Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4724483.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Sam_Winchester/Dean_Winchester, Sam/Dean
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Wincest_-_Freeform, Weecest, First_Time, Underage_-_Freeform, Soulmates
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-04 Completed: 2015-12-17 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 12310
****** The Truth Will Set You Free ******
by WincestOTP
Summary
     Written for the prompt “Sam and Dean get hit by a truth curse and are
     forced to confront their true feelings for each other.”
***** Chapter 1 *****
Written for the prompt “Sam and Dean get hit by a truth curse and are forced to
confront their true feelings for each other.”
“Find a damn job this time, Dean. I can’t support you forever and it’s about
time you start pulling your weight around here.”
Dean’s face had locked down at John’s words, expression going dull and flat.
He’d stood stiffly, cracked ribs still bothering him tho he’d never say so out
loud. “Yes sir,” he’d said crisply, while Sam seethed with rage on his behalf.
Once John was gone, slamming the door behind him, Dean had slumped back into
his seat, face white with pain. “Guess I’d better start looking for work,
Sammy,” he said with forced cheerfulness.
“How much did he leave us this time?” Sam asked, mentally calculating. He had
some cash saved up, but it wasn’t much, and he knew Dean wasn’t any better off.
John didn’t let them kept the money they earned–it all went into the ‘family
fund’, which basically meant John spent it on ammo.
Dean hesitated before answering, which meant it was worse than Sam thought.
“$50,” he admitted reluctantly. “But he paid for the room through the month, so
that just has to cover food for a couple of days.” Dean laughs easily. “Even we
can’t eat that much, right, Sammy?”
That was a month ago. Dean had found work eventually, bussing tables at a bar
that didn’t look too closely at his ID and paid him maybe half minimum wage
under the table, plus extra shifts doing day labor for a local construction
company. Sam hated it–hated that Dean had to lie, that he came home white faced
from pain and too exhausted to do more than shower and fall into bed with a
groan. And, selfishly, he hated that he never got to see his brother anymore.
Dean worked constantly, days, evenings and nights and weekends; the only time
Sam saw his brother was the few minutes they had before Sam left for school in
the mornings and when Dean crawled wearily into double bed they shared at
night. Sam was miserable and lonely enough that he didn’t even try to move away
when Dean fell into bed behind him and pulled him close, hand over Sam’s heart,
face buried in Sam’s hair, no matter how dangerous it was to Sam’s dirty little
secret.
Because the truth was, Sam couldn’t deny the sick, secret thrill of sharing a
bed with his brother. He wasn’t sure when it started, when he first thought of
Dean as more than just his best friend and brother. He’d loved Dean
wholeheartedly his entire life–pinpointing the moment he’d added 'in love with’
to loving was impossible. There wasn’t a before and after; there was just Dean,
slowly driving Sam mad with all the things he wanted but couldn’t have.
Tonight was different, though. Dean rarely spoke after he fell into bed; a half
hearted “heya, Sammy” was all he managed most nights before wrapping himself
around Sam with a sigh. Tonight, Dean tugs on Sam’s shoulder til Sam rolls over
to face him.
“Got the day off tomorrow, Sammy,” he whispers, breath warm against Sam’s lips,
arm heavy around Sam’s waist. "Thought maybe we could go to the fair if you
wanna?“
Sam nods, barely able to think past the long, hard warmth of Dean’s body
against his, praying Dean won’t notice how his body is reacting. "Yeah, Dean,
that sounds awesome,” Sam whispers back. “But do we have the money?”
“Got us free tickets from work,” Dean says with a sleepy smile that sends
shameful warmth rushing through Sam. Dean leans forward, pushing his forehead
against Sam’s, so close Sam can feel Dean’s eyelashes fluttering against his
cheeks. “Miss you, little brother,” he whispers softly, and Sam can feel tears
gathering in his eyes.
“Miss you too, Dean,” Sam says just as softly. Dean smiles again, and Sam,
shocked at his own daring, presses a quick kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth.
Dean goes still, and Sam thinks, terrified, that he’s given himself away. But
Dean just closes his eyes and whispers roughly, “Turn around, Sammy, please.”
Sam does, heart pounding sickly at the thought that Dean will leave, that he’s
ruined everything. Instead, Dean pulls him in tight, hand sliding under Sam’s
shirt to rest against his heart. Sam falls asleep to the barely there feel of
Dean’s lips on the back of his neck.
Sam wakes up on his side, face pressed into Dean’s neck, cock hard and aching
where it’s trapped against Dean’s hip. He can’t help the moan that escapes when
Dean shifts, rubbing against the sensitive flesh. The thin sheet covering them
had slipped off at some point in the night and Sam can see the length of Dean’s
body, the faint morning light glancing off his skin like a kiss. Sam can see
that Dean’s hard as well, pressing firm against the thin material of his
boxers, wet spot visible near the waist band. The urge to touch is almost
irresistible but Sam doesn’t give in, just opens his mouth against Dean’s
pulse, the feel and taste of his brother’s skin almost overwhelming. He’s
aware, barely, that Dean is awake now too, that his hand is tangled in Sam’s
hair, pressing Sam harder against his shoulder, murmuring encouragement, lips
moving against Sam’s ear. Sam moans again, almost a sob as he grinds against
Dean’s hip, pleasure bursting through him in a sharp, sweet wave. He bites down
as he comes and Dean gasps sharply, shudder running through him. Sam opens his
eyes to see Dean gripping his cock through his boxers, feels Dean’s hips jerk
as he comes with a bitten off moan that Sam can’t quite let himself believe is
his name.
