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runedgirlTheir Bruises On The Inside
Genre: Wincest
Pairing: Sam/Dean (with Sam/Jess, Sam/OMC, Sam/OFC, Dean/Cassie, Dean/OMC, Dean/OFC)
Rating: NC17
Word count: 21,200
Summary: Sam and Dean through the eyes of the people they meet while Sam is at Stanford – strangers, friends, lovers – as they make their way back to each other. Outsider pov for most of the story.
Glenn is just about to go wake Rob and ask if he thinks they should call the police or ignore a romantic incident that’s none of their business when the man starts toward the house again, and this time he keeps walking.
It can’t be an hour later—darn puppies and their tiny bladders—when Glenn sleepily takes the puppy outside yet again. The door across the street opens and the man from last night comes out, their neighbor Sam beside him with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The man is strikingly handsome in the light from a streetlamp, white teeth flashing as he smiles. He looks happy, expression suffused with relief. He slaps Sam on the back and elbows him in the ribs as they share some quiet conversation. Sam is smiling too, shaking his head but radiating contentment as he elbows back, shifting his duffel.
It looks for all the world like the love triangle has been resolved in a way that Glenn never would have expected—he always assumed Sam was straight, for one thing. The two young men fall into step as they walk up the sidewalk, so close that their shoulders are brushing as they move in perfect unison.
Sam stops when they get to the black car—Glenn was right, it is an Impala—and runs his hand over her hood reverently. They’re too far away for Glenn to hear, but he says something to the other man and they both smile before Sam climbs into the passenger seat. The engine starts with a rumble, and Glenn watches as they drive by, too caught up in each other to notice him standing there in his bathrobe staring at them.
Sam and Jessica’s apartment goes up in flames a few days later, and the big black car and the mysterious young man drive up just as Glenn is calling the fire department. The man sprints up the walk so quickly it’s like he’s flying, and Glenn’s heart is in his throat as smoke billows from the second-story windows, the bright orange glow lighting up the sky. The man kicks the front door in like it’s nothing, his movements desperate, and plunges in heedless of the danger. Minutes later, he stumbles back out, half carrying, half dragging Sam with him. Sam’s crying, and Jessica’s not with them, and Glenn hears the sirens but can’t take his eyes off the two men leaning against the trunk of the Impala and watching the building burn.
The other man keeps his hands on Sam, comfort and support and reassurance, until the fire trucks have gone and the night is getting quiet again, the smell of smoke thick in the air. Sam finally breaks away and goes around to the trunk, lifts it to toss in something, and turns to the other man.
“We’ve got work to do,” Glenn hears him say, and the trunk slams shut.
He never sees Sam Winchester again, but when he and Rob tell the story, they always tell it as a mysterious love triangle with a tragic but romantic ending.
Picking up the phone to call Dean is one of the hardest things she’s ever done. If he doesn’t pick up, she won’t blame him, but the things that are happening in her mostly quiet town just don’t sit right. She’s not sure, even now, that she believes the things he told her that night—because she very much does not want to—but she also can’t come up with any normal explanation for what’s going on. Usually her brain wouldn’t jump to “If not normal, maybe paranormal,” but this feels anything but usual.
To his credit, he says he’ll come. To her surprise, he says he’s bringing his brother with him.
When they were together, Dean had made it clear that he didn’t expect Sam to ever “come back,” as though a person going to college created an impassable rift between them and their family. Cassie supposed she was lucky, always having her parents’ support in whatever she put her mind to doing. She could have moved to the city after she graduated, tried for a job in a big-time paper or a news station, and they’d have cheered her on and welcomed her back for visits on holidays or whenever she wanted. Dean, though, had been bitter about his brother going to California—and certain a door had closed that wouldn’t reopen.
The old photos of Sam that Dean had in his wallet did not do Sam justice, is the first thing she thinks when they get out of the car. The Impala is familiar, and she smiles even through her grief, remembering a few times they tumbled into its roomy back seat, stars overhead when she threw her head back and looked out the window as he made her scream.
Things are still complicated between them, but then again, there was always a confusing mix of feelings when they were together. The physical attraction created sparks, but so did the tension between two people who each usually thought they were right and weren’t afraid to say so. Cassie had tried to avoid that since, dating guys who were more willing to just go along with her, even if that also meant there were fewer sparks. She’d broken it off with the last guy a few months ago, throwing herself into work—and now, all she can think about is her dad and how to stop this.
Dean’s prickly with her too. Sympathetic about her dad, of course, but there’s still anger underneath, and she guesses she doesn’t blame him. Sam looks from one of them to the other like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, and she remembers Dean saying his brother was prelaw. His brow furrows as he watches them volley back and forth, both getting their backs up too quickly. Sam smirks and cocks an eyebrow at Dean, and she sees Dean interpret it easily, no words needed between them. Whatever rift there was between them, it seems to have eased after all. She’s glad; the saddest she ever saw Dean was when he used to think of Sam.
Cassie isn’t surprised when Dean comes to see her alone the next day, and she’s not surprised when the sparks ignite between them and they end up in her bed even though she swore she wouldn’t do that. She can’t even regret it, it’s too good… and he knew her dad, and that means everything right now. It’s not enough to base a long-term relationship on, but it feels good to know he remembers her Dad’s chili recipe and the way he laughed.
“So, how did Sam end up back on the road with you?” she asks in the quiet hours of the morning, before she has to deal with the reality of what they’re up against and the knowledge that she hurt Dean when she didn’t believe him.
Dean sighs. “Not the way I would’ve liked,” he says, sounding a lot sadder than she’d have expected. It was what he wanted, of that she has no doubt.
“Something… related to what you do?”
It’s a hunch, but her hunches are usually good.
He confirms it with a nod and another sigh. “His girlfriend, who he lived with… she’s gone.”
Shit. This stuff he’s dealing with, it’s real—and it’s immediate. In his life, and, she fears, in hers too. “Dead? Killed?”
“Yeah. Sammy took it pretty hard. I mean, obviously. And I wanted him back in the family—in the family business—but not like this. Not heartbroken and hell-bent on revenge. That’s not Sam. He’s just… I hate how much he’s hurting.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says. She lays her head on his bare chest and hears him sigh again. Sometimes you should be careful what you wish for, she thinks.
When Sam and Dean have both risked their lives to save her and her mom, Dean kisses her goodbye like they never got to do the first time, and Sam watches from the car a few yards away, like he always seems to. No wonder Dean was so lost without his brother, she thinks—the tether between them is almost palpable. They rotate within each other’s orbit, never losing awareness of the other. Now that they’re back together again, Cassie thinks anyone trying to get between them would be hopelessly entangled.
He says they still have hope, wants to think they could be something to each other, and she’d be lying if she said a part of her didn’t want that. If anything, Dean is more irresistible than ever, his shoulders broader and more squared in that jacket, no longer weighed down by such terrible longing. He wants her to believe he wants her, but it feels like he’s got what he wants most in the passenger seat beside him.
Sam waves to her as they drive away, and she doesn’t think she’ll see the Winchesters again. She’s mostly okay with that, though. She’s going to be busy. She’s got a story to write.
