Flames licked and kissed his body, burning only his feet and ankles at first. His throat was raw with screaming even before the flames reached his knees. He tried to run, to get away from the fires, to be free, but he couldn't move. "Oh God... oh God..." he screamed... screamed for deliverance, for pity, for death. When all failed, he turned and focused on a figure, one who shared his pain... focused until his eyes were burned out of his head and he was nothing... nothing but a puff of black smoke.

Sam jerked back, eyes opening, breaths panting out, pulse beating dangerously fast. His hand was gripping the edge of the library desk, so tight, his knuckles were white and bloodless. Trying to shake off the familiar daze, the fear that pumped through his blood whenever the nightmares came to him, he looked around to see if anyone had noticed... if he'd thrashed around... if he'd said anything.

There was no one, no one because it was Friday night, past ten and most of the students at the university had places to be, or unlike him, liked to procrastinate. Taking a couple more deep breaths, he forced the dreams out of his head. He'd had them all his life. Sometimes he could remember, other times he just knew the dreams had come, and that he'd called out, or thrashed around, or fell out of bed. He'd lost two roommates over it, and now had the dorm room all to himself. Sometimes... sometimes the twenty year old wished he could drink to forget.

Sighing, he started to collect his textbooks, tossing them inside his backpack. His engineering classes came easy to him, he'd always had a knack for making and fixing things. His nick name was MacGyver. Okay, that was one he liked. He'd also been dubbed nerd and freak and countless other names throughout his years.

Swinging his backpack over his shoulder, he headed past the other tables, then went through some of the stacks, and found his way to the large heavy doors of the library. Taking the steps two at a time, he reached the bottom and started to cross the greens to take a short cut to the dorms which were maybe a couple blocks away. He knew he didn't want to go back to sleep, so that was out. Maybe some t.v., or he might stick his head in the school pub, see what was going on. He could decide later.

The base of the music thumped like the pounding of a heartbeat. The club and everyone in it seemed to move with its pulse, so loud nothing else seemed to exist. It was enchanting and everyone within the structure was under its spell. Bodies wove together on the dance floor under a powerful spell of lust and sin. Men and women, women and women, men and men, all of them twining around each other in heat, sweat, and sex. Indulging their desires, uncaring of the consequences.

He moved through the crush of bodies on the dance floor with ease despite the thickness of the crowd. Strobe lights flashed overhead. White, black and blood red, making everyone appear to be moving in slow motion despite the upbeat tempo of the music. Like broken marionettes on tangled strings.

Sometimes he felt the brush of a hand along his back and ass. Arms wrapped around his neck as one body pressed to his front while another pressed to his back. A deep masculine voice whispering filthy inviting things into his ear, followed by a sweet female, but he ignored them all. Pushing through the throng of lust to reach the one his eyes had been focused upon all night.

She sat alone at the bar despite the crowd, nursing a glass of tequila in one hand, and a half finished cigarette in the other. In her early forties, once she would have been beautiful, but sickness had faded that beauty. Her skin was pale and thin, her cheeks sunken in with illness and the dark circles under her eyes made her look like the corpse she was slowly becoming.

“Hello Carla.” He said once he was right behind her and she startled slightly as she turned around. Despite the loud music practically drowning out everything he could hear her weak heart quicken when she saw him. The cigarette trembled in her hand but it had nothing to do with fear.

“I…” It was all she managed before the bartender came over.

“Hey, Dean. Can I get you anything?” Chuck, the bartender asked, and Dean gave him a slow smile.

“Jack Daniels. Make it a double.” He said and Chuck nodded before heading away to get him his drink. When Dean turned his eyes back to Carla, she was looking down at the floor, but even though she’d turned her face from him he could smell the tears she was fighting.

“I take it the latest doctor’s appointment did not go very well.” He said casually as he leaned up against the bar, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Chuck returned with his drink and he threw a few bills on the counter.

“He said… a few months…” She finally whispered in a weak trembling voice. Dean nodded and took a drink from his glass. Carla finally looked up to meet his eyes. “I… I can’t die yet… my kids…”

“I told you, Carla. Ten years. Take it or leave it. Trust me it’s a hell of a lot longer than the cancer will give you.” Dean replied. When she hesitated, he finished off the last of his drink and set it down on the counter. “Have it your way.” He said casually then turned and started to walk away.

“Wait!” She cried, reaching out for his arm. Dean smiled and turned around slowly, raising an eyebrow in expectation. She finally caved. He knew she would. “All right.”

Dean reached up to cup the back of her neck in a surprisingly gentle hold as he pulled her closer, his lips meeting hers in a slow kiss. When the kiss finally ended and he pulled back the tears she’d been holding back all this time were finally streaming down her face. Whether it was from relief of the pain she’d been in for months, or the new found fear he could see dancing in her eyes as she looked at him he didn’t really care.

