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runedgirlAuthor name: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
runedgirl
Artist name:fanlay
Pairing: Dean/Sam, with Sam/Jess and Dean/Cas
Rating: NC17
Dean had himself so worked up that he had coffee already brewing and was pacing around the kitchen when Sam came stumbling in, not even showered yet. Rosie was still asleep.
“What’re you doing up so early?” Sam rubbed his eyes.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean said, snippy. “Listen Sam, if this is because of me – if I’ve done something to . . . to make you not normal . . . by being here, you gotta tell me, ‘cause I never—honestly, Sam, I might have thought about it, but I never would’ve--
Sam blinked muzzily, trying to follow Dean’s disjointed ramblings. “If what is what? What the hell are you talking about?” Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair, tucking it behind an ear. “Wait, are you trying to apologize for somehow making me not normal? Because I kissed you?”
Dean scowled. “Did I do something?”
Sam grabbed a coffee mug from the cupboard and filled it; took a few sips black because damn, he needed to be more awake for this discussion. “Do something like what? You mean, like look so hot I couldn’t resist you?”
“Very funny,” Dean said, still scowling.
Sam took another sip. Dean looked tired, circles shadowed under his eyes. “No,” Sam said more calmly, “No, you didn’t do anything. I’m the same person I’ve always been – same as before I left for Stanford, same as when fell in love with Jess. I’ve never been as normal as you keep insisting I am, whatever that means.”
“Yes, you are,” Dean insisted, and Sam marveled at how weird their arguments were.
“No, I’m really not. I’ll go back to pretending I am, if that’ll make you happy, but that won’t make it true.”
“Goddammit Sam,” Dean cursed, and banged his fist against the counter. “Why not?”
“Because I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was twelve years old, Dean. Back then, all the years in between. Now. Always. I admit I probably never would’ve done it, but – normal? Not me. Not ever.”
“Fuck,” Dean said, and slumped against the counter. He looked devastated.
“Hey, God, I’m sorry,” Sam said, and he put down the coffee cup and came to stand in front of his brother. “Look at me, Dean, okay? I promise you, I won’t ever do it again – it’s not like I would take advantage of you or something, or expect you to reciprocate. I just wanted to be honest with you.”
Dean was still looking down, his face drawn like he was in agony.
“Shit, Dean, I’m sorry – please, this isn’t your fault, okay?”
“Sam,” Dean whispered, so softly that it was barely audible.
“Are you gonna leave?” Sam asked, hating himself for giving in to his impulses and ruining the fragile little household they’d built here, the one that was Sam’s reason for getting up in the morning.
That seemed to shock Dean into raising his head. There were tears in his eyes, making them shine otherworldly green in the early-morning light. “No,” he said, voice gruff. “It’s just that – God, Sam, you’re not the only one, you gotta know that. Part of the reason I stayed away all this time is because I . . . shit, I didn’t wanna fuck you up with wanting you in all the wrong ways, Sammy. But no, not gonna leave, not until you want me to.”
Sam closed his eyes so he wouldn’t chicken out. “I won’t ever want you to,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” Except he wasn’t, not anymore.
“Fuck it,” Dean whispered back, and grabbed Sam by the fabric of his tee shirt and hauled him forwards. Sam thought it was a hug until he felt the press of Dean’s mouth, soft and wet against his neck, along his jaw. He jerked his head down and caught Dean’s mouth with his own, and this time the kiss wasn’t chaste. It was rough, desperate, both of them pushing into it too hard.
Dean grunted against him, and the sound made Sam have to move, have to do something to make Dean make that noise again. He slammed his brother backwards against the counter, both hands wrapped around Dean’s back to hold him there. Dean got a handful of Sam’s hair and anchored himself while they licked into each other’s mouths, messy and sloppy like two middle-schoolers who had no clue what they were doing. And Sam didn’t. This was different than anything Sam had ever done before; this was Dean, after twenty years of wanting, in his arms, kissing back.
They both froze when they heard Rosie singing to herself in her bed, like she always did when she first woke up.
“Shit.” Sam stepped back, then almost plunged right back in again when he got a good look at his brother. Dean’s mouth was swollen and red, slick with Sam’s spit. He was blushing violently, his cheeks flaming and the tips of his ears red, and he was nearly panting. A quick look lower confirmed that he was as aroused as Sam was. Sam pressed the heel of one hand against the tent in his boxers. “God, Dean,” he groaned, his cock jumping in protest as Dean’s eyes dropped to it and widened, almost all pupil in a ring of bright green.
“We’re not pretending this didn’t happen later,” Sam warned, and waited for Dean to meet his eyes.
“Uh, no. Little late for that.”
“Good.” Sam grabbed his coffee mug and took another gulp to steady himself; gave his dick another stern press down. “Because I am so not done with you.”
Dean’s mouth fell open wider. “Sam,” he said, and then paused, looking shell-shocked.
“Do you want this?” Sam asked, suddenly unsure. Dean nodded slowly. “Don’t just tell me what I want to hear,” Sam insisted. “Do you really want this?”
Dean blew out a breath, then reached down and adjusted himself in his jeans. “Yeah,” he said, and licked at his bottom lip where Sam’s teeth had nicked it. “Obviously.”
“Good.” And it was. It really was.
“I’ll get Rosie,” Dean said, looking at Sam’s crotch again where his dick was stubbornly refusing to go down. “Maybe you should, uh, take a shower.”
* * *
Sam had promised to drop off a few boxes of Rosie’s baby clothes at Penny and Kim’s house that afternoon. They had gotten a call from the adoption agency out of the blue on Christmas Eve, and were frantically trying to get ready for the arrival of their new addition. While he was there, he helped them put together a crib with twelve pages of assembly instructions. Penny insisted on feeding Sam afterwards to say thank you.
“Really, it was no problem,” Sam assured her, taking a few bites of a delicious tuna on rye. “I should probably be going though, you guys have a lot of work ahead of you, I’m sure.”
“You got a hot date, Sam?”
“What? No. No, I’m just – just looking forward to going home, that’s all.”
Penny nodded, smiling as Sam’s cheeks colored. “That’s a big deal right there, don’t you think?”
Sam nodded and took another big bite of his sandwich. It was.
Penny twirled the straw in her soda, regarding Sam quizzically. “So, did you decide on boys or girls?”
Sam looked up to feign innocence, but Penny’s grin was too sincere. He laughed, embarrassed. “Uh – I guess, boys. I mean, boy. Man. Whatever.”
Penny held out her Diet Coke to Sam for a toast. “Good choice!” she said, and he blushed harder, clinking their glasses.
“Seriously,” she said a minute later, as Sam finished up his sandwich. “I’m really happy for you, Sam. I never thought I’d see you smile again.
“Me too, Sam,” Kim said, joining them in the kitchen. She had a paintbrush in one hand, dabs of robin egg blue on one cheek. Sam stood up, and Kim looked him up and down. “Hey Sam, you’re sort of . . . tall. Think you could give me a hand with the crown molding?”
Dean was in the kitchen when Sam finally got home. Sam felt giddy, his stomach flipping like a teenager on his first date.
“Daddy!” Rosie cried, and he picked her up and tossed her over his head, catching her to squeals of delight. When he looked up again, Dean was watching. He ducked his head when Sam caught his eye, the hint of a smile curving at the corner of the mouth Sam had kissed that morning. Would hopefully kiss again tonight.
After dinner, Sam gave Rosie her bath while Dean cleaned up the kitchen--though Sam hadn’t actually left much in the way of leftovers. That was mostly Dean’s fault for making Sam’s favorite meal of all time, vegetarian lasagna with a gigantic salad overflowing with exotic fresh vegetables and greens that Sam didn’t know the name of and didn’t particularly care because they were awesome. It was even more awesome because Dean didn’t like salad or most kinds of vegetables, so it was clear the meal was for Sam and Dean had gone to considerable trouble to make it. That must mean, Sam reasoned, that Dean was looking forward to more kissing as much as he was. At least he hoped that was what it meant.
Rosie insisted that they both kiss her goodnight after Dean’s truly inspired off-the-book and far-too-accurate-in-real-life rendition of Where The Wild Things Are, and then finally they were alone.
That’s when Sam got tongue-tied and couldn’t seem to talk, let alone kiss.
Dean put on the television and settled on the couch with a beer, like he did every night, like everything was completely normal – that hateful word again – like they hadn’t made out in the kitchen that morning and like neither of them was thinking of it every single second, every time they looked at each other.
“So,” Sam said eloquently, sitting down a discreet distance from his brother.
Dean handed him a beer.
“Modern Family’s on,” he said without looking at Sam.
Sam wondered if Dean preferred ogling Sofia Vergara to making out with him. Probably. He wondered all through the episode, alternating between half watching the television and sneaking sideways glances at Dean to see if he was engrossed in Sofia or sneaking glances at Sam. If he was, he was a lot stealthier than Sam.
“How many times are you gonna pretend not to look at me?” Dean asked during the credits, and finally turned all the way around, one eyebrow raised.
“Uh, what?” Sam asked articulately, and Dean rolled his eyes.
“If you think I’m making the first move, you’re gonna wait ‘til hell freezes over. And, in case you didn’t know, it doesn’t.”
Sam processed that, slowly because he was still staring at Dean’s impossibly green eyes. “I thought you wanted to watch Sofia Vergara.”
“That’s because you’re an idiot.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
It was a taunt that Sam had heard for all eighteen years of his childhood; there’s no way it should have changed its meaning entirely and become the permission he needed to kiss his brother.
Sam didn’t stand up, just got on his knees and crawled across the sofa and leaned in and did just that, made Dean shut up. He cradled the back of his brother’s head in one hand, the soft bristles at the nape of Dean’s neck tickling his palm, and Dean opened his mouth wide and let Sam delve right in. It was even better than the first times, less frenzied and somehow more real for being deliberate. Dean mirrored Sam’s hand on the back of his head and got a fistful of Sam’s long hair, not pulling but holding him there, while Dean’s other hand settled at the small of Sam’s back, pressing him closer. Sam anchored himself with one hand on the back of the couch so he didn’t collapse on top of his brother, and that gave him plenty of leverage to kiss Dean deeply, sliding his tongue in and feeling Dean nudge it with his own, slick and dirty.
Dean could kiss; from the little pleasured sounds he was making, he thought Sam could too. Sam spread his fingers wide, thumb stroking over the bare skin of Dean’s neck beneath his ear, and that tripped something in Dean that made him groan into Sam’s mouth, hips shifting restlessly. He tugged on Sam’s hair, half pulling him away and half crushing him closer, and Sam thought Oh, and did it again, moving his thumb in circles and feeling the baby-soft skin pebble under his touch. He broke the kiss then and got his mouth on that spot, licking in the same slow circles his thumb had traveled, and Dean moaned loudly now that his mouth was free, his body jerking like he’d been electrocuted.
“Fuck, yes,” Sam hissed against Dean’s slippery-wet neck; Dean threw his head back with a groan, so Sam sucked a bruise there, worried at it with his teeth until Dean was panting, stifled little whimpers that were making Sam see stars. He’d always loved it when his partners made noise, when he could turn them on enough that they forgot themselves and lost it, but doing this to Dean was the biggest turn-on Sam had ever known. They hadn’t even gotten any clothes off, and his big brother was writhing on the couch, exposing the soft underside of his throat and the long line of his neck to Sam’s mouth, Sam’s teeth.
Eventually the force of Sam’s attack pressed Dean sideways on the couch, and Sam followed him down, getting one knee over Dean’s thigh and straddling him while he kept on kissing and licking and biting at that sensitive spot until it was red and bruised. Dean didn’t fight being pushed down, and that sent a rush of excitement through Sam that he hadn’t expected. He growled against Dean’s neck, the sound rumbling deep and way too loud, an unmistakable assertion of possession. He blushed, trying to get some kind of hold of himself before Dean shoved him off, but instead of a shove, he got Dean’s hands scrabbling at his back, pushing up under his tee shirt to get at bare skin as Dean let himself be pressed into the cushions.
Sam balanced on hands and knees as he found his way back to Dean’s mouth and kissed him again. Dean’s hands were splayed against Sam’s back, kneading at the muscles bunching there as Sam held himself up, then sliding lower, the tips of his fingers dipping under the waistband of Sam’s jeans. Sam’s hips jolted forward; the movement brought their groins together for the first time, and fuck, it felt good, to finally have something to press his aching dick against. The fact that it was Dean’s dick only made it that much better.
“Mmmm,” Dean groaned into Sam’s mouth, and Sam echoed it, grinding his hips against Dean’s and letting his full weight pin his brother to the sofa. Sam got his hands underneath Dean’s ass and squeezed, pulling Dean’s body up hard against his own, and Dean broke the kiss to gasp out a few curses as he thrust his cock against Sam’s. The friction brought waves of pleasure, even with layers of fabric in the way. They were shoving into each other hard and fast, enough to make the couch inch its way across the hardwood floor, loud protesting screeches every time it shifted a little. Dean got a leg free from underneath Sam and wrapped it around Sam’s hips, his heel digging painfully into the back of Sam’s thigh as Dean tried to get more leverage.
Sam was at that place where nothing much mattered anymore but the need to get off, the possibility of orgasm burning in the pit of his belly, licking at his insides, making his balls ache so badly that he didn’t care how it happened, only that it did, that it had to. Dean was there too, Sam could tell by the way his brother was twisting frantically beneath him, the soft sounds he was making.