They lay still for a few minutes, just breathing. Dean’s face is turned away
but his hand is still tangled in Sam’s hair, rubbing his scalp in a gently
soothing motion that Sam isn’t sure he’s even aware of. Sam doesn’t move,
afraid to break the spell.
Finally Dean stirs. “Sorry about that, Sam,” he says, voice low. “I didn’t
mean–I would never take advantage of you like that on purpose.” Sam can hear
the self-loathing in Dean’s voice, and he hates himself just a little for
putting it there.
Sam clears his throat, and by some miracle his voice doesn’t break. “I’m the
one who molested you in my sleep,” he points out, forcing a laugh.
Sam can practically hear Dean turning his words over in his mind, considering
the way out Sam’s offering. “Yeah,” he says at last, ghost of his usual bravado
haunting his voice. “I guess we both need to clean the pipes more often.” He
pulls his hand carefully out of Sam’s hair, roughing it up a bit more as he
smiles down at him. “Why don’t you grab a shower while I make breakfast, then
we’ll head out to the park, okay?”
Sam nods. “Sounds great, Dean.” He smiles up at his brother, a real smile
fighting its way through the noise in his head because this is Dean, and Sam
has loved him forever and nothing will ever change that. He gets a small smile
in return and feels the world shift back into place, grateful beyond measure
that Dean isn’t angry.
The heavenly smells of coffee, pancakes and bacon have filled the tiny
efficiency by the time Sam gets out of the shower. His stomach grumbles happily
as he drops onto the barstool to watch Dean slide the last of the pancakes onto
a plate and cover them with what looks like real maple syrup.
Sam’s brow furrows. “Did we win the lottery?” he asks, only half joking. They
haven’t had anything like this since they hit town, every cent Dean earned
going toward the bare essentials. The twenty dollars Dean must have spent just
on this meal would keep them in PBJ and ramen for a week–not Sam’s favorite but
better than being hungry by far. Dean just laughs, and Sam looks–really
looks–at him for the first time since he came into the kitchen area.
Dean is shirtless, dressed in just a pair of Sam’s old, worn sweats, just
barely big enough to fit him. The thin material hugs his ass and clings to the
soft bump of his cock, hanging low and barely covering the jut of his hip
bones. His skin is slightly flushed from standing over the hot stove, eyes
sparkling as he throws his head back to laugh at Sam’s expression. “You
dumbass,” he says affectionately. “Did you really forget what today is?”
Sam can’t answer, his head filled with white noise as he stares at the spot
right above where Sam’s sweats have slid sinfully low on Dean’s hips, the spot
where Sam had come all over his brother’s skin barely half an hour before. He
stares, half convinced if he looks hard enough he’ll be able to see the spot
like a brand, marking Dean as his. Sam slides one hand under the bar, out of
sight, to palm his aching cock where it’s pressed painfully hard against his
zipper. It’s not til Dean smacks the back of his head playfully that Sam comes
back to himself enough to hear Dean saying “…it’s your birthday, Sam, of course
we gotta splurge.”
Sam shakes his head slowly, trying to clear it. “I’ll be right back,” he says,
voice a strangled whisper, and practically falls off the stool in his haste to
get back into the bathroom. He slips the button on his jeans, moaning as the
pressure on his cock eases slightly. He shoves everything down, gripping
himself tightly–two hard strokes and he’s coming, the taste and feel and sight
of Dean Dean Dean beating in his brain as he falls to his knees.
Sam cleans up as soon as he can stand, hoping Dean hadn’t heard him through the
paper thin walls. He doesn’t know how to deal with Dean being aware of
his…sickness. His obsession. This morning was amazing, but Sam knows it can’t
happen again. He steels his resolve and trudges back out to the kitchen where
Dean is waiting for him with a smirk.
“Oh to be a teenager again,” Dean teases. He puts a fresh plate in front of
Sam, who suddenly remembers he’s ravenous. “Don’t worry, yours didn’t go into
waste,” Dean continues, rubbing the flat planes of his stomach. Sam’s mouth
goes dry, but he forces himself to look away, concentrating on the food in
front of him. It’s delicious, fresh blueberry pancakes, crisp hickory smoked
bacon, cooked just the way Sam likes it. Real maple syrup and fresh brewed
coffee, not instant, with Sam’s favorite brand of creamer to boot. Sam eats til
he feels like he’s going to explode, going back for seconds and thirds, much to
Dean’s amusement.
“Alright, that’s it” Dean says finally. “Birthday or not, I’m done playing
personal chef, time for me to hit the shower so we can get out of here.” He
brushes past Sam on his way to the bathroom, and Sam gives into the sudden urge
to hug him. Dean stiffens in surprise, but relaxes a moment later, holding Sam
tight and letting Sam cling as long as he needs to. When Sam lets go Dean’s
eyes are suspiciously bright. “Time to get a move on, kiddo,” Dean says,
roughing up Sam’s hair. “Don’t wanna be late, after all.”
Sam does the dishes while Dean takes a quick shower. It might be his birthday,
but there are still rules to be followed, and one of the most sacrosanct is
that the cook never does the dishes. He digs through the fridge and finds cold
cuts and real cheese, not imitation cheese food, as well as his favorite type
of potato salad. There’s fresh bread in the cupboard and Sam’s favorite brand
of chips, and Sam is seriously starting to wonder if his brother knocked over a
bank on the way home last night. He doesn’t ask, though, just enjoys Dean’s
pleased smile when he comes out of the bathroom fully dressed and ready to go.
Sam knows he doesn’t deserve any of this, but he pushes his worries firmly out
of his mind, determined to enjoy the first day he’s had with his brother in
nearly a month. For good measure he pushes his luck, daring Dean to let him
drive the impala, but even birthday goodwill only gets him so far it seems. Sam
climbs into the passenger seat happily, his role of annoying little brother
played to the hilt.