He’s been working at the Starstruck Motel for six months, and no one has figured it out yet. He wants to do it all the time, make it a regular thing, but that’s the way to get caught. Once a month at the most, that’s all he allows himself. Only when a guest really catches his attention, some special something that he just has to know more about, see more of. Most of the time it’s harmless, he tells himself. A glimpse of someone changing, if he’s lucky. A couple who want to do it with the lights on, if he’s extra lucky. It only works when he’s the one to check them in, make sure they’re in the right room—and when room 9 next door is empty.
“I’ve got room 10 open,” Bennett tells the two tall young men who are standing at the counter. His heart starts pounding as soon as he says it, afraid they’ll say “No, we’d rather have room 11,” or “I’m superstitious about the number ten,” or something weird like that.
“Sure,” the shorter one says. He’s over six foot, so short isn’t the right word, but the other one is even taller, gotta be pushing 6’5”. They’re preternaturally handsome, both of them, the tall guy’s shaggy, silky-looking hair and upturned nose and the shorter guy’s bottle-green eyes with lashes that look mascara-coated, they’re so thick and long.
“Need help with your bags, Mr. Jackson?”
“Nope, travelin’ light,” Mr. Jackson says, and takes the key. His companion nods politely, and Bennett relaxes a little when the door closes behind them.
Now he just has to wait until his shift is over, though he’s itching to leave, at least take a quick peek and see what these two look like without their jackets on. This is the most challenging part of the scheme he’s got going, and he thinks a little smugly that that’s why so many other people get caught. They don’t have the stamina to wait once the opportunity is right there, so close…
“I said, did you get that refund straightened out?”
Shit, it’s his boss. Bennett forces the other thoughts out of his head—there won’t be any more opportunities if he gets himself fired. “Yessir, and I’m working on the electric problem in room 19 too.”
“Fine,” Charles says, though he gives Bennett a quizzical look, and that is not something Bennett needs. Suspicion is his enemy.
“Made a new pot of coffee, if you need a refill,” he offers, and that seems to do the trick. Charles turns away smiling, and Bennett thinks about all those times he’s heard, “We never suspected a thing, he was always so polite and helpful” on the news. Of course, those people have done something horrible, something hurtful. Bennett’s just looking. No harm in that, right?
The new guests don’t stay in the room long, anyway. He sees them through the front windows as they get into a big black vintage car of some kind and drive away. By the time they come back, Bennett’s shift is just about over and Room 9 is still empty, and he thanks his lucky stars for the perfect timing. If he was really doing something wrong, he wouldn’t have such good luck, right?
It’s hard to hang back and take his time when Anita arrives for her shift at the desk, force himself to make small talk and catch her up on who checked in and who checked out. Bennett’s stomach has butterflies as he holds his body immobile by force of will so Anita doesn’t see how anxious he is to get the hell out of there.
“Oh, and my roommate made some chocolate chip cookies,” he says. “They’re in the back office, if you get hungry. She thinks she’s a better baker than she is, but they’re not bad.”
“Aww, thanks, Bennie. Thank your roomie too; I’m starving.”
Finally—finally—he thinks it’s safe to head out. He counts to keep his steps from getting too hurried, taking his time, nothing to see here. He closes the door of room 9 behind him and lets out a sigh of relief, kicking off his sneakers and dropping to his knees to push the bureau out of the way. It slides smoothly, hasn’t made a sound since he put the gliders underneath, just in case someone in the next room might hear something strange and decide to investigate. Still, he pauses after the carefully carved opening is exposed, waiting a moment before turning on the tiny mic. He added that as soon as he could, because the words—and the sounds, god, the sounds—make him feel like he really is part of whatever’s happening. The special lens went in back in March, once he found the website that catered to his special interests, and now he can see a good part of the room, clear as day. It’s like watching a movie, his own private peep show.
Bennett’s heart is hammering in his chest as that dirtybadwrong feeling sweeps over him and he settles in place, pulling a cushion from the chair onto the floor to get comfortable.
“You want first shower?” the taller man asks. They’re both out of their jackets, in jeans and flannel shirts and bare feet, boots near the door.
Score, Bennett thinks, because they’re even more gorgeous than he thought when he saw them in the office. Tall and lean—and muscular, he can tell even with those ugly flannels on.
“No, go ahead, I’m beat. I need a nap even more than I need a shower.”
“I told you I’d drive part of the way, but you were all, ‘No, I got this, Sammy.’”
Sammy. The shaggy-haired one.
“We’re here in one piece, aren’t we?”
“I don’t know, are we? Are we gonna talk about this at all, Dean?”
Dean? That was not what his credit card said. Huh. Nickname, maybe. Or credit card scam. Secret’s safe with me, Bennett thinks, and likes them even more.
“Oh god,” Dean complains, lying down on the bed, arm over his face to block out both the light and the other guy.
“I know, I know, no chick-flick moments, whatever. But you had feelings for her, and maybe you still do.”
Ohhh, Bennett thinks, grinning. This is getting interesting. He has good instincts about these things, and there was something between these two that told him there’d be drama. And sparks.
Dean removes his arm from his face and props himself up on his elbows. “Seriously? Whaddya want me to say, Sam? Yeah, I had feelings for her. It didn’t work out. Case closed.”
“Things are different now, though—she knows the truth about what we do. Maybe—”
Dean sits up, flashing an angry look at his companion. “I told you in the car, no. That’s not what I think about when I think about my future. It wouldn’t work, Sam. This is my life, and I’m good with that. Unlike some people.”
Sam takes it like the barb it was clearly meant to be. “Just say what you wanna say.”
“Just did,” Dean retorts, glaring.
“Fine, I’ll take first shower,” Sam says after a pause. He doesn’t sound too happy about it.
Bennett’s not too happy either. He’s treated to the sight of Sam in a towel and six-pack abs and muscled thighs and pecs that are just begging to be licked, but it’s only a glimpse and then the lights go out. Dean has been snoring on the other bed, fully clothed, for a half hour already.
He’s not usually so wrong about people; he was certain these two were gonna fuck like bunnies, maybe even get kinky. And now he’s wasted room 10 on two dudes who look more like they wanna kill each other than screw.
He never expected to see Sam and Dean again, but months later, here they are, the same big black car and the same good looks that don’t belong around these parts.
Bennett’s pulling out the key for room 16 when he glances at them again. Dean’s leaning over the counter, scribbling a signature on the credit card receipt. Sam’s standing a few feet behind, but the way he’s looking at the other man is so full of affection and… and longing that it nearly takes Bennett’s breath away. He looks down again, moves to the next cubby.
“Here you go, room 10.”
By the time his shift’s over and Bennett slides the bureau aside and settles in, Sam and Dean are sitting at the small table. Between them are a mostly eaten burger, leftovers from the crappy salad special from the diner next door, and a bag of fries. They’re drinking beers, barefoot and in only tee shirts and jeans, so at least Bennett’s got something nice to look at.
“Shut up,” Sam says, but he’s smiling.
“I’m just sayin’, Sarah was a nice girl. All artsy, totally your type. And she was into you, man, you could tell. She was lookin’ at you and wondering if you know what to do with all that…” He waves a hand, encompassing all of Sam, then pointedly gesturing at his crotch. “All of that.”