“Dean,” Sam managed, raising himself on one arm with effort. “Are we really gonna – we’re gonna do this, right?”
Dean threw his head back against the sofa. “Sam, do you seriously wanna fucking talk about it first? Now?” His voice was strained, and though he’d stopped writhing, his leg was still wrapped around Sam’s hips.
That hadn’t been Sam’s plan at all, but now that they’d paused for a second, the thinking part of his brain had partially re-engaged. This was a big deal; they were about to go way beyond kissing.
“Are you sure?” he asked, still a little out of breath. “Because this is – I mean, this is incest, Dean. This isn’t just making out, if we’re gonna – do this – this is. I mean, this is –“
“This is what?” Dean hissed, and his eyes were open now, dark with arousal and sparking with annoyance. “Not normal? Look, if you’ve changed your mind, then get the hell off me!”
Sam snorted. “God, you’re hot when you’re mad. Specially when I’ve got you all hard and desperate under me with my hands on your ass.”
Dean’s mouth fell open on a punched-out breath, like Sam had just hit him in the stomach. “Jesus,” he said weakly.
“Does that answer your question about changing my mind?” Sam gloated, and Dean swallowed hard and nodded.
“So since we’re both sure about this, why don’t we give the couch a break and take this to the bedroom.”
“Oh,” said Dean, and unwrapped his leg from Sam. “Yeah, good idea.”
* * *
It was a good idea. It was the best idea Dean had ever heard in his entire thirty-odd years of life. Sam seemed to think so, too, even though Dean was still having an intellectual struggle with that part of it. He’d been so sure, for so long, that Sam wanted normal; it was hard to get his head around the reality that apparently Sam didn’t. Sam–instead—improbably--wanted Dean.
“Stop thinking,” Sam teased, which was usually Dean’s line.
“You stop thinking,” Dean automatically shot back.
They stood staring at each other for a moment, and Dean thought, oh God, now he has changed his mind. But then Sam had his hands on the hem of Dean’s tee shirt and was slipping it up his sides. Dean raised his arms on instinct, his brain stuck on Sam’s undressing me over and over. Sam ran his hands down Dean’s sides when he was shirtless, big hands gentle over the slats of his ribs, ticklish in the hollow above his hipbones. Dean didn’t move, transfixed by the look on Sam’s face, the awe in his little brother’s expression as he watched his own hands smooth over Dean’s body. Dean was still hard as nails; his dick throbbed from the brush of Sam’s fingers on his skin, from the way Sam’s eyes had gone a warm hazel flecked with gold, dark with intent.
Sam let go to peel his own shirt over his head, and Dean reached out immediately, had to get his hands on Sam, feel the miles of golden skin and muscle that always made Dean’s mouth water. Now he was allowed to touch. The impact of that knowledge sunk in abruptly, and Dean’s fingers dug into his brother’s warm, smooth flesh harder than he’d intended.
“Sammy,” he said, reverent, because this was Sam, and this wasn’t just sex.
Sam covered Dean’s hands with his own where they gripped his waist. “I know,” he said, and Dean supposed that he did.
Sam’s hands were on Dean’s belt now, working the buckle deftly and pulling the end free to dangle there while Dean’s breath hitched at the sensation, Sam’s hands so close to where he desperately wanted them.
“Want you,” Sam said, like he knew Dean needed to hear it, and he eased Dean’s fly down, started to push his jeans down his hips. Dean braced himself on Sam’s shoulders as he stepped out of the jeans, his knees feeling weak, and he flushed with sudden awkwardness. He didn’t even know if Sam had ever been with a guy, had ever had the desire to get his hands on someone else’s dick. Maybe it would be too strange for Sam once Dean was naked. What if Sam only wanted the parts of Dean that everyone found girly--his pretty face and too-full mouth – not his flat chest and bowlegs and all of him far from smooth and hairless; not his achingly hard and not-exactly-small cock or his ass that wasn’t as rounded as a girl’s. What if Sam found him repulsive once he could really see, once this was real?
“God,” Sam moaned, dropping to his knees, jolting Dean out of his worry. Sam leaned in and pressed his face to Dean’s stomach; nuzzled the trail of hair below as his hands gripped the hollows of Dean’s hipbones. Dean could feel his dick swell more, straining against the confines of his tight boxer briefs, and the mix of fear and anticipation made his stomach tighten and roll. He sunk his fingers into Sam’s thick hair, kneading Sam’s scalp and trying to not to hyperventilate as Sam began to kiss his way down Dean’s abs, over the elastic of his underwear and along the stiff length of Dean’s erection underneath. Dean couldn’t suppress a strangled cry at the sensation, Sam’s mouth warm through the cotton, and Sam opened wider and ran his teeth over the bulge, scraping gently until Dean thought he’d die of how good it felt.
“Wanna see you, Dean,” Sam said, muffled against Dean’s crotch. “Can I?” His hands were already hooked under the waistband when Dean gasped, “Yeah, God, please.” Dean held his breath while Sam pushed the shorts down and off, then sat back on his heels to look. Dean felt his cheeks flame, his ears on fire, as Sam’s eyes ran over him from toes to face and back again. Dean waited, trying not to show his terror.
Sam grinned up at him through disheveled bangs, eyes mischievous and beautiful. He licked his lips, top and bottom, pink tongue darting out and moistening them with deliberate slowness. Dean’s cock twitched, wet at the tip. Sam looked at it like it was the first piece of steak a starving man had seen in years.
“Can I?” Sam asked again, and Dean could only nod, all vocal capacity and most other capacities entirely gone.
“Make noise,” Sam said as he wrapped one big hand around Dean’s dick. “I like it when you do.”
Dean shuddered hard, sensation rocketing through him and leaving him momentarily incapable of doing anything but fighting to stand up as Sam’s fingers squeezed and stroked him, pressing down hard against Dean’s abs on the downstroke, then twisting up and around the swollen head to get slick and wet from where Dean was leaking before sliding back down.
“C’mon,” Sam urged, jerking him more quickly, and all the noises Dean had been swallowing burst out of him at once in a drawn-out groan that he couldn’t stop, his hands frantic in Sam’s hair as he tried to keep his balance against the rhythm of Sam’s big hand pulling such intense pleasure out of him; he couldn’t catch his breath. Sam’s other hand went between Dean’s thighs and palmed his balls until they tightened up, throbbing, and Dean vaguely heard his own moans get higher, more frantic.
“I – ah – I’m –“
That’s all Dean managed to gasp out before Sam’s fingers crept back behind his balls and slid between his cheeks. One touch of Sam’s fingertip there and Dean lost it, coming like he’d been saving it up for fucking years, all over Sam still on his knees, jesus. Dean tried to aim away from Sam’s face, but Sam still had Dean by the dick and kept him right there, letting some of the splatters hit his cheek and chin.
Dean sat down – maybe fell down – heavily on the floor once the spasms ended, saying “Oh God, Sammy, oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” over and over, as Sam wiped Dean’s jizz off his face.
Sam’s eyes were still dark, his pretty pink mouth parted as he looked at Dean with something like amazement.
“I’m sorry,” Dean said again, and Sam swept a finger over his sticky chin and put it in his mouth. He licked it clean, his eyes closing like he wanted to savor the taste.
Dean’s apology stuck in his throat, a violent aftershock making his cock twitch painfully. “Jesuschrist Sam,” he croaked, then lurched forward and hauled Sam to his feet, pushing him backwards until he hit the bed and sat down hard, still with his finger in his mouth.
Dean tugged Sam’s jeans open and tried to wrangle them off him with brute force, Sam finally lifting his hips to help. His shorts slid down too, so Dean worked them both the rest of the way down Sam’s long legs and pulled them free. So many parts of Sam that Dean had never really let himself appreciate before; so many parts of his brother’s fucking amazing body to worship with his hands and his mouth. Dean paused to run his fingers through the golden-brown hair and hard muscle on Sam’s calves, then slid his hands up to Sam’s thighs and pushed his knees apart. When he looked up, Sam was staring open-mouthed, cheeks flushed bright pink and his hair all over the place from Dean yanking at it, sticky in a few places where Dean had messed it up.
“Dean,” Sam said, breathless, “you don’t have to.”
Dean looked up the miles and miles of tanned skin and rippling muscle and proudly jutting cock that was his not-so-little brother and grinned. He had a chance now to show Sam some skills he’d never have thought he’d admit to, let alone flaunt. He was gonna blow Sam’s mind, right along with his big dick.
“Did you really just say that?” Sam gasped, and Dean realized his mouth was still directly connected to his id--but screw it, he’d meant it.
Instead of taking a chance on more talking, he smirked and wrapped a hand around Sam’s cock and licked it like a popsicle. That shut Sam up pretty fast, and Dean didn’t give him a chance to recover, swallowing as much as he could and fisting the rest until Sam flopped back on the bed and started groaning like Dean was killing him. Dean encouraged Sam’s frankly hot-as-hell noises with some of his own, moaning around the bitter taste and slick slide of Sam’s dick in his mouth as he pumped it hard and fast. He didn’t know why, but he needed Sam to come apart as totally as he had, to even this up now that they were started down this crazy road together.
“Shit,” Sam gasped, and Dean could feel Sam’s stomach muscles contract, his balls draw up tight as Dean rubbed and squeezed at them, just the way he liked it himself. “Dean, I’m gonna – Dean!” Sam practically shouted his name, and Dean held on tight as Sam pushed deeper down his throat, his cock swelling and spurting as Dean kept on sucking, determined not to choke. Eventually he let Sam’s dick slip out, trying to swallow but making a mess all over Sam anyway.
“Jesusfuck,” Sam moaned, one hand over his face.
Dean swallowed a few more times, then stood up, more aware of his nakedness now that neither of them was in the throes of gotta-come-right-now. His legs were shaking.
“I’ll get a – something,” he said, scrubbing a hand across his face where it was sticky and wet. He came back with two warm washcloths and tossed one at Sam. It landed on his chest with a splat.
“Jerk,” Sam said automatically. Dean grinned, relief rolling through him. It was still Sam, just Sam.
“Bitch,” he said, and Sam sat up, wiping at his thighs where Dean had made a mess on him. He made a face. “Eww,” he complained, refolding the washcloth to try to find a clean side. It was typical prissy Sam behavior, and it made Dean go all warm inside and feel stupid.
“Hey,” he said, before he could stop his mouth, “you know this isn’t – I mean, it’s not just about – “
Sam stopped grimacing and smiled instead. It was a real smile, not even tentative. “Yeah, I know.” He tossed the washcloth into the basket in the corner.
“Nice shot,” Dean said, and started searching for his underwear amongst the clothes strewn on the floor.
Sam pushed back the covers on the king-sized bed. “Sleep here for a while.”
He looked a little bit scared that he’d said it, like Dean might laugh at him or refuse.
Dean checked the lock on the door and kicked his shorts into the corner with his jeans. When he turned around, Sam had the goofiest smile on his face Dean had ever seen, so wide his dimples were showing.
“I don’t cuddle,” Dean warned preemptively as he climbed into bed. Sam pulled the quilts over them both and startled Dean immediately with a big hand splayed across his chest.
“Dude,” Dean complained, but Sam just patted him condescendingly.
“Live with it,” Sam said gruffly, words half smothered in the feather pillow.
Dean fell asleep too quickly to protest further. He blamed it on the mindblowing orgasm.
* * *
“Are you sure about this?” Dean asked the second Sam opened his eyes the next morning. Sam could hear Rosie down the hall, singing to herself in her room. He reached across the bed and grabbed Dean by one bare shoulder to keep him from bolting, then leaned over and kissed him, making sure to use tongue so there wouldn’t be any possibility of misinterpretation.
“Eww,” Dean grumbled, wrinkling his nose and wiping at his mouth with the back of one hand. “Morning breath. Gross.”
“Get used to it,” Sam said, and he could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he kicked off the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed to pull on some boxers and a tee shirt. When he turned back around Dean was still lying there, his gaze heated.
“C’mon, get your lazy ass outta bed and make us some pancakes.”
“In a minute,” Dean said, pulling the sheet back up when Sam tried to uncover him.
Sam cocked an eyebrow, trying to see if the sheet was tented over the outline of Dean’s bare thighs beneath. “Oh,” he smirked, and Dean blushed and gave him the finger.
“I said I’ll be right there, asshole,” Dean scowled, clearly expecting Sam to retrieve Rosie and give him a few minutes of alone time. Instead Sam came back to the bed and leaned over his brother, and Dean’s eyes went a little wider at the serious expression on Sam’s face.
“Uh-uh,” Sam said, and waggled his finger in Dean’s confused face. “No jerking off. I want you desperate by the time I get home tonight. Understand?” Sam made his voice as authoritarian as he could, brows drawn together in an almost-frown. He expected a brush-off, Dean bending his finger back and telling him to fuck off. Instead, Dean’s lips parted and his lashes drooped, eyes hooded as he bit his bottom lip and hissed out a curse.
“Jesusfuck, Sam,” Dean whispered, and his hips shifted restlessly beneath the sheets, the bulge between his thighs obvious now. “You tryin’ to kill me?”
Sam was rapidly coming to the conclusion that getting Dean excited was the most intoxicating experience he’d ever had. Addictive. He shook his head slowly, leaning down so close their mouths were inches apart.
“No, but if you’re up for it, I think I’d like to fuck you later.”