They get to the park while it’s still early, handing over their free tickets
and getting handfuls of tokens in return. Dean lets Sam pick the first ride,
and Sam immediately goes for the ferris wheel. They squeeze into the tiny
basket, and Sam closes his eyes when Dean slings his arm around his shoulders,
pulling him closer. Sam lets his head fall back and pretends that when they get
to the top, Dean will kiss him, warm and sweet. He doesn’t, of course, but Sam
doesn’t let himself care. It’s enough to be this close, to be in love, to have
his brother’s affection all to himself. It’s the best day he’s had in forever,
and he can’t stop the smiling as Dean leads them eagerly to the rickety
rollercoaster. They sit in the first car, Dean insisting that Sam take the
second seat so he doesn’t have to eat Sam’s hair. Sam wraps himself around
Dean, arms tight around his waist, legs bracketing Dean’s thighs. He’s pretty
sure Dean can feel that he’s hard from the moment Dean sits down but his
brother doesn’t say a word, just mugs for the obligatory picture that Dean
later insists they buy. Sam tucks it into his wallet, carefully folded ànd
wedged into place behind his fake driver’s license. It’s the best present Dean
could have gotten him, even though Sam’s pretty sure Dean would never
understand why.
After that they wander from booth to booth, collecting souvenirs–ratty stuffed
animals that Dean forces Sam to carry around as a testament to his prowess, but
insists on handing out to any little kid who doesn’t manage to win one. They
run into some of Dean’s friends from work, and Sam finds out that Dean did
indeed win the lottery in a manner of speaking–the free tickets and extra cash
the result of Dean winning a monthly drawing at work. Sam feels a vague sense
of relief that Dean hadn’t been skipping meals or hussling at work–they were
stuck here til dad got back, after all, and hard feelings or a trip to jail
would be devastating in a small community like this. Dean can’t resist showing
off again, using the battered old rifle to win another round of toys from the
scowling old geezer at the shooting range. Sam hauls him away with a promise of
lunch and beer from the impala, and they spread a blanket under an ancient oak
tree and eat themselves into a food coma for the second time that day.
When all the scraps and leftovers are put away, Sam sprawls bonelessly across
the blanket, head on Dean’s thigh, too stuffed to move. Dean mock scowls at
him. “Don’t think all this food is an excuse to grow,” he says severely. “No
way you’re allowed to be taller than me.”
“It’s gonna happen,” Sam said smugly. “’M already almost as big as you.”
Dean smirks down at him knowingly. “Not a chance, 'little’ brother,” he says,
waggling his eyebrows, and Sam flushes bright red as he rolls off Dean’s lap to
sit up, shoulders hunched.
“Hey, I’m just teasing, Sammy,” Dean said quietly, rubbing the tense line of
Sam’s shoulders. “You know this morning wasn’t a big deal, right? I mean–” he
hesitates. “I shouldn’t have let it go that far, but sometimes it just happens,
you know? I popped wood sparring with Pastor Jim one time, and if you think
that wasn’t awkward….”
Sam smiles in spite of himself, because yeah–awkward.
“C'mon, I’m too sleepy for all this thinking and angsting,” Dean says, yawning.
He drops back onto the blanket, pulling Sam down with him. Sam dozes off with
his head on Dean’s hip and Dean’s arm across his shoulders, his last thought
that nothing in the world could be better than this.
It’s late afternoon when Sam wakes, groggy and stiff from the awkward position.
Dean is still out, plush lips barely parted, afternoon sun turning his skin to
cinnamon dusted gold. Sam wishes he had a camera, or that he could draw–his
brother has never looked more beautiful than right now, he thinks. Instead he
just stares, tracing Dean’s features over and over with his eyes, committing to
memory the exact shade of his hair, the perfect bow of is lips.
“Sam,” Dean says, eyes still closed. Sam starts, shaken from his reverie.
“There better not be a spider on my face.” Sam blushes, caught out in his
admiration.
“Just wondering what all those girls see in you,” he says, pretending to think.
“I dunno, I just don’t get it.”
“Whatever, bitch,” Dean says, sitting up and stretching. “I’m awesome and you
know it.”
“You wish, jerk,” Sam fires back, grinning. He grabs the last beer out of the
cooler and offers it to Dean. “Saved it for you,” he says, grabbing a soda for
himself. Dean twists the top off and taps the mouth against Sam’s bottle before
knocking it back in one long swallow.
Sam watches Dean’s throat work, licking his lips unconsciously as a single drop
of condensation falls off the bottle and slip slides down the sun warmed skin.
He forces his eyes away, back onto his own bottle as Dean tosses the empty back
into the cooler.
“What do you say, one more ride before we head home?” Dean asks, smiling
brightly at Sam.
Part of Sam wants to refuse–he’s shared Dean enough for today, wants to get him
home and curl up on the couch with an old movie the way they always have on
their birthdays. But he can wait, if it’s what Dean wants.
“Sure,” he says, smiling back. They pack up in record time, racing back to the
Impala. Sam wins, barely– Dean may still have a few inches on him, but Sam’s
legs are already just as long.
“Alright, alright,” Dean says mock begrudgingly, tossing over the keys. “You
earned it, fair and square. But not til I get my ride.”
They head back into the fair, bickering over which ride should be their last.
Sam wants the ferris wheel–he thinks, giddily, that maybe this time he’ll do
it, just lean over and kiss Dean, maybe he will, or maybe Dean will kiss
him–there’s something about the approaching night that makes him feel reckless
and carefree.