“Dean,” Sam complains, and he’s blushing now in addition to smiling, and damn, it’s a good look on him.
“Look, I want you to be happy, but you’re goddamn stubborn about it.”
Sam snorts. “I said the same thing to you after Cassie.”
Dean shakes his head dismissively and takes a pull of his beer.
“Stop being so obsessed with getting me laid. It’s getting creepy.”
Dean’s eyebrows go up. “Excuse me for trying to make my little brother’s life a little easier.”
Wait, brothers? Bennett is not sure he’s kinky enough for that. Then again, these two are the best-looking guys he’s ever seen.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, finishing off the fries and beers.
“How many times did things like the shtriga happen that you never told me about?” Sam asks, and Bennett has no idea what Sam is asking.
“That was the only shtriga.”
“You know what I mean. Times Dad asked you to do something you never should’ve had to—for me—and you paid the price for it.”
“I should’ve paid the price. I almost got you killed!” Dean’s not having it, whatever Sam is talking about.
“You were a kid, Dean! A little kid. Christ, you carried me out of the fire, you gave me the last bit of Lucky Charms, you carried a rifle around to protect me that was almost as big as you.”
Dean just shakes his head, like Sam has it wrong. Maybe he does.
“I just… I never realized, is all.”
“Just doin’ my job,” Dean says. He gets up from the table and sits on the bed, taking a beer with him.
Sam goes to sit across from him on the other bed. Puts his elbows on his knees. “I’m trying to tell you I appreciate it,” he says, voice soft. “And I know you think I’m gonna take off the second we find the thing that killed Mom, but Dean, it doesn’t have to be like it was before, even if I do go back to school. I was never trying to get away from you.”
That must be a pretty big admission; Dean’s head snaps up, and his shoulders tighten.
“I don’t know what’s gonna happen, honestly. I don’t know if I’ll wanna go back to school, now that we really know some of what’s out there. I do know I don’t want to pull anyone else into this, though. I got Jessica killed, Dean. I—”
“Hey, you couldn’t control that any more than Dad could control what happened to Mom. C’mon,” Dean reassures him, and his hands twitch like he wants to reach out.
“All I’m saying is that there’s nobody else I can— You’re the only one who’s ever gonna get it, Dean, you know? I can’t even tell anyone the truth about who I am.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean agrees, and he puts his beer down. “I found that out the hard way. But that’s not on you, Sam. None of it is on you.”
The men sit in silence for a few minutes, both looking lost in thought and distressed. Then Dean stands and scrubs his hand through his hair.
“Guess I’ll take a shower,” he says, and he starts to walk toward the bathroom. Sam reaches out and grabs his wrist, standing too. They’re face to face now, and Bennett’s heart rate kicks up with some renewed hope. Maybe they’re not brothers after all.
“You ever think about it?” Sam asks, eyes searching Dean’s.
Dean doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know what Sam is talking about, just nods. “’Course I do.”
“You still sure it was a mistake, after everything that’s happened? When we’re about to go after the thing that killed Mom and don’t know if either of us—or Dad—will come out the other side in one piece?”
Dean averts his eyes. Bennett can tell by the tension in his shoulders that it’s a loaded question, and he can guess what “it” might have been. Especially if they are brothers. In his head, he whispers encouragement. Come on, Dean, can’t you see Sam wants it? Give him what he wants. Come on.
“Dean,” Sam says, still holding him by one wrist. “There’s nobody else. There’s never gonna be anybody else—not who really knows me. Not who I know the way I know you.”
“Sam,” Dean answers, anguished. “We can’t. We shouldn’t. You don’t really want this. You’ll find another girl, settle down…”
Sam interrupts, yanking Dean closer. He unbalances, caught off guard, and nearly falls, crashing into Sam and then trying to pull away. Sam doesn’t let him get far, only inches between them, and Dean hasn’t tried to break the hold Sam has on his wrist.
“Can you really say you don’t want this? Because I want it, Dean. I want you. I don’t want Sarah, and you’re telling me you don’t want Cassie, and there’s not gonna be anyone else I want, either. I’ve been thinking about this ever since that night, even before everything went down.”
“You have not,” Dean insists, and damn, he’s a stubborn bastard. Sam is making a good case, heartfelt, his eyes brimming with tears and his lower lip wobbling while he pleads with Dean, and who the hell could resist that? “You had Jess, Sam. You were out, you were gonna be a lawyer with a white picket fence and a Subaru.”
Dean’s eyes are wide, like he’s scared—like he’s terrified—as he keeps talking. “And I know I gave you shit about it, but I want you to be happy, Sammy.”
Bennett actually tears up a little. Dean is so earnest, and this conversation seems so painful for both of them.
“I know you do,” Sam answers, and the corner of his mouth pulls up, an almost imperceptible start of a smile. “So listen to me, okay? Listen to me when I tell you what makes me happy.”
Dean doesn’t reply for a minute, searching Sam’s face like he’s sure the truth will be there and will contradict Sam’s words. Then he sighs. “Okay.”
“Good,” Sam says, and then he pulls Dean up against him again, more gently this time, and kisses him.
Bennett had just about given up on any action actually happening between these two, so he gasps more loudly than he should have, but Sam and Dean are way too caught up in each other to notice.
Sam’s arms are wrapped tightly around Dean, not allowing any space between them, though it’s clear that Dean’s not trying to create any. Dean’s shorter, so he’s stretching up into the kiss, but he’s giving as good as he’s getting, one hand on the back of Sam’s head, tangled in his long hair and keeping Sam’s mouth right there.
Fuck, they are both so damn hot.
Dean does pull away after a few minutes. He cups Sam’s cheek and holds his face there, doing that intense searching of Sam’s face that Bennett is realizing must be a common thing. “You’re sure, Sammy? Really sure?”
Sam rolls his eyes, then grabs Dean by the hips and tugs him up snug against Sam’s own. “You feel that? Does that feel like an ambivalent erection to you?”
One of Sam’s hands slides lower on Dean’s back, over the curve of his ass, then grabs one cheek and pulls him up even tighter.
“That feel like a hand that can’t wait to get at this fine ass without your jeans in the way?”
“Jesus, Sam,” Dean swears, and dives back in to the kissing.
Bennett presses a hand to the bulge in his own jeans. Dirty talk gets him every time, and oh fuck, he hit the jackpot with these two.
Sam walks them backward to one of the beds and lets himself fall when he hits it, pulling Dean down with him. They scramble for a position that works, ending up with Sam on the bottom and Dean half on top of him, still kissing like they want to devour each other alive. It gives Bennett a great view of Dean’s ass, which Sam was correct about. Sam has both big hands on it now, fingers digging in and pressing Dean down into his own hips as he thrusts up.
They hump each other like that for a while, finding a rhythm and making out like horny teenagers. Finally Dean draws back and gets up on his knees, turning enough that Bennett can see the obvious tent in his jeans. Christ, he looks wrecked, mouth red and swollen, hair standing up in haphazard spikes, eyes dark with desire.