Dean groaned, his body jackknifing under the sheet as he shuddered and rolled sideways, clenching his teeth as he fought back what looked like a wave of lust. Sam had to bite his lip at the sight, his own dick filling rapidly. He backed away and shook his head to clear it, pulling on a pair of jeans that would look less obscene than his too-thin underwear.
“Dean, c’mon,” he repeated one more time, and Dean sighed and kicked off the sheet, exposing his lean naked body, hard cock blood-dark against his pale stomach.
“Jesus,” Sam said, because he couldn’t stop himself.
It looked downright painful, but Dean slid off the bed and pulled on shorts and jeans, wincing as he tucked his erection beneath the layers of cotton and denim.
“Okay,” he said, and a shiver of lust made Sam’s belly swoop violently, hollowed out and rippling with pleasure. Dean was saying yes – to the order, to what would happen later. To Sam.
* * *
Dean wheeled the shopping cart through Trader Joe’s at 10 AM, inspecting the peaches for bruising and checking the bottoms of the plastic containers of strawberries for mold or berries more green than red. He read the labels of peanut-butter jars while Rosie tried to take the responsibility out of his hands by swiping a giant jar of Skippy and promptly dropping it on the floor. He remembered a time when a big jar of peanut butter was just about all he and Sammy had for a week; how guilty he felt for making up stories about pretzel sticks with peanut butter being a delicacy, and trying to disguise the last moldy slices of bread by covering them with the sloppy stuff so Sam would keep eating. He was pretty sure Sam still felt faintly sick at just the idea of peanut butter, but Rosie didn’t agree – she loved it. He picked up the way-too-big jar and put it in the basket with a smile.
Thoughts of Sam as a skinny, whiny little six-year-old took care of any risk that his morning problem would recur. Was he really gonna do this? Let his little brother fuck him? The idea sounded so preposterous that twice Dean had to stop and lean on the shopping cart, suddenly queasy. Could this really be what Sam wanted – what Sam would keep wanting?
Rosie patted his hands where they were clenched white-knuckled on the cart handle, her big eyes too serious for a toddler.
Dean shook himself out of it. Sam wanted it; he wanted it. God, did he want it.
He took Rosie to the park in the afternoon and pushed her on the swings and rode the spinner with her until they were both dizzy. Rosie squealed and giggled until her cheeks were bright red and she was too breathless to laugh anymore, and Dean let himself laugh with her. He still thought it was weird for it to be warm enough for the park in January, but California wasn’t all bad. Maybe they’d take Rosie back east next winter, buy a plastic saucer sled that would fit in the Impala’s trunk and introduce her to the wonders of snow.
He remembered a January in upstate New York, a motel nestled in the woods and so much snow that Sammy had sunk up to his waist in drifts of it, laughing when he got stuck and holding out his arms for Dean to wade in and rescue him. They’d never had a sled, but Dean had stolen a few trays from the cafeteria at school and they’d used them on the hill behind the motel, running into trees and each other, falling off and tumbling together the rest of the way down the hill until they both looked like snowmen. Dean had brushed the snowflakes off Sam’s lashes as they lay there looking up at the cloudless turquoise winter sky, and Sammy had murmured a quiet, “thanks Dean.” The detention he got for taking the trays was totally worth it.
By the time Dean put Rosie down for her afternoon nap, he had a headache. Doubt and desire had been raging a fierce battle in his head all day; it was pretty much a draw by 4 PM.
The phone rang at 4:30.
“Hey,” Sam said when Dean picked up. “How’s the day going?”
Dean rubbed his temples. “If you mean, am I having second thoughts, then yes Sam, I am. Is this really what you want, man? You could find another – someone to be a mom for –“
“No!” Sam said, then cleared his throat and dropped the volume. He’d probably startled whoever was within hearing distance of his office. “No,” he said more quietly, “I can’t. I don’t want to. I told you that already. Were you not listening?”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and made a face. “No, I wasn’t not listening,” he singsonged, knowing the tone would make Sam do the bitchface. He smiled a little, picturing it.
“Well, then stop asking me if I mean it. It’s annoying.”
Dean’s smile curled up a little more; he didn’t seem able to stop it. “Awww, widdle Sammy is annoyed?” he crooned into the phone, rewarded with his brother’s heavy I’m-so-put-upon sigh.
“Dean,” Sam said warningly.
“Sammmmm,” Dean whined back, then coughed over a laugh.
“Did you just giggle?” Sam sounded much less irritated.
“Of course not,” Dean said, and damn, he’d forgotten to make it annoying. Stupid Sam and his stupid powers of distraction.
“I’m coming home a little early,” Sam said, and now he didn’t sound annoyed at all. Dean couldn’t quite identify the tone of Sam’s voice, but it made his stomach flutter weirdly.
“Uh, okay,” he said, and there was a long pause on the other end. Dean thought maybe Sam had gotten interrupted, but he didn’t hear any voices.
“Because,” Sam continued, and Dean could hear the sound of his office door closing, “I can’t wait to get you naked and kiss you stupid.”
“Uhh,” Dean said, because he couldn’t think of actual words, but Sam kept right on going anyway.
“’m gonna spread your legs and open you up, Dean – get you all slick and wet, maybe use my tongue on you. Would you like that?”
“Shit,” Dean cursed, groping himself through his jeans. “Shit, Sam, what’re you—“
“Oh yeah, I think you will – and I will too. Can’t wait to get my hands on your ass, so fuckin’ perfect.”
Sam broke off with a curse of his own, and Dean nearly dropped the phone, all his blood pooled in his dick.
“Christ, Sam, the mouth on you,” Dean said weakly, and Sam laughed, but he sounded as wrecked as Dean felt.
“Be there by 5:30,” he said, and Dean could hear him gathering his things, filling up his briefcase. “Gonna be hard to wait until Rosie goes to bed,” he said, and Dean could hear the smirk.
“Hard,” Dean repeated, adjusting himself in his jeans. “You’re telling me.”
“Good,” Sam said, in the tone that said he meant business and didn’t want an argument, and for some reason that knocked all the doubt out of what was left of Dean’s brain.
By the time Sam opened the front door and walked in, legs a mile long under a navy dress coat and a burgundy scarf wrapped around his neck, his long hair even more unruly than usual from the winter wind and his cheeks ruddy from the chilly evening, just the sight of him was enough to leave Dean breathless.
Sam grinned like he knew exactly what Dean was feeling, tossed his coat and scarf on the rack, and swept Rosie up in his arms, never taking his eyes from Dean’s.
“You miss me?” he asked. Dean could only nod, words stuck in his throat where it felt too tight, aching with way too much feeling.
“Me too,” Sam said, and his smile was softer now. Dean swallowed hard, one hand unconsciously brushing over his chest where his heart was beating too fast.
“Me too,” Rosie mimicked, and Sam swung her up in the air until she whooped, then kissed her and set her down. On his way to the kitchen, he leaned over and kissed Dean as well.
* * *
“Why does Rosie have peanut butter on her hot dog?” Sam asked as they dug into dinner.
Dean shrugged like it was no big deal, but the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked at Rosie happily consuming the odd concoction. “She likes it,” Dean said, and turned his almost-grin on Sam. “And she doesn’t have to.”
Vaguely, Sam remembered why he hated peanut butter, and the endlessly inventive nine-year-old brother who had kept him fed for weeks on end with almost nothing else.
“You know,” he said, as he helped himself to another serving of Dean’s special chili dogs, “You make a pretty good mom.”
Dean looked up, no doubt with a retort on the tip of his tongue, but when their eyes met he didn’t say anything.
“You always did,” Sam said quietly, and looked at Rosie happily eating her hot dog and peanut butter.
Dean looked down to study the mustard heaped on top of his chili dog, but Sam could see the faint blush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, so he knew Dean had heard him. Sam kept sneaking looks at Dean while they loaded the dishwasher, watching Dean duck his head almost shyly each time their eyes met. So unlike the swaggering big brother Sam had watched flirt masterfully with countless girls or the confident badass hunter. With Sam – maybe only with Sam-- Dean was different. The awareness hit Sam below the belt; made his blood rush hot with wanting.
This time there was no awkward half-watching of television shows; Sam closed Rosie’s door and grabbed Dean’s wrist in the hallway, tugging him down the hall to the master bedroom. Dean gave him a few half-hearted shoves in protest at being manhandled, but his feet moved so quickly he nearly ran into Sam and knocked them both over on their way.
“So,” Dean said once they’d locked the bedroom door, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He shuffled his bare feet, sure tell that he was nervous, off his game. Probably still torturing himself with doubts about whether this was good for Sam, or whether Sam could do better. Fuck that. Sam knew what he wanted.
“So,” Sam echoed, and put his hands on Dean’s shoulders. Dean tilted his face up, and his eyes narrowed as Sam walked him backwards, all the way across the room.
“I’m not gonna leave any doubt in your mind about how much I want this,” Sam said, crowding Dean up against the wall. He slid his hands slowly inward from Dean’s shoulders, along the ridge of clavicle and brushing the flat planes of his chest, across the stiff points of his nipples under his tee shirt, and Dean’s breath hitched. Arousal coursing through him, Sam swept his palms up both sides of his brother’s throat, and Dean tilted his head back, looking up at Sam, his eyes dark with desire. He didn’t move, hands still at his sides as he waited. Sam shuddered with want, pressed his thumbs over the swell of his brother’s Adam’s apple and felt it bob wildly under the pressure. He splayed the full breadth of both hands to cup the back of Dean’s head while Sam’s thumbs pressed in harder, and Dean held his breath, trembling.
“Dean,” Sam whispered, and slid his hands higher, palms molded around Dean’s stubble-rough cheeks. Sam stretched his fingers, fanned his hands wide until his littlest fingers teased at the fine hair behind Dean’s ears, his thumbs rubbing circles hard against the vulnerable stretch of Dean’s throat. Dean tried to swallow under the press of Sam’s hands, his eyes heavy-lidded.
“Show you how much,” Sam said, and tightened his grip, angling Dean’s face where he wanted it, thumbing roughly at the hinges of Dean’s jaw until his mouth fell open, puffs of his breath hot and shallow against Sam’s cheek.
“Are you mine, Dean?”
Sam gentled his grip; let Dean draw in a shuddering breath as Sam held him still between his hands. They weren’t touching anywhere else, but Dean was frozen there, the rise and fall of his chest his only movement.
“I want you to be,” Sam whispered, and watched Dean’s jaw work, the only evidence of his struggle.
“Yeah,” Dean said finally, his voice rough and raw.
“Goes both ways,” Sam said, and put his mouth on his brother’s.
They kissed with Sam’s hands still anchoring Dean, tilting his head to the side and then back, until Dean’s head thunked against the wall and Sam could kiss him from above. Dean pushed up into it, his boots sliding farther apart on the floor until he almost lost his footing, and then he grabbed a fistful of Sam’s shirt and pulled them apart.
“C’mon,” Dean growled, and Sam could hear how breathless he was. “Got a perfectly good bed here.”
They grappled their way over to it, trying to keep kissing, tangling arms and legs as they fell onto the mattress.
“Let me,” Sam said, and wrangled Dean’s shirt over his head. He left it wrapped around Dean’s wrists and pressed them down, over his head.
“Keep them like that, okay?” It was a question; Sam wasn’t sure if Dean would let him run the show, even if it seemed like that was what he needed.
Dean cocked an eyebrow, a half smirk curling his lip where it was swollen from Sam’s kisses. “Kinky,” he said, and stretched his arms higher, the stretch of muscle in his upper arms drawing Sam’s gaze and quickening the need already making Sam ache to touch him.
“Good boy,” Sam said, and it was a risk; he wasn’t sure how far Dean would let him take this. Dean could still kick his ass, and they both knew it.
“Fuck,” Dean groaned, bucking his hips like Sam’s words had been a hand on his dick. He shut his eyes as Sam unfastened Dean’s belt and worked open his jeans.
“Oh jesus, you didn’t,” Sam gasped, when he found nothing under Dean’s jeans but the hard muscle of his abs and the hard push of his cock against Sam’s fingers. “Oh God, that’s fuckin’ hot,” he added before Dean could get the wrong idea and think he didn’t like it, because shit, Dean had planned for this, anticipated it. Wanted it.
Sam got his hand around Dean’s dick and pulled him out with his jeans still splayed open around his hips, drawn by the moist heat of him, the scent of sweat and arousal thick as Sam bent his head lower, taking in the unexpectedly decadent visual. He wrapped his fingers tight around the thick length, fisted him a few times and, fuck, Dean was so hard, his cock standing up dark and proud from the vee of his fly. A half-dozen strokes and it glistened at the tip.
“Gettin’ wet for me,” Sam muttered, and Dean’s dick leapt in his hand, leaking another pearl of slick. Sam smeared it around the head and Dean moaned, pushing into Sam’s fist.
Sam had to see all of him then; he let go and yanked Dean’s pants down his hips and off his bare feet, tossing them to the floor and getting up on his knees to look at his brother.
“Fucking gorgeous,” Sam said, more loudly than he wanted, but God, Dean looked good splayed out like that, naked except for the fabric tangled around his wrists.
He leaned down, intending to ravage Dean in every way he could imagine, and maybe some he never had.
“Wait,” Dean said, and Sam froze, a chill running down his spine at the thought of Dean changing his mind. Dean nodded at Sam, and rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna be the only one naked here. Strip.”
