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Love and Duty	By : rae_roberts Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 3443 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and make no profit from this story. Just borrowing Papa Winchester and his boys for fun.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
The rain kept up, a steady, unending downpour. John Winchester might control every other detail on the sprawling rural estate, but he couldn’t rein in the weather.
Chuck Shurley held an umbrella over Sam’s head as they picked their way across the sodden yard of the chapel, churned into mud by the guests that had crowded inside.   Ellen and Jo followed, each accompanied by their own umbrella-wielding escorts.   Sam heard Jo threaten to stomp in a puddle and grinned, too focused on keeping his pants legs clean and dry to look back.   He could just imagine the look their mother was shooting his rambunctious little sister to quell that idea.
The oversized antique window that dominated the little chapel looked dreary without any sunlight to illuminate it, the colors muted to shades of gray. The place was packed, Sam saw, with guests crammed shoulder to shoulder in the pews and standing along the walls. The raised dais had been pressed into service as a seating area, with a row of mismatched chairs lined up beneath the brooding stained-glass portrait of the archangel Michael.
Even the entryway was crowded with people hoping to get a glimpse of the service or at least hear the vows. They pressed back into the corners to give the wedding party room to come in out of the rain. Jo squeezed past Sam to take her place in the processional, sticking out her tongue at him in typical little sister fashion before standing graceful and demure-looking, framed by the gothic arch, holding the obligatory bridal bouquet.
At least they hadn’t made him carry the flowers, Sam thought wryly. The white linen suit was bad enough. He felt gawky and awkward, peering over Jo’s head as they waited for the music to begin. Dean stood in the small open space at the front of the dais looking drop-dead gorgeous in a dark, formal suit, flanked by his father and best man.   Sam noted with a trace of jealousy that his fiancé appeared completely relaxed. By contrast the hermit, Cass, looked as if he was considering bolting from the room.
Sam’s inspection of the groomsmen was interrupted by Ellen reaching up to fuss with the boutonniere pinned to his lapel.   “Now you’re sure you want to go through with this?” she murmured, smiling up at him.
“I think it’s a little late to back out now.”
“It’s never too late,” she scoffed. “One thing a treasure hunter’s never without: a plan B.”
He couldn’t help but smile back, knowing the truth beneath the light-hearted banter. If he did decide to back out at the last second, there was no doubt in Sam’s mind that Ellen would help him escape. Just then the antique organ wheezed to life and Dean looked toward the doorway, green eyes meeting Sam’s hazel, and thoughts of running away from the arranged marriage fled. He offered Ellen his arm and they followed Jo down the aisle.

Afterward, Sam couldn’t recall the day in more than bits and pieces. None of it seemed quite real. Dean’s low baritone repeating the archaic phrases of the marriage vows dutifully, like a student reciting a lesson, and his own voice chiming in at the expected times.   Cass looking positively green with terror as he searched his pocket for the wedding rings. The announcement of ‘you may kiss the groom’ and Dean leaning in to press his lips against his in chaste compliance.   The chapel’s ancient organ stuttering out the recessional, the warmth of Dean’s fingers clasped around his as they stood shivering in the damp under a hastily-erected awning, greeting the endless line of guests. The bright, white afterimage of the photographer’s flash spotting his vision as they posed--he, uncomfortably, Dean with effortless poise--for the interminable album’s worth of expensive mementos that John Winchester’s wealth demanded.
Then there was dinner, dancing, cake, and an endless flow of alcohol. More greetings and staged smiles, toasts and staged kisses. All for show, Sam thought tiredly.   His participation was scarcely necessary; he was nothing more than a trophy on display.
“The good news,” Dean informed him quietly as he set his glass down, “is there’s only one more formal toast.”
“And the bad news?” Sam’s eyebrows arched. Remembering the misery of his birthday-party hangover, he’d been careful to take only the tiniest of obligatory sips of liquor. He’d noted that Dean, while less cautious, had restricted his alcohol consumption, too, a fact for which Sam was grateful. It was considerate of his fiancé--no, his husband, Sam corrected himself--to stay sober. Tonight, when all of the pomp and ceremony was finally over, they’d perform the duty for which he’d been purchased and consummate the marriage.
“The bad news is, the final speaker is the Governor of the Kansas Territory. I swear, that idjit loves the sound of his own voice more than Rufus--” an insistent chiming interrupted him. Dean smiled at the guests who were tapping spoons against the glassware before turning back to Sam, who dutifully puckered up for the expected kiss. “And knowing him, he’ll insist on dancing with you after his toast,” Dean murmured against his lips. “But I’ll cut in, and then we’re out of here.”
“You mean, we can leave?” Sam couldn’t keep the longing out of his voice. “Before the party’s over?”
Dean scoffed. “You remember the last party… Well, no, actually, you probably don’t remember the last party,” he smirked.   “This’ll go on until three, four in the morning, but don’t worry.   We’re not expected to stay.”

