random yaoi

the second circle

I don't own this just sharing for u people to read and enjoy ... Oh and credit goes to the creator.

[fic] the second circle

Title: The Second Circle
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Spoilers: General S6
Warnings: Explicit sexuality, elements of dub-con (sex pollen)
Word Count: 5100
Summary: There's nothing kinky or glamorous about this; it's poison, working its way through his system slowly and methodically, and he has maybe fifty minutes left before it kills him.

Notes: This is intended to take place sometime between 6.12 and 6.15. Written for the 'sex pollen' square

The Second Circle

It's a desperate itch beneath his skin, something acidic and volatile circumnavigating his veins. He can feel the thin, white-hot tendrils of liquid fire radiating out from the succubus bite on his shoulder, and it has him weak and dizzy, leaning on his brother for support. His skin is prickly and too tight for his body, oversensitive; his clothes like sandpaper chafing bare flesh and his nerve endings going up like a fucking flash fire where Sam grips him as they stumble over the threshold of this week's second-rate motel room.

He collapses onto the bed pretty much as soon as Sam lets go of him, biting back a groan as he lands hard on the mattress. He watches Sam flap about in front of him, running his hands through his hair and blushing in obvious mortification. Then he stops, because every fiber of his being is screaming at him to just reach out and take,and it makes him fucking sick because Jesus Christ, that's his brother, but the curse is eating away his higher brain functions at a rapid rate of knots and leaving behind nothing but this primal sense of need and urgency.

"Okay, we need to figure out what to do here," Sam mutters ineffectually, looking pointedly away from Dean's crotch area, where his dick is embarrassingly, painfully hard inside his jeans. He'd really kind of hoped Sam hadn't noticed that.

"No, what you need to do is get the fuck away from me."

Sam huffs, "Dean, of all the times you could pick to get some modesty, do you really think that now is the best --"

"Sam," Dean forces out through gritted teeth, "if you don't move right the fuck now, I can't be held responsible for what I might do."

Sam blanches so rapidly it might be amusing under other circumstances, leaping away from Dean like he's been burned. He doesn't leave the room, though; just hovers over by the door, six-and-a-half feet of awkwardness topped off with a bad haircut. It's an improvement, but not much of one, and Dean clenches his fists so hard he can feel the skin of his palms split beneath his nails.

"Look, it's fine," Sam tries again, even though it's very much not fine, and they both know it. "We'll just get you a hooker or something."

"From where, Sam? This is the cleanest town in the entire goddamn Midwest!"

It is, too; a town full of Jimmy Novak types, pure and shiny and morally upright, good little Christian folk. So perfect it's actually a little creepy, which had made it all the more obvious something was amiss when the succubus started rampaging all over town and everyone decided to have giant, bisexual orgies in broad daylight. Now the locals are all back to normal and the thing is dead, but not before it had managed to leave Dean with a parting gift in the most inconvenient place imaginable. He'd thought the whole thing was hilarious back when Sam had first told him about the case, but now that he's on this end of the fence it's a little difficult to see the funny side. The tiny portion of his brain still capable of rational thought wonders vaguely if that's karma.