Devil's Right Hand

Sam remembered the night Dean’s deal came due, he remembered pleading with his brother not to go, telling him that they could fight off hellhounds, they’d done it before after all. He remembered the fight and he remembered the kiss. Dean had kissed him before he’d left, long and hard and lastingly, Sam could almost feel it even still.

Apparently whoever was in charge after Azazel’s death hadn’t ever heard that the most dangerous enemy was the one with nothing left to lose, as soon as Dean was gone, Sam had taken himself to the nearest crossroads and turned himself in, told the demon who came that he was ready to take his place as Azazel’s heir.

He had been tried and tested and even tortured, but after a year he’d come through it all and still said the same thing, that he was ready to lead. He suspected that they thought he’d forget about Dean, or that his brother’s importance would fade, but he didn’t, and it never did.

Sam shook himself out of his thoughts, he had a mission after all, today was the day that he would choose his Enforcers, the royal guard, so to speak.
He surveyed the loyal, the crowd stretching back further than he could see. He called Ruby first, using her true name, and Meg. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer he thought bitterly, glancing at Ruby as she emerged from the crowd. The look on her face told him all he needed to know, she hadn’t yet been able to find Dean.

He unfolded from his throne with a sigh, almost swaying as he walked, approaching the congregation, “There is one other.” He said, voice clear enough to carry, “it’s been a year since he was cast into the Pit, sold his soul to a crossroads demon, didn’t get half of what it was worth. Do they ever?” There was a ripple of amusement through the crowd, as he’d intended there to be.

He straightened, “You who were Dean Winchester, to me.” There was another ripple through the crowd, more worried now, and more tense as nobody stepped forward.
Sam’s jaw tightened, voice gone sharp-edged, “Find him. Bring him to me. There’s a reward for whoever finds him, and punishment for whoever’s hiding him.”

It was three days later when Meg slid into the throne room, “He’s been found. Turns out the bitch from the crossroads never turned him in.”
Sam had straightened at her entrance, expression darkening at the statement, “Who found him?”
Meg smiled, “Ruby. And she’s showing Tabitha the error of her ways.” Sam realized at Meg’s laugh that surprise must have crossed his face, “You didn’t know that about our little witch did you? She feels so sorry for the humans that she actually enjoys beating up the demons. Why do you think she kept helping you boys before? Perfect person to pick for the job by the way, can’t see how that’ll lead too abuse of power or anything.”

“I picked you for it too.” He reminded. Meg snorted, shaking her head, “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, you invoked me by name, I couldn’t say no.” Her smile twisted, “But I think you knew that.” She’d perched herself on the arm of the throne by then, still looking startled when one of Sam’s hands darted up, catching her jaw, eyes flaring yellow for a moment, “Where is he?”

“I'm right here Sammy, but I'm not sure I should believe what I'm seeing.”
Sam turned to look, and there was Dean, looking just like he had that night a year earlier, when he’d walked away. But no, not just the same, even standing still there was a weight, a gravity to his presence that hadn’t been there before. Sam’s eyes never left his brother even as he said: “You’re free to go Meg.”

Dean’s brows both arched at this, eying the woman still perched on the arm of the throne, “Meg? That’s you? You look good.” The barest pause, “For someone who’s been sent back to hell twice.”
Her face fell at that, very nearly hissing as she swept past Dean and into the hall.
Dean eyed his brother then, “What are you doing here Sammy? I left the way I did so that you wouldn’t follow me.”

“Oh?” Sam said coolly, apparently completely at ease on his throne, “Is that what you call it?”
Dean bristled, “Don’t give me that Sam, you knew you were supposed to stay there, keep fighting the good fight, win the damn war.”
Sam shook his head, “So I was just supposed to keep on going, just let you go, never know why you did it?”
Dean answered a different question than Sam was actually asking, “I did it to keep you alive! Because you’re the survivor, the one who can bring this all crashing down!”

Sam rose then, slow and deliberate, he caught the front of Dean’s jacket, slamming him back against the nearest wall, keeping him pinned as he covered his brother’s mouth with his own, the kiss almost hot enough to burn. He knew his own eyes had gone yellow again when he pulled away, and Dean’s eyes were ink-black.
The elder of the two was panting, “Hell Sammy, you could’ve just asked.”
Sam still hadn’t let his brother up completely, “I did. This was more effective.” Whatever response Dean had was muffled by another hungry, insistent kiss. Sam’s voice was rough when he drew away again, “Do you wish to serve as my executioner?”

Dean swallowed thickly, “Do I really have a choice?”
Sam smiled, half-crooked, almost wicked, “I know your true name Dean, if you didn’t have a choice I would have used it already. So, do you wish to serve me?” Before Dean could answer he added, “If you say yes, I will ask you to prove it.”

Dean’s eyes were almost impossibly dark, finally pressing back against Sam’s hold, “Yes.”
Sam’s smile just spread, letting his brother go, stepping back, “Show me.”
Dean advanced until Sam had sprawled back in his throne, sliding slowly to the floor between his new king’s knees, watching Sam’s expression as his hands caressed his brother’s thighs. His voice had dipped slightly, cheek resting against Sam’s knee as his fingers slid just a little higher, “I know what you want.” He shook his head, voice still almost a purr, “I always know what you want. What you need.” He shook his head again, just a little, mostly because he liked the look in Sam’s eyes, “But that’s my job isn’t it? Making sure you get what you need.”