Sam is looking up at him with the same awe Bennett’s feeling, like Dean’s some kind of sex god that Sam can’t wait to ravage, and same, Sam, same.
“Can we get some clothes outta the way?” Dean says it cheeky, casual-like, but there’s uncertainty on his face as he waits for Sam’s answer.
“Hell, yes,” Sam answers, sitting up to strip off his own shirt.
Dean does the same, and god, they are beautiful, both of them lean with muscle, dusky nipples peaked already from their chests rubbing against each other. Dean’s got some kind of necklace on, and it accentuates the pink of his nipples, gives him just the slightest edge of feminine to go along with those heavy-lashed eyes.
They pause and stare at each other for a few long beats, then Sam’s hands go to his own jeans, slowly unbuckling the leather belt and popping the snap.
Dean licks his lips, mirroring the motion. His belt hangs free as he unbuckles and unsnaps, tugging the fly down just a little. Sam is teasing, rubbing over the bulge of his own dick in his jeans instead of going for his zipper, and Dean’s fingers tremble. He follows Sam’s lead, sliding his hand down his bare stomach and past the open vee of his jeans, barely nudging the base of his cock, probably, but even that touch makes him wince like it’s too much.
Sam looks like sin personified, his big, strong body splayed out on the bed, lips pink and licked wet, fingers stroking up and down his trapped erection, his hips shifting restlessly as he gives a little moan, lets Dean know how good he’s feeling.
It’s like a game of chicken, who will break first, and Bennett bites his lip, wondering if it’s gonna be him.
It’s not. It’s Sam. Dean lets out a half moan, half sigh, and that breaks Sam’s resolve. He sits up and pulls Dean down beside him, switching their positions and hovering over him while he finishes the job Dean started, yanking down his zipper and then tugging his jeans off over his hips. Dean lifts up to let him, leaving him in black boxer briefs that aren’t leaving much to the imagination.
“You too,” Dean says, voice like gravel. “C’mon, Sammy.”
Sam doesn’t hesitate, slipping his own jeans off and kicking them aside, and Bennett is treated to a breathtaking view of Sam’s backside—pert little ass in tight boxer briefs, and broad, broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist. Sam could take me apart before I knew what hit me, Bennett thinks, and the idea makes his dick blurt out a little more slick. He hasn’t even touched himself, is afraid he’ll go off just like that if he does.
“C’mon, baby brother,” Dean says, and fuck fuck fuck, they are brothers, and Bennett should care, maybe, but somehow at this point it only makes this whole thing hotter.
Sam thinks so too; he growls, fucking growls, and crawls over Dean, up on hands and knees as he leans down and brings their mouths together again, Dean craning his neck to kiss Sam harder. In seconds, they’re pressed together from lips to toes, long legs entangled as they make out, Sam’s hands cradling Dean’s face and Dean’s hands clutching at Sam’s back as they roll on the bed, springs creaking and headboard thumping.
Bennett allows himself a muffled groan, because it’s clear these two are not gonna hear him.
It’s Sam again who takes it up another notch, breaking their kiss to rear up on his knees and then lean back down, kissing over Dean’s chest this time, while Dean’s hands grab at his hair. Their groans turn into gasps when Sam licks a nipple, Dean’s fingers reflexively pulling Sam’s hair, and that makes Sam even more eager. He licks and sucks at one side while his hand finds the other and strokes and tugs at it, and Dean whines, twisting beneath Sam, his hips jumping.
“Oh god, oh fuck,” he swears. Sam’s relentless, doesn’t let up for long minutes even when Dean starts pleading with him, nonsense and “Don’t stop” and “Yes, god, please, Sammy, please” until Sam leaves off and kisses down his brother’s midline, nipping at his navel and the trail of hair below.
Bennett has a clear view of Dean’s spit-slicked chest, his nipples red and sore, standing up stiff and eager, and it’s fucking hot as hell.
Sam kisses over the obscene bulge in Dean’s shorts, then sticks out his tongue and licks, up and down the line of his hard dick, getting the cotton wet, pressing Dean to the mattress with big hands on his bare thighs.
“Pleeeeease, god,” Dean whines again, frantic, so turned on he’s forgotten all about any indecision.
“Yeah?” Sam teases, still licking and nibbling at his trapped erection. Dean’s thighs are shaking now. “You want my hand—or my mouth?”
“Oh fuckfuckfuck Sam I don’t care I don’t fucking care, please, I’m gonna, I can’t—”
He stops talking then, because Sam pulls him out and goes down on him without any more teasing, swallowing as deep as he can and wrapping his fist around the rest of his brother’s cock. Dean’s eyes slam shut, and his mouth opens on a silent scream as Sam works him fast and hard, and then his whole body seizes in an orgasm that looks like it’s gonna give him a heart attack.
Bennett comes close to climaxing too, but he manages to hold himself back because damn does he ever want to see Sam get off, and he’s afraid he’ll miss it.
Sam takes it like a pro, sucking until Dean’s trembling all over and wincing away, oversensitive. Then he lets go and grabs for Dean’s hand. Puts it on his own dick. He shoves his shorts down low on his hips and urges Dean to take him in hand. Bennett watches Sam’s abs clench and his hips jump when Dean touches him.
“Fuck, Sam,” Dean says, eyes wide and green-black. He looks awed by his brother, disbelieving.
“Please,” Sam says, low, his turn to beg.
That unlocks something in Dean; he pushes Sam down, reverses their positions, and bends to kiss Sam, then bites at his neck and shoulder before moving lower. He doesn’t spend nearly as much time sucking Sam’s nipples as Sam did with him, the time for teasing past, but he does grip Sam’s dick and get it out of the way while he licks his heavy balls, pushing Sam’s legs apart so he can really get at him.
That makes Sam go wild, shouting and cursing in between saying his brother’s name. Dean fists his big—oh god, is it ever big—dick while he sucks and rolls his balls, slick oozing from the head and wetting Dean’s fingers as they slide up and down and up and down. Sam is practically sobbing by the time Dean puts his mouth on Sam’s cock, forcing as much as he can down his throat and circling the rest with his slippery hand.
Sam stares down at him, wide eyed and openmouthed at the sight of his brother bobbing up and down on his dick, and then he shouts out his climax, hips pumping, forcing his cock even farther down his brother’s throat. Dean takes it every bit as well as Sam had, and when he pulls off, Sam’s come is dribbling down his chin.
That’s it, that’s all she wrote. Bennett bites his own fist as the pleasure rockets through him, that image seared into his mind. He tries to be quiet, even though he doesn’t think he’s at risk from the brothers who only have eyes and ears for each other.
When he can see again and his breathing isn’t so harsh, he takes another peek through the hole.
Sam and Dean are lying side by side, naked and gorgeous and still catching their breath too.
“We’re gonna get it,” Sam says. “We’re gonna find it, and we’re gonna take it out. And we’re gonna do it together.”
Dean nods and doesn’t say anything.
Sam props himself up on one elbow and looks at his brother. “And whatever comes after that?” he continues, putting one hand on Dean’s chest, over his heart. “We’ll do that together too.”
Dean lays his hand over Sam’s and smiles.