Sam huffed a laugh, relief and a fresh burst of heat replacing the shiver. He slipped his shirt over his head and fumbled open his own jeans, acutely aware of Dean’s eyes on him as he stood up to kick them off. As naked as Dean now, Sam climbed back on the bed, balancing on hands and knees over his brother. Dean looked up with a smirk, cocky now that the evidence of Sam’s desire was obvious.
“Just stay there,” Sam ordered, but they were both grinning, so Dean just wiggled his hips and waggled his eyebrows and said, “Yessir.” It still got to Sam, made his dick bob between his thighs.
Sam did what he wanted then; braced himself over Dean and kissed the swell of his brother’s biceps, feeling the hardness of the muscle under his mouth, the strength he’d always counted on. He caught the flesh there between his teeth, leaving a trail of pink marks on the pale skin as he moved lower, taking his time. Dean squirmed as Sam bit at the join of arm to torso, letting his teeth catch in the moist curls there, the scent of sweat and Dean intoxicatingly strong.
“Shit, Sam!” Dean swore, and Sam didn’t bother with words, just growled against the slick skin, kissing and biting down the ridges of Dean’s ribs, then inward to lick over a stiff nipple.
“Oh jesus,” Dean hissed, and Sam wasn’t surprised that Dean’s body responded instantly, his hips bucking and his hands twisting tighter in the stretched cotton of his shirt. Sam licked slowly, one side then the other, playing with the little nubs until they were red and wet and erect, stiff enough that he could fasten his teeth there and worry the sensitive skin. Dean was cursing a blue streak, his heart pounding so hard Sam could feel the thumpthumpthump when he laid his ear to Dean’s chest and toyed with a swollen nipple between his fingers, pinching until Dean whimpered, biting his lip against making more noise.
When Sam finally raised his head and started to suck on it, Dean forgot himself and moaned loudly, thrashing and lifting his hips, trying to rub up against Sam’s stomach.
Sam couldn’t sustain the slow pace after that. He licked a path down Dean’s torso, along the ridge at his midline and into his belly button, stabbing his tongue in to make Dean hiss and curse and then following the trail of fine hair below, feeling Dean’s muscles jump and contract beneath his mouth. He ignored his brother’s swollen cock, pushing his legs apart and kissing the insides of his thighs instead, where the skin was pale and baby soft, only a fine dusting of blond hair there. Dean let his legs fall open, groaning when Sam bit into the meat of his upper thigh and left a mark.
“Wanna fuck you so bad,” Sam said, loud enough that he knew Dean would hear it over his own moans, and Dean didn’t resist when Sam got his hands beneath Dean’s knees and pushed his legs higher, bent him up and open. Sam hadn’t really planned it, hadn’t done it that often, but Dean’s ass was right there, pale and rounded and pink where Sam’s fingers pried him open, and Sam had his tongue there before he knew he was going to do it, licking in as deep as he could, the sweat-bitter taste bursting on his tongue.
“Fuuuuuuck!” Dean keened above him, and Sam could feel the tight muscle flex desperately around the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t stop, just went harder, his fingers digging into the backs of Dean’s knees and keeping him bent double as Sam lifted his ass a little higher to get at him better. A few minutes of supporting a squirming, bucking, cursing Dean and Sam’s arms were shaking with effort; Dean’s thighs were shaking even harder.
Sam let go and dropped Dean onto the mattress, grabbing for a pillow and shoving it under his hips. Dean went easily, pleasure-drunk, his legs still raised. Sam had a finger lubed up and in him before he knew it was coming. A slight press and it slipped easily into the heat of Dean’s body, slick and open, and – oh jesus.
“Fuck Dean, did you –“
Sam shoved a long finger in deep, slid it in and out a few times to be sure. “Did you?”
Dean tried to laugh, but it came out more a shuddering whine. “You said you w-wanted to,” he managed, then cut off in a hiss as Sam slid a second finger inside him. “Wanted to fuck me.”
The thought of Dean prepping himself for Sam’s cock was almost enough to finish the whole thing before they’d gotten started. Sam bit out a curse of his own and gave Dean another finger, feeling the smooth muscle clench and then give around him, slick and hot and so fucking inviting.
“Oh, I do,” Sam growled, pumping in and out as hard as he thought Dean could take. There was a little puddle of slick on Dean’s belly, his cock bobbing above it, wet and red. “And I’m gonna.”
“Yeah,” Dean groaned, “Oh God yeah, do it,” and that was it, Sam was done. He slicked his aching dick, balanced himself over his brother and pushed himself inside, straining to hold back when his body was screaming at him to go go go.
“Ah, fuck, fuck,” Dean swore, untangling his hands from the shirt and throwing it off the side of the bed. His legs wrapped around Sam’s hips and his hands gripped Sam’s shoulders as he gritted his teeth.
“Dean?” Sam asked, because he knew “Are you okay?” would be met with a scowl and something macho that would just make things more painful.
* * *
“Yeah,” Dean answered, and he opened his eyes and looked up at Sam straining above him. Sam’s eyes were wide, a riot of swirling grey-gold-brown, an expression of awe on his handsome face.
“Dean,” he said again, and there was so much tenderness in his voice Dean almost couldn’t stand it, couldn’t be the object of all that love and devotion.
“Yeah Sammy,” Dean answered, because it was the only thing he could say, and he knew Sam would understand it for all the things it meant, everything it agreed to.
Sam pushed all the way in then, and Dean struggled to keep his eyes open, hoping Sam could see the same emotion there, all the things Dean couldn’t say but had felt forever and would always feel. He knew it now, more certain than he’d ever been with Sam inside him, taking him. Everything he’d ever wanted and never should have.
“It’s okay,” Sam said, and Dean knew he meant all of it. Whether Sam was right or wrong, Dean could see it was what his brother believed, and that was enough. He slid his hands down Sam’s arms, thick with muscle where he braced himself over Dean; ran his hands down Sam’s sides where he was heaving for breath, the sweat-slick heat of his tanned skin burning under Dean’s fingers.
“So gorgeous, Sam,” Dean whispered, because it was true, and he couldn’t not say it. “So fucking big inside me.”
Sam’s face crumpled, a wave of arousal making him clench his jaw and buck his hips forward, his cock shoving in harder, nailing Dean right where it felt the best, like lightning had struck him and turned him inside out. He couldn’t stifle the shout that punched its way out of him, and Sam did it again, and again, holding himself rigid to keep the angle the same so every thrust sent bursts of pleasure rushing through Dean, so intense that he couldn’t say anything, couldn’t tell Sam not to stop, to keep fucking doing that, to do it harder, and faster, and jesuschrist he was gonna come, absolutely fucking helpless not to. He got one hand around his throbbing cock and jerked it mindlessly, too overcome with pleasure even to know where it was coming from anymore.
Sam was muttering a string of filth above him, “Yeah, yeah, do it, fuck, do it Dean, wanna see you come on my dick, wanna watch you fall apart,” and Dean could feel Sam swell even bigger in him, the pressure unbearably good, so good his toes were fucking curling, every muscle seizing up and the whole universe narrowed down to the feel of Sam’s dick in his ass and the throb in his balls, and then he was gone, losing it spectacularly, mouth open in a soundless shout as Sam kept pounding him through it, wringing every last drop out of him and leaving him shaking with aftershocks.
He opened his eyes just in time to see Sam lose it too, his eyes locked on Dean’s. To watch Sam’s lip curl up in a grimace of pain-pleasure and the muscles in his arms bulge with the strain of thrusting into Dean so hard his head was knocking against the headboard, but who the fuck cared when he got to see Sam lost in the rush of orgasm, filling Dean up slick and sticky and messy and so fucking good.
Dean kept his arms wrapped around Sam’s back and his knees tight around Sam’s hips to encourage him to keep thrusting through the last of it, mewling soft little sounds of pleasure as Sam rolled his hips and shuddered.
“Yeah,” Dean said, soothing him, and when Sam opened his eyes, Dean was breathless all over again with the emotion there. He craned his neck up without thinking, caught Sam’s open mouth with his own. Sam stayed still for a moment, arms still locked, and then he let himself fall, rolling them to the side so they could keep kissing.
“Dean, Dean,” Sam murmured between kisses, one hand palming Dean’s cheek while he licked into Dean’s mouth. Dean could still taste the slight tang of himself on Sam’s tongue, and the knowledge of what Sam had done made his stomach clench with a last burst of arousal, because fuck.
When they finally pulled apart, Sam poked a finger in Dean’s belly button. “Messy,” he smirked, like he was proud of the way he’d made Dean come all over himself, the little shit.
Dean slapped his hand away. “Then get me a washcloth, bitch,” he said, trying not to smile.
Sam laughed and kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth, but he got up and went to the master bath for a washcloth and towel. Dean watched him, the smooth play of muscle in his broad back and the impossible length of his legs as he stood up, the roundness of his ass as he walked. Sam had no clue how beautiful he was. Dean promised himself he wouldn’t keep telling him, aware that it was probably a futile promise.
His face heated when Sam swiped the warm cloth over his stomach and chest, then pushed one leg up to wipe below his balls and between his cheeks where he was wet and messy. It was intimate; he felt more exposed with Sam than he ever had with a lover. Sam who knew his body in so many ways, had stitched him up and washed him down. Who had come inside him, put them together in a way that Dean had never dared think they would be. It was suddenly too much; he turned his face away, feeling the blush spread down his chest.
“Hey,” Sam said, his voice soft, like he knew. He tossed the washcloth onto the floor and threw an arm across Dean, pulling him closer.
“No cuddling,” Dean protested, face heating even more.
Sam ignored him, insinuating one bare thigh between Dean’s and snuffling contentedly. “Love you, too,” Sam said, keeping his eyes closed. That meant he couldn’t see Dean’s expression, and how violently red his face was.
“Bitch,” Dean said, the best he could manage under the circumstances.
Sam smiled sleepily. “Jerk,” he said fondly, eyes still shut.
Dean watched him until his breathing evened out into the familiar rhythm of sleep, the reassuring cadence that had marked every night of Dean’s childhood, the signal that he could let down his guard and rest. He didn’t wake until the sun was streaming through a gap in the curtains, Rosie’s morning singsong drifting down the hallway outside the door.
Sam kissed him before he could protest, with the worst morning breath imaginable. Dean supposed that was partly his own fault, so he didn’t overdo it with the threat of bodily harm if Sam tried that again without brushing his teeth. Sam just smirked, the bastard.
Dean returned the favor (in full) the very next night, mostly because Sam kept saying, “If it was as good as it sounded with all that moaning and groaning and ohmygodSammyyesyesyes, you owe me, Dean!”
From the way Sam collapsed and fell asleep while Dean was still cleaning them up, and woke up still smiling like the smug little bitch he was, Dean was pretty sure that evened things up between them as far as prowess in the bedroom.
* * *
Part Six
runedgirlArtist name:
fanlayPairing: Dean/Sam, with Sam/Jess and Dean/Cas
Rating: NC17
Dean had himself so worked up that he had coffee already brewing and was pacing around the kitchen when Sam came stumbling in, not even showered yet. Rosie was still asleep.
“What’re you doing up so early?” Sam rubbed his eyes.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean said, snippy. “Listen Sam, if this is because of me – if I’ve done something to . . . to make you not normal . . . by being here, you gotta tell me, ‘cause I never—honestly, Sam, I might have thought about it, but I never would’ve--
Sam blinked muzzily, trying to follow Dean’s disjointed ramblings. “If what is what? What the hell are you talking about?” Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair, tucking it behind an ear. “Wait, are you trying to apologize for somehow making me not normal? Because I kissed you?”
Dean scowled. “Did I do something?”
Sam grabbed a coffee mug from the cupboard and filled it; took a few sips black because damn, he needed to be more awake for this discussion. “Do something like what? You mean, like look so hot I couldn’t resist you?”
“Very funny,” Dean said, still scowling.
Sam took another sip. Dean looked tired, circles shadowed under his eyes. “No,” Sam said more calmly, “No, you didn’t do anything. I’m the same person I’ve always been – same as before I left for Stanford, same as when fell in love with Jess. I’ve never been as normal as you keep insisting I am, whatever that means.”
“Yes, you are,” Dean insisted, and Sam marveled at how weird their arguments were.
“No, I’m really not. I’ll go back to pretending I am, if that’ll make you happy, but that won’t make it true.”
“Goddammit Sam,” Dean cursed, and banged his fist against the counter. “Why not?”
“Because I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was twelve years old, Dean. Back then, all the years in between. Now. Always. I admit I probably never would’ve done it, but – normal? Not me. Not ever.”
“Fuck,” Dean said, and slumped against the counter. He looked devastated.
“Hey, God, I’m sorry,” Sam said, and he put down the coffee cup and came to stand in front of his brother. “Look at me, Dean, okay? I promise you, I won’t ever do it again – it’s not like I would take advantage of you or something, or expect you to reciprocate. I just wanted to be honest with you.”
Dean was still looking down, his face drawn like he was in agony.
“Shit, Dean, I’m sorry – please, this isn’t your fault, okay?”
“Sam,” Dean whispered, so softly that it was barely audible.
“Are you gonna leave?” Sam asked, hating himself for giving in to his impulses and ruining the fragile little household they’d built here, the one that was Sam’s reason for getting up in the morning.