Sam swallowed hard, fingers threading through his brother’s hair, not sure if this was actually happening or if it was a dream brought on by stress. It felt real, and Dean was a comfortable weight against him, comfortable enough that his eyes drifted closed, just letting himself feel. Dean couldn’t help but smile at this once more, settling against Sam’s thigh again, cheek resting against the well-worn denim of his jeans, inhaling deeply, breath filtering out in a long, slow sigh as his fingers finally inched up the inside of Sam’s opposite thigh, just enough pressure, just enough weight to prove he was there, to telegraph what it was he was planning.

Sam’s throat was dry, watching Dean through his lashes, breath catching in his chest, the touch sending sparks of pleasure skating up his spine, “Dean.” It was all he could say at the moment, even that one word filled with heat, with need.
Dean’s smile went wicked as he finally popped the button of Sam’s pants with one quick movement, hand snaking down inside. The angle wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it was workable and that was all that mattered at the moment.

Sam very nearly melted back in his seat with a faint, almost quavering groan. The sound went straight to Dean’s cock, and in turn made his fingers curl tighter for a moment before drawing Sam out completely, making sure that the younger man was watching as he leaned in, one hand still curled against Sam’s shaft while the other braced against his thigh, smile all the more wicked before his tongue darted out across the tip of Sam’s arousal, the movement transmuting into a trail of openmouthed kisses down the side of his shaft, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Sam’s fingers tightened against the back of Dean’s neck, not really to control his movement, or even really to hold him down, but mostly in an attempt to keep himself steady, a feat that was becoming increasingly difficult, especially when Dean suddenly and unexpectedly swallowed him completely. The movement elicited a startled, utterly pleasured noise from Sam, his fingers spasming against Dean’s nape.
Dean made a pleasured sound of his own, drawing away slowly, only to try swallowing Sam down again once more, drawing another half-desperate little mewl from his brother as he did so.

Dean knew that soon the teasing would be too much, and honestly he was curious what Sam would do when it got to that point, and being Dean he was just going to keep pushing until he found out.
It wasn’t long before Sam rallied himself, still breathless, and hauled his brother upright, eyes flaring as he ordered: “Pants. Off, now.” There was something almost frightening behind the tone, something dark and seething that shocked Dean just by being there.

He realized halfway through wrestling his own pants down that Sam hadn’t even had to use his true name to get full and unquestioning cooperation, and he began to understand why his followers were so loyal.
His brow arched once he was bare from the waist down, the question of ‘what now?’ clear in his expression.

Sam’s own smile was dark again, hungry, “I'm going to take you, right here, on the throne.” His voice was a purr and Dean found himself leaning closer instinctively, wanting more of it, almost able to feel it.
He didn’t even have to be told before he was sitting astride his brother’s thighs, brow still arched.

Sam’s brow arched in turn, fingertips resting against Dean’s lower lip, “Suck.” It was another command that Dean followed without even thinking, tongue curling out against his brother’s fingers, only to have them taken away again all too soon.
The preparation was precursory at best and almost too rough, and it wasn’t long at all before the steady, near relentless press of Sam’s arousal, replaced his questing fingers.

It hurt, really, but Dean knew that he could take it, and as such pressed back, knees tight against his brother’s hips, practically riding against him, distracting himself from the sting by tangling both hands through Sam’s hair and all but dragging him into another kiss.

Sam replied in kind, hands sliding up over Dean’s shoulders, peeling him out of his jacket before dragging his hands up his brother’s spine, bunching Dean’s shirt up as he went, causing him to writhe, hips rolling down against Sam’s more firmly which in turn caused him to gasp, head tilting back, breathing gone ragged.

Sam couldn’t resist that, and leaned in, latching onto the line of Dean’s throat, sucking hard, teeth pressing against warm skin, almost able to taste his brother’s pulse, feeling it along his jaw.

His hands slid down again, kneading against Dean’s hips, holding him in place as he ground his own hips upwards once more, already on edge again. He growled softly, batting Dean’s hand away when he began to stroke himself, Sam’s voice still a purr against his brother’s throat, “Mine.” The tone in and of itself was enough to drive Dean to the edge, the heat of Sam’s fingers was just a bonus, especially when the next command growled against his throat was: “Come for me Dean.”

Dean’s head rolled forward again as his climax unraveled down his spine, leaving him gasping, panting, feeling like it was going to go on forever, pawing at Sam’s shoulders, feeling the almost searing rush of his brother’s seed filling him, feeling almost too full, groaning when he opened his eyes to see Sam licking his fingers clean, smug as a cat with cream.

When Dean opened his eyes fully again, he found himself fully clothed once more, kneeling beside the throne with Sam’s fingers carding through his hair, the fading sting and the allover exhausted ache the only proof that anything had actually happened.
“You’re my right hand Dean.” Came Sam’s warm murmur, “My flaming sword.” His smile spread, nudging gently at Dean’s jaw, meeting his brother’s eyes, “You always have been.”

Sam’s nails caught against the nape of Dean’s neck, voice dipping to a hungry growl once more as he leaned in, “Next time, you get to take me.”