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vice//rapture	By : savysavestheday Category: Supernatural > Crossovers Views: 1286 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the television series that this fanfiction is written for, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-vice//rapture
- 2-part 2
- 1
- 2
Author: Syrai

Fandom: Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Pairing: Dean/Dawn

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: bad language, smut and the one thing I swore I'd never write, wincest� in a way.

Summary: It's not the same. It feels fucking good, you don't deny that, but it's not the same. No one can compare, no one.

Disclaimer? I think we all know I don't own Supernatural or BtVS and it's rather pointless for me to write this disclaimer.

What? In this verse Dawn is a Winchester; Sam's twin. That's all you have to know.

Author�s Note: The song would be POINTS OF AUTHORTIY by LINKIN PARK. Let us thank F who helped me out with a scene by coming up with it when I was too damaged to do it myself ^^; This one's got one weird flow, but I was feeling so frakking weird anyway and since my fics never ask my permission when it comes to this stuff... I'll just shrug.

0000

VICE//RAPTURE

0000

Forfeit the game // Before somebody else

Takes you out of the frame // Puts your name to shame

Cover up your face // You can't run the race

The pace is too fast // You just won't last

You love the way I look at you

While taking pleasure in the awful things you put me through

You take away if I give in

My life

My pride is broken

0000

part 2

"You're not supposed to be here."

Yeah, that's the first thing she says after she comes to from her initial shock of seeing you, her brother, watching her, well, masturbate. Hell, it wasn't that easy for you either, but you couldn't stop yourself; you said her name like a starving man begging for bread for fuck's sake and her eyes, they flung open immediately. Met yours. You didn't say anything else and she didn't either. You simply waited for her reaction and watched, watched the many emotions battling in her eyes and wondered which one would eventually win.

"Really?" You question with the kind of cocky smirk that always appears on your lips without you even noticing. A moment ago you were� stunned, horrified even, but suddenly you feel something else. Can't quite put your finger on it, but you know it's there. That feeling. And you smile the arrogant smirk you always smile when you're confused and need to hide it, hide everything.

"Yeah." She scratches her forehead with uneasy smile. She then again isn't even trying, not trying to hide her body or make any lame excuses to protect her dignity. That's what you love about her, really. She knows she's been caught and that her lying about it wouldn't change a damn thing. It'd make her seem even more ridiculous if possible, is all. Yeah, Dawn, she takes everything as it comes and deals with the situation if need be. Like a true Winchester, indeed. You're thinking, that's my girl and there's that familiar pride twisting your insides, making you grin. You don't realize how fucking inappropriate the previous thought actually is� well, considering the moment, that is.

That's my girl. Never letting the enemy the pleasure of seeing her defeated.

But none of that changes the fact you're both in deep shit now. Dawn because of what she was doing a minute ago and you� you because of the pain starting to build up in your downstairs. Fucking hell, not now!

Dead animals, monsters, cows cut open� anything but the picture in front of you. You need a damn distraction, okay? Gods, this is un-fucking-believable.

And right then, the thought crosses your mind out of nowhere, "Ah, so you didn't arrange this little show just for me?" You question. The comment actually gives you back some of your normal arrogance, though somehow you feel she's still draining it from you, sucking it out.

Oh, such a bad choice of words, buddy.

You forget that, though, when she snorts, throws her head back slightly and rolls out a deep laugh, "Dude, how pathetic do you think I am?"

Well, honestly? Your eyebrow quirks up as the puddle of suitable remarks enter your mind - oh so many to choose from, sweetheart - but instead you choose to go with, "You don't really want me to answer that, do you?"

She shrugs, indifferent; another shared Winchester trait. You could bet your gun she's thinking, not really, but of course the girl doesn't lower herself to actually say it. Yeah, you could bet a lot more on that one.

"Whatever," Dawn sighs then, eyes capturing yours and you realize the challenge is there again, begging to be answered, "You gonna join me or not?"

Oh gods. What is this? The ultimate test?

"Dawn," you breathe her name like you breathe oxygen, "you're out of your fucking mind."

Heaven? Your punishment? What, tell me, what the fuck is this?

Her face becomes serious again, like it always does when she's about to go and throw a tantrum and then, then she looks angry. "So what?" She exclaims, frustrated, "Why can't you just fuck me, huh?"

There, that's your downfall, the voice, the look in her eyes and you break, snap. Fuck! You can't keep the game face on anymore, ok? You can't. How the hell did this happen? How did you not see it coming?

"Jesus Christ," you whimper turning away from her, fingers grabbing the back of your neck, "You're not honestly asking me that."