“We have a deal then.” Was all he said. In the darkness of the club only she could see that his eyes were now pitch black.

[One Week Later]



Sam had come back to his room and just dropped down onto the bed and flicked the t.v. on when the door opened and four good friends and several other people walked in, giving hoots and shouting 'happy birthday." He gave them a suspicious look. They'd just partied at the school pub, and he'd had a couple beers 'legally.' "What's... going on? Don't tell me you got a cake," he said, looking at his closest friend.

"Cake... you want cake, yeah, we'll give you cake," Drew said, his dark eyes sparkling. "Come on Winchester, there's no going to bed at midnight on your 'big night.' We're taking you out."

"I... we were out," Sam protested. "You guys go... I drank too much."

"Ha, don't give me that. I've never seen you drunk, and I'm tired of your old ... under age excuse. Come on, or... my posse here will make you," he said, pointing behind him at the other guys and a couple of girls, all of whom joined in the demands that he get up.

Sam tried to ignore them, he really did. But then grabby hands were pulling him off the bed and he had to agree to go or he was going to be fucking carried. "Where to?"

"Where to... Sam my boy, we're getting you drunk and laid. You won't be virgin boy any-- ow!"

"Jerk," Sam shook his head, and the hand he'd punched him in the arm with. "Fine, I'm not staying long enough to get laid. I'm in the middle of a paper and--"

The cat calls and shouts of "Sam is getting laid," drowned him out, and he felt his cheeks burn as the singing continued even once they were outside, and were drawing attention. He was never so glad as when the group split up and got into separate cars. His demands to know where they were going were ignored, but there was a lot of teasing about what to expect. Someone mentioned dancing.

"I don't dance," he muttered, then gave up. No one was listening anyway.

Twenty minutes later, they were walking into a big club. "Dante's Inferno... ah..." Sam had heard it was one of the hottest clubs but he wasn't so sure he belonged in a place like that. You had to have a wild streak and... The thrum of the music went through his body even near the door where they were all carded.

Inside, it was packed with people. As his friends pushed him along, Sam stopped several times to look at people. The women were scantily dressed. There was a lot of latex, tight clothes, cleavage, heels and bare skin. The men... he was surprised it was the same for them. One guy was wearing g-strings and it was like no one was noticing... like it was normal. Feeling very much out of place, Sam didn't give a single protest as someone ordered shots.

Shots of what? He had no fucking clue, but he took one, then a second... at least the first one had killed his taste buds so the second one wasn't as bad going down, then a third. He put his hand up when Drew tried to order another.

"Dude... " He shook his head and turned away from the bar to look at the throng of people. One of the girls in their group tried to get him to dance. He explained to her about his two left feet, and kept shaking his head no, until she gave up and went with someone else.

Drew and Pete hung out with him. Someone ordered a drink that had freaking smoke floating on the top of the glass. And for some reason, it was the funniest thing Sam had ever laughing so hard his stomach ached. He kept begging for food, a snack, something, cause he knew he was tipsy.... nah, he was more than that, but the drinks kept coming.

Someone tapped on his shoulder, he looked up. "Yeah?" he asked a guy in a red see through shirt.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Sam noticed how white the guys teeth were and was staring.

"I'll take that as a 'yes,' I'm..."

"Oh," he came to his senses. "No... no I'm here with someone... but thanks..." he elbowed Drew who was being no help and was laughing too loud." The instant the guy left, Sam joined in the laughter. By the time he was done, he noticed his friends had disappeared. Groaning, because it would be hell trying to find them... hell... ha ha... too bad no one was there to share his joke. "I'll take another drink... maybe one of those smoking ones... what were they?" he asked the bar tender, smiling and hoping he wasn't slurring too much.

It was a Friday night and the club was crowded nearly to capacity as always. The press of hot young bodies on the dance floor was so tight one person could barely move without rubbing up against another, whether by accident or on purpose. Scantly clad, beautiful bodies. Male. Female. Sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference within the writhing mass. The music was loud and the air was ripe with sin. It was utterly delicious and Dean savored every breath of it he took.

He sat in the private balcony area overlooking the dance floor reserved for only the most exclusive guests. From his vantage point he could view practically everyone within the club. He enjoyed watching them. As the liquor flowed and inhibitions were lowered he watched them practically fucking on the dance floor. A beautiful sinful mass that did their best to taint their souls in exchange for a few hours of pleasure on this earth.

Dante's Inferno. It never failed to amuse him how mortals flocked to the promise of hell. If they only knew what hell really was, they would not be so eager to enter. Music replaced with the deafening screams of the damned, pleasures replaced by unimaginable torment for all of eternity, until nothing was left of their precious humanity.

