Title: In Drowning Waves
Author: liath
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: incest
Rating: NC-17
Note: Written for the LJ comm sammessiah. The prompt was Leonard Cohen's 'I'm Your Man'. The lyrics can be found at the end.
Also, my humblest and sincere, pleading apologies to Leonard Cohen, with whom I am madly in love, and I understand fully that I am, indeed, going to a special hell for this.
Summary: What else? Dean is Sam's man. Post Season 2, so vague spoilers through there.


"What do you want, Sam?" The October sun is in Dean's eyes, too hot against his forearms. I'll give you fucking anything.

Sam doesn't answer. They climb into the car, dirt-shine on the road between waves of corn, and chase their shadows until the sun sinks behind them.


The riverbeds are dry in the Arizona drought, the air too rough to breathe right. Dean's voice catches in his throat, sand-worn gravel. "Hit me," he grits out, jaw square like their father's. "Hit me if it'll make you feel better, goddamnit. You can't save anyone anymore."

Sam shoves him up against the door, the handle hitting Dean like a cheap kidney shot. He watches Sam curl his fingers, watches his brother's knuckles pale in a tight fist. But Sam's eyes are strained, and Dean just waits, stares, and when Sam's hand hits him, it's just the rough tangle of fingers in the hair at the back of his head, the crack of knuckles against the door.

There's a sharp rip of fabric as Sam's other hand pulls at the front of Dean's shirt, palm finding the angry scar, rugged over the tanned flesh of his chest. His brother's skin against his is like a brand, but Dean doesn't pull away, just lets Sam rest their foreheads together.

"Fair trade," Sam mumbles before crushing their lips together. The way the sun bleeds as it sets makes Dean think it probably wasn't.


Half a dozen tables and it's just a split second before Dean dodges between a fist and Sam's dark eyes; there isn't going to be any more fire, any more death. None of the bar's patrons step in, and Dean's hands are black and blue from throwing punches. The blood and bone spilled and broken mends easily enough. It's just the ring he steps into that matters.

Sam is slump-shouldered on the bed in the musty motel room, watching the lazy arcs of dark birds against a sky heavy with cloud.

"Let me see," Dean says, thumbing lightly over Sam's cheekbone. His brother ducks his head but lets Dean tilt his chin up.

"It's nothing," Sam mutters, grimacing in the fading light. The skin is split, a rose gash under one eye splitting the darkening skin. Fresh blood is blossoming on his lip, trickling over darker flakes to the corner of his mouth.

Dean's voice is barely above a whisper. "Fuck if it's nothing, Sammy." Sam looks away without turning his head. "Let me see." Dean slides a hand over Sam's collarbone, wincing at the hiss of Sam's breath. He tugs the t-shirt collar aside, sees the bone stretching beneath purpling flesh. He swallows and kneels in front of Sam, reaches for the hem of his shirt. The fabric slides easily over Sam's stomach, and Dean leans in, tugs it higher until it's stopped by Sam's arms.

The percussion of Sam's ribs is uneven under Dean's touch, shallow with swelling on one side. Dean presses gently, ignoring the crushing grip of Sam's fingers around his wrist.

"Let's just get out of here," Sam says quietly.

The trunk slams with a groan, the doors creak shut, and there's a deafening roar as Dean presses down the gas. Dust clouds are still hanging in the rear view when the motel disappears over a hill.


"Gonna take you for a ride. Gonna make you come," Sam whispers from behind him, pushing Dean hard up against the driver's side of the car. Damp hair brushes Dean's ear, and the back door snaps shut. "Right behind this pathetic little bar."

Dean swallows, thick and slow. The roof of the Impala is cold and wet under his palms, a sharp contrast to the burn of Sam's fingers sliding over his abdomen, the weight of his brother's chest against his back. Sam's hips roll against his ass, forcing his cock against the door.

"Fuck, Sam."

His jeans are yanked open and Sam's hand slides into his boxers, long fingers wrapping around his dick. Dean hisses, bucks his hips as Sam's other hand slides around the waist of his jeans, knuckles brushing his ass as his brother works them lower. The icy air raises goose flesh along his sides, their breath thick as cloud.

Sam's eyes are shadowed, his features a sharp relief in the green and blue of the neon sign when Dean looks over his shoulder. The muffled sound of the jukebox warps in the air, uneven over the echoes of pool cues and whiskey courage, like he's under water.

Teeth drag over the ridge of muscle at the side of his neck, lower until Sam is sucking hard on the spot just above Dean's collarbone. His brother fists him in the close quarters, thumbing over the head of his cock, spreading precome with the faintest drag of nail. Dean feels his knees buckle, but his brother snakes an arm around him, pulls him up again and presses closer.

