that he was surrounded by its sight and scent at the hospital.

Dean had meant to stay only a few minutes. To maybe borrow a used shirt... or find something else he could take home with him, when everything had changed. Sam was no longer as still as the dead. His breathing was no longer rhythmic, his heart beat... suddenly unsteady. Frowning, Dean had moved closer to investigate, and then he'd been lost. The sounds of irregular breathing, the tiny moans... the thrashing limps... holy fuck, the sight of Sam's bare chest when he'd thrown his covers off had almost been Dean's undoing.

He'd gripped the end table so hard, he wouldn't be surprised if he'd left deep grooves. All he knew was that it wasn't just the need for Sam's blood, but he'd been struck by equally strong emotions... ones he'd never felt before. His gaze had kept being drawn to Sam's arousal, straining under the thin material of his boxers... then up to his face. He'd needed... needed so bad to touch him, he'd even leaned over him about to press his lips over Sam's mouth. Then a deeper groan had broken from Sam and Dean had no idea how to cope with the sudden force of desire slamming into him.

Sure he was going to hurt Sam if he stayed there an instant longer, he'd staggered back and kicked over a pile of books, before disappearing through the window. Now, still standing under Sam's window, he licked his mouth... imagining how Sam tasted. Wondering if he could make him make those sounds. Right... Stacy probably had dibs on that.

His eyes suddenly went black. Turning, he ran... ran so fast no human eye could track him. He had to get away from Sam, before ... he just had to get away.

* * *
To say that Sam had been disappointed to not see Dean in third period would have been an understatement. It had not only been disappointing, but there had been a slight sense of panic that had hit him as he had remembered confronting Dean about what he might be.

Sam blinked a few times and tried to focus on Stacy as she sat across from him chatting away about how she was doing the Civil War project with Mike and how she would much rather be doing something romantic like Romeo and Juliet. He nodded a few times, before tearing his gaze away from her face, not that it was all that wonderful to look at, at least not to him, not anymore, he had simply been watching her mouth move, remembering the taste and feel of Dean's in his dream.

Looking down at his book and papers in front of him, Sam cast sidelong glances at Dean's empty seat. Where are you?
Finally, Sam looked up at chatty Kathy, otherwise known as Stacy and sighed, "Look, Kathy," he closed his eyes and shook his head, before opening his eyes again, "I mean, Stacy, I'm really kinda busy here. I'm sorry, but I can't concentrate and talk right now. Haven't been sleeping so well. Sorry," he forced a smile for her, trying to be nice.
Watched as she slowly rose from the seat and walked away, her hips swaying far too much to be the normal way she walked, Sam shook his head as he looked back down. "Keep that up and you're gonna dislocate something’," he muttered under his breath as he continued to work on the project.

Lunch wasn't much better. It seemed any chance Stacy got, she used it to either chat his ear off, or hang on him like a cheap suit. Sam sighed as he sat at the table, laying his head on his folder, eyes closed as Stacy rubbed his back and shoulders, talking away about what, he had no idea. All Sam knew was that he was tired and every time he closed his damn eyes, visions of Dean Cullen swam in his brain.

Dean, Alice, Jasper and Rosalyn walked into the cafeteria, their strides almost in unison. Three of them looked straight ahead toward the table in their corner, but Dean looked over at Sam, his features hardening when he saw Stacy's hands all over Sam. They hardened even more when he read her mind. "Sonovabitch," he muttered under his breath, ignoring Alice's hand on his arm.

Sam's eyes were closed, sleep just starting to drift in, when Mike thumped him on the top of the head.

Sam picked his head up off the table, glaring at Mike. "What the hell...?"
Mike nodded toward the Cullens, "Tall, pale and goodie-goodie, at two o'clock, man."
Sam frowned, "Huh?" he turned his head, looking over his shoulder to find Dean and his sisters, but only one of his brothers, sitting there. Shrugging off Stacy's caresses, Sam pulled from his seat, took a slow step forward, before running his hands down the sides of his jeans. His strides more sure, Sam walked over, stopping before their table. "You, uh, you weren't in English," he told Dean, as if he wasn't aware of that fact himself.

Practically every pair of eyes in the large room was focused on Sam. No one ever walked up to the Cullen table. He was a newby, he hadn't learned... didn't know the rules. Whatever happened, the kids were sure it would be interesting. Even the sound levels went down, no more trays crashed against tables, and no one was shouting to get other students' attention.

Dean looked coolly back at him, needing for him to get the hell away right now. Last night... what he'd seen... what he'd felt, it was all too fresh in his mind. He needed time to regain full control over his senses, and Sam Winchester ... fuck, did he have to push the envelope? Where was his sense of fear or self preservation? Where?