Dean knew all too well...

He had been dead for nearly four hundred years to the day. He had been damned upon his death. He had spent most of those four hundred years in hell. Though the time he'd spent suffering in the pits of fire and brimstone had burned away most of his humanity it certainly hadn't erased his sense of humor. Dean found it enormously funny that he, a demon, did some of his best work in a club called Dante's Inferno. There were always plenty of mortals willing to sell their souls in exchange for money, sex, or power here.

Dean wasn't here searching for a soul tonight, however. He had come here for his own enjoyment. His own pleasure. Demons enjoyed all the pleasures humans partook of, they had once been human after all, and more. What humans called need was nothing compared to the overwhelming lust of a demon. Hunger. Sometimes he sated that lust by ripping apart mortals in a bloody froth of flesh and entrails. Other times he enjoyed fucking several beautiful men and women all night long. Sometimes he would do both. It depended on his mood.

Right now he wasn't sure which he wanted more, but he was in no rush. He waited, drinking at his table, for one to catch his eye. The perfect one.

He had his eyes on a beautiful perfect female specimen, blonde, nice firm breasts, slim waist, clear blue eyes. She was in the company of a rather striking male as well, and Dean was contemplating whether or not to just take the female or the both of them, when a strange sensation came over him. If he didn't know better he would have said it was a chill that had crawled up his spine. Whatever it was it was not a welcome feeling and Dean scowled as he turned his attention away from his prey to find out what it was.

It was no hunter, he knew that. He was not afraid of hunters. It could not be another demon either. It certainly did not feel like a demon. But it still felt... familiar... Dean's eyes turned to the bar and he suddenly froze utterly still as he stared at a ghost. It was... impossible.

Samuel?

No. Of course it could not be. It had been four hundred years... and of course during that time he had seen young men who shared similar features, sometimes very similar features, but this...

Dean did not even hear the shattering of the glass in his hand, or feel the sharp shards biting into his palm as he stood. The pain was inconsequential anyway the pieces of glass were being pushed out of his flesh even as he left a trail of blood on the dance floor that no one noticed. Until he was standing right behind him. Close enough to smell. Close enough to touch. His voice... even his voice was the same... Impossible...

"Its called Devil's Breath." Dean said, stepping close and sliding a bill on the bar, his eyes never leaving the young man. "Make it two."

"Devil's breath... figures. Owner must think he's got a great sense of humor," Sam said, smiling, but then losing the smile when the man who'd given him the info then wanted to buy him a drink. What the hell, was he putting out gay vibes tonight? One of his friends had said something about this place making you want to loosen up and try things you never had before but ... this?

He turned his face, saw the guy was looking intently at him and took a slight step away. "I'll get my own, thanks," he nodded, frowning just a little. Maybe he'd mistook what was happening... the guy did look familiar... maybe it was the drinks and he just couldn't place him. Unsure, he dragged his gaze away, but could practically feel the guy's eyes still on him as he pulled open his own wallet and took out dollar bills.

When the bar tender didn't take his money, but only took the other guy's, Sam didn't know what to think. "Dude... I'm paying for my own," he insisted, leaving the money there as he took the drink and dared to look at the guy again. This time, he noticed some blood on the guy's fingers and without thinking, set his drink down and grabbed his hand to take a look. "I think you're cut... but...." he looked back up at the dark blond's face as he released his hand, finding no wound. "Sorry."

Maybe he was talking to a serial killer who'd just picked him as his next victim. Right, because serial killers walk around with blood on their hands as a warning. There had to be an explanation, his mind was just too fuzzy to think one up. Still... he cleared his throat. "I'm here with friends." Speaking of, where the hell had they gone? Feeling a little nervous, he picked up his drink and swallowed down a couple big mouthfuls.

Dean simply couldn’t take his eyes off the doppelganger. The shape of his jaw, the angle of his cheek, the color of his eyes… so much exactly the same, exactly as he remembered. There was much of his life as a human that he no longer remembered. It was the price all the damned paid when they burned in the pit. All humanity lost, burned away, until only sin remained. Only the darkness of the soul left that had sent them to hell to begin with. But Dean had never forgotten him.

Perhaps because it was his love for the boy that had damned him in the first place. Not directly, of course. It was only when he was taken away. When love was transformed into hate. The desire for revenge against the ones who’d taken him away. Murdered him…

His brother…

Samuel…

Dean blinked, realizing he’d almost been frozen in place staring at the young man in front of him like he’d been looking at a ghost, when the other man took his hand. It was like an electric current passed through his hand from the touch and Dean’s eyes snapped down in surprise as he pulled his hand back just as it was released. Blood. He hadn’t noticed it. He hadn’t noticed anything else but the man standing in front of him.