But the look in her eyes, the one burning your back, it speaks a language of it's own and it tells you loud and clear, screams at you,

Oh, yes I am.

0000

You learn the new game pretty damn quickly. You have to - it becomes essential to your survival. Or at least to your mental health. Every day in the house with her, every day without Dad around, it's another war to be won. She keeps making it as difficult as humanly possible and dude, she's good, so damn good� but you're better. So you learn not to walk into the bathroom without making sure it's actually empty and you never ever forget to lock the door again. You learn not to walk around the place wearing nothing but a towel, because if she's close, she'll sure as hell snatch it from you as soon as she can.

Then she'll just wait and watch, like you watched her. Eyes on your cock, she waits, hoping to see if her presence actually affects you any way and the damn suspense nearly kills you every time. Usually she gets what she wants just by looking at you long enough, and she loves the power she holds over you. After that the princess smiles for hours, shining in her victory and you feel ashamed of yourself, weak. When Dad asks what's making her so happy, she gives you this certain look and shrugs saying it's nothing.

Nothing Dad, I just feel good.

And hell, the lengths she goes to get what she's after.

You remember this one time�

0000

It's the movie night and you're sitting on the couch, alone, feet on the coffee table and with a bowl of popcorn on your chest next to the lonely remote controller. Well, it would be a movie night if Dawn wasn't out, Sam wasn't too busy studying history in the privacy of your bedroom and if Dad hadn't decided to go mental and clean his whole fucking arsenal on the kitchen table right there and then as if tomorrow didn't exist. He didn't pay any attention to your protest and when Sam said it'd be actually better to cancel the whole thing, just for tonight, because he's got one damn bitchy exam coming up that he'd like to pass, you saw it best to give up with a sigh. The situation pissed you off, yes, but throwing a childish tantrum, which is more like Dawn's field of expertise anyway, was out of picture. Still is.

Little soldiers always do what they're told and they do it with a smile on their face, no questions asked, right Dean? Before things got weird, Dad always called you his little soldier and even as a teenager you never really find a reason good enough to fight it, fight him. Even in your disappointed anger, you take it like you always do� Dad does what he thinks he has to do in order to protect his lot - you and Sam and Dawn - and you know this and respect him for it. That's probably why you can handle the disappointment without a meltdown in the first place. Plus, you're a big brother and protecting Sammy and Dawnie has always been your number one priority too.

So you accept the fact that the regular movie night you guys have, the one night you actually forget everything and feel there's nothing wrong or out of ordinary in your family, has been coldly dismissed. Accepting doesn't keep you from letting your disappointment show though, not that it would do any good. Dad's been talking to his babies for an hour or so and you're beginning to wonder how fucking stupid you are.

Besides, the movie you ended up renting out of spite isn't even remotely interesting, but you watch it anyway out of defiance.

Dad's still cleaning the weapons when the front door is opened around 10pm and Dawn arrives. You fight the urge to look over your shoulder to see; to see how she looks, what she's wearing, if she's been drinking again. With whom she's been. It's weird, but sometimes you only have to look at her to be able to tell what she's hiding. Whether she was out with friends or with a certain friend, little things like that.

"Dawn", you hear Dad calling and her footsteps pause. "You're late," he says then and you could swear his disapproving eyes are still on the weapons lying in front of him, not on her.

"I know, I'm sorry." She sounds sincere, but then again, she's always been good when it comes to lying.

Dad probably nods. You know he doesn't say anything more, which actually annoys you a little because if it had been you or god forbid, the saint Sam, there would've been a two-hour lecture to remind you how you're always supposed to listen to him. Not to mention lots of hostile words thrown at your face about the horrors lurking in the dark. She's off the hook without even having to explain herself, dude. Nasty.

After she disappears into her bedroom, you focus all your energy on the movie and try and catch up. It's still no good, but at least it gives your brain something to do. Something else.

You end up concentrating so hard that you don't even notice how Dawn a moment later opens her door and walks to the couch. Only when she leaps over the back and lands next to you causing you to startle, you see - feel the potential danger approaching. Not good.

"Hey, whatcha doin'?" Dawn asks dropping something on the couch and you quickly glance to your side, frowning.

"What does it look like?" You snort back. She's completely ignoring your tone - you can tell because the smile on her lips doesn't darken one bit. Instead, she leans closer and takes the bowl into her own hands. She knows you'd protest if you weren't that tense. She grins.

Grabbing a handful of popcorn and after throwing them all into her mouth, Dawn places the bowl on the coffee table next to your feet and suddenly you feel as threatened as a baby sheep in the middle of wolves. You gather yourself up, correcting your posture.