Part Five
Genre: Wincest
Pairing: Sam/Dean (with Sam/Jess, Sam/OMC, Sam/OFC, Dean/Cassie, Dean/OMC, Dean/OFC)
Rating: NC17
Word count: 21,200
Summary: Sam and Dean through the eyes of the people they meet while Sam is at Stanford – strangers, friends, lovers – as they make their way back to each other. Outsider pov for most of the story.
Glenn is just about to go wake Rob and ask if he thinks they should call the police or ignore a romantic incident that’s none of their business when the man starts toward the house again, and this time he keeps walking.
It can’t be an hour later—darn puppies and their tiny bladders—when Glenn sleepily takes the puppy outside yet again. The door across the street opens and the man from last night comes out, their neighbor Sam beside him with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The man is strikingly handsome in the light from a streetlamp, white teeth flashing as he smiles. He looks happy, expression suffused with relief. He slaps Sam on the back and elbows him in the ribs as they share some quiet conversation. Sam is smiling too, shaking his head but radiating contentment as he elbows back, shifting his duffel.
It looks for all the world like the love triangle has been resolved in a way that Glenn never would have expected—he always assumed Sam was straight, for one thing. The two young men fall into step as they walk up the sidewalk, so close that their shoulders are brushing as they move in perfect unison.
Sam stops when they get to the black car—Glenn was right, it is an Impala—and runs his hand over her hood reverently. They’re too far away for Glenn to hear, but he says something to the other man and they both smile before Sam climbs into the passenger seat. The engine starts with a rumble, and Glenn watches as they drive by, too caught up in each other to notice him standing there in his bathrobe staring at them.
Sam and Jessica’s apartment goes up in flames a few days later, and the big black car and the mysterious young man drive up just as Glenn is calling the fire department. The man sprints up the walk so quickly it’s like he’s flying, and Glenn’s heart is in his throat as smoke billows from the second-story windows, the bright orange glow lighting up the sky. The man kicks the front door in like it’s nothing, his movements desperate, and plunges in heedless of the danger. Minutes later, he stumbles back out, half carrying, half dragging Sam with him. Sam’s crying, and Jessica’s not with them, and Glenn hears the sirens but can’t take his eyes off the two men leaning against the trunk of the Impala and watching the building burn.
The other man keeps his hands on Sam, comfort and support and reassurance, until the fire trucks have gone and the night is getting quiet again, the smell of smoke thick in the air. Sam finally breaks away and goes around to the trunk, lifts it to toss in something, and turns to the other man.
“We’ve got work to do,” Glenn hears him say, and the trunk slams shut.
He never sees Sam Winchester again, but when he and Rob tell the story, they always tell it as a mysterious love triangle with a tragic but romantic ending.
Picking up the phone to call Dean is one of the hardest things she’s ever done. If he doesn’t pick up, she won’t blame him, but the things that are happening in her mostly quiet town just don’t sit right. She’s not sure, even now, that she believes the things he told her that night—because she very much does not want to—but she also can’t come up with any normal explanation for what’s going on. Usually her brain wouldn’t jump to “If not normal, maybe paranormal,” but this feels anything but usual.
To his credit, he says he’ll come. To her surprise, he says he’s bringing his brother with him.
When they were together, Dean had made it clear that he didn’t expect Sam to ever “come back,” as though a person going to college created an impassable rift between them and their family. Cassie supposed she was lucky, always having her parents’ support in whatever she put her mind to doing. She could have moved to the city after she graduated, tried for a job in a big-time paper or a news station, and they’d have cheered her on and welcomed her back for visits on holidays or whenever she wanted. Dean, though, had been bitter about his brother going to California—and certain a door had closed that wouldn’t reopen.
The old photos of Sam that Dean had in his wallet did not do Sam justice, is the first thing she thinks when they get out of the car. The Impala is familiar, and she smiles even through her grief, remembering a few times they tumbled into its roomy back seat, stars overhead when she threw her head back and looked out the window as he made her scream.
Things are still complicated between them, but then again, there was always a confusing mix of feelings when they were together. The physical attraction created sparks, but so did the tension between two people who each usually thought they were right and weren’t afraid to say so. Cassie had tried to avoid that since, dating guys who were more willing to just go along with her, even if that also meant there were fewer sparks. She’d broken it off with the last guy a few months ago, throwing herself into work—and now, all she can think about is her dad and how to stop this.
Dean’s prickly with her too. Sympathetic about her dad, of course, but there’s still anger underneath, and she guesses she doesn’t blame him. Sam looks from one of them to the other like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, and she remembers Dean saying his brother was prelaw. His brow furrows as he watches them volley back and forth, both getting their backs up too quickly. Sam smirks and cocks an eyebrow at Dean, and she sees Dean interpret it easily, no words needed between them. Whatever rift there was between them, it seems to have eased after all. She’s glad; the saddest she ever saw Dean was when he used to think of Sam.
Cassie isn’t surprised when Dean comes to see her alone the next day, and she’s not surprised when the sparks ignite between them and they end up in her bed even though she swore she wouldn’t do that. She can’t even regret it, it’s too good… and he knew her dad, and that means everything right now. It’s not enough to base a long-term relationship on, but it feels good to know he remembers her Dad’s chili recipe and the way he laughed.
“So, how did Sam end up back on the road with you?” she asks in the quiet hours of the morning, before she has to deal with the reality of what they’re up against and the knowledge that she hurt Dean when she didn’t believe him.
Dean sighs. “Not the way I would’ve liked,” he says, sounding a lot sadder than she’d have expected. It was what he wanted, of that she has no doubt.
“Something… related to what you do?”
It’s a hunch, but her hunches are usually good.
He confirms it with a nod and another sigh. “His girlfriend, who he lived with… she’s gone.”
Shit. This stuff he’s dealing with, it’s real—and it’s immediate. In his life, and, she fears, in hers too. “Dead? Killed?”
“Yeah. Sammy took it pretty hard. I mean, obviously. And I wanted him back in the family—in the family business—but not like this. Not heartbroken and hell-bent on revenge. That’s not Sam. He’s just… I hate how much he’s hurting.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says. She lays her head on his bare chest and hears him sigh again. Sometimes you should be careful what you wish for, she thinks.
When Sam and Dean have both risked their lives to save her and her mom, Dean kisses her goodbye like they never got to do the first time, and Sam watches from the car a few yards away, like he always seems to. No wonder Dean was so lost without his brother, she thinks—the tether between them is almost palpable. They rotate within each other’s orbit, never losing awareness of the other. Now that they’re back together again, Cassie thinks anyone trying to get between them would be hopelessly entangled.
He says they still have hope, wants to think they could be something to each other, and she’d be lying if she said a part of her didn’t want that. If anything, Dean is more irresistible than ever, his shoulders broader and more squared in that jacket, no longer weighed down by such terrible longing. He wants her to believe he wants her, but it feels like he’s got what he wants most in the passenger seat beside him.
Sam waves to her as they drive away, and she doesn’t think she’ll see the Winchesters again. She’s mostly okay with that, though. She’s going to be busy. She’s got a story to write.
