Dean dreams of Sam; the way Sam is when he's happy, genuinely. When Sam is smiling or laughing, his huge grin taking up half his face. He dreams about Sam's tender caresses, the way he pulls Dean to him with a quiet tranquil strength, even when he doesn't want to be drawn in. He dreams of Sam's kisses, feather soft or ferocious - depending on the occasion - claiming Dean's mouth, all heat and passion and Dean thinks he can taste the words neither of them will ever say on the tip of Sam's slick tongue.
The Sam in his dream has him pressed against a wall, one hand claiming a strong grip on Dean's hip, the other draped heavily across Dean's collarbone. His breath is hot against Dean's neck; he can feel every motion of his little brother's lips as they twitch into a sultry smile. Dean grunts as teeth scrape against his Adam's apple, and he arches up from the wall, seeking more heat, more contact.
"Sam," he mutters, breathless and needy. "God, Sam."
He can feel Sam's hot tongue, mapping its way along Dean's jaw, teeth scraping, sometimes just hard enough to be painful, but it only makes Dean want more. He arches again, something halfway between a moan and a whimper catching in his throat.
It's strange. He can feel Sam's tongue, can feel the sharp nips when Sam employs his teeth, can even feel the pressure of Sam's arm, heavy on his chest. But the rest of him, it's like it's not there. His brow furrows and he tilts his head back, as Sam bites him, harder this time. "More, Sam," he pleads, hand groping again, searching for the spot where he knows the small of Sam's back should be. Again, to his dismay and confusion, he finds nothing. "Give me more."
Sam bites him again, hard enough to jerk him away from sleep and into the world of wakefulness. He finds himself in a cold motel room, a curse on his lips, and fully expects to open his eyes and see Sam hovering above him, all half-lidded bedroom eyes and a wicked smile, lips curled back to reveal his goddamn fucking sharp teeth.
So when he does open his eyes and finds himself gazing directly into the eyes of an Irish Setter puppy, Dean nearly pisses his pants. He flails disconcertedly, mindlessly, until he tumbles out of bed completely and lands in a heap of blankets and pillows and puppy on the floor.
The dog yelps, a paw caught beneath Dean's heavy weight and Dean swears, shifting to the side to let the poor thing escape. "What the fuck Sam?" Dean snarls, head swiveling around in search of his brother. If this was the start of another prank war, oh he would get a fucking prank war. But Sam is nowhere to be found.
Anger quickly gives way to caution and Dean lets a few seconds pass in silence, eyes still prying at the dark corners of the room as if he expects Sam to leap out of the shadows at any moment, snickering at him like a little bitch. "Sammy?"
The puppy barks, as if in response, and Dean looks down at the thing, all lanky limbs and shaggy fur. It wags its tail and paws at Dean's leg. It's cute. It reminds him of Sam, a bit; and with that thought, Dean reaches forward with one hand and scratches the thing behind the ears idly.
"Where the fuck did my brother find you?" Dean asks, feeling stupid for talking to the thing - notes the fact that it's not enough to stop him from doing it. He sorts out his limbs and scoops up the blankets, heaves them back onto the bed, and looks around for a note from Sam. Usually he doesn't go anywhere without telling Dean where he's going or at least leaving Dean some sort of message.
"And where the fuck is he?" He asks darkly, when he finds nothing. Worry spikes in his stomach, hot and aching, and Dean scowls. God, he feels like a fucking chick when her boyfriend doesn't call when he says he will; hates that he can't stop his mind from jumping to the most horrific conclusions it can fathom. But Sam is his brother, and he can't exactly look after him if he's not around.
Sam's not stupid, he knows. He's perfectly capable of taking care of himself – proved that when he turned eighteen and ran off to college, but a lot has happened since then. Events have occurred that have twisted their lives for good, pushed them down one-way roads. There are things, now, that lock them together, keep them side by side and Dean has let himself grow comfortable, attached; needs Sam now more than he ever has.
Chances are he just ran out for coffee, or went to snag their daily barrage of various newspapers from the nearest 7-11 and laugh to himself about his clever joke. Chances are that he'll be back within the hour, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face and ask Dean about his thoughts on bestiality. Chances are, Dean's just being a worrywart, digressing into total chick-mode and he should definitely stop that right about now.
So he straightens his bed back out and seeks out the warmth hidden beneath the comforter. He has every intention of going back to sleep; is sure that Sam will wake him again when he gets back. But his plans are a bone; one which is promptly stolen from him by a certain enthusiastic setter. The pup tries to jump up onto the bed and fails miserably the first couple of times, obviously still clumsy with youth.
It whimpers, a little, and then manages to gather its feet underneath it. The next thing Dean knows, it's in his face, licking every unguarded bit of flesh it can find and whining, high and insistent. Dean sputters as the thing laps at his lips, lifts a hand and shoves it roughly away. "NO," he says, voice stern, but stops short of pushing it off the bed. Damn thing would probably just jump right back up anyways.
It's ruthless, turning on Dean's hand when it finds it can't reach his face anymore. It growls, low in its throat and takes Dean's fingers into its mouth, nipping gently. It brings back phantoms of Dean's dream, when similar teeth were on his throat and Dean groans.
He wants to sleep, dammit, and that's not going to happen as long as he has to defend himself from boundless canine antics. He has half a thought of throwing the creature out the door without a second thought, but knows even before the thought can complete itself that he could never be that cruel. Instead, he sits up and drags himself out of bed. He scoops up the wriggling puppy with both arms and carries it – him, Dean notices – over to the bathroom.
He shuts the dog in the bathroom and decides he can figure out what to do with the damn thing when he wakes up. He nestles himself back into bed, wriggling around in some fruitless attempt to find the exact spot he'd been lying in before. Before he can find it, there comes a horrible lilting howl, drifting out from underneath the closed bathroom door. The noise crashes down around his ears, and if it were up to him, he'd just cover his head with a pillow until the thing figured out that it wasn't going to work, but he's at a hotel, dammit. And hotels usually aren't too keen on their tenants harboring animals; particularly ones that disturb the peace.
"Fuck," Dean mutters, getting up again, much to his chagrin. He reaches the bathroom and turns the knob, letting the door swing open. The instant the door is open, the howling stops. The puppy is sitting on the floor, and when Dean glares down at him, he thumps his tail good-naturedly against the tiles.
Dean sighs. "Look, here's the deal," he says, crossing his arms and giving the animal his best I'm the boss here look. "If you can be quiet and let me sleep, I'll let you out of the bathroom, otherwise, you stay in here. If you howl again, I'm throwing your furry ass out the door, got it?"
The whelp snorts and dips its head, covering it's snout with a paw, and Dean takes that as a form of consent to The Rules. "Fine." He eyes the dog for another moment and then goes back to bed, leaving the bathroom door open.
The puppy follows him across the room, and hops back up on the bed. Dean braces himself for another onslaught of puppy tongue, but the thing just crawls under the covers, curls up in the crook of Dean's arm, and rests it's head on his chest. Dean tries to hide a smile. Dammit, he's not going to get attached to the damn thing. As soon as he finds Sam, they're getting out of this dump and there's no way he's letting a dog ride in the Impala.
But the thing is cute, and damn affectionate. So he supposes it's okay if he lets it sleep with him, just this once
-TBC-