Christ, how very fucking manly you are today.

Next minute she's already used your change of position to her advantage. She straightens her legs, kicks the remote controller slightly, forcing it to fall between you and the couch and puts her toes on you, on your lap. If things were different, you'd see it as an act of innocence, but after everything� you know it's anything but. There's not a one innocent cell in this being, is there?

And man, when she wiggles her toes for a few seconds, you know she's out to get you.

"So, what we watching?" She looks at you and then the screen all the while picking up whatever it was that she dropped before. You don't know, because you keep your eyes strictly on the TV.

"Dawn of the Dead." Well, you thought it was fitting.

"Interesting," she mumbles, not really listening to you, but directing all her attention to the little thing in her hands.

"Whatever," you say. Again you're having a war with yourself; to look or not to look, that is the damned question. No, no looking, none whatsoever, dude.

A moment goes by and you still refuse to turn your head. Only when she mumbles again something you don't pick but are curious about, you allow yourself to take a peek. The fact she's wearing a white tank top that leaves nothing to your imagination as well as a pair of your boxers make your skin warm, way too warm. Gods, suddenly you're really, really thirsty.

Why the fuck is she wearing your boxers?

"Shit," she whines, seemingly oblivious, "it's stuck."

Ignore her, dude, just ignore her. "What is?" Fine, don't ignore her, see if I care.

"This," she speaks while pouting her lips and leans yet again closer offering you a small bottle. Nail polisher, you realize.

You take it off her hands quickly, trying to avoid both looking into her top and the direct skin contact which you know would throw you off balance. Though you manage to escape the softness that is her skin, you can't block the sensation brought by her smell and fuck, it's taking over your senses. You smell nothing but her.

The funny looking bottle opens with a soft pop; you give them both back to her, swallowing and without so much as looking.

She grabs them with both hands, thanking politely, but the way her fingers brush yours prove clearly that whatever she's got in her mind, is nothing but polite.

You make the mistake of sighing; thinking the worst is behind, because that's when she surprises you.

She leans closer, again, but this time to, gods� this time it's to paint her damned toe nails. She knows perfectly what she's doing to you, how the weight of her feet against your middle strikes you, takes your breath away. It feels so good it hurts and you can't stop the reaction.

She smiles when she feels your erection underneath her heel, chuckles when you intake another sharp breath. Pausing her task and eyes on you, she drops onto her back with one finger trailing her lips and all you want to do is�

Dude, don't go there. Just don't.

The finger moves from her lips, travels down her face to her throat, to her breast and it stops there, twisting the nipple. You swallow, hard. Dear God.

The next 15 minutes or so are heavenly torture: her feet rubbing you and your hands squeezing the back of the couch, eyes almost rolling in your head. You suffocate all the growls and snarls you feel in the back of your throat, defy the urge to grab her hips, pull her on top of you and give her what she's wanted all along.

And still, the only thing you can actually think of is fucking hell, I can't come and you hate yourself for it. He's there, Dad, right behind you and the same bit of knowledge that seems to be gas to her fire is water to yours.

When she finally stops and sits up, she gives you the kind of smile that tells you she's more than aware of the state she's leaving you in. Tucking her legs underneath her, she leans closer again, hand traveling over your pants and out of blue, grabs the remote controller next to you.

Then she pulls away, leaving you with a painful hard-on and no hope of relief, and calmly switches to another channel.

0000

Another weekend without Dad's observing eyes there, you know it's gonna be hell, absolutely torturous. That is exactly why you offered to go with him, said you're restless and probably in need of a good hunt and gods, if only Dad had taken you up on the offer. But no, of course your plan doesn't go through, that'd be too much. He thinks you're needed at home� he says he feels better knowing you're there, protecting the kids.

Jesus, what kids?

Oh god, Dad, if you knew.

You almost told him that day, almost blurted out that shit, you're the one who needs to be protected. Yeah, Dean, you tell your Dad you need to be protected from your horny little sister and we'll see where that takes you, hmm?

So you gave it a rest, this time.

It's only when she brings Sam into the game that you feel like moving into your Impala, for good damnit, and driving to another continent.

You're both, Sam and you, lying in your beds in your room, lights off and trying to sleep. Or you were, before she began her little performance again. Right on time, too, you think while glancing the clock. She may not always shoot bulls-eyes out in the field, but fuck if she isn't always on time with this little mission of hers. She's beyond determined to drive you insane and she's doing one hell of a job, too.

You've tried to adjust and to certain point, you have. You sleep with your headphones on and ignore her� usually. But this time you can't pretend it's not happening, because Sam's awake and shit, you don't want him to know. Anything.