He’s been working at the Starstruck Motel for six months, and no one has figured it out yet. He wants to do it all the time, make it a regular thing, but that’s the way to get caught. Once a month at the most, that’s all he allows himself. Only when a guest really catches his attention, some special something that he just has to know more about, see more of. Most of the time it’s harmless, he tells himself. A glimpse of someone changing, if he’s lucky. A couple who want to do it with the lights on, if he’s extra lucky. It only works when he’s the one to check them in, make sure they’re in the right room—and when room 9 next door is empty.
“I’ve got room 10 open,” Bennett tells the two tall young men who are standing at the counter. His heart starts pounding as soon as he says it, afraid they’ll say “No, we’d rather have room 11,” or “I’m superstitious about the number ten,” or something weird like that.
“Sure,” the shorter one says. He’s over six foot, so short isn’t the right word, but the other one is even taller, gotta be pushing 6’5”. They’re preternaturally handsome, both of them, the tall guy’s shaggy, silky-looking hair and upturned nose and the shorter guy’s bottle-green eyes with lashes that look mascara-coated, they’re so thick and long.
“Need help with your bags, Mr. Jackson?”
“Nope, travelin’ light,” Mr. Jackson says, and takes the key. His companion nods politely, and Bennett relaxes a little when the door closes behind them.
Now he just has to wait until his shift is over, though he’s itching to leave, at least take a quick peek and see what these two look like without their jackets on. This is the most challenging part of the scheme he’s got going, and he thinks a little smugly that that’s why so many other people get caught. They don’t have the stamina to wait once the opportunity is right there, so close…
“I said, did you get that refund straightened out?”
Shit, it’s his boss. Bennett forces the other thoughts out of his head—there won’t be any more opportunities if he gets himself fired. “Yessir, and I’m working on the electric problem in room 19 too.”
“Fine,” Charles says, though he gives Bennett a quizzical look, and that is not something Bennett needs. Suspicion is his enemy.
“Made a new pot of coffee, if you need a refill,” he offers, and that seems to do the trick. Charles turns away smiling, and Bennett thinks about all those times he’s heard, “We never suspected a thing, he was always so polite and helpful” on the news. Of course, those people have done something horrible, something hurtful. Bennett’s just looking. No harm in that, right?
The new guests don’t stay in the room long, anyway. He sees them through the front windows as they get into a big black vintage car of some kind and drive away. By the time they come back, Bennett’s shift is just about over and Room 9 is still empty, and he thanks his lucky stars for the perfect timing. If he was really doing something wrong, he wouldn’t have such good luck, right?
It’s hard to hang back and take his time when Anita arrives for her shift at the desk, force himself to make small talk and catch her up on who checked in and who checked out. Bennett’s stomach has butterflies as he holds his body immobile by force of will so Anita doesn’t see how anxious he is to get the hell out of there.
“Oh, and my roommate made some chocolate chip cookies,” he says. “They’re in the back office, if you get hungry. She thinks she’s a better baker than she is, but they’re not bad.”
“Aww, thanks, Bennie. Thank your roomie too; I’m starving.”
Finally—finally—he thinks it’s safe to head out. He counts to keep his steps from getting too hurried, taking his time, nothing to see here. He closes the door of room 9 behind him and lets out a sigh of relief, kicking off his sneakers and dropping to his knees to push the bureau out of the way. It slides smoothly, hasn’t made a sound since he put the gliders underneath, just in case someone in the next room might hear something strange and decide to investigate. Still, he pauses after the carefully carved opening is exposed, waiting a moment before turning on the tiny mic. He added that as soon as he could, because the words—and the sounds, god, the sounds—make him feel like he really is part of whatever’s happening. The special lens went in back in March, once he found the website that catered to his special interests, and now he can see a good part of the room, clear as day. It’s like watching a movie, his own private peep show.
Bennett’s heart is hammering in his chest as that dirtybadwrong feeling sweeps over him and he settles in place, pulling a cushion from the chair onto the floor to get comfortable.
“You want first shower?” the taller man asks. They’re both out of their jackets, in jeans and flannel shirts and bare feet, boots near the door.
Score, Bennett thinks, because they’re even more gorgeous than he thought when he saw them in the office. Tall and lean—and muscular, he can tell even with those ugly flannels on.
“No, go ahead, I’m beat. I need a nap even more than I need a shower.”
“I told you I’d drive part of the way, but you were all, ‘No, I got this, Sammy.’”
Sammy. The shaggy-haired one.
“We’re here in one piece, aren’t we?”
“I don’t know, are we? Are we gonna talk about this at all, Dean?”
Dean? That was not what his credit card said. Huh. Nickname, maybe. Or credit card scam. Secret’s safe with me, Bennett thinks, and likes them even more.
“Oh god,” Dean complains, lying down on the bed, arm over his face to block out both the light and the other guy.
“I know, I know, no chick-flick moments, whatever. But you had feelings for her, and maybe you still do.”
Ohhh, Bennett thinks, grinning. This is getting interesting. He has good instincts about these things, and there was something between these two that told him there’d be drama. And sparks.
Dean removes his arm from his face and props himself up on his elbows. “Seriously? Whaddya want me to say, Sam? Yeah, I had feelings for her. It didn’t work out. Case closed.”
“Things are different now, though—she knows the truth about what we do. Maybe—”
Dean sits up, flashing an angry look at his companion. “I told you in the car, no. That’s not what I think about when I think about my future. It wouldn’t work, Sam. This is my life, and I’m good with that. Unlike some people.”
Sam takes it like the barb it was clearly meant to be. “Just say what you wanna say.”
“Just did,” Dean retorts, glaring.
“Fine, I’ll take first shower,” Sam says after a pause. He doesn’t sound too happy about it.
Bennett’s not too happy either. He’s treated to the sight of Sam in a towel and six-pack abs and muscled thighs and pecs that are just begging to be licked, but it’s only a glimpse and then the lights go out. Dean has been snoring on the other bed, fully clothed, for a half hour already.
He’s not usually so wrong about people; he was certain these two were gonna fuck like bunnies, maybe even get kinky. And now he’s wasted room 10 on two dudes who look more like they wanna kill each other than screw.
He never expected to see Sam and Dean again, but months later, here they are, the same big black car and the same good looks that don’t belong around these parts.
Bennett’s pulling out the key for room 16 when he glances at them again. Dean’s leaning over the counter, scribbling a signature on the credit card receipt. Sam’s standing a few feet behind, but the way he’s looking at the other man is so full of affection and… and longing that it nearly takes Bennett’s breath away. He looks down again, moves to the next cubby.
“Here you go, room 10.”
By the time his shift’s over and Bennett slides the bureau aside and settles in, Sam and Dean are sitting at the small table. Between them are a mostly eaten burger, leftovers from the crappy salad special from the diner next door, and a bag of fries. They’re drinking beers, barefoot and in only tee shirts and jeans, so at least Bennett’s got something nice to look at.
“Shut up,” Sam says, but he’s smiling.
“I’m just sayin’, Sarah was a nice girl. All artsy, totally your type. And she was into you, man, you could tell. She was lookin’ at you and wondering if you know what to do with all that…” He waves a hand, encompassing all of Sam, then pointedly gesturing at his crotch. “All of that.”
