(For Myri, who wanted more dark!chesters. Companion piece to x.)
He looked an awful lot like Dean.
Except, no one could ever really look like Dean. He bore a slight resemblance, but couldn't ever do Dean Winchester justice in a true comparison.
The flash of anger at this man trying to seduce him, trying to win his favor had him growling - momentarily forgetting he was the one who'd charmed the man away from the crowd with a less-than-honest purpose.
The man dared to run his fingers through chestnut locks, trailing one hand along a hip made for finger bruises, the other sliding down the nape of a long, tanned neck that begged for marking.
Bathed in moonlight, profiles in view to anyone passing by as the man aimed for candy pink lips, Sam let the man kiss steel instead. It was quick, the man falling to his knees as the knife sliced cleanly through his jugular.
Dean watched from across the street, savoring the view as it played out. He wondered what Sam would gift him with tonight, certain the kill wasn't the main event. His little brother had been excited and on edge ever since they'd questioned witnesses yesterday afternoon.
Once Sam had cleared the scene from what appeared as a lewd public act, Dean waited, checking for anyone following before he started on foot to the abandoned warehouse down the street, slipping inside quietly.
He made a small gasp, taking in the sight. His beautiful Sammy, covered in blood, knelt beside his offering. The knife was still wet, and the love in those hazel eyes was fervent as they locked upon Dean's glowing green.
The man had been carved. Intricate, delicate work - words, and as Dean began reading, Sam started humming. It was a song. The words were lyrics, across arms and down the chest, running down thighs and shins.