“Hey, I don’t remember seeing that one before,” Dean says. He’s pointing to a
dusty old wagon, covered in faded paint that Sam can tell used to be gaudy. Sam
raises his eyebrows.
“Seriously, dude? You want to get your fortune told by an old fake gypsy?”
Dean claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t be such a downer, Sammy!” He heads
toward the wagon, calling over his shoulder, “It could be a young, hot fake
gypsy!”
Sam rolls his eyes, but follows his brother into the wagon. It’s about what he
expected–fake crystal balls, incense and a worn deck of tarot cards, all
covered by a thin layer of dust.
The woman sitting at the low table is about what he expected as well–middle-
aged, dark hair liberally streaked with gray and dark eyes that looked him over
knowingly. He flushes without knowing why, vaguely uneasy.
“Sit down, gentlemen,” she said, her voice only faintly accented. Sam looks
over at Dean questioningly–this is definitely not the hot young fortuneteller
he’d been hoping for. But Dean is already folding gracefully in front of the
table. Sam feels like a clumsy oaf as he drops down next to his brother but
neither of the others seem to notice.
“I’m Dean, and this is my little brother Sammy–”
“Sam,” Sam corrects immediately. He hates it when anyone but Dean calls him
Sammy.
“–Sammy,” Dean continues blithely, pretending to be unaware of the daggers Sam
is shooting at him. “Today’s his birthday and we wanna see what the future
holds!”
The fortuneteller regards Dean with amusement. “Very well,” she says, and draws
herself up regally. “Cross my palm with silver, and I will part the mists of
time on your behalf.”
Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out two silver dollars and two twenties,
laying one of each on her outstretched palms. There’s a sudden tension in the
room that Sam doesn’t think he’s imagining as Dean and the fortuneteller regard
each other coolly.
“The old ways are not for the faint of heart,” she says softly. “Are you sure
you wish to see the truth? For I sense there is much to be learned here, and
not all of it will please you.”
Sam shivers at her words, a sense of foreboding creeping up his spine. “Dean…”
“Tell us,” Dean says flatly, all hint of jest gone from his voice. “If you can
See, you know what I am and what that means.”
“Hunters,” she hisses, eyes flashing briefly silver. “Yes, I know your type.
Hunters have destroyed many of my people over the years. But not you. You are
young yet, scarcely blooded. And your…brother, since that is what you choose to
call him. You are bound to each other by ties much thicker than blood, my young
hunters. Your bond is soul deep. Heaven and hell will test its strength and not
find it wanting.”
Sam shivers at her words, suddenly afraid. If this woman has true Sight—
“Yes, Samuel,” she says, turning to him, her voice suddenly kind. “I can See
your heart, and that of your brother as well. The Gods were not kind when they
created you, to place one soul in two bodies. Such a bond is never easy–”
“Wait just a minute,” Dean interrupts incredulously. “Are you saying me and
Sammy are some kind of—of soulmates? We’re brothers!”
“And yet you still feel the desires that those so bound often feel,” she says,
staring pointedly at Dean’s hip as though she can See the mark Sam had left on
Dean just that morning.
Maybe she can, Sam thinks, sickness rising in him. What if–
The woman regards them both with compassion. “This is not an easy path,” she
says gently. “I understand your longing, and your fear. So I will give you a
gift, though you, Dean, may not see it as such right now. But you will, and I
hope you will remember the lessons it teaches you.” She grasps the necklace
around her neck and begins chanting. Dean surges to his feet, fear coloring his
voice as he shouts “Run, Sammy, go!”
Sam tries to get up, to run, but fear and his stupidly long legs get in his way
and he crashes to the floor. He hears his name, and Dean’s and the word Romani
word for truth, and then everything goes black.
Sam comes to with the sound of Dean’s voice cursing a blue streak in his ear.
“Fucking bitch, if I ever see that fucking hag again…never leaving home without
a gun again god dammit dad’s gonna kill me, come on Sammy, wake up kiddo, open
your eyes–” Dean’s voice breaks on the last word, and Sam feels bad Dean is
worried so he opens his eyes.
“Sam!”
The relief in Dean’s voice brings Sam fully around. He sits up carefully but
nothing seems to be broken or even hurt.
“Hey, Dean,” he says smiling a little, because he’s never seen anyone more
beautiful in his life. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. “What the hell
happened? I remember a Romani woman, and some kind of spell–and she said we are
soulmates?” Sam looks at Dean in confusion. “Am I remembering right?”
“Yeah, Sammy, that’s what she said. And I believe her.” A shocked look flashes
over Dean’s face. “I mean, she was telling the absolute truth in my opinion.
What the fuck?”
“Dean, what’s wrong?”
“I–I can’t lie,” Dean looks frantic. “I don’t want to believe her, it’s crazy,
but I do and I can’t say I don’t!”
“You can’t lie at all?” Sam asks, a mix of dread and hope creeping over him.
“That means I probably can’t either.”
Dean stands up and starts pacing around the small room. Sam realizes with a
start that they are back at the motel. “What happened? How did we get back
here?”
A look of frustration crosses Dean’s face. “I didn’t have my gun so I just
grabbed you and hauled ass out of there. God damn it,” he snarls. “What the
fuck did that bitch do to us?”
“I don’t think it’s anything dangerous, Dean,” Sam says reassuringly. “I could
understand some of what she was saying. Our names, the word for truth, and…”
Sam thinks hard, brow wrinkling with the effort. “Something about the sun?”
“You’re fucking amazing, Sammy,” Dean says, then immediately claps a hand over
his mouth, face turning bright red.
Sam grins hugely. “Why thank you, Dean. Anything else you’d like to share with
the class?”
“I love you,” Dean says immediately. “I love you so much it hurts sometimes
because I know you’re going to leave one day and I think when you do it might
kill me.”