That seemed to shock Dean into raising his head. There were tears in his eyes, making them shine otherworldly green in the early-morning light. “No,” he said, voice gruff. “It’s just that – God, Sam, you’re not the only one, you gotta know that. Part of the reason I stayed away all this time is because I . . . shit, I didn’t wanna fuck you up with wanting you in all the wrong ways, Sammy. But no, not gonna leave, not until you want me to.”
Sam closed his eyes so he wouldn’t chicken out. “I won’t ever want you to,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” Except he wasn’t, not anymore.
“Fuck it,” Dean whispered back, and grabbed Sam by the fabric of his tee shirt and hauled him forwards. Sam thought it was a hug until he felt the press of Dean’s mouth, soft and wet against his neck, along his jaw. He jerked his head down and caught Dean’s mouth with his own, and this time the kiss wasn’t chaste. It was rough, desperate, both of them pushing into it too hard.
Dean grunted against him, and the sound made Sam have to move, have to do something to make Dean make that noise again. He slammed his brother backwards against the counter, both hands wrapped around Dean’s back to hold him there. Dean got a handful of Sam’s hair and anchored himself while they licked into each other’s mouths, messy and sloppy like two middle-schoolers who had no clue what they were doing. And Sam didn’t. This was different than anything Sam had ever done before; this was Dean, after twenty years of wanting, in his arms, kissing back.
They both froze when they heard Rosie singing to herself in her bed, like she always did when she first woke up.
“Shit.” Sam stepped back, then almost plunged right back in again when he got a good look at his brother. Dean’s mouth was swollen and red, slick with Sam’s spit. He was blushing violently, his cheeks flaming and the tips of his ears red, and he was nearly panting. A quick look lower confirmed that he was as aroused as Sam was. Sam pressed the heel of one hand against the tent in his boxers. “God, Dean,” he groaned, his cock jumping in protest as Dean’s eyes dropped to it and widened, almost all pupil in a ring of bright green.
“We’re not pretending this didn’t happen later,” Sam warned, and waited for Dean to meet his eyes.
“Uh, no. Little late for that.”
“Good.” Sam grabbed his coffee mug and took another gulp to steady himself; gave his dick another stern press down. “Because I am so not done with you.”
Dean’s mouth fell open wider. “Sam,” he said, and then paused, looking shell-shocked.
“Do you want this?” Sam asked, suddenly unsure. Dean nodded slowly. “Don’t just tell me what I want to hear,” Sam insisted. “Do you really want this?”
Dean blew out a breath, then reached down and adjusted himself in his jeans. “Yeah,” he said, and licked at his bottom lip where Sam’s teeth had nicked it. “Obviously.”
“Good.” And it was. It really was.
“I’ll get Rosie,” Dean said, looking at Sam’s crotch again where his dick was stubbornly refusing to go down. “Maybe you should, uh, take a shower.”
* * *
Sam had promised to drop off a few boxes of Rosie’s baby clothes at Penny and Kim’s house that afternoon. They had gotten a call from the adoption agency out of the blue on Christmas Eve, and were frantically trying to get ready for the arrival of their new addition. While he was there, he helped them put together a crib with twelve pages of assembly instructions. Penny insisted on feeding Sam afterwards to say thank you.
“Really, it was no problem,” Sam assured her, taking a few bites of a delicious tuna on rye. “I should probably be going though, you guys have a lot of work ahead of you, I’m sure.”
“You got a hot date, Sam?”
“What? No. No, I’m just – just looking forward to going home, that’s all.”
Penny nodded, smiling as Sam’s cheeks colored. “That’s a big deal right there, don’t you think?”
Sam nodded and took another big bite of his sandwich. It was.
Penny twirled the straw in her soda, regarding Sam quizzically. “So, did you decide on boys or girls?”
Sam looked up to feign innocence, but Penny’s grin was too sincere. He laughed, embarrassed. “Uh – I guess, boys. I mean, boy. Man. Whatever.”
Penny held out her Diet Coke to Sam for a toast. “Good choice!” she said, and he blushed harder, clinking their glasses.
“Seriously,” she said a minute later, as Sam finished up his sandwich. “I’m really happy for you, Sam. I never thought I’d see you smile again.
“Me too, Sam,” Kim said, joining them in the kitchen. She had a paintbrush in one hand, dabs of robin egg blue on one cheek. Sam stood up, and Kim looked him up and down. “Hey Sam, you’re sort of . . . tall. Think you could give me a hand with the crown molding?”
Dean was in the kitchen when Sam finally got home. Sam felt giddy, his stomach flipping like a teenager on his first date.
“Daddy!” Rosie cried, and he picked her up and tossed her over his head, catching her to squeals of delight. When he looked up again, Dean was watching. He ducked his head when Sam caught his eye, the hint of a smile curving at the corner of the mouth Sam had kissed that morning. Would hopefully kiss again tonight.
After dinner, Sam gave Rosie her bath while Dean cleaned up the kitchen--though Sam hadn’t actually left much in the way of leftovers. That was mostly Dean’s fault for making Sam’s favorite meal of all time, vegetarian lasagna with a gigantic salad overflowing with exotic fresh vegetables and greens that Sam didn’t know the name of and didn’t particularly care because they were awesome. It was even more awesome because Dean didn’t like salad or most kinds of vegetables, so it was clear the meal was for Sam and Dean had gone to considerable trouble to make it. That must mean, Sam reasoned, that Dean was looking forward to more kissing as much as he was. At least he hoped that was what it meant.
Rosie insisted that they both kiss her goodnight after Dean’s truly inspired off-the-book and far-too-accurate-in-real-life rendition of Where The Wild Things Are, and then finally they were alone.
That’s when Sam got tongue-tied and couldn’t seem to talk, let alone kiss.
Dean put on the television and settled on the couch with a beer, like he did every night, like everything was completely normal – that hateful word again – like they hadn’t made out in the kitchen that morning and like neither of them was thinking of it every single second, every time they looked at each other.
“So,” Sam said eloquently, sitting down a discreet distance from his brother.
Dean handed him a beer.
“Modern Family’s on,” he said without looking at Sam.
Sam wondered if Dean preferred ogling Sofia Vergara to making out with him. Probably. He wondered all through the episode, alternating between half watching the television and sneaking sideways glances at Dean to see if he was engrossed in Sofia or sneaking glances at Sam. If he was, he was a lot stealthier than Sam.
“How many times are you gonna pretend not to look at me?” Dean asked during the credits, and finally turned all the way around, one eyebrow raised.
“Uh, what?” Sam asked articulately, and Dean rolled his eyes.
“If you think I’m making the first move, you’re gonna wait ‘til hell freezes over. And, in case you didn’t know, it doesn’t.”
Sam processed that, slowly because he was still staring at Dean’s impossibly green eyes. “I thought you wanted to watch Sofia Vergara.”
“That’s because you’re an idiot.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
It was a taunt that Sam had heard for all eighteen years of his childhood; there’s no way it should have changed its meaning entirely and become the permission he needed to kiss his brother.
Sam didn’t stand up, just got on his knees and crawled across the sofa and leaned in and did just that, made Dean shut up. He cradled the back of his brother’s head in one hand, the soft bristles at the nape of Dean’s neck tickling his palm, and Dean opened his mouth wide and let Sam delve right in. It was even better than the first times, less frenzied and somehow more real for being deliberate. Dean mirrored Sam’s hand on the back of his head and got a fistful of Sam’s long hair, not pulling but holding him there, while Dean’s other hand settled at the small of Sam’s back, pressing him closer. Sam anchored himself with one hand on the back of the couch so he didn’t collapse on top of his brother, and that gave him plenty of leverage to kiss Dean deeply, sliding his tongue in and feeling Dean nudge it with his own, slick and dirty.
Dean could kiss; from the little pleasured sounds he was making, he thought Sam could too. Sam spread his fingers wide, thumb stroking over the bare skin of Dean’s neck beneath his ear, and that tripped something in Dean that made him groan into Sam’s mouth, hips shifting restlessly. He tugged on Sam’s hair, half pulling him away and half crushing him closer, and Sam thought Oh, and did it again, moving his thumb in circles and feeling the baby-soft skin pebble under his touch. He broke the kiss then and got his mouth on that spot, licking in the same slow circles his thumb had traveled, and Dean moaned loudly now that his mouth was free, his body jerking like he’d been electrocuted.
“Fuck, yes,” Sam hissed against Dean’s slippery-wet neck; Dean threw his head back with a groan, so Sam sucked a bruise there, worried at it with his teeth until Dean was panting, stifled little whimpers that were making Sam see stars. He’d always loved it when his partners made noise, when he could turn them on enough that they forgot themselves and lost it, but doing this to Dean was the biggest turn-on Sam had ever known. They hadn’t even gotten any clothes off, and his big brother was writhing on the couch, exposing the soft underside of his throat and the long line of his neck to Sam’s mouth, Sam’s teeth.
Eventually the force of Sam’s attack pressed Dean sideways on the couch, and Sam followed him down, getting one knee over Dean’s thigh and straddling him while he kept on kissing and licking and biting at that sensitive spot until it was red and bruised. Dean didn’t fight being pushed down, and that sent a rush of excitement through Sam that he hadn’t expected. He growled against Dean’s neck, the sound rumbling deep and way too loud, an unmistakable assertion of possession. He blushed, trying to get some kind of hold of himself before Dean shoved him off, but instead of a shove, he got Dean’s hands scrabbling at his back, pushing up under his tee shirt to get at bare skin as Dean let himself be pressed into the cushions.
Sam balanced on hands and knees as he found his way back to Dean’s mouth and kissed him again. Dean’s hands were splayed against Sam’s back, kneading at the muscles bunching there as Sam held himself up, then sliding lower, the tips of his fingers dipping under the waistband of Sam’s jeans. Sam’s hips jolted forward; the movement brought their groins together for the first time, and fuck, it felt good, to finally have something to press his aching dick against. The fact that it was Dean’s dick only made it that much better.
“Mmmm,” Dean groaned into Sam’s mouth, and Sam echoed it, grinding his hips against Dean’s and letting his full weight pin his brother to the sofa. Sam got his hands underneath Dean’s ass and squeezed, pulling Dean’s body up hard against his own, and Dean broke the kiss to gasp out a few curses as he thrust his cock against Sam’s. The friction brought waves of pleasure, even with layers of fabric in the way. They were shoving into each other hard and fast, enough to make the couch inch its way across the hardwood floor, loud protesting screeches every time it shifted a little. Dean got a leg free from underneath Sam and wrapped it around Sam’s hips, his heel digging painfully into the back of Sam’s thigh as Dean tried to get more leverage.
Sam was at that place where nothing much mattered anymore but the need to get off, the possibility of orgasm burning in the pit of his belly, licking at his insides, making his balls ache so badly that he didn’t care how it happened, only that it did, that it had to. Dean was there too, Sam could tell by the way his brother was twisting frantically beneath him, the soft sounds he was making.
“Dean,” Sam managed, raising himself on one arm with effort. “Are we really gonna – we’re gonna do this, right?”
Dean threw his head back against the sofa. “Sam, do you seriously wanna fucking talk about it first? Now?” His voice was strained, and though he’d stopped writhing, his leg was still wrapped around Sam’s hips.
That hadn’t been Sam’s plan at all, but now that they’d paused for a second, the thinking part of his brain had partially re-engaged. This was a big deal; they were about to go way beyond kissing.
“Are you sure?” he asked, still a little out of breath. “Because this is – I mean, this is incest, Dean. This isn’t just making out, if we’re gonna – do this – this is. I mean, this is –“
“This is what?” Dean hissed, and his eyes were open now, dark with arousal and sparking with annoyance. “Not normal? Look, if you’ve changed your mind, then get the hell off me!”
Sam snorted. “God, you’re hot when you’re mad. Specially when I’ve got you all hard and desperate under me with my hands on your ass.”
Dean’s mouth fell open on a punched-out breath, like Sam had just hit him in the stomach. “Jesus,” he said weakly.
“Does that answer your question about changing my mind?” Sam gloated, and Dean swallowed hard and nodded.
“So since we’re both sure about this, why don’t we give the couch a break and take this to the bedroom.”
“Oh,” said Dean, and unwrapped his leg from Sam. “Yeah, good idea.”
* * *
It was a good idea. It was the best idea Dean had ever heard in his entire thirty-odd years of life. Sam seemed to think so, too, even though Dean was still having an intellectual struggle with that part of it. He’d been so sure, for so long, that Sam wanted normal; it was hard to get his head around the reality that apparently Sam didn’t. Sam–instead—improbably--wanted Dean.
“Stop thinking,” Sam teased, which was usually Dean’s line.
“You stop thinking,” Dean automatically shot back.
They stood staring at each other for a moment, and Dean thought, oh God, now he has changed his mind. But then Sam had his hands on the hem of Dean’s tee shirt and was slipping it up his sides. Dean raised his arms on instinct, his brain stuck on Sam’s undressing me over and over. Sam ran his hands down Dean’s sides when he was shirtless, big hands gentle over the slats of his ribs, ticklish in the hollow above his hipbones. Dean didn’t move, transfixed by the look on Sam’s face, the awe in his little brother’s expression as he watched his own hands smooth over Dean’s body. Dean was still hard as nails; his dick throbbed from the brush of Sam’s fingers on his skin, from the way Sam’s eyes had gone a warm hazel flecked with gold, dark with intent.