But he had come back to himself now. This man… whoever he was, was not Samuel. His brother had been dead for over four hundred years. His soul far beyond his reach. This man, he was only a replica, a pale imitation. But that did not mean Dean did not want him. Dean wanted him very much. To take him. To fuck him. Having this man would not fill the gaping hole that had been left in his soul from Samuel’s death, anymore than the killing of Samuel’s murder’s had, but he had been looking for someone to satisfy his lusts tonight. This human was as good as any.

“Don’t worry, its only fake blood. You know, for Halloween and shit. Someone’s practical joke. This is ‘Hell’ after all.” Dean replied, giving the young man a charming smile and shrug as he reached for a napkin first to wipe the blood off his hand and then his drink.

“Friends huh? Well, that’s allowed.” The demon said with a chuckle, glancing around them. Watching the young man guzzle down his drink, he chuckled again. “Might want to take it easy with that. So, they leave you to have fun by yourself?”

"Fake blood... right, sorry." He apologized again, feeling really foolish now, even if the guy wasn't making a deal of it and was smiling. Sam's gaze was drawn once again to the guy's eyes, he couldn't shake this feeling. He really hated it when he couldn't remember, and like the guy said, the drink probably wasn't helping any.

"Guess they did," he looked over his shoulder again, and in the thick throng of moving bodies, he couldn't see even one of them. "They were threatening to get me drunk and laid," he laughed, and looked back. "Since I'm well on my way to drunk, they're probably out there looking around for someone to drag over and embarrass me with." Yup, he was saying too much. He felt the heat burning his cheeks. "It's my birthday and they're being asses." Giving a shrug, he took another swallow of the Devil's Breath, and set it down.

"I've never been here or anywhere like it. Just got legal, 21st birthday and all," he grinned. "You probably come here often." It was an assumption. The guys seemed so at ease, and the bar tender clearly knew him. He couldn't help admiring the guy and thinking of the contrast between them, here he felt like a fish out of water, and this guy oozed confidence. As he looked at him, there it was again, that twinge. Something in his gut that told him he should remember.

Sam cocked his head. "Do I know you? You go to UCLA?" He couldn't really place him at school but there was definitely something about him, something about the eyes. "I'm Sam, by the way." Maybe getting the guy's name would jog his own memory.

Dean listened intently to the young man as he spoke. The pitch of his voice. The sensual way his lips curved around every word. He could easily imagine those perfect lips curled around his cock. That sweet, almost innocent, tongue lapping at his head and the drops of seed dribbling out of the slit. The young man's eyes, already heavy with alcohol, even more so with lust and desire. The flush to his skin born of arousal rather than embarrassment.

He laughed a little at the young man’s words about his friends. Drunk and laid, huh? Well, Dean could certainly appreciate that plan. He could appreciate it very much. As long as it was him that the young man was going home with.

Dean could certainly tell that the young man was not used to places such as this. He had such an innocent quality to him. Only twenty one... the same age as his brother had been when he’d been killed. Dean couldn’t help but be even more intrigued by the young human because of the similarities between him and his long dead brother. It almost seemed like too much of a coincidence, and Dean didn’t really believe in coincidences anyway. He’d lived far too long for that. Then how did he explain this young man?

This young man... who’d name was Sam? That... that was almost too uncanny even for him, and Dean found himself staring at the young man in surprise for a moment before he shook himself out of it and reached out his hand to shake the younger man’s with a smile.

“Hello, Sam, nice to meet you, and happy birthday. My name is Dean. No, I have not been in college for some time now.” Dean’s smile turned a little more suggestive. “I hope you have something special planned for your birthday. You only turn twenty one once, you know. You should enjoy every minute of it.”

Dean hadn’t let go of Sam’s hand yet, holding it gently but firmly, as he stepped a little closer to the young man.

“In fact, lets dance. You deserve to cut loose a little. Don’t worry, I’ll lead, and I won’t take no for an answer.” Dean said, putting a little bit of suggestion behind his words to help the liquor in lowering the young man’s inhibitions even more.

Sam was a little surprised when the guy shook his hand but came to his senses enough to give a firm shake of his own. As Dean’s words washed over him, something in the back of his mind told him that his hand was being held longer than necessary, and somewhere it registered that Dean’s emphasis on the words ‘special’ and “enjoy’ held a much deeper meaning. He smiled and gave a small laugh, telling himself Dean was being like his friends. Besides, he was the one who’d kinda brought up drinking and getting laid.