Sam feels like someone–like Dean–just slapped him, and Dean doesn’t look any
better. The look of horror on Dean’s face has Sam scrambling across the bed
toward his brother, but Dean backs away. “No, Sammy, please,” he says
desperately. “Don’t make me.” He looks toward the door, obviously torn between
protecting himself and protecting Sam. “Please, Sam.”
Sam settles on the bed, putting some space between himself and his brother,
even though every extra inch between them feels like a mile.
“You know, you can ask me questions too. If you want to.” Sam looks at Dean
from under his bangs, not really sure he wants to know what Dean is thinking.
Dean’s face is twisted in anger and fear as he tries to stay quiet. “I’m afraid
to,” he grates out finally, words dragged out of him by the spell. “I’m afraid
to know what you really think of me.”
“I love you,” Sam says quietly. The words come easily, tumbling out like a dam
has burst. “I think you’re amazing—smart, funny, capable, and of course
annoying as hell because you’re my big brother and it’s your job. I always want
to be with you, I’m jealous of everyone else you look at.” Sam blushes at that,
not sure how Dean will take it. He risks a glance at his brother, hoping to see
encouragement.
Dean sighs. “Sam…Sammy. You know that’s not healthy, right? You should want to
be with other kids your age, smart kids, who have a future, not your loser
brother.” Dean paces alongside the bed, almost but not quite close enough to
touch.
Anger surges up in Sam. “You’re not a loser, Dean! You know who you sound like
when you say that? Dad. He’s the one who made you think you aren’t good enough,
but you are.” Sam can feel tears pricking at his eyes. “You’ve always been
there for me, Dean,” he says quietly. “Dad never was. It was always you. I
wouldn’t even be here if not for you, Dad would have dropped me off at an
orphanage somewhere and never even thought about me again. He thinks it’s my
fault Mom died, and he’s right.” He swipes angrily at the tears running down
his face, not sure if he’s angry at his father or at himself for caring.
“Sam…”Dean sits on the bed next to Sam and pulls him close. “Dad loves you,” he
says firmly. “You two are just too much alike for your own good. You both think
you know everything, and half the time you don’t know anything at all.”
Sam sniffles against Dean’s shoulder. “Yeah? Then why isn’t he here? It’s my
birthday, and he can’t even be bothered to call, Dean.”
“I dunno, kiddo. But I can tell you this. There’s no place else I’d rather be
than here. Even with a goddamn truth curse on us.” Sam smiles a little at the
absolute disgust in Dean’s voice.
“Could you imagine if anyone came over?” Sam says, laughing a little. “No
ma’am, we haven’t seen an actual adult in over a month. And by the way, that
dress is hideous and absolutely makes your ass look fat.”
Dean grins. “No sir, I didn’t do my homework, because it was stupid and I did
it three schools back anyway. If you bothered to look at my transcripts you’d
know I could probably teach this class myself.”
“Actually,” Sam muses, “I wonder if it works on anyone but us? The
fortuneteller only said our names in the spell, at least that I heard.”
“Only one way to find out,” Dean says practically, “but there’s no point in
taking chances. What do you say we order a pizza and put in Die Hard? No more
chick flick moments if we can help it, alright?”
“Okay. But let’s watch Star Wars instead. I want to see Luke kick Jabba’s ass!”
“Mmm Leia…” Dean leers. “Yeah, let’s watch that instead.”
“You’re so gross, Dean,” Sam says, laughing. “Good thing I love you anyway.”
“You know you do,” Dean says smugly, then looks surprised. “And I guess…I guess
I know too.” Dean flops back on the bed, throwing one arm over his eyes with a
dramatic sigh. “Please just kill me now,” he begs the universe. “I can’t take
this crap anymore!” Sam takes advantage of Dean’s momentary weakness to pounce,
snatching up a pillow and smacking him ruthlessly across the face.
“Ow!” Dean yells, outraged by Sam’s sneak attack. He dives in under the pillow
and tackles Sam back onto the bed, digging his fingers into Sam’s ribs with
gleeful precision. Sam howls with laughter, tears streaming down his face as he
tries to protect himself, but his efforts leave his knees and armpits
vulnerable and Dean is a master tickler. He reduces Sam to a laughing, sobbing
mess in short order, finally collapsing on top of him, pinning Sam’s arms about
his head to prevent retribution. They come down slowly, gasping, breathy
giggles still breaking out against Sam’s will as he tries to remember how to
breathe.
After a few minutes, Dean pushes himself up on his elbows, smiling down at Sam
fondly. Sam loses his breath again, for an entirely different reason, suddenly
aware that every inch of Dean is touching every inch of him. He shifts, just a
little, just enough that he can rock his hips against Dean’s thigh, and sees
the moment when Dean realizes it too. Dean doesn’t move away, though—just stays
perfectly still, frozen by the look in Sam’s eyes as he cranes his head up to
brush his lips against Dean’s.
“Sam…Sammy, what are we doing?” Dean whispers hoarsely. He doesn’t pull back
when Sam pushes up again, doesn’t move at all when Sam whispers back “I’m
kissing you,” and puts his words into action. The angle is awkward, Sam’s
wrists still locked in Dean’s grip above his head, neck stretched almost
painfully as his lips find Dean’s again, pushing harder this time.
“Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t want me,” Sam says fiercely. “Say
it, if it’s true.”
“I—“ Dean’s lips move soundlessly, but he can’t force the words out. “I
shouldn’t want this,” he says, voice breaking. “I shouldn’t want you, Sammy, I
shouldn’t want to hurt you like this but I do.”