Sam let go to peel his own shirt over his head, and Dean reached out immediately, had to get his hands on Sam, feel the miles of golden skin and muscle that always made Dean’s mouth water. Now he was allowed to touch. The impact of that knowledge sunk in abruptly, and Dean’s fingers dug into his brother’s warm, smooth flesh harder than he’d intended.
“Sammy,” he said, reverent, because this was Sam, and this wasn’t just sex.
Sam covered Dean’s hands with his own where they gripped his waist. “I know,” he said, and Dean supposed that he did.
Sam’s hands were on Dean’s belt now, working the buckle deftly and pulling the end free to dangle there while Dean’s breath hitched at the sensation, Sam’s hands so close to where he desperately wanted them.
“Want you,” Sam said, like he knew Dean needed to hear it, and he eased Dean’s fly down, started to push his jeans down his hips. Dean braced himself on Sam’s shoulders as he stepped out of the jeans, his knees feeling weak, and he flushed with sudden awkwardness. He didn’t even know if Sam had ever been with a guy, had ever had the desire to get his hands on someone else’s dick. Maybe it would be too strange for Sam once Dean was naked. What if Sam only wanted the parts of Dean that everyone found girly--his pretty face and too-full mouth – not his flat chest and bowlegs and all of him far from smooth and hairless; not his achingly hard and not-exactly-small cock or his ass that wasn’t as rounded as a girl’s. What if Sam found him repulsive once he could really see, once this was real?
“God,” Sam moaned, dropping to his knees, jolting Dean out of his worry. Sam leaned in and pressed his face to Dean’s stomach; nuzzled the trail of hair below as his hands gripped the hollows of Dean’s hipbones. Dean could feel his dick swell more, straining against the confines of his tight boxer briefs, and the mix of fear and anticipation made his stomach tighten and roll. He sunk his fingers into Sam’s thick hair, kneading Sam’s scalp and trying to not to hyperventilate as Sam began to kiss his way down Dean’s abs, over the elastic of his underwear and along the stiff length of Dean’s erection underneath. Dean couldn’t suppress a strangled cry at the sensation, Sam’s mouth warm through the cotton, and Sam opened wider and ran his teeth over the bulge, scraping gently until Dean thought he’d die of how good it felt.
“Wanna see you, Dean,” Sam said, muffled against Dean’s crotch. “Can I?” His hands were already hooked under the waistband when Dean gasped, “Yeah, God, please.” Dean held his breath while Sam pushed the shorts down and off, then sat back on his heels to look. Dean felt his cheeks flame, his ears on fire, as Sam’s eyes ran over him from toes to face and back again. Dean waited, trying not to show his terror.
Sam grinned up at him through disheveled bangs, eyes mischievous and beautiful. He licked his lips, top and bottom, pink tongue darting out and moistening them with deliberate slowness. Dean’s cock twitched, wet at the tip. Sam looked at it like it was the first piece of steak a starving man had seen in years.
“Can I?” Sam asked again, and Dean could only nod, all vocal capacity and most other capacities entirely gone.
“Make noise,” Sam said as he wrapped one big hand around Dean’s dick. “I like it when you do.”
Dean shuddered hard, sensation rocketing through him and leaving him momentarily incapable of doing anything but fighting to stand up as Sam’s fingers squeezed and stroked him, pressing down hard against Dean’s abs on the downstroke, then twisting up and around the swollen head to get slick and wet from where Dean was leaking before sliding back down.
“C’mon,” Sam urged, jerking him more quickly, and all the noises Dean had been swallowing burst out of him at once in a drawn-out groan that he couldn’t stop, his hands frantic in Sam’s hair as he tried to keep his balance against the rhythm of Sam’s big hand pulling such intense pleasure out of him; he couldn’t catch his breath. Sam’s other hand went between Dean’s thighs and palmed his balls until they tightened up, throbbing, and Dean vaguely heard his own moans get higher, more frantic.
“I – ah – I’m –“
That’s all Dean managed to gasp out before Sam’s fingers crept back behind his balls and slid between his cheeks. One touch of Sam’s fingertip there and Dean lost it, coming like he’d been saving it up for fucking years, all over Sam still on his knees, jesus. Dean tried to aim away from Sam’s face, but Sam still had Dean by the dick and kept him right there, letting some of the splatters hit his cheek and chin.
Dean sat down – maybe fell down – heavily on the floor once the spasms ended, saying “Oh God, Sammy, oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” over and over, as Sam wiped Dean’s jizz off his face.
Sam’s eyes were still dark, his pretty pink mouth parted as he looked at Dean with something like amazement.
“I’m sorry,” Dean said again, and Sam swept a finger over his sticky chin and put it in his mouth. He licked it clean, his eyes closing like he wanted to savor the taste.
Dean’s apology stuck in his throat, a violent aftershock making his cock twitch painfully. “Jesuschrist Sam,” he croaked, then lurched forward and hauled Sam to his feet, pushing him backwards until he hit the bed and sat down hard, still with his finger in his mouth.
Dean tugged Sam’s jeans open and tried to wrangle them off him with brute force, Sam finally lifting his hips to help. His shorts slid down too, so Dean worked them both the rest of the way down Sam’s long legs and pulled them free. So many parts of Sam that Dean had never really let himself appreciate before; so many parts of his brother’s fucking amazing body to worship with his hands and his mouth. Dean paused to run his fingers through the golden-brown hair and hard muscle on Sam’s calves, then slid his hands up to Sam’s thighs and pushed his knees apart. When he looked up, Sam was staring open-mouthed, cheeks flushed bright pink and his hair all over the place from Dean yanking at it, sticky in a few places where Dean had messed it up.
“Dean,” Sam said, breathless, “you don’t have to.”
Dean looked up the miles and miles of tanned skin and rippling muscle and proudly jutting cock that was his not-so-little brother and grinned. He had a chance now to show Sam some skills he’d never have thought he’d admit to, let alone flaunt. He was gonna blow Sam’s mind, right along with his big dick.
“Did you really just say that?” Sam gasped, and Dean realized his mouth was still directly connected to his id--but screw it, he’d meant it.
Instead of taking a chance on more talking, he smirked and wrapped a hand around Sam’s cock and licked it like a popsicle. That shut Sam up pretty fast, and Dean didn’t give him a chance to recover, swallowing as much as he could and fisting the rest until Sam flopped back on the bed and started groaning like Dean was killing him. Dean encouraged Sam’s frankly hot-as-hell noises with some of his own, moaning around the bitter taste and slick slide of Sam’s dick in his mouth as he pumped it hard and fast. He didn’t know why, but he needed Sam to come apart as totally as he had, to even this up now that they were started down this crazy road together.
“Shit,” Sam gasped, and Dean could feel Sam’s stomach muscles contract, his balls draw up tight as Dean rubbed and squeezed at them, just the way he liked it himself. “Dean, I’m gonna – Dean!” Sam practically shouted his name, and Dean held on tight as Sam pushed deeper down his throat, his cock swelling and spurting as Dean kept on sucking, determined not to choke. Eventually he let Sam’s dick slip out, trying to swallow but making a mess all over Sam anyway.
“Jesusfuck,” Sam moaned, one hand over his face.
Dean swallowed a few more times, then stood up, more aware of his nakedness now that neither of them was in the throes of gotta-come-right-now. His legs were shaking.
“I’ll get a – something,” he said, scrubbing a hand across his face where it was sticky and wet. He came back with two warm washcloths and tossed one at Sam. It landed on his chest with a splat.
“Jerk,” Sam said automatically. Dean grinned, relief rolling through him. It was still Sam, just Sam.
“Bitch,” he said, and Sam sat up, wiping at his thighs where Dean had made a mess on him. He made a face. “Eww,” he complained, refolding the washcloth to try to find a clean side. It was typical prissy Sam behavior, and it made Dean go all warm inside and feel stupid.
“Hey,” he said, before he could stop his mouth, “you know this isn’t – I mean, it’s not just about – “
Sam stopped grimacing and smiled instead. It was a real smile, not even tentative. “Yeah, I know.” He tossed the washcloth into the basket in the corner.
“Nice shot,” Dean said, and started searching for his underwear amongst the clothes strewn on the floor.
Sam pushed back the covers on the king-sized bed. “Sleep here for a while.”
He looked a little bit scared that he’d said it, like Dean might laugh at him or refuse.
Dean checked the lock on the door and kicked his shorts into the corner with his jeans. When he turned around, Sam had the goofiest smile on his face Dean had ever seen, so wide his dimples were showing.
“I don’t cuddle,” Dean warned preemptively as he climbed into bed. Sam pulled the quilts over them both and startled Dean immediately with a big hand splayed across his chest.
“Dude,” Dean complained, but Sam just patted him condescendingly.
“Live with it,” Sam said gruffly, words half smothered in the feather pillow.
Dean fell asleep too quickly to protest further. He blamed it on the mindblowing orgasm.
* * *
“Are you sure about this?” Dean asked the second Sam opened his eyes the next morning. Sam could hear Rosie down the hall, singing to herself in her room. He reached across the bed and grabbed Dean by one bare shoulder to keep him from bolting, then leaned over and kissed him, making sure to use tongue so there wouldn’t be any possibility of misinterpretation.
“Eww,” Dean grumbled, wrinkling his nose and wiping at his mouth with the back of one hand. “Morning breath. Gross.”
“Get used to it,” Sam said, and he could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he kicked off the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed to pull on some boxers and a tee shirt. When he turned back around Dean was still lying there, his gaze heated.
“C’mon, get your lazy ass outta bed and make us some pancakes.”
“In a minute,” Dean said, pulling the sheet back up when Sam tried to uncover him.
Sam cocked an eyebrow, trying to see if the sheet was tented over the outline of Dean’s bare thighs beneath. “Oh,” he smirked, and Dean blushed and gave him the finger.
“I said I’ll be right there, asshole,” Dean scowled, clearly expecting Sam to retrieve Rosie and give him a few minutes of alone time. Instead Sam came back to the bed and leaned over his brother, and Dean’s eyes went a little wider at the serious expression on Sam’s face.
“Uh-uh,” Sam said, and waggled his finger in Dean’s confused face. “No jerking off. I want you desperate by the time I get home tonight. Understand?” Sam made his voice as authoritarian as he could, brows drawn together in an almost-frown. He expected a brush-off, Dean bending his finger back and telling him to fuck off. Instead, Dean’s lips parted and his lashes drooped, eyes hooded as he bit his bottom lip and hissed out a curse.
“Jesusfuck, Sam,” Dean whispered, and his hips shifted restlessly beneath the sheets, the bulge between his thighs obvious now. “You tryin’ to kill me?”
Sam was rapidly coming to the conclusion that getting Dean excited was the most intoxicating experience he’d ever had. Addictive. He shook his head slowly, leaning down so close their mouths were inches apart.
“No, but if you’re up for it, I think I’d like to fuck you later.”
Dean groaned, his body jackknifing under the sheet as he shuddered and rolled sideways, clenching his teeth as he fought back what looked like a wave of lust. Sam had to bite his lip at the sight, his own dick filling rapidly. He backed away and shook his head to clear it, pulling on a pair of jeans that would look less obscene than his too-thin underwear.
“Dean, c’mon,” he repeated one more time, and Dean sighed and kicked off the sheet, exposing his lean naked body, hard cock blood-dark against his pale stomach.
“Jesus,” Sam said, because he couldn’t stop himself.
It looked downright painful, but Dean slid off the bed and pulled on shorts and jeans, wincing as he tucked his erection beneath the layers of cotton and denim.
“Okay,” he said, and a shiver of lust made Sam’s belly swoop violently, hollowed out and rippling with pleasure. Dean was saying yes – to the order, to what would happen later. To Sam.
* * *
Dean wheeled the shopping cart through Trader Joe’s at 10 AM, inspecting the peaches for bruising and checking the bottoms of the plastic containers of strawberries for mold or berries more green than red. He read the labels of peanut-butter jars while Rosie tried to take the responsibility out of his hands by swiping a giant jar of Skippy and promptly dropping it on the floor. He remembered a time when a big jar of peanut butter was just about all he and Sammy had for a week; how guilty he felt for making up stories about pretzel sticks with peanut butter being a delicacy, and trying to disguise the last moldy slices of bread by covering them with the sloppy stuff so Sam would keep eating. He was pretty sure Sam still felt faintly sick at just the idea of peanut butter, but Rosie didn’t agree – she loved it. He picked up the way-too-big jar and put it in the basket with a smile.
Thoughts of Sam as a skinny, whiny little six-year-old took care of any risk that his morning problem would recur. Was he really gonna do this? Let his little brother fuck him? The idea sounded so preposterous that twice Dean had to stop and lean on the shopping cart, suddenly queasy. Could this really be what Sam wanted – what Sam would keep wanting?
Rosie patted his hands where they were clenched white-knuckled on the cart handle, her big eyes too serious for a toddler.
Dean shook himself out of it. Sam wanted it; he wanted it. God, did he want it.
He took Rosie to the park in the afternoon and pushed her on the swings and rode the spinner with her until they were both dizzy. Rosie squealed and giggled until her cheeks were bright red and she was too breathless to laugh anymore, and Dean let himself laugh with her. He still thought it was weird for it to be warm enough for the park in January, but California wasn’t all bad. Maybe they’d take Rosie back east next winter, buy a plastic saucer sled that would fit in the Impala’s trunk and introduce her to the wonders of snow.