Dean. It suited the guy. Short, kind of direct, like the owner of the name. He’d just started to pull his hand away when Dean stepped into his personal space. Sam raised a questioning gaze and felt his breath hitch. For one crazy moment, looking into those jade eyes, he felt dizzy and warm all over. His stomach tightened, and you’d think he was some love struck kid who’d lost the power to speak.

He wasn’t an idiot. He got that this was a come-on. That he’d been right about the whole drink-buying thing. Yet he couldn’t make his mouth work, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t even look away. Heart beating against his chest, Sam told himself that in a moment, Dean would move back and everything would go right again.

Wrong. Dean’s voice had dropped an octave and he was asking him to dance. Sam shook his head ‘no,’ trying to find the words to explain he didn’t dance, not ever, when the guy continued. He’d lead. To lead, they’d have to be touching. Sam’s stomach fluttered and tightened. He should say no. Drew and the others would be back any moment and...

Yet, there was this heat in the guy’s eyes, a focus, something that made him feel something he wasn’t... special. And something else, something he recognized, something familiar and elusive.

The warm hand around his seemed to tighten, to tug him lightly as if to urge him to decide. He wet his lips with his tongue. “I guess I could say the ‘devil’ made me do it,” he finally answered, pulse now beating out of control. He’d never done anything like this. Held hands... danced with a guy? Hell, he wasn’t that comfortable holding hands with girls. Slowly, he let Dean tug him through the crowd, excitement and fear vibrating through his entire body.

Dean could see the indecision warring in Sam’s eyes. The excitement. The slight fear. But Sam wasn’t afraid of him, not directly anyway. There was no way for the young man to sense what he really was. No, what Sam was really afraid of was letting go. Giving in to temptation. Dean could push harder of course. He could make Sam give in to him. Agree to give him anything that Dean wanted, but what was the fun in that? It was so much more satisfying when the innocent allowed themselves to be corrupted willingly.

He kept his eyes locked on Sam’s. Even when the young man shook his head slightly, almost but not quite refusing him, Dean didn’t look away. Dean’s eyes followed the brief flicker of the young man’s tongue across his lips and almost groaned. What he wouldn’t give to taste those soft looking lips for himself, to follow Sam’s tongue back into his mouth and explore with his own. Soon… he promised himself… Dean knew he wouldn’t have to wait for long.

After all, he could smell Sam’s heightened arousal. He could hear his heart beating faster. The young man didn’t refuse him, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh at Sam’s words. Oh, if he only knew.

Still grinning at the young man Dean led Sam through the humans on the dance floor, never letting his grip loosen on his hand. There wasn’t much empty space on the dance floor and plenty of hands and bodies brushed up against him on their way and he knew it would be the same with Sam. Until Dean finally stopped and turned to the young man, tugging Sam in close, wrapping his other arm around the other man’s waist. Holding Sam so close he could feel the heat of the young man’s body through his clothes he started to dance, swaying them both to the pulse of the music.

“Move with me…” Dean all but purred, his lips barely an inch away from Sam’s. Staring into the young man’s eyes, they were almost all he could see. “Relax. Just let go.”

As he was pulled through the crowd, Sam felt bodies pressing against him, touching him. Hands rubbed across his shoulders, others skimmed over his ass. Someone whispered something in his ear, he wasn’t sure what. He wasn’t sure about anything, because his entire focus was on Dean. His hand felt warm, and his grip was firm. He thought he felt Dean’s thumb move over his wrist and didn’t expect the lurching of his heart, or the breathless feeling. God... what was he getting himself into?

When Dean stopped suddenly, Sam found himself pulled into his arms. He gave an audible gasp as their bodies collided, licked his lips, and found that he couldn’t pull back. Sheer panic washed through him. What was he doing, he was way out of his league here.

Dean’s wolfish grin had his heart stuttering, and then he spoke. Move with me. Three simple words, ordinary, but the way Dean said them, it was sexy as hell and held some sort of power over Sam. It took a second or him to realize how close Dean’s face was, that only inches separated their lips. He’d never been this close to a guy, not like this... who knew it would make every nerve ending in his body fire?

It took another few seconds for him to realize that he was standing still, while Dean moved against him. An embarrassed flush warmed his cheeks and he started to sway along with his dance partner. His heart was still banging against his chest, and the longer they were this close, the worse it was getting. Hand slightly shaking, he placed it on Dean’s mid back, leaving his other arm hanging down.

The music was loud, the beat growing faster, echoing through his body. Most people were rubbing and grinding together, dirty dancing. Sam took a little comfort in the fact that Dean wasn’t like them, until he felt the guy’s leg slip between his own. “Ah...” The way Dean’s gaze was locked to his, the heat in his eyes seemed to make Sam’s insides melt, took away his powers of thought and speech. Half closing his eyes, he studied Dean under his lashes. Yeah... he had the kind of looks every guy dreamed of. He was good looking, but not girly... not at all. The type of guy that would look just as good in torn jeans as a tux.

