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Vegas Paradise: Tasting the Forbidden	By : aRedBaroness Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2231 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Vegas Paradise: Tasting the Forbidden

Dean was drumming his fingers on the Impala's steering wheel excitedly, keeping time with the mullet rock blaring from the speakers. Sam decided he looked twitchier than Tigger on crack. “It's only Vegas, dude and further more we're only going there for a job.”

“Sammy, don't spoil my fun. It's like getting assigned a case involving protecting strippers, sorority girls or cheerleaders. I'm not about to let your piss-poor attitude bring me down. Lighten up, man!” Dean's tone was accusatory. He couldn't understand why the appeal was lost on his little brother. They were heading to America's adult playground. Okay so ostentatiously it was to solve some bizarre disappearances as a favor to one of Bobby's contacts, a retired hunter turned Vegas bartender, but still this next week was going to be fun and awesome, he could feel it in his bones. It would also be a welcome distraction from certain thoughts that had been plaguing him as of late.

Recently, Dean had been disturbed by sexual thoughts about his traveling partner. They seemed to come on as idle speculation at times when his baby brother was exiting the shower with a tiny once-white motel towel slung about his narrow hips. At times like that Dean would wonder what Sam looked like sans the towel or if his brother fucked with the same single-minded intensity he poured into hunts. Dean was trying to write it off, ascribe it to the fact that we were cooped up together too long with few real friends or outside interactions. He also made sure to pick up someone if possible every time they stopped, but the thoughts didn't seem to be willing to be fucked away by strangers.

Sam was studying his big brother out of the corner of his eye. Dean had seemed down right broody over the past couple weeks, which was wrong, that was Sam's schtick. It seemed a simple joking comment plus Dean's quick retort was enough to kill his brother's feverish excitement.

Sam was not looking forward to the Vegas job, in fact he kind of hated any big city jobs. It put them more at risk of running into halfway competent law enforcement, the kind that could piece together their record of minor offenses across various state lines. It was enough to make Sam paranoid and twitchy. It appeared his brother was susceptible to catching his nervousness, he noted as Dean shifted again in apparent discomfort.

No further words were spoken as they sped down the desolate desert highway to the glitzy desert oasis.

It was well past two in the morning when the brothers entered city limits, it seemed an appropriate time to enter Vegas. No doubt the job would have them keeping odd hours anyway as any pertinent witnesses would be the nightlife type. They were headed to the dive bar Bobby's contact Abram kept in North Vegas well off the strip.

It seemed he'd uncovered a string of disappearances stretching back into the fifties. Recently one of the earlier missing persons had been recovered wandering the strip in a daze with no recollection of her 34-year absence, believing herself to still be a teenager from 1974.

It was weird and unsettling; it was a job for the Winchester brothers.

It was also a good way to take their minds off of Dean's deal. His contract would expire in another six months. Neither brother allowed themselves to think about that at all.

Abram's bar was aptly called “Flushed Your Luck.” He was a grizzled old man much scarred, who did not seem like the come up with that sort of joke name. He had a distinct don't mess with me, young punk aura and a perma-frown like his face was frozen in disapproval. His bar looked like it belonged in the rural north with its wooden hunting lodge décor and distinct lack of neon and modernity. Animal heads that seemed to glare thrust out from the walls through the thick cigarette smoke.

Dean strutted in headstrong and cocksure as usual to mask his inherent insecurities. Sam followed doggedly, determined to close the case as soon as possible and keep his older brother out of trouble. It would be difficult to keep Dean from trouble, his arrogance seemed to invite and entertain it wherever he went, but if ever there was one up for the chore, it was Sam.

Abram was brief and grim in his description of the case. From what he could tell the common theme was an old casino called the Lotus, a bit off the strip, a a little less neon. It was a great success despite the owner's reluctance to follow fads. It was done up like an Oriental pleasure palace or an opium den, apparently a ridiculously dated decorating scheme for Vegas, according to information from Abram's brother-in-law who managed several casinos along the strip. Every year anywhere between 5 and 30 people of all ages vanished from the strip. The last known destination of many of the missing was the Lotus.

Sam and Dean nodded and asked about the lone survivor, the woman with the memory loss. Abram said she was currently being held in a hospital in town, until someone could locate any living relatives. It was possible that if none were found she'd be simply tossed out. Vegas was not a city big on social welfare.

The brothers would pick up the case in the morning. Abram suggested that perhaps they ought to stay at the Lotus. The Winchesters considered it a moment, but concluded it would be too risky and asked for a cheap motel recommendation. Abram pointed them to a scumbag motel a few blocks from the Lotus.

Dean had been considering heading out that evening in search of a blowsy blonde to warm his bed, but thought better of it. Exhaustion had hit him hard all of a sudden. A motel bed and maybe a shower. Sam seemed relieved to see that his brother wouldn't be dashing out to raise hell just yet. They checked in without preamble and secured the room with salt lines and such silently. Before muttering their good nights and passing out.