He remembered a January in upstate New York, a motel nestled in the woods and so much snow that Sammy had sunk up to his waist in drifts of it, laughing when he got stuck and holding out his arms for Dean to wade in and rescue him. They’d never had a sled, but Dean had stolen a few trays from the cafeteria at school and they’d used them on the hill behind the motel, running into trees and each other, falling off and tumbling together the rest of the way down the hill until they both looked like snowmen. Dean had brushed the snowflakes off Sam’s lashes as they lay there looking up at the cloudless turquoise winter sky, and Sammy had murmured a quiet, “thanks Dean.” The detention he got for taking the trays was totally worth it.
By the time Dean put Rosie down for her afternoon nap, he had a headache. Doubt and desire had been raging a fierce battle in his head all day; it was pretty much a draw by 4 PM.
The phone rang at 4:30.
“Hey,” Sam said when Dean picked up. “How’s the day going?”
Dean rubbed his temples. “If you mean, am I having second thoughts, then yes Sam, I am. Is this really what you want, man? You could find another – someone to be a mom for –“
“No!” Sam said, then cleared his throat and dropped the volume. He’d probably startled whoever was within hearing distance of his office. “No,” he said more quietly, “I can’t. I don’t want to. I told you that already. Were you not listening?”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and made a face. “No, I wasn’t not listening,” he singsonged, knowing the tone would make Sam do the bitchface. He smiled a little, picturing it.
“Well, then stop asking me if I mean it. It’s annoying.”
Dean’s smile curled up a little more; he didn’t seem able to stop it. “Awww, widdle Sammy is annoyed?” he crooned into the phone, rewarded with his brother’s heavy I’m-so-put-upon sigh.
“Dean,” Sam said warningly.
“Sammmmm,” Dean whined back, then coughed over a laugh.
“Did you just giggle?” Sam sounded much less irritated.
“Of course not,” Dean said, and damn, he’d forgotten to make it annoying. Stupid Sam and his stupid powers of distraction.
“I’m coming home a little early,” Sam said, and now he didn’t sound annoyed at all. Dean couldn’t quite identify the tone of Sam’s voice, but it made his stomach flutter weirdly.
“Uh, okay,” he said, and there was a long pause on the other end. Dean thought maybe Sam had gotten interrupted, but he didn’t hear any voices.
“Because,” Sam continued, and Dean could hear the sound of his office door closing, “I can’t wait to get you naked and kiss you stupid.”
“Uhh,” Dean said, because he couldn’t think of actual words, but Sam kept right on going anyway.
“’m gonna spread your legs and open you up, Dean – get you all slick and wet, maybe use my tongue on you. Would you like that?”
“Shit,” Dean cursed, groping himself through his jeans. “Shit, Sam, what’re you—“
“Oh yeah, I think you will – and I will too. Can’t wait to get my hands on your ass, so fuckin’ perfect.”
Sam broke off with a curse of his own, and Dean nearly dropped the phone, all his blood pooled in his dick.
“Christ, Sam, the mouth on you,” Dean said weakly, and Sam laughed, but he sounded as wrecked as Dean felt.
“Be there by 5:30,” he said, and Dean could hear him gathering his things, filling up his briefcase. “Gonna be hard to wait until Rosie goes to bed,” he said, and Dean could hear the smirk.
“Hard,” Dean repeated, adjusting himself in his jeans. “You’re telling me.”
“Good,” Sam said, in the tone that said he meant business and didn’t want an argument, and for some reason that knocked all the doubt out of what was left of Dean’s brain.
By the time Sam opened the front door and walked in, legs a mile long under a navy dress coat and a burgundy scarf wrapped around his neck, his long hair even more unruly than usual from the winter wind and his cheeks ruddy from the chilly evening, just the sight of him was enough to leave Dean breathless.
Sam grinned like he knew exactly what Dean was feeling, tossed his coat and scarf on the rack, and swept Rosie up in his arms, never taking his eyes from Dean’s.
“You miss me?” he asked. Dean could only nod, words stuck in his throat where it felt too tight, aching with way too much feeling.
“Me too,” Sam said, and his smile was softer now. Dean swallowed hard, one hand unconsciously brushing over his chest where his heart was beating too fast.
“Me too,” Rosie mimicked, and Sam swung her up in the air until she whooped, then kissed her and set her down. On his way to the kitchen, he leaned over and kissed Dean as well.
* * *
“Why does Rosie have peanut butter on her hot dog?” Sam asked as they dug into dinner.
Dean shrugged like it was no big deal, but the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked at Rosie happily consuming the odd concoction. “She likes it,” Dean said, and turned his almost-grin on Sam. “And she doesn’t have to.”
Vaguely, Sam remembered why he hated peanut butter, and the endlessly inventive nine-year-old brother who had kept him fed for weeks on end with almost nothing else.
“You know,” he said, as he helped himself to another serving of Dean’s special chili dogs, “You make a pretty good mom.”
Dean looked up, no doubt with a retort on the tip of his tongue, but when their eyes met he didn’t say anything.
“You always did,” Sam said quietly, and looked at Rosie happily eating her hot dog and peanut butter.
Dean looked down to study the mustard heaped on top of his chili dog, but Sam could see the faint blush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, so he knew Dean had heard him. Sam kept sneaking looks at Dean while they loaded the dishwasher, watching Dean duck his head almost shyly each time their eyes met. So unlike the swaggering big brother Sam had watched flirt masterfully with countless girls or the confident badass hunter. With Sam – maybe only with Sam-- Dean was different. The awareness hit Sam below the belt; made his blood rush hot with wanting.
This time there was no awkward half-watching of television shows; Sam closed Rosie’s door and grabbed Dean’s wrist in the hallway, tugging him down the hall to the master bedroom. Dean gave him a few half-hearted shoves in protest at being manhandled, but his feet moved so quickly he nearly ran into Sam and knocked them both over on their way.
“So,” Dean said once they’d locked the bedroom door, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He shuffled his bare feet, sure tell that he was nervous, off his game. Probably still torturing himself with doubts about whether this was good for Sam, or whether Sam could do better. Fuck that. Sam knew what he wanted.
“So,” Sam echoed, and put his hands on Dean’s shoulders. Dean tilted his face up, and his eyes narrowed as Sam walked him backwards, all the way across the room.
“I’m not gonna leave any doubt in your mind about how much I want this,” Sam said, crowding Dean up against the wall. He slid his hands slowly inward from Dean’s shoulders, along the ridge of clavicle and brushing the flat planes of his chest, across the stiff points of his nipples under his tee shirt, and Dean’s breath hitched. Arousal coursing through him, Sam swept his palms up both sides of his brother’s throat, and Dean tilted his head back, looking up at Sam, his eyes dark with desire. He didn’t move, hands still at his sides as he waited. Sam shuddered with want, pressed his thumbs over the swell of his brother’s Adam’s apple and felt it bob wildly under the pressure. He splayed the full breadth of both hands to cup the back of Dean’s head while Sam’s thumbs pressed in harder, and Dean held his breath, trembling.
“Dean,” Sam whispered, and slid his hands higher, palms molded around Dean’s stubble-rough cheeks. Sam stretched his fingers, fanned his hands wide until his littlest fingers teased at the fine hair behind Dean’s ears, his thumbs rubbing circles hard against the vulnerable stretch of Dean’s throat. Dean tried to swallow under the press of Sam’s hands, his eyes heavy-lidded.
“Show you how much,” Sam said, and tightened his grip, angling Dean’s face where he wanted it, thumbing roughly at the hinges of Dean’s jaw until his mouth fell open, puffs of his breath hot and shallow against Sam’s cheek.
“Are you mine, Dean?”
Sam gentled his grip; let Dean draw in a shuddering breath as Sam held him still between his hands. They weren’t touching anywhere else, but Dean was frozen there, the rise and fall of his chest his only movement.
“I want you to be,” Sam whispered, and watched Dean’s jaw work, the only evidence of his struggle.
“Yeah,” Dean said finally, his voice rough and raw.
“Goes both ways,” Sam said, and put his mouth on his brother’s.
They kissed with Sam’s hands still anchoring Dean, tilting his head to the side and then back, until Dean’s head thunked against the wall and Sam could kiss him from above. Dean pushed up into it, his boots sliding farther apart on the floor until he almost lost his footing, and then he grabbed a fistful of Sam’s shirt and pulled them apart.
“C’mon,” Dean growled, and Sam could hear how breathless he was. “Got a perfectly good bed here.”
They grappled their way over to it, trying to keep kissing, tangling arms and legs as they fell onto the mattress.
“Let me,” Sam said, and wrangled Dean’s shirt over his head. He left it wrapped around Dean’s wrists and pressed them down, over his head.
“Keep them like that, okay?” It was a question; Sam wasn’t sure if Dean would let him run the show, even if it seemed like that was what he needed.
Dean cocked an eyebrow, a half smirk curling his lip where it was swollen from Sam’s kisses. “Kinky,” he said, and stretched his arms higher, the stretch of muscle in his upper arms drawing Sam’s gaze and quickening the need already making Sam ache to touch him.
“Good boy,” Sam said, and it was a risk; he wasn’t sure how far Dean would let him take this. Dean could still kick his ass, and they both knew it.
“Fuck,” Dean groaned, bucking his hips like Sam’s words had been a hand on his dick. He shut his eyes as Sam unfastened Dean’s belt and worked open his jeans.
“Oh jesus, you didn’t,” Sam gasped, when he found nothing under Dean’s jeans but the hard muscle of his abs and the hard push of his cock against Sam’s fingers. “Oh God, that’s fuckin’ hot,” he added before Dean could get the wrong idea and think he didn’t like it, because shit, Dean had planned for this, anticipated it. Wanted it.
Sam got his hand around Dean’s dick and pulled him out with his jeans still splayed open around his hips, drawn by the moist heat of him, the scent of sweat and arousal thick as Sam bent his head lower, taking in the unexpectedly decadent visual. He wrapped his fingers tight around the thick length, fisted him a few times and, fuck, Dean was so hard, his cock standing up dark and proud from the vee of his fly. A half-dozen strokes and it glistened at the tip.
“Gettin’ wet for me,” Sam muttered, and Dean’s dick leapt in his hand, leaking another pearl of slick. Sam smeared it around the head and Dean moaned, pushing into Sam’s fist.
Sam had to see all of him then; he let go and yanked Dean’s pants down his hips and off his bare feet, tossing them to the floor and getting up on his knees to look at his brother.
“Fucking gorgeous,” Sam said, more loudly than he wanted, but God, Dean looked good splayed out like that, naked except for the fabric tangled around his wrists.
He leaned down, intending to ravage Dean in every way he could imagine, and maybe some he never had.
“Wait,” Dean said, and Sam froze, a chill running down his spine at the thought of Dean changing his mind. Dean nodded at Sam, and rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna be the only one naked here. Strip.”
Sam huffed a laugh, relief and a fresh burst of heat replacing the shiver. He slipped his shirt over his head and fumbled open his own jeans, acutely aware of Dean’s eyes on him as he stood up to kick them off. As naked as Dean now, Sam climbed back on the bed, balancing on hands and knees over his brother. Dean looked up with a smirk, cocky now that the evidence of Sam’s desire was obvious.
“Just stay there,” Sam ordered, but they were both grinning, so Dean just wiggled his hips and waggled his eyebrows and said, “Yessir.” It still got to Sam, made his dick bob between his thighs.
Sam did what he wanted then; braced himself over Dean and kissed the swell of his brother’s biceps, feeling the hardness of the muscle under his mouth, the strength he’d always counted on. He caught the flesh there between his teeth, leaving a trail of pink marks on the pale skin as he moved lower, taking his time. Dean squirmed as Sam bit at the join of arm to torso, letting his teeth catch in the moist curls there, the scent of sweat and Dean intoxicatingly strong.
“Shit, Sam!” Dean swore, and Sam didn’t bother with words, just growled against the slick skin, kissing and biting down the ridges of Dean’s ribs, then inward to lick over a stiff nipple.
“Oh jesus,” Dean hissed, and Sam wasn’t surprised that Dean’s body responded instantly, his hips bucking and his hands twisting tighter in the stretched cotton of his shirt. Sam licked slowly, one side then the other, playing with the little nubs until they were red and wet and erect, stiff enough that he could fasten his teeth there and worry the sensitive skin. Dean was cursing a blue streak, his heart pounding so hard Sam could feel the thumpthumpthump when he laid his ear to Dean’s chest and toyed with a swollen nipple between his fingers, pinching until Dean whimpered, biting his lip against making more noise.
When Sam finally raised his head and started to suck on it, Dean forgot himself and moaned loudly, thrashing and lifting his hips, trying to rub up against Sam’s stomach.
Sam couldn’t sustain the slow pace after that. He licked a path down Dean’s torso, along the ridge at his midline and into his belly button, stabbing his tongue in to make Dean hiss and curse and then following the trail of fine hair below, feeling Dean’s muscles jump and contract beneath his mouth. He ignored his brother’s swollen cock, pushing his legs apart and kissing the insides of his thighs instead, where the skin was pale and baby soft, only a fine dusting of blond hair there. Dean let his legs fall open, groaning when Sam bit into the meat of his upper thigh and left a mark.