“Dean,” Sam complains, and he’s blushing now in addition to smiling, and damn, it’s a good look on him.
“Look, I want you to be happy, but you’re goddamn stubborn about it.”
Sam snorts. “I said the same thing to you after Cassie.”
Dean shakes his head dismissively and takes a pull of his beer.
“Stop being so obsessed with getting me laid. It’s getting creepy.”
Dean’s eyebrows go up. “Excuse me for trying to make my little brother’s life a little easier.”
Wait, brothers? Bennett is not sure he’s kinky enough for that. Then again, these two are the best-looking guys he’s ever seen.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, finishing off the fries and beers.
“How many times did things like the shtriga happen that you never told me about?” Sam asks, and Bennett has no idea what Sam is asking.
“That was the only shtriga.”
“You know what I mean. Times Dad asked you to do something you never should’ve had to—for me—and you paid the price for it.”
“I should’ve paid the price. I almost got you killed!” Dean’s not having it, whatever Sam is talking about.
“You were a kid, Dean! A little kid. Christ, you carried me out of the fire, you gave me the last bit of Lucky Charms, you carried a rifle around to protect me that was almost as big as you.”
Dean just shakes his head, like Sam has it wrong. Maybe he does.
“I just… I never realized, is all.”
“Just doin’ my job,” Dean says. He gets up from the table and sits on the bed, taking a beer with him.
Sam goes to sit across from him on the other bed. Puts his elbows on his knees. “I’m trying to tell you I appreciate it,” he says, voice soft. “And I know you think I’m gonna take off the second we find the thing that killed Mom, but Dean, it doesn’t have to be like it was before, even if I do go back to school. I was never trying to get away from you.”
That must be a pretty big admission; Dean’s head snaps up, and his shoulders tighten.
“I don’t know what’s gonna happen, honestly. I don’t know if I’ll wanna go back to school, now that we really know some of what’s out there. I do know I don’t want to pull anyone else into this, though. I got Jessica killed, Dean. I—”
“Hey, you couldn’t control that any more than Dad could control what happened to Mom. C’mon,” Dean reassures him, and his hands twitch like he wants to reach out.
“All I’m saying is that there’s nobody else I can— You’re the only one who’s ever gonna get it, Dean, you know? I can’t even tell anyone the truth about who I am.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean agrees, and he puts his beer down. “I found that out the hard way. But that’s not on you, Sam. None of it is on you.”
The men sit in silence for a few minutes, both looking lost in thought and distressed. Then Dean stands and scrubs his hand through his hair.
“Guess I’ll take a shower,” he says, and he starts to walk toward the bathroom. Sam reaches out and grabs his wrist, standing too. They’re face to face now, and Bennett’s heart rate kicks up with some renewed hope. Maybe they’re not brothers after all.
“You ever think about it?” Sam asks, eyes searching Dean’s.
Dean doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know what Sam is talking about, just nods. “’Course I do.”
“You still sure it was a mistake, after everything that’s happened? When we’re about to go after the thing that killed Mom and don’t know if either of us—or Dad—will come out the other side in one piece?”
Dean averts his eyes. Bennett can tell by the tension in his shoulders that it’s a loaded question, and he can guess what “it” might have been. Especially if they are brothers. In his head, he whispers encouragement. Come on, Dean, can’t you see Sam wants it? Give him what he wants. Come on.
“Dean,” Sam says, still holding him by one wrist. “There’s nobody else. There’s never gonna be anybody else—not who really knows me. Not who I know the way I know you.”
“Sam,” Dean answers, anguished. “We can’t. We shouldn’t. You don’t really want this. You’ll find another girl, settle down…”
Sam interrupts, yanking Dean closer. He unbalances, caught off guard, and nearly falls, crashing into Sam and then trying to pull away. Sam doesn’t let him get far, only inches between them, and Dean hasn’t tried to break the hold Sam has on his wrist.
“Can you really say you don’t want this? Because I want it, Dean. I want you. I don’t want Sarah, and you’re telling me you don’t want Cassie, and there’s not gonna be anyone else I want, either. I’ve been thinking about this ever since that night, even before everything went down.”
“You have not,” Dean insists, and damn, he’s a stubborn bastard. Sam is making a good case, heartfelt, his eyes brimming with tears and his lower lip wobbling while he pleads with Dean, and who the hell could resist that? “You had Jess, Sam. You were out, you were gonna be a lawyer with a white picket fence and a Subaru.”
Dean’s eyes are wide, like he’s scared—like he’s terrified—as he keeps talking. “And I know I gave you shit about it, but I want you to be happy, Sammy.”
Bennett actually tears up a little. Dean is so earnest, and this conversation seems so painful for both of them.
“I know you do,” Sam answers, and the corner of his mouth pulls up, an almost imperceptible start of a smile. “So listen to me, okay? Listen to me when I tell you what makes me happy.”
Dean doesn’t reply for a minute, searching Sam’s face like he’s sure the truth will be there and will contradict Sam’s words. Then he sighs. “Okay.”
“Good,” Sam says, and then he pulls Dean up against him again, more gently this time, and kisses him.
Bennett had just about given up on any action actually happening between these two, so he gasps more loudly than he should have, but Sam and Dean are way too caught up in each other to notice.
Sam’s arms are wrapped tightly around Dean, not allowing any space between them, though it’s clear that Dean’s not trying to create any. Dean’s shorter, so he’s stretching up into the kiss, but he’s giving as good as he’s getting, one hand on the back of Sam’s head, tangled in his long hair and keeping Sam’s mouth right there.
Fuck, they are both so damn hot.
Dean does pull away after a few minutes. He cups Sam’s cheek and holds his face there, doing that intense searching of Sam’s face that Bennett is realizing must be a common thing. “You’re sure, Sammy? Really sure?”
Sam rolls his eyes, then grabs Dean by the hips and tugs him up snug against Sam’s own. “You feel that? Does that feel like an ambivalent erection to you?”
One of Sam’s hands slides lower on Dean’s back, over the curve of his ass, then grabs one cheek and pulls him up even tighter.
“That feel like a hand that can’t wait to get at this fine ass without your jeans in the way?”
“Jesus, Sam,” Dean swears, and dives back in to the kissing.
Bennett presses a hand to the bulge in his own jeans. Dirty talk gets him every time, and oh fuck, he hit the jackpot with these two.
Sam walks them backward to one of the beds and lets himself fall when he hits it, pulling Dean down with him. They scramble for a position that works, ending up with Sam on the bottom and Dean half on top of him, still kissing like they want to devour each other alive. It gives Bennett a great view of Dean’s ass, which Sam was correct about. Sam has both big hands on it now, fingers digging in and pressing Dean down into his own hips as he thrusts up.
They hump each other like that for a while, finding a rhythm and making out like horny teenagers. Finally Dean draws back and gets up on his knees, turning enough that Bennett can see the obvious tent in his jeans. Christ, he looks wrecked, mouth red and swollen, hair standing up in haphazard spikes, eyes dark with desire.