He felt Dean’s hands start to move up and down his back, and his eyes opened suddenly. Their bodies were closer now, sliding against each other. He hadn’t even realized he was hard, that Dean’s hip kept rubbing against him every other beat. Pulling away slightly, he worked up the courage to speak. “Just dance... right?” he asked, his whisper dying at the look in Dean’s eyes.

It was impossible for Dean not to see the fire in the young man’s eyes, they were so close. There was a hint of fear and uncertainty too, but it was overshadowed by far by heat, though he was certain that Sam would deny it if he were thinking clearly. Thankfully, whether by desire or drink, he was not thinking clearly.

At first Sam merely stood there, not moving, and Dean let his body brush up against the younger man. Their chests rubbing together, their thighs brushing, just the barest touches at first to encourage his skittish dance partner into movement. Much like a virgin receiving their first kiss, Dean’s gentle efforts finally coaxed the younger man to respond to him.

Dean smiled as Sam began to sway to his lead, even wrapping an arm around him, and he responded by guiding the young man a little closer to him. Sam’s heart was hammering in time to the beat of the music and Dean could practically hear the sound of the young man’s blood rushing through his veins. Rushing south, and he felt the proof of the young man’s growing desire brush against his thigh.

Growing bolder Dean let his hands slide down Sam’s back to the swell of the young man’s buttocks. Sam’s almost startled look, as though he just realized what he was doing, what he was letting Dean do to him, hell, maybe he had only just realized it, was positively endearing. Dean smiled at Sam’s question that at this point sounded not so much of a question but an offer.

Dean leaned in even closer to Sam, his hands moving down those few last inches to slide over the curve of the young man’s ass. Tugging Sam those last few millimeters to him so that they were pressed flush together from chest to groin, still swaying together to the beat of the music. Their faces so close now he couldn’t even see Sam’s face anymore but he could feel the young man’s breath against his lips as he knew Sam could feel his as he spoke.

“Is that all you really want?”

Not a real difficult question, it just required a 'yes' or a 'no.' And yet, standing so close, close enough to draw in the scent of Dean's light cologne with ever breath he took, close enough slip slide against Dean and feel the warmth of his body seeping through his clothes, Sam had a damned hard time thinking. The sensuous throb of the music, the way Dean was holding him, the seductive tone of his voice, all of it were guiding Sam toward one answer, robbing him of the ability to make a choice.

It's 'yes.'

No it's not.

Then how come your lips are burning.

Shut up.

Even his own mind was conspiring against him now. Great.

Sam's hand slipped down Dean's back to not quite the curve of his ass, he didn't have that much courage, but his heart was still out of control and he was struggling against the need to pull Dean close, the way Dean was doing to him.

He should say no. He should thank Dean for the dance, pull away, and go wait for his friends at the bar. But his legs weren't cooperating. His mind wasn't listening. And if it was possible to have a tide inside your body, it kept pulling him toward Dean. He'd never felt like this, not ever. His entire body vibrating with excitement, wanting to touch a little harder, maybe to kiss him.

Sam's swallow was audible. He licked his lips. "I... I'm not sure." So warm... Dean's breath was so warm on his now wet lips. He felt a flush stain his cheeks and started to tip his head back slightly.

Dean could tell the young man in his arms was completely under the spell of desire, but he was a little surprised by just how effected he was becoming. While he’d already been craving tonight for the pleasures of the flesh that didn’t really explain the pull he felt towards this particular young man. Whether it was the striking resemblance of Sam to Samuel or how stunningly innocent the young man seemed for his age, Dean wasn’t sure he had ever desired a mortal as much as he desired this one right now.

Enough that he knew if Sam refused him that none other would do tonight to sate his lust. Even more shocking perhaps he knew if Sam did refuse him he would not simply take the boy, because that would not satisfy him either. He wanted Sam to want this, to want him, beg for him…

He could practically feel the indecision warring within the young man. So Dean gave Sam the gentlest nudges towards the decision he wanted. Gently squeezing his buttocks, rolling his hips against the younger man’s, letting his thigh nudge the underside of Sam’s trapped cock, licking his lips and letting the young man feel the warmth of his breath. Gentle… gentle pushes… he knew if he pushed too hard Sam would simply spook and run away from him. That was the last thing he wanted.

When he felt the young man’s hands slide down his back, Dean practically purred.

“I want you to be sure…” Dean whispered, barely more than a breath, and brought their lips together. The first brush so soft and brief at first it could have been an accident, but then he did it again, and again. Each time lingering a little longer. Just the soft touch of lips and breath, until he could resist no longer. Let one of his hands slide up to cup the back of the young man’s neck and bringing them together for a kiss so hot it was a wonder they both didn’t burst into flames.