"I got you," Sam mumbles, his hand still wrapped around Dean's dick, trapped between hard metal and soft skin. Dean closes his eyes, exhales as he feels Sam's other hand behind him; the sound of his brother's belt being undone, the hiss of a zipper, and then Sam is breathing rough against his ear, his neck, raising the hairs over his skin.

When Dean feels the heat of his brother's cock against his ass, he growls low.


Sam pulls away, leaves the wind to chill Dean's face. His brother sucks two fingers into his mouth with a small guttural sound, pulls them out again, spit-slick, and presses them against Dean's hole. His back arches when Sam slides two fingers inside him, finds that sweet spot without even trying, and mercilessly curls his fingers every time he pushes in deep, still jacking Dean with his other hand.

Dean's chin hits the roof of the Impala, breath frosting over the reflection of street lights, skin sliding until his cheek is pressed against rain-soaked paint. His brother nips at the back of his neck, sucks another dark mark into the skin stretching over the bone at his nape.

"More?" Sam asks, breath hushed, hot.

"Sam--Sammy. Just..." Dean grunts when Sam withdraws his fingers, his boot heels slamming back onto the pavement. "Jesus Christ, just fuck me, Sammy."

His brother pulls away, and he feels the back of Sam's hand against his ass, the smear of lube cooling his skin as Sam slicks his cock.

Dean bites back a groan when Sam slides in, pushes back into him. His fingers grasp uselessly at the roof, dragging patterns into the rain. But Sam grasps his waist, holds him in place and draws it out, makes him bite his lip until he's sure he'll taste blood. By the time his brother starts moving his hips, rocking into Dean, fucking into him with rough, steady strokes, Sam's name is a silent, steady stream.

He comes in a gleam of headlights, the stretched shadows of the oblivious, with Sam's hand steady on his chest.


"Sam." His voice disappears into dead air, too late to leave a message. It's cold outside Tulsa, frost blooming thick and fast over everything, little mountain ranges of soft ice. Dean stops scraping it off the windows. It's better than the limp, grey curtains, old enough to have lost their pattern. The moon is blinding. The moonlight is Sam, lying lifeless on an old mattress, and crossroads that feel like a new scar. He pulls at the knots of his bracelet, a bind too tight around his wrist.

His hands are sweat-slick and white-knuckled in the sheets when he wakes alone at midday, his brother's name still on his lips. It's the only time he ever says, "Please."


Three days without sleep--dreams, Sam says, leaves it at that--and Dean makes him pull the Impala off the road. Gravel crunches under his boots as his silhouette cuts through the headlights. He pushes Sam aside, shifts him along the bench seat to the other door.


He grunts in response to Sam's heavy-lidded protest, knows his brother's too exhausted to put up a fight.

"It's okay, Sammy. Get some sleep."

"I don't--" Then there's just the soft sound of Sam's head against the window.


The curve of Sam's shoulder is just visible in the shadow of the doorway, a pale moon full-bellied behind him. The day is dark as night. The shadows of crows ghost through the moonlight, silent as they seek out the skeleton trees. "I can't-- You don't get to see this, Dean."

The strap of the duffel burns Dean's palm when he throws it into the back seat. "If this is what you need, Sammy."

Sam drops his hand from the door frame. "I have to do this alone."

The brake lights flood Sam's face like blood before Dean hits the gas, and his brother fades away behind him.


There's no horizon, just grey sea against a hot grey sky. They walk shoulder to shoulder next to the waves that crash against the rocks. Dean turns to look at their footprints dissolving in the sand, dull light sparkling off the water as the wind whips in toward the coast.

Sam's hair splashes over his eyes as he reaches for Dean, hooks his fingers in Dean's belt loops and pulls him until their hips align. Their noses barely touch before Sam smiles and presses their lips together. Dean's toes sink into the sand, cold saltwater teasing up under his heels as sweat soaks the back of his shirt.

"So fucking worth it," Sam mutters against his lips, and as his brother's eyes darken, so does the sky.


Leonard Cohen // I'm Your Man

If you want a boxer
I will step into he ring for you
And if you want a doctor
I'll examine every inch of you
If you want a driver
Climb inside
Or if you want to take me for a ride
You know you can
I'm your man

Ah, the moon's too bright
The chains too tight
The beast won't go to sleep
I've been running through these promises to you
That I made and could not keep
Ah, but a man never got a woman back
Not by begging on his knees
Ir I'd crawl to you baby
And I'd fall at your feet
And I'd howl at your beauty
Like a dog in heat
And I'd claw at your heart
And I'd tear at your sheet
I'd say please, please
I'm your man

And if you've got to sleep
A moment on the road
I will steer for you
And if you want to work the street alone
I'll disappear for you
If you want a father for your child
Or only want to walk with me a while
Across the sand
I'm your man

If you want a lover
I'll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I'll wear a mask for you