Sam is looking up at him with the same awe Bennett’s feeling, like Dean’s some kind of sex god that Sam can’t wait to ravage, and same, Sam, same.
“Can we get some clothes outta the way?” Dean says it cheeky, casual-like, but there’s uncertainty on his face as he waits for Sam’s answer.
“Hell, yes,” Sam answers, sitting up to strip off his own shirt.
Dean does the same, and god, they are beautiful, both of them lean with muscle, dusky nipples peaked already from their chests rubbing against each other. Dean’s got some kind of necklace on, and it accentuates the pink of his nipples, gives him just the slightest edge of feminine to go along with those heavy-lashed eyes.
They pause and stare at each other for a few long beats, then Sam’s hands go to his own jeans, slowly unbuckling the leather belt and popping the snap.
Dean licks his lips, mirroring the motion. His belt hangs free as he unbuckles and unsnaps, tugging the fly down just a little. Sam is teasing, rubbing over the bulge of his own dick in his jeans instead of going for his zipper, and Dean’s fingers tremble. He follows Sam’s lead, sliding his hand down his bare stomach and past the open vee of his jeans, barely nudging the base of his cock, probably, but even that touch makes him wince like it’s too much.
Sam looks like sin personified, his big, strong body splayed out on the bed, lips pink and licked wet, fingers stroking up and down his trapped erection, his hips shifting restlessly as he gives a little moan, lets Dean know how good he’s feeling.
It’s like a game of chicken, who will break first, and Bennett bites his lip, wondering if it’s gonna be him.
It’s not. It’s Sam. Dean lets out a half moan, half sigh, and that breaks Sam’s resolve. He sits up and pulls Dean down beside him, switching their positions and hovering over him while he finishes the job Dean started, yanking down his zipper and then tugging his jeans off over his hips. Dean lifts up to let him, leaving him in black boxer briefs that aren’t leaving much to the imagination.
“You too,” Dean says, voice like gravel. “C’mon, Sammy.”
Sam doesn’t hesitate, slipping his own jeans off and kicking them aside, and Bennett is treated to a breathtaking view of Sam’s backside—pert little ass in tight boxer briefs, and broad, broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist. Sam could take me apart before I knew what hit me, Bennett thinks, and the idea makes his dick blurt out a little more slick. He hasn’t even touched himself, is afraid he’ll go off just like that if he does.
“C’mon, baby brother,” Dean says, and fuck fuck fuck, they are brothers, and Bennett should care, maybe, but somehow at this point it only makes this whole thing hotter.
Sam thinks so too; he growls, fucking growls, and crawls over Dean, up on hands and knees as he leans down and brings their mouths together again, Dean craning his neck to kiss Sam harder. In seconds, they’re pressed together from lips to toes, long legs entangled as they make out, Sam’s hands cradling Dean’s face and Dean’s hands clutching at Sam’s back as they roll on the bed, springs creaking and headboard thumping.
Bennett allows himself a muffled groan, because it’s clear these two are not gonna hear him.
It’s Sam again who takes it up another notch, breaking their kiss to rear up on his knees and then lean back down, kissing over Dean’s chest this time, while Dean’s hands grab at his hair. Their groans turn into gasps when Sam licks a nipple, Dean’s fingers reflexively pulling Sam’s hair, and that makes Sam even more eager. He licks and sucks at one side while his hand finds the other and strokes and tugs at it, and Dean whines, twisting beneath Sam, his hips jumping.
“Oh god, oh fuck,” he swears. Sam’s relentless, doesn’t let up for long minutes even when Dean starts pleading with him, nonsense and “Don’t stop” and “Yes, god, please, Sammy, please” until Sam leaves off and kisses down his brother’s midline, nipping at his navel and the trail of hair below.
Bennett has a clear view of Dean’s spit-slicked chest, his nipples red and sore, standing up stiff and eager, and it’s fucking hot as hell.
Sam kisses over the obscene bulge in Dean’s shorts, then sticks out his tongue and licks, up and down the line of his hard dick, getting the cotton wet, pressing Dean to the mattress with big hands on his bare thighs.
“Pleeeeease, god,” Dean whines again, frantic, so turned on he’s forgotten all about any indecision.
“Yeah?” Sam teases, still licking and nibbling at his trapped erection. Dean’s thighs are shaking now. “You want my hand—or my mouth?”
“Oh fuckfuckfuck Sam I don’t care I don’t fucking care, please, I’m gonna, I can’t—”
He stops talking then, because Sam pulls him out and goes down on him without any more teasing, swallowing as deep as he can and wrapping his fist around the rest of his brother’s cock. Dean’s eyes slam shut, and his mouth opens on a silent scream as Sam works him fast and hard, and then his whole body seizes in an orgasm that looks like it’s gonna give him a heart attack.
Bennett comes close to climaxing too, but he manages to hold himself back because damn does he ever want to see Sam get off, and he’s afraid he’ll miss it.
Sam takes it like a pro, sucking until Dean’s trembling all over and wincing away, oversensitive. Then he lets go and grabs for Dean’s hand. Puts it on his own dick. He shoves his shorts down low on his hips and urges Dean to take him in hand. Bennett watches Sam’s abs clench and his hips jump when Dean touches him.
“Fuck, Sam,” Dean says, eyes wide and green-black. He looks awed by his brother, disbelieving.
“Please,” Sam says, low, his turn to beg.
That unlocks something in Dean; he pushes Sam down, reverses their positions, and bends to kiss Sam, then bites at his neck and shoulder before moving lower. He doesn’t spend nearly as much time sucking Sam’s nipples as Sam did with him, the time for teasing past, but he does grip Sam’s dick and get it out of the way while he licks his heavy balls, pushing Sam’s legs apart so he can really get at him.
That makes Sam go wild, shouting and cursing in between saying his brother’s name. Dean fists his big—oh god, is it ever big—dick while he sucks and rolls his balls, slick oozing from the head and wetting Dean’s fingers as they slide up and down and up and down. Sam is practically sobbing by the time Dean puts his mouth on Sam’s cock, forcing as much as he can down his throat and circling the rest with his slippery hand.
Sam stares down at him, wide eyed and openmouthed at the sight of his brother bobbing up and down on his dick, and then he shouts out his climax, hips pumping, forcing his cock even farther down his brother’s throat. Dean takes it every bit as well as Sam had, and when he pulls off, Sam’s come is dribbling down his chin.
That’s it, that’s all she wrote. Bennett bites his own fist as the pleasure rockets through him, that image seared into his mind. He tries to be quiet, even though he doesn’t think he’s at risk from the brothers who only have eyes and ears for each other.
When he can see again and his breathing isn’t so harsh, he takes another peek through the hole.
Sam and Dean are lying side by side, naked and gorgeous and still catching their breath too.
“We’re gonna get it,” Sam says. “We’re gonna find it, and we’re gonna take it out. And we’re gonna do it together.”
Dean nods and doesn’t say anything.
Sam props himself up on one elbow and looks at his brother. “And whatever comes after that?” he continues, putting one hand on Dean’s chest, over his heart. “We’ll do that together too.”
Dean lays his hand over Sam’s and smiles.
Part Five
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