The fact that Dean wasn't insisting reassured Sam just a little more, but while the words were soothing, Sam couldn't say the same about the way Dean moved, or touched, or made him feel. Their lips touched... maybe they bumped together... whatever it was, it made Sam's mouth burn... ache for another touch. He was glad the music covered the soft whimper that broke from him, and maybe the dancing covered the fact he'd leaned in a little more.

Each time it happened, each time their lips met... slid past each other, the ache sharpened. It wasn't just his lips now, it was his whole body, like something was tightening low in his belly, twisting... twisting a little more, like he was going to explode if Dean didn't kiss him. The next time Dean's mouth stopped over his, Sam parted his lips, licked the seam of his own but accidentally touched Dean's lips. Oh God... oh God it felt good. He wanted more, and then Dean moved his mouth away again, and Sam wanted to cry. He wanted to plead. To beg...

Before the plea broke out of him, Dean gave him what he was craving. This time, when their mouths met, it wasn't accidental, or a mere slip of mouth against mouth. This time Dean pulled him close by his neck, and when their mouths met, there was no hesitation or doubt about what was happening. This man... this man he'd just met was pushing his tongue into his mouth, and Sam liked it. He liked it so much his arms tightened around Dean, one hand around his waist, the other across his back, his fingers now digging into Dean's shoulder and hip, as if he was afraid Dean would move away too fast... would leave him burning with need for more again.

Groaning as Dean tangled their tongues together, Sam forgot about everything but this moment... right here, right now. The taste of this man, the things he made him feel. He started to chase Dean's tongue with his own, could tell from his indrawn breath he was getting it right. His whole body felt flushed with heat, and he hadn't realized how wantonly he was rubbing himself against Dean, trying to get closer, not caring anymore if his erection was that obvious. All he knew was that he didn't want this to end, not ever. When Dean paused to take a breath, Sam panted out... "dancing... and kissing... okay. Made up my mind." Before Dean could answer him, he was leaning in, slanting his mouth across Dean's and demanding more kissing, more touching... more of this fever that threatened to consume him body and soul.

Sam’s lips parted for him so eagerly and the boy was just as sweet as he imagined him to be. He was so delicious. So hot. So eager. So perfect. Dean tasted of him greedily, twining his tongue with the young man’s as he held Sam close.

Dean practically forgot about everything else, a groan of pleasure escaping from his mouth into Sam’s when he felt the young man’s fingernails digging into his hip. The boy’s touch made him forget everything else. It was like they were completely alone on the dance floor. The people surrounding them, so close the occasional stranger brushed against them both, none of them mattered. Nothing else mattered.

Only Sam mattered…

They moved together, practically one body. They were all but making love on the dance floor. The throb of the music mirroring the pulsing of their hearts, fast and hard, and it was so good. Sam’s tongue chasing his own, the hard outline of the young man’s cock rubbing against him… perfect… and he wanted more, so much more.

He wanted to rip off Sam’s clothes right here and now. He wanted to touch, to taste, every inch of Sam. He wanted to guide the young man to his knees, unbutton his confining jeans and push his cock into that sweet perfect mouth, no one would even care, hell they’d probably enjoy the show.

More dancing, more kissing… oh yes… that and so much more.

“I want you.” Dean whispered when he let Sam come up for air. Slipping his hand underneath the young man’s shirt and sliding it down underneath the waistband of the boy’s jeans as he kissed his way to Sam’s ear. “Let me have you.”

Sam was lost in the erotic sensations of Dean's body pressing, rubbing against him. His hands moving over his back, his sides, touching him in ways no one ever had. His scent surrounding him, making Sam almost dizzy with need.

Their mouths were pretty much welded together, kissing, tongues dancing, chasing each other. And Sam knew, if this was on video, he'd never recognize himself. He was pretty much wantonly rubbing himself all over this handsome stranger that made him feel... both safe and in extreme danger. The dancing was... it was as dirty as he'd seen, and it had made him blush when he looked out at the dance floor from the bar. Now he was the one dancing like that, kissing like that, moaning like that.

And it was so good. It made him forget his boring little life... school... everything. His entire focus was on Dean, how he was making him feel. He tried to return the favor, tried to emulate the way the man touched him, but he kept losing his concentration. "Oh God Dean," he whispered, when the other man whispered he wanted him. Sam wanted... he really, really wanted... as he rubbed his mouth back and forth against Dean's cheek.

Then Dean's hands were under his jeans, fingers biting into his ass. Let me have you.