Her room is next to yours, one thin wall separating you from each other and when she decides you need to hear what she's doing, she doesn't even have to try and be loud.

So, yeah, the fact she's behind the wall on your side, not his, doesn't matter the slightest. Sam hears it, just like you do, all of it. Hears her calling your name, begging you to fuck her and you're almost willing to go along with her sick fantasy just to shut her the hell up.

"Dean?" It's Sam, naturally. You would smile if the situation wasn't so completely fucked up. You would smile, because you knew he'd bring it up, that he couldn't stay silent forever. Sam Winchester, always the curious George.

"Don't even ask," you grunt, eyes closed. You're so not in the mood for this talk, not now, not ever. Not with him.

But Sam's persistent, the way he's always been, and he can't let it go that easily, "Dean, dude, is she-"

"Yeah," you chuck, sniffing.

"But-"

Oh dude, let it go. "I know, Sam, I know." Let me have my pride, will you?

"She-"

Oh fucking hell, not you too. How the fuck did you end up with two brain-dead siblings? Don't be so fucking naive, Sam. "Sammy, seriously," you snap more forcefully than you originally mean to, "I know, okay?"

There's a pause before Sam finally nods, pensive look in his eyes. You see the nod because you've opened your other lid and you're observing him from the corner of your eye, just to make sure he's� well� okay, you guess. The pensive look then again, it's always there, so you don't even have to see it to know that one.

"Okay," Sam says then, calmly and clearly processing it all, "Well. Shouldn't you like-"

"No, dude. It's no use," you sigh, giving up. The little brother isn't gonna let you off the hook without a real soulful chat, never is. "I've tried to talk to her," you explain simply, "but she's like living in this whole another galaxy."

You know what he's gonna say even before he speaks. "Maybe I-"

"No," not a chance in hell, "She's just gonna drag you into this. Stay out of it, Sammy."

Sam's silent for a moment and you're both simply listening the raw voices coming from her room, the heavy panting, the shrieks, the whole deal.

"You know," Sam says then, sounding a little bit amused which actually reminds you of yourself, "by the sounds of it� I think she already has."

Yeah, and you think he's onto something, but you're not nearly as amused as your brother is.

"Great", you mutter under your breath, "fucking great."

0000

For weeks you've wanted her to stop. For weeks you've prayed to all the gods you've read about, tried to talk some sense into her, you've tried to think of ugly stuff, dead animals, monsters and naked old people whenever she's even so much as looked at you, touched you, and now, suddenly, nothing.

She comes home from school and she doesn't even look at you. Barely even says hey.

In the dinner table, whenever you guys have time to actually share a meal that is, her legs aren't constantly in your lap anymore, playing with you. The bright eyes demanding to be noticed aren't staring at you anymore and strangely, she doesn't parade around the place in her bras either.

All the sudden you're air to her and though you know you should thank the gods, you don't.

You know what the problem is but there's no fucking way you're saying it out loud. Or even admitting it to yourself.

It's over, dude, it's over.

Maybe she was finally cured from, well, whatever the hell it was that she was suffering from. Some fucked up girl disease or bug or whatever.

You pretend to be grateful, up until you realize just what the fuck has happened and pretending isn't working anymore.

It hits you during that normal little show of hers.

Only this time, while lying in her bed, naked, covered in sweat and fingers playing with her clit, she's not yelling your name. Un-fucking-believable.

"Sam, what the fuck?" You bark, startling him. He'd obviously thought you're asleep. He still doesn't get it; you never fall asleep before him, it's just not possible. You can pretend for his sake, but it never happens in reality. Or very rarely, at least.

"I� I don't� I don't-" He tries to speak, but all he gets out is random muttering.

Sam, Sam, Sam and that's when you realize how much you hate hearing her yell your little brother's name. And if you're honest, it's not just about the fact she's calling his name. It's that she isn't calling yours.

That's all it takes for your paranoia to break free. Does that mean� ? Holy fucking shit. Now, you don't really want to ask it, but fuck it, you have to. You have to know. Otherwise there'll be no peace for you in the near future.

"Have you-"

"No!" Sam denies it even before you finish the sentence, which is good; you didn't have to force the words out after all� although, when you think about it� that was a bit too rough denial, Sammy, wasn't it?

"Well, you better not," you inform him, not understanding from where the words are coming or why you feel the need to say them, "Keep your cock away from her, okay?"

"Dude," Sam whines, "That's just gross."

Is it? Of course it is, right, right. "Just saying."

"Don't."
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vice//rapture