The sensation of unreality continued when Dean pulled him on past the room he’d come to think of as his own, and Sam remembered with a jolt of mingled anxiety and excitement that from now on, they’d be sharing the master suite at the end of the hall.
Dean was already pulling off his tie as he walked through the door. In a moment, he’d shrugged off his suit jacket. “Ugh, I couldn’t wait to get out of this monkey suit,” he groaned, rolling his shoulders with relief.
Sam realized that the endless social performance had been just as tedious for the man who’d rather wear blue jeans and do ranch work, as it had been for him.   Dean, being born to this life and all its obligations, had just made it appear enjoyable and easy. But now Dean was looking back at him with curiosity bordering on annoyance.
What’s wrong?” he demanded.
Sam was still standing awkwardly in the doorway.   “Nothing. It’s just… Um, strange to see my books and things all moved in already,” he improvised. “This morning everything was still in my old room.”
“You can rearrange it however you want,” Dean said carelessly, toeing off his shoes and kicking them under the bed. “It doesn’t make any difference to me.”
That much was obvious, Sam thought dryly, watching Dean leave his expensive suit in a tangle on the floor. Shaking off his nervousness, he made himself enter the bedroom, shutting the door behind him and going about his own task of undressing with trembling fingers. He’d been as good as naked in front of Dean before, he reminded himself sternly. The thought helped him at least pretend to be calm as he hung his own suit neatly over the back of a chair.
The groom was lounging against the headboard of the big bed, still partially dressed in t-shirt and boxers. So apparently he wasn’t expected to get completely nude just yet, Sam thought. He tried to suppress the relief he felt at that as he walked over and sat down, mirroring Dean’s position on his own side of the bed.
“Okay, some ground rules,” Dean announced. “No snoring. And no girly screaming if you have a bad dream.”
Sam rose to the bait, grateful for the distraction of arguing with his insufferably smug groom. “I don’t snore and I don’t have nightmares. And I wouldn’t scream even if I did.”
“Would too,” Dean accused automatically.
“Would not.” The corners of Sam’s mouth twitched upward as he relaxed incrementally at the familiar refrain. This was the Dean he’d gotten to know over the past weeks, so different and yet somehow the same man as the handsome, distant stranger he’d exchanged marriage vows with just hours earlier.
“Would too.”
“Methinks he doth protest too much,” Sam countered.
“Methinks he what, now?”
“It’s from Shakespeare.” The academy-educated city boy couldn’t help tweaking his country boy’s lack of familiarity with the ancient literary classics.   “Means you’re probably the one who’ll be waking up screaming,” he drawled.
Dean smirked. “Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself, Sammy. You’re not that ugly.”
“Jerk.” Sam aimed a half-hearted cuff at his head, but Dean blocked it easily, strong fingers closing around Sam’s fist. A tingle ran up Sam’s arm as the swirling pattern just beneath his skin reacted to the contact. Dean’s arm lit up with its own inward light, casting a warm glow over the dimly lit bedroom. Sam took a deep breath and leaned in, gently touching his lips to Dean’s.
It was a hesitant, questioning caress, one that got an immediate reaction as Dean deepened the kiss, the fingers of his free hand sliding across Sam’s shoulder to twine in the hair at the nape of his neck. Sam felt his own body respond, his stomach giving a flutter of excitement as he parted his lips to let his tongue tangle with Dean’s. Now this was a real kiss, nothing like those stilted public kisses at the wedding reception.
And there were more just like it, leaving them both panting.   Sam’s hands roamed over his new husband’s broad shoulders and back, exploring, reveling in the feel of taut muscle flexing beneath his palms. He let them rove lower, fingers finding the hem of Dean’s t-shirt and tugging at it impatiently until Dean took the hint and drew back just far enough to pull it off over his head. His own eager hands quickly helped Sam out of his shirt, the slave not quite able to stifle a gasp as Dean pulled him in tight again and their bodies touched, skin against skin.
Dean’s mouth left his to trail heated, open-mouthed kisses along the underside of his jaw and down his neck, drawing out another startled gasp as he sucked hard at the pulse point at the base of Sam’s throat. Pleasure flirted with pain as Dean’s teeth scraped against sensitive skin. Marking him as his property, Sam thought fleetingly, but where normally he would feel degraded by the notion, in the moment the rough, possessive kiss just excited him more.
He threw a leg across Dean’s hip, yanking their bodies together, biting back a moan at his first contact with the bulge of Dean’s cock. Dean’s mouth found his again as his hand took a grip on the back of Sam’s thigh, syncing the motion of their hips as they ground up against one another with delicious friction.
Sam almost whimpered with frustration when Dean pulled away, thinking he was going to call a halt the way he had while they were ‘courting’, but then he saw that he was wriggling out of his boxer shorts.   He moved to follow suit and Dean’s fingers reached to grip the fabric of his waistband, helping, as he’d helped him squirm out of his t-shirt. But this time Dean paused, green eyes meeting Sam’s with brows arched in query.
“You doing okay?”
“I’m doing great.”
- 16
- 17
- 18
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Love and Duty