Sam's heart lurched. The words crystallized the moment all of this... the touching the tasting, the kissing the dancing... what it had been leading to. No. Even if his body burned for it, even if he knew, just knew that letting Dean have him would be just as wonderful as this, his heart, his soul, his conscience, the very fibre of his being shouted 'no' and he couldn't ignore it.

Stumbling, he mumbled, "m'sorry... no... I can't... I..." Licking his lips, he staggered back, face flushed and giving an embarrassed smile, before he turned around and quickly, if not gracefully, made his way through the throng, toward the exit.

Outside the club, the cold night air did nothing to bring Sam back to his senses. His ears still rang with the thrumming music that had vibrated through his entire body. He stumbled slightly, his mouth burning, his body... God, he hated the fire analogy, but he was on fire. That man inside, Dean, he'd ignited something inside him... something Sam didn't understand.

His cock was so freaking hard, you'd think he'd been jerking off to a skin mag or something. But no, he'd been pressing himself up against Dean, wantonly rubbing against him, wanting, searching for an answer, for release. And those lips ... oh God... was it because he was drunk? Lifting his head, Sam saw headlights pass him in a blur... yeah, had to be because he was drunk. And yet, the though of their tongues tangling, the memory of Dean's hands on him, so sure, so confident... always touching him just right... it made him hot all over again.

He was a half a block away, but he turned to look at the club... whimpering under his breath at the needs still gripping him. Dean's voice kept washing over him. I want you. Let me have you. No, no, no, he couldn't do that. But a staggered step in the wrong direction had him turning and running before he could change his mind.

The shock of Sam pulling away from him was a little like the first time he'd had his skin peeled off his bones on the rack in hell. The sheer amount of pain had been so intense he'd forgotten to even scream at first. The sudden loss of the young man's body against his own was also so shocking that he forgot to even try to hold onto Sam, and then he was gone, disappearing through the throng of writhing bodies as though he'd never been there at all.

"Sam!" Dean called after the younger man, pushing his way through the people on the dance floor, roughly shoving some of the mortals that blocked his path.

"Hey, what the fuck is your problem…" One man complained angrily, grabbing his arm, until Dean turned with a snarl and the man let go of him abruptly, stumbling away in fright. Dean's cold black eyes followed the man for only a split second before he turned back to look for Sam, finally pushing his way off the dance floor, but he could not see the young man anywhere. He was gone…

Rage barely began to cover what he was feeling. He was angry, certainly, that he had been refused. But the… loss… he felt frankly staggered him. No one had refused him for so long he could barely remember the last time… if there even had been. Yet this young mortal had not only refused him, but the fact that Sam had affected him so in the first place, making him want him more than he'd ever wanted anyone before, and then refusing him…

Dean went back to the bar. He'd found Sam there in the first place and the young man had said he was waiting for friends. But he could see even before he got there that Sam wasn't there. Cursing, Dean turned around again to search for the younger man when the bartender called out to him.

"Hey, Dean! Your friend forgot his wallet."

Dean almost ignored the man but went back to the bar and took it from the bartender with a quick nod before he started towards the exit. It certainly wouldn't hurt if he had something that Sam wanted. Unfortunately his hopes that he might see the young man outside the club were dashed when he did not see Sam anywhere. The mortal had simply disappeared, like he was a fucking ghost instead of a man.

A growl started in the back of his throat that was barely covered by the pulse of the base coming from inside of the club.

"Hey gorgeous. You looking for a good time?" A sultry feminine voice suddenly whispered in his ear, a lusciously curved body pressing up against him from behind. He almost shoved the woman off of him in rage, but he knew he would need relief not only from the need Sam had ignited inside of him, but also his rage. This woman wouldn't satisfy him, he knew that much, but it was a start.

So he turned in the woman's arms and gave her a seductive inviting smile even though his eyes were still more black than green.

"I'm looking for a hell of a good time."

That night Dean didn't take the girl to his apartment, instead renting a room in hotel across town because he knew he was going to make a mess and he was in no mood to clean it up. First he'd made her scream in pleasure as he fucked her every way possible. Then he'd made her scream in an entirely different matter.

When he was done and he took a shower to wash off the blood, his body still vibrated with unspent desire and rage. He'd known she wouldn't satisfy him, and she hadn't. But at least she'd taken the edge off a bit. Let him think more clearly. He also knew nothing would satisfy him completely except Sam.

He would find the young man again and he would make him say 'yes' to him… but not yet. Dean knew he needed time to clear his head. Let the rage fade. He knew if he didn't he might hurt the young mortal without meaning to. Because he knew having the young man only once would not satisfy him either. Not one time. Not one night. He wanted Sam over and over again… and when he was finally satisfied Dean would decide whether or not to let the young man live.