“You’re not hurting me, Dean,” Sam says softly. “I want you to touch me, to
kiss me.” He stares up at Dean, willing him to hear and understand the truth in
his words. “I want you to—to—“ Sam blushes, unable to say what he really wants.
“Can’t do it if you can’t say it, Sammy,” Dean whispers. “I gotta know it’s
what you really want.” He drops his head to brush his lips against Sam’s the
same way Sam kissed him a few moments earlier. “You gotta tell me. Tell me
everything, right here and right now, when we can’t lie. Tell me what you want
me to do to you.”
Sam moans, barely able to think, let alone speak as all the blood in his body
rushes to his cock. He arches against Dean, every point of contact sparking
pleasure as Dean presses him back down into the mattress.
Dean kisses him again, featherlight, the same way Sam kissed him. “Tell me,
Sammy,” he whispers against Sam’s lips. “You can do it.”
“I want to see you,” Sam says softly, trying to pull himself together. “All of
you, just you.” He tugs one hand free, and Dean lets him go, lets him grab the
hem of Dean’s shirt and pull it up. “Please, Dean, let me?”
Dean nods, eyes never leaving Sam’s as he sits up and slowly pulls his t-shirt
over his head. Sam looks away first, unable to resist the temptation to really
look at Dean for the first time in what feels like years. He lets his eyes
wander and Dean flushes, nipples hardening under the weight of Sam’s gaze.
“Now me,” Sam says, biting his lip.
“Now what, Sam?” Dean asks, eyes never leaving Sam’s.
“Now my shirt.” Between the blood rushing to his cock and the blood rushing to
his face, Sam isn’t sure how the rest of his body is still functioning. He’s
barely breathing as Dean grasps the hem of his shirt and tugs it slowly up and
over his head, tossing it on the floor.
“Kiss me?” Sam breathes, and Dean’s eyes flutter closed for a brief moment.
“That what you really want, Sam?” Dean asks, absolutely serious. “You don’t
sound so sure.”
“Dean. Dean, please.” Sam doesn’t think he can do this, begging for every touch
and kiss. He looks at Dean, pleading. “You know I don’t—that I’ve never—please?
I want you to kiss me, I want you to touch me, I want you to make me feel
good.” Sam flushes hot, all the way down his chest. “I want you to fuck me.”
Dean groans. “Jesus, Sam.” He brings a hand up to Sam’s cheek, reverent like he
can’t believe he’s allowed to touch. “Can’t say no to you,” he says raggedly,
words dragged out of him, flaying him open. “Never could, not ever, God.” Dean
dips his head to Sam’s, slanting their lips together. Sam opens eagerly,
desperately, desire building between them Dean licks into his mouth, exploring
every inch.
They break apart to breathe, foreheads pressed together. “Tell me again that
you want this,” Sam pants, breath hot against Dean’s cheek. “Tell me you aren’t
just doing this because I want you to.”
“I—“ Dean closes his eyes as he struggles briefly with the confines of the
spell, then opens them again to look directly at Sam. “I want you. I want to. I
want to kiss you.” And he does, sweet and hot, hands tangled in Sam’s hair as
he eats at Sam’s mouth, denial making him desperate.
When he finally pulls back, he gasps “I want to touch you.“ He thumbs open
Sam’s jeans and shoves his hand inside. Sam moans, arching into Dean’s hand.
“That’s it, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, stroking him firmly, gathering the pre-come
leaking from Sam’s tip and using it to slick his palm. “That’s it, little
brother, come for me—“ and Sam does, body pulsing hard as Dean kisses him
through the aftershocks.
Dean eases Sam back down onto the bed, kissing him thoroughly. Sam clings to
him, eyes wide and dazed. “Dean,” he whispers, “Dean.”
“Not going anywhere, little brother,” Dean whispers back, smiling down at him.
“I still want you to.”
Dean closes his eyes, hips bucking against Sam’s helplessly as he groans. “I
want that too, Sammy, believe me,” he says. “But I don’t want to hurt you.” He
guides Sam’s hand down to press against his cock where it’s straining against
his zipper, groan trickling out from behind clenched teeth. “I need to take the
edge off, like I did for you,” Dean tells him. He catches Sam’s eyes with his,
voice falling deeper. “Do you want to do that for me?”
Sam nods, almost frantically. “Please,” he whispers. “I want to—“ He stops,
blushes bright red as he feels Dean’s dick pulse and throb under his hand. “Can
I?”
Dean drops his head onto Sam’s chest. “Gonna be the death of me, kiddo,” he
mutters under his breath, then stretches out on his back. “This what you want?”
he asks, eyes wide and dark.
“Yes,” Sam breathes, looking down at Dean like a kid at Christmas. “Just…just
stay like that.” Sam stands up, hurriedly kicking off his shoes and jeans then
kneels on the bed next to Dean. “Take these off,” Sam orders uncertainly.
“Bossy,” Dean teases, voice low and dark, but he obeys, flipping the button
open and groaning a little with relief as the zipper slowly ticks down. He
doesn’t push them off though, just tucks his hands under his head and lets Sam
take his time. Sam pulls Dean’s boots off, tossing them on the floor then
slowly runs his hands up the body warm denim covering Dean’s legs. When he gets
to the open v framing Dean’s cock he stops, looking up at Dean’s face. Dean is
watching him, teeth buried in his plump lower lip, eyes dark. “Keep going,
Sammy,” he rasps, and Sam rubs his fingers tentatively through the precome
soaking Dean’s boxers. Dean sucks in a ragged breath, hips jerking, and Sam
licks his fingers clean one by one, eyes never leaving Dean’s. He works Dean’s
boxers and jeans down and tosses them on the floor before folding himself into
the open space between Dean’s legs.