It was the moan that woke Sam a few hours later. Sunlight was creeping in the through threadbare drapes and Dean was tossing and panting in his bed in apparent pleasure. Sam turned on his side to watch his brother. Dean had a hand between his legs while the other groped his sweaty golden chest. Sam wondered who his brother dreamed of. What leggy fake blonde or busty brunette starred in his brother's fantasies? What if it was a harem of drooling hussies or a bevy of flexible cheerleaders? Sam never could help his jealousy issues. It wasn't Dean he was jealous of it was the girls that flocked to his brother like bees to honey. Dean was his to watch, his to drool over, his to wank over. Not that he'd ever admit it.

As Sam saw it, it was not his fault. It had been a rare occasion that he'd seen anyone resist his brother's easygoing charm and good looks. Dean's eyes always held dirty promises and cocksucker lips rendered people powerless when he smirked. No one could be expected to resist that. Sam had even seen dudes checking out that tight ass.

Sam lived for these rare nights when he was treated to a private show. Dean's wet dreams were what fueled Sam's wet dreams. He was wholly absorbed in memorizing Dean's pleasure faces and breathy gasps. He longed to peel the sweaty sheet back and roll down Dean's boxers for a better view. Then he would have a chance to not only see all the action and up close, but to clean his brother up afterward.

Sam's large hand was tugging his own hard cock now. His focus was singular. There was nothing in the world save for Dean and his mouthwatering erotic display. The way his breath was speeding up signaled to Sam that his brother must be close. Sam was tossing himself off faster now, he wanted to cum at the same time as Dean.

Dean's thrashing had thrown the covers lower on his muscular torso. Sam could make out the tantalizing treasure trail snaking out of sight. “Oh FUCK YEAH!” Dean shouted in his sleep as he came, sprawling out limply on the bed. Sam was mere seconds behind him. Sam was asleep again, utterly sated within minutes of their orgasms.

The alarm went off around 11 and Dean smacked it off with a single well-placed blow. He rolled over, he was sticky and uncomfortable in more ways than one. He'd had the hottest dream last night, but to his shame it did not star a porn movie starlet, but his baby brother. How sick and perverted was that? He avoided looking at his brother's bed and trudged to the bathroom.

Sam was himself flushed with embarrassment as he always was after one of his late-night Dean watching episodes. It didn't stop him from following Dean's ass as it made its way to the bathroom. What he wouldn't give shove those boxers down and lick, pinch, probe and spank that tight ass. His morning half wood was now at full attention. Sam weighed the possibilities of getting caught if he wanked now while Dean showered. It was too risky.

He sighed and reached for his laptop. Might as well get some research done then.

Sam was compiling a comprehensive and detailed list of victims in order to establish if possible a victim-type. It might help them figure out how these people were chosen and why, when Dean emerged from the bathroom in a towel and a cloud of steam. Sam's brain short-circuited. Water droplets were running down the golden planes of Dean's abs.

It dimly registered that Dean had said something. “What?”

“I said shower's yours, dude. I also asked what you'd found. Geez college-boy you're supposed to be the smart one here.”

“Not much yet. Still gathering data. Get me some coffee, when you're dressed and something bran-ish and muffin-y.”

“Fine. Can't see how you choke down that stuff. I'll wait to til you're done to start asking around, I guess.” Dean said scrubbing his hair dry with another towel.

Sam shrugged and nodded, walking to the bathroom quickly. He really needed his morning shower wank. Dean was just too tasty and he looked even better wet and glistening.

Forty-five minutes later the brothers were pounding the pavement, in search of anything relevant to the case. Dean was a bit pissy, Sam had told him they would not be questioning any show-girls or strippers. Dean had tried to argue that the sad, lonely loser Vegas types that would disappear for 30 or more years would be the kind to tell their troubles to “working girls” was dismissed out of hand by Sam. Dean had pouted and played the last fling on earth card. But Sam had merely said tiredly and firmly that Dean had his own time for that and they had a job to do.

The brothers were masquerading as concerned brothers that had lost their single-parent father to whatever it was that was taking these people. “He left for a weekend with our college fund.” It had been determined that in a crooked city of sin playing cop would not have gone over so well. Better to play the concerned relative. Sam knew they didn't want to attract the wrong kind of attention here.

It was frustrating, young cocktail waitresses were more than willing to spare a few minutes to talk, especially to Dean, but they never seemed to know anything. Most were much more interested in providing “comfort” for the brothers.

By dusk it was clear that the city was too transient and changing for people to recall any vanishing customers. Vegas was far to bizarre for questions about unusual occurrences to have currency either.

Frustrated and discouraged the boys headed back to check in with Abram and give Bobby a call. There wasn't even a guarantee that there was even anything supernatural here. It could be a simple case of a serial killer or just that in Vegas people disappeared all the time after loosing everything.

After a greasy diner dinner, Dean had resolved that he wouldn't let a bad day bring him down. It was a beautiful hot sleazy Vegas night and he wasn't going to waste it moping. He was going to go out and grab some fun, it wasn't like he'd get another chance at this. He'd be dead in a few months when his contract came due.

Sam still seemed unwilling to let Dean off leash. But he caved soon enough. What was all that about any way, Dean wondered.

“Don't get into too much trouble.”

Dean just winked and smirked at his brother and strutted off in search of a good time girl or two.
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Vegas Paradise: Tasting the Forbidden