“Wanna fuck you so bad,” Sam said, loud enough that he knew Dean would hear it over his own moans, and Dean didn’t resist when Sam got his hands beneath Dean’s knees and pushed his legs higher, bent him up and open. Sam hadn’t really planned it, hadn’t done it that often, but Dean’s ass was right there, pale and rounded and pink where Sam’s fingers pried him open, and Sam had his tongue there before he knew he was going to do it, licking in as deep as he could, the sweat-bitter taste bursting on his tongue.
“Fuuuuuuck!” Dean keened above him, and Sam could feel the tight muscle flex desperately around the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t stop, just went harder, his fingers digging into the backs of Dean’s knees and keeping him bent double as Sam lifted his ass a little higher to get at him better. A few minutes of supporting a squirming, bucking, cursing Dean and Sam’s arms were shaking with effort; Dean’s thighs were shaking even harder.
Sam let go and dropped Dean onto the mattress, grabbing for a pillow and shoving it under his hips. Dean went easily, pleasure-drunk, his legs still raised. Sam had a finger lubed up and in him before he knew it was coming. A slight press and it slipped easily into the heat of Dean’s body, slick and open, and – oh jesus.
“Fuck Dean, did you –“
Sam shoved a long finger in deep, slid it in and out a few times to be sure. “Did you?”
Dean tried to laugh, but it came out more a shuddering whine. “You said you w-wanted to,” he managed, then cut off in a hiss as Sam slid a second finger inside him. “Wanted to fuck me.”
The thought of Dean prepping himself for Sam’s cock was almost enough to finish the whole thing before they’d gotten started. Sam bit out a curse of his own and gave Dean another finger, feeling the smooth muscle clench and then give around him, slick and hot and so fucking inviting.
“Oh, I do,” Sam growled, pumping in and out as hard as he thought Dean could take. There was a little puddle of slick on Dean’s belly, his cock bobbing above it, wet and red. “And I’m gonna.”
“Yeah,” Dean groaned, “Oh God yeah, do it,” and that was it, Sam was done. He slicked his aching dick, balanced himself over his brother and pushed himself inside, straining to hold back when his body was screaming at him to go go go.
“Ah, fuck, fuck,” Dean swore, untangling his hands from the shirt and throwing it off the side of the bed. His legs wrapped around Sam’s hips and his hands gripped Sam’s shoulders as he gritted his teeth.
“Dean?” Sam asked, because he knew “Are you okay?” would be met with a scowl and something macho that would just make things more painful.
* * *
“Yeah,” Dean answered, and he opened his eyes and looked up at Sam straining above him. Sam’s eyes were wide, a riot of swirling grey-gold-brown, an expression of awe on his handsome face.
“Dean,” he said again, and there was so much tenderness in his voice Dean almost couldn’t stand it, couldn’t be the object of all that love and devotion.
“Yeah Sammy,” Dean answered, because it was the only thing he could say, and he knew Sam would understand it for all the things it meant, everything it agreed to.
Sam pushed all the way in then, and Dean struggled to keep his eyes open, hoping Sam could see the same emotion there, all the things Dean couldn’t say but had felt forever and would always feel. He knew it now, more certain than he’d ever been with Sam inside him, taking him. Everything he’d ever wanted and never should have.
“It’s okay,” Sam said, and Dean knew he meant all of it. Whether Sam was right or wrong, Dean could see it was what his brother believed, and that was enough. He slid his hands down Sam’s arms, thick with muscle where he braced himself over Dean; ran his hands down Sam’s sides where he was heaving for breath, the sweat-slick heat of his tanned skin burning under Dean’s fingers.
“So gorgeous, Sam,” Dean whispered, because it was true, and he couldn’t not say it. “So fucking big inside me.”
Sam’s face crumpled, a wave of arousal making him clench his jaw and buck his hips forward, his cock shoving in harder, nailing Dean right where it felt the best, like lightning had struck him and turned him inside out. He couldn’t stifle the shout that punched its way out of him, and Sam did it again, and again, holding himself rigid to keep the angle the same so every thrust sent bursts of pleasure rushing through Dean, so intense that he couldn’t say anything, couldn’t tell Sam not to stop, to keep fucking doing that, to do it harder, and faster, and jesuschrist he was gonna come, absolutely fucking helpless not to. He got one hand around his throbbing cock and jerked it mindlessly, too overcome with pleasure even to know where it was coming from anymore.
Sam was muttering a string of filth above him, “Yeah, yeah, do it, fuck, do it Dean, wanna see you come on my dick, wanna watch you fall apart,” and Dean could feel Sam swell even bigger in him, the pressure unbearably good, so good his toes were fucking curling, every muscle seizing up and the whole universe narrowed down to the feel of Sam’s dick in his ass and the throb in his balls, and then he was gone, losing it spectacularly, mouth open in a soundless shout as Sam kept pounding him through it, wringing every last drop out of him and leaving him shaking with aftershocks.
He opened his eyes just in time to see Sam lose it too, his eyes locked on Dean’s. To watch Sam’s lip curl up in a grimace of pain-pleasure and the muscles in his arms bulge with the strain of thrusting into Dean so hard his head was knocking against the headboard, but who the fuck cared when he got to see Sam lost in the rush of orgasm, filling Dean up slick and sticky and messy and so fucking good.
Dean kept his arms wrapped around Sam’s back and his knees tight around Sam’s hips to encourage him to keep thrusting through the last of it, mewling soft little sounds of pleasure as Sam rolled his hips and shuddered.
“Yeah,” Dean said, soothing him, and when Sam opened his eyes, Dean was breathless all over again with the emotion there. He craned his neck up without thinking, caught Sam’s open mouth with his own. Sam stayed still for a moment, arms still locked, and then he let himself fall, rolling them to the side so they could keep kissing.
“Dean, Dean,” Sam murmured between kisses, one hand palming Dean’s cheek while he licked into Dean’s mouth. Dean could still taste the slight tang of himself on Sam’s tongue, and the knowledge of what Sam had done made his stomach clench with a last burst of arousal, because fuck.
When they finally pulled apart, Sam poked a finger in Dean’s belly button. “Messy,” he smirked, like he was proud of the way he’d made Dean come all over himself, the little shit.
Dean slapped his hand away. “Then get me a washcloth, bitch,” he said, trying not to smile.
Sam laughed and kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth, but he got up and went to the master bath for a washcloth and towel. Dean watched him, the smooth play of muscle in his broad back and the impossible length of his legs as he stood up, the roundness of his ass as he walked. Sam had no clue how beautiful he was. Dean promised himself he wouldn’t keep telling him, aware that it was probably a futile promise.
His face heated when Sam swiped the warm cloth over his stomach and chest, then pushed one leg up to wipe below his balls and between his cheeks where he was wet and messy. It was intimate; he felt more exposed with Sam than he ever had with a lover. Sam who knew his body in so many ways, had stitched him up and washed him down. Who had come inside him, put them together in a way that Dean had never dared think they would be. It was suddenly too much; he turned his face away, feeling the blush spread down his chest.
“Hey,” Sam said, his voice soft, like he knew. He tossed the washcloth onto the floor and threw an arm across Dean, pulling him closer.
“No cuddling,” Dean protested, face heating even more.
Sam ignored him, insinuating one bare thigh between Dean’s and snuffling contentedly. “Love you, too,” Sam said, keeping his eyes closed. That meant he couldn’t see Dean’s expression, and how violently red his face was.
“Bitch,” Dean said, the best he could manage under the circumstances.
Sam smiled sleepily. “Jerk,” he said fondly, eyes still shut.
Dean watched him until his breathing evened out into the familiar rhythm of sleep, the reassuring cadence that had marked every night of Dean’s childhood, the signal that he could let down his guard and rest. He didn’t wake until the sun was streaming through a gap in the curtains, Rosie’s morning singsong drifting down the hallway outside the door.
Sam kissed him before he could protest, with the worst morning breath imaginable. Dean supposed that was partly his own fault, so he didn’t overdo it with the threat of bodily harm if Sam tried that again without brushing his teeth. Sam just smirked, the bastard.
Dean returned the favor (in full) the very next night, mostly because Sam kept saying, “If it was as good as it sounded with all that moaning and groaning and ohmygodSammyyesyesyes, you owe me, Dean!”
From the way Sam collapsed and fell asleep while Dean was still cleaning them up, and woke up still smiling like the smug little bitch he was, Dean was pretty sure that evened things up between them as far as prowess in the bedroom.
* * *
Part Six
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-06-19 02:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-19 07:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-20 02:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-24 01:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-24 05:18 pm (UTC)I just think that's the way it would probably be with these two, they want it all and are more than willing to give it all too, to experience everything they can now that they're finally together. Plus, it's just nice to think...lol :)
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 10:53 am (UTC)I couldn't wait to read this chapter and I just had to tell you it's fantastic.
My favourite lines are
'“Sammy,” he said, reverent, because this was Sam, and this wasn’t just sex.'
and
'“Make noise,” Sam said as he wrapped one big hand around Dean’s dick. “I like it when you do.”'
I'm looking forward to the next chapter but in many ways I just don't want this to end, it's just so good. Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 11:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 08:57 pm (UTC)“Make noise,” Sam said as he wrapped one big hand around Dean’s dick. “I like it when you do.” Oh well, yeah, who doesn't? ;D
"Rosie patted his hands where they were clenched white-knuckled on the cart handle, her big eyes too serious for a toddler." The juxtaposition of Dean with Rosie thinking of Sam as a little kid and thinking about Sam fucking him is both so wrong and delicious.
And this chapter was soooo hot -- from Sam's dirty talk on the phone to the actual deed. ;) Great pay off and tenderness too.
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 11:26 pm (UTC)I struggled with Dean's complicated feelings about being with Sam, because parenting Rosie would have to bring back memories of parenting Sam, and that would be .... well, complicated :) I'm glad that both the sense of wrong and delicious worked here, as it only can in fantasy. Oh, and Dean making noise? Hell yeah, who doesn't? ;)
no subject
Date: 2012-07-25 01:49 am (UTC)But what really gave it punch for me was seeing the insides of it. You really have layered the story up well, and the characters feel so IC, both to canon and this verse, that there's more going on than strictly what's on the page.
How to put this... both characters really got under my skin, here. Sam, Sam, Sammy. Seeing him with Dean, now, rough and possessive, and kind of feeling back, how he has seemed a little selfish, it makes this neat kind of sense. Like... he never wanted to be a hunter, but he was one. He never wanted the life on the road, but that was the life he had. He was a Winchester, with everything that goes along with it. And he tried really, really hard--almost to the exclusion of everything else--to have the kind of financially comfortable, normal life he'd dreamed of when he was stuck in cheap motels eating peanut butter and waiting for Dad. So he's at Stanford, and he's trying desperately, and not quite fitting in, but there's Jess. Jess who is similar to Dean in lots of ways, Jess who makes it so he can fit a little more comfortably. Jess whom he lies to and hides things from, because despite the name change (and I love that it was Wesson--he could pick any last name he wanted, but he picked a name just a shade different than the one he already had) he's STILL a Winchester. It's like, it's been there all along, under his skin, keeping him slightly separated from the rest of the pack, but with Dean there, he's himself again. Rough and demanding when he wants to be, physically intimidating when I bet before, he used his dimply charm to distract from the wide shoulders and giant hands.
And Dean, oh man. He's so damaged and insecure, both in-series and in this fic, but he hides it so well behind his big muscle car and his thick-soled boots and his layers of clothes, his beat-up macho leather jacket, his rough voice and his sarcasm, his "no chick-flick moments." But now, he's cast all that aside for the moment to have what he's always wanted, and the oart that starts with What if Sam only wanted the parts of Dean that everyone found girly just broke my heart.
So, the sex scenes. I looove how tactile they are, how sensual... it seems like they're always touching, making eye contact, saying each others's names. I love that kind of intimacy, the listening to the heartbeat, the hands tangled in the hair. I also love how they started out, making out like teenagers, the couch squeaking along the floor! Wonderful.
Okay, I must sound deranged, I really don't mean to leave comments this long, lol. I'm just really into this story. Will be reading the last part later!
no subject
Date: 2012-07-25 02:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-15 07:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-16 12:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-05-24 04:05 pm (UTC)You're definitely one of my favorite writers so I have friended you. Don't want to miss anything. :D
I've spotted a wee continuity problem and hope you won't be offended by me pointing it out:
He shuffled his bare feet, sure tell that he was nervous, off his game.
Dean pushed up into it, his boots sliding farther apart on the floor
yanked Dean’s pants down his hips and off his bare feet
Although how I noticed that in the midst of that remarkably HOT scene is a mystery! *fans self*
no subject
Date: 2013-05-28 03:02 am (UTC)Thanks so much for your lovely feedback - I'm finishing up this year's big bang, so it's nice to hear!
143 Alice Grim Ln 5
Date: 2013-09-15 11:21 am (UTC)Sam closed his eyes so he wouldn’t chicken out. “I won’t ever want you to,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” Except he wasn’t, not anymore.
Hot, hot, hot as hell sex.
Re: 143 Alice Grim Ln 5
Date: 2013-09-15 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-03-09 07:18 pm (UTC)But also yes: inferno levels of heat! I love bossy Sam having a dirty mouth! And Sam not being so experienced with gay sex but totally enthusiastic because it’s Dean. And Dean just being sex on a stick and totally getting off because it’s Sam. And having a praise kink too 🔥🔥🔥 loved all of it.
Seriously I’m still smiling tho and my cheeks are hurting!
no subject
Date: 2022-03-10 05:41 am (UTC)