“You gonna suck me, Sammy?” Dean growls, voice wrecked with want. “Tell me you
want to, tell me what you want to do.” His hands are clenched into fists behind
his head, a fine trembling working it’s way down his body as he tries to stay
still. He can’t—he won’t do anything Sam doesn’t want to, and he feels a split
second of gratitude toward the gypsy witch and her spell.
“Wanna suck you,” Sam whispers obediently, and it sends a dark thrill razoring
through Dean, the knowledge that Sam can’t lie, can’t say anything but the
absolute truth. Sam licks his lips, chasing the taste he’s already gotten.
“Wanna lick you and suck you and make you—“
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Dean curses, grabbing the base of his cock and squeezing
hard. He holds himself steady, panting as he comes back down from the edge.
“You ever done this before, little brother?”
Sam just shakes his head, lips parted. “No one but you,” he whispers, “never
even wanted to except you.” He reaches out tentatively, strokes the sharp jut
of Dean’s hipbones reverently.
Dean groans. “So fucking hot, little brother,” he growls, “never done a goddamn
thing, just waiting for me—“ He stops to suck in a deep shuddering breath.
“Gonna teach you how to do it right, Sammy,” he promises, “show you how to make
it good.” He lets himself go, guiding Sam’s hand, shuddering as Sam wraps his
fingers around his thick length. “That’s it, baby,” he gasps, and Sam flushes
hot at the praise. Dean runs his fingers over Sam’s lower lip. “Gotta cover
your teeth,” he says, sliding his finger into Sam’s mouth to stroke over his
tongue. Sam moans at the taste, sucking eagerly as Dean fucks his mouth gently.
“Just like that,” Dean rasps, “just like that, nice and easy.” He pulls his
finger free and tangles his hand in Sam’s hair, urging him down. “Is this
okay?” he asks, meeting Sam’s eyes. “Tell me, Sammy.”
“I want you to,” Sam whispers, pushing his head into Dean’s hand. “Want you to
show me, want you to make me, please Dean.”
Dean makes a frustrated, incoherent noise, hips bucking up helplessly as he
pushes Sam’s head down toward his leaking, aching cock. “Open for me, Sammy,”
he begs, and Sam’s mouth falls open, desperate little noises slipping out as he
closes his lips around the swollen head and sucks, savoring the salty, bitter
taste.
“Oh God, Sam.” Dean’s hand clutches spasmodically in Sam’s hair, pushing him
down further. “Oh God, oh fuck that’s good, little brother, so good—“ Sam moans
around him, eyes flicking up to meet Dean’s he strains to get more of Dean into
his mouth. He keeps going, breathing hard through his nose, til Dean feels
himself pushing against the back of Sam’s throat. Dean’s panting, trying not to
shove his way deeper as Sam tries to adjust, locking his lips tight around Dean
and dragging them all the way back up. Dean gives a strangled cry and loses it,
shoving back in until Sam chokes, spit leaking from the corners of his mouth as
he gags a little. “Sorry—sorry—fuck, Sam, I—“ and then Sam’s back down again,
remembering this time to use his hand and fuck Dean’s not going to last long at
all. Sam sucks eagerly at the swollen head, savoring the taste, then slides
down again, stroking what won’t fit into his mouth. It’s messy and beautiful
and perfect, better than anything Dean’s ever felt before.
“Sam—Sammy—I’m gonna—“ Dean can’t hold out, Sam’s gorgeous mouth wrapped tight
around him, eyes locked on Dean’s as he sucks even harder pushing Dean over the
edge far sooner than he’s ready for. Dean tries to warn him, tries to pull him
off but Sam forces himself down farther, eyes rolling back as he takes Dean as
deep as he can and that’s it. Dean comes with a shout, body arching and shaking
as Sam swallows what he can, letting the rest spill down his chin and throat.
“Jesus fuck, Sammy,” Dean groans when he can finally speak. He drags Sam up his
body into a rough, messy kiss, licking the taste of himself from his brother’s
mouth. Sam’s a mess, covered in come and spit, and Dean uses a corner of the
discarded sheet to clean him up, kissing every inch as he wipes it clean. “You
were so good for me, little brother,” he whispers into Sam’s skin, holding him
tight. Sam clings to him, flushed and smiling at Dean’s praise.
“I want to do it again,” he says, the rough scratch of his voice sending a
flash of heat all through Dean’s body even though he’s pretty sure he couldn’t
get hard again if he tried.
Dean shakes his head. “Next I’m gonna fuck you, just like I promised,” Dean
tells him, arms tightening around him. “Then it’s my turn.”
Sam snuggles against him, eyes drooping a little. “We’ve got plenty of time,
right Dean?” he asks sleepily.
Dean sighs, pulling the blanket up around them, and answers with absolute
certainty. “We’ve got all the time in the world, little brother,” he says,
kissing the top of Sam’s head. The way the words roll off his tongue in spite
of the spell, the truth of them, makes him smile. “We’ve got all the time in
the world.”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Even though they can't lie, Dean still wants to give Sam the chance
     to back out. Sam is having none of it.
Dean wakes up slowly. Sam is warm and still against his side, and Dean has a
moment of horrified panic before he forces himself to calm down. He’s had
dreams like this before—that he had given into the urges he’d begun having
about a year ago, that he’d done something terrible and unforgiveable to the
one person he loves more than anyone else. It isn’t easy, but he forces himself
to breathe deeply, to remember what it felt like when he tried to lie to Sam.
To recapture that feeling of peace and joy as he realized that Sam was telling
him the truth—that he wanted this as much as Dean, that he never wanted them to
be apart. It’s selfish, Dean knows that—but right here, in this moment, he
can’t bring himself to care. For right now, he’s just going to give Sam
everything he wants, and the freedom to do that makes him almost giddy.