Gripping the edge of his seat, Dean answered. "And?"

Sam licked his lips, glanced at one of Dean's sisters. A cute little brunette who was smiling kindly up at him. He forced himself to smile, somewhat awkwardly back at her, before returning his gaze to Dean. Yeah, Winchester, and? he asked himself. "Uh, there was a lot of work we needed to do. You, left so fast last night. Before we finished... anything. I... it would have been nice if you had been in class," Sam stammered, before once again glancing at the only friendly face at the table, glad to see at least she was still smiling up at him.

"You want nice, go see your girlfriend." He knew he was being mean, but what did it take to make Sam get the hell away for a while? Anyone else would have been insulted and walked off by now, dammit.

Alice finally spoke up. "Dean's not feeling well. Maybe later would be a better time." She pressed her thigh into Jasper's hoping he would influence Sam's mood and make him accept rather than to keep challenging Dean right now.

Jasper didn't smile, but he did look at Sam, trying to send waves of calmness toward him. Once the guy's heart rate slowed, he pressed his own thigh back into Alice's.

Sam nodded, a small smile gracing his lips. "Okay. Sorry." He glanced at Dean, "Feel better, man," Sam told him as he started to turn and walk away, only to turn back, "Oh, and just for the record, Stacy is so not my girlfriend." With another smile for Dean's sister and a nod, he walked back over to the table he’d been at before, grabbing his books in one hand as Mike looked up at him expectantly, wanting all the insider info. Sam only grinned and shook his head before turning and walking out the door, leaving Stacy sitting there to pout.

"He's crushing on you. You need to nip this in the bud," Rosalyn told Dean, without opening her mouth. All of them could hear the whispers from the other students, and Ros wasn't the only one making that speculation.

A muscle throbbed in Dean's jaw. He pulled his hostile gaze away from Stacy. "He's a teenager. He's crushing over a lot of people."

"That's the read you get from him?" Alice raised a perfect brow.

"I don't get any read from him, dammit."

"Then use your eyes and other senses. I'm getting food." Alice gracefully stood and had Jasper following close behind her toward the lunch lines.

"I should have gone hunting with Emmet," Dean grumbled, though he had fed. He was only hungry for one person right now... one stubborn, unafraid, puzzling as hell, tall boy with lips he knew would be as soft as petals, and blood so sweet...

Dean shot up, and headed for the line. He needed to distract himself before this obsession got out of hand.

* * *

Classes were over. Dean walked out of the school building and saw Sam standing around talking to some kids but definitely looking around. Having a feeling that what Sam was looking for was him, he made a bee line for his car and was inside, throwing it in reverse, before Sam even had the opportunity to take a step toward him. His tires squealed as he peeled out of the lot like he was being pursued by the devil himself.

Sam stutter-stepped toward Dean, his steps faltering as he watched Dean peel out of the lot. "Dammit all," he muttered under his breath.

Looking toward the school's front doors as he heard Stacy's annoying voice, and yes, it had grown to be rather annoying lately to him. Sam figured it was as good a place as any to start. Jaw tight, he jogged toward Stacy, Mike and Tom.
Stopping next to them, he smiled, only to have Stacy's eyes roam over him, something he tried to ignore. "Hey, I got a question. Any of you know where the Cullens live?" Sam asked, looking from one to the other. Mike opened his mouth, only to close it again and look at Stacy who glared at Sam. Tom remained silent, face expressionless.

"Sam Winchester! You are not going out there! It's bad enough you walk around all day like Dean Cullen's smitten little love puppy, but those people are just plain weird!" Stacy snapped at him.

Sam glared at her, "I don't remember asking you for permission and at least they don't annoy the shit out of a person who obviously doesn't want anything to do with them!"

Stacy kicked Sam in the shin, and stormed off, leaving Sam to grip at his wounded leg, glaring after her. "Ow! Fuck! Bitch!" he grumbled.

Mike chased after Stacy, leaving only Tom standing there with Sam.

"Yeah, I know where they live, man. And frankly, I hate Stacy's guts and I agree with you. She's as annoying as a migraine, but Mike worships her, so." Tom shrugged and nodded toward the parking lot, "Come on, I'll give you directions."

Standing beside the Impala with Tom, Sam looked down at the paper. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate it."

Tom frowned slightly as he looked at Sam, "Yeah, well, just don't go winding up on the six o'clock news, huh?"

Sam grinned at him, nodding. "I'll be fine. The Cullen's are good people." Sam told him, before tugging open the Impala's door and sliding behind the wheel.

Tom watched Sam start the car and pull out of the lot. "Yeah.. so why does everyone on the Res hate them?" Tom muttered under his breath, before turning to walk back toward his own car.