“I can hear you angsting from here,” Sam says sleepily against his shoulder.
Dean turns his head just enough to press a kiss to Sam’s temple.
“Nope, guess again,” Dean tells him, smiling.
Sam shifts onto his elbow, eyebrows raised as he looks down at Dean. “Really.
Because I could swear I heard a freak out in the making.”
“Maybe a couple seconds worth,” Dean admits. “I thought I was dreaming and I—“
He stops, unwilling to admit his fears, but Sam seems to get it anyway. He
rolls on top of Dean and kisses him. It’s messy and inexperienced, but Dean
loves it anyway. Loves that he's the one who gets to teach Sam, to show him
just how good his body can feel.
“You would never hurt me, Dean,” Sam says quietly. “I know that, even if you
don’t.”
“I can’t help it,” Dean confesses. “Even now, when we can’t lie, part of me
knows that I’m your big brother and I should know better. You’re too young to
make choices like this, and I know it.”
Sam’s face darkens. “Don’t you dare,” he hisses angrily. “I’m not a child, and
I’m so sick of you and Dad treating me like one, like I can’t take care of
myself!”
Dean feels Sam’s words like a punch. “Sam—“
“No. Don’t. I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit right now.” Sam
throws himself off the bed, grabbing a pair of boxers off the floor and
stomping over to the couch. Dean lets him go, stunned and trying to figure out
how everything went so wrong so fast.
After awhile, it’s obvious that Sam isn’t coming back to Dean’s side of the
efficiency; if Dean wants to resolve this he’s going to have to go to Sam. He
gets up with a sigh and cleans up in the bathroom, grabbing the same pair of
sweats he wore earlier that day before going back into the kitchen to work on
dinner. Sam wasn’t as easy to bribe with food as Dean was, but Dean knew he had
to be getting hungry. Sam had been eating half his weight in food each day for
the past month, and today had already proven to be no different. Luckily, Dean
had scraped together enough cash to really splurge on all Sam’s favorites.
It didn’t take long to put everything together. A bagged salad with extra
carrots and radishes, Sam’s favorite dressing. A couple of steaks Dean had
gotten in trade for fixing the backup generator for the butcher. Baked acorn
squash with butter and cinnamon and sugar.
“Sammy?” Dean called softly when it was ready. “You want to come eat?” Sam sat
up, glaring daggers at his older brother from the couch. He was clearly still
angry, but the smells coming from the kitchen drew him in.
“I’m still mad at you,” he said quietly. “But…thanks. This looks great.”
Dean just shook his head when Sam dove into the salad and squash first, leaving
a perfectly good piece of steak untouched. “Glad you like it, Sammy,” he said,
smiling at his plate. They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Dean cleared
his throat. “I’d like to talk some more when we’re done with dinner. Maybe
clear up a few things.”
Sam eyed his brother suspiciously. “You want to talk? Really talk?”
“Well…” Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe ‘want’ isn’t the right word. But I
need to. And I need you to listen to me.”
Sam stared at his plate. “Okay. But then you have to listen to me, too.” He
glared at Dean again, still angry. “Fair is fair.”
“Sure,” Dean said, wincing inwardly. Sam wasn’t going to like what he had to
say, but if he said he’d listen, he would. Then he’d start yelling.
Neither of them spoke again during dinner, but the silence was a little more
comfortable. Afterwards, they washed the dishes together, shoulders bumping
almost companionably, then Dean dropped onto the couch, back against the
armrest. Sam sat on the opposite end, arms crossed, and Dean missed him, even
without the possibility of sex. As much as he wanted Sam, he’d give it all up
just to have his little brother back.
“Okay, so. Here’s the thing.” Dean didn’t look at Sam as he started talking, he
couldn’t. In some ways this was worse than being flayed by a skinwalker.
“You’re smart, really smart. You’re strong, you’re a good fighter. You’re gonna
be a great hunter.” He takes a deep breath. “But I don’t really want you to be.
I don’t want you out there where it isn’t safe. I want you here so I can come
home to you and know that there’s one more thing out there that can’t hurt you.
If I could, I’d make it so you never even knew there was anything out there.”
He looks up to see that Sam is about to burst, breathing hard, eyes bright and
wet with anger. Dean holds up his hand. “I know that’s not fair. I know that
staying here waiting for me and dad is hard too. But I couldn’t stand it if you
got hurt, Sammy. I’d rather die.”
When Dean looks up again, most of Sam’s anger is gone, replaced by fear and
hurt. “But don’t you get that I feel the same way, Dean? I don’t want us to do
this! I don’t want you to get hurt! If I’m there I can help keep you safe but
all you do is get in front of me like I can’t do anything!” The tears that Sam
had been holding back fall over. “I’m just a liability to you and Dad. Someone
you have to watch out for so I don’t get you both killed. I just want you to be
safe.” He bites back a sob, and Dean opens his arms and Sam throws himself
across the couch, clinging to his big brother.
“Shh,” Dean soothes, “shhh, it’s gonna be okay, I’ve got you.” He rubs Sam’s
back over and over, fingers tingling over the smooth, soft skin, pressing soft
kisses to Sam’s face and neck. Gradually Sam calms down, just resting his
forehead on Dean’s shoulder.
“Maybe I’m not old enough or big enough to hunt,” Sam says, voice muffled
slightly. “But I’m old enough for this. Please, Dean.” He pulls back to look at
Dean with wet, pleading eyes. “Don’t say no.”
Dean smiles at him ruefully. “It’s a little late for that now,” he says. “But
we don’t have to do everything right away. I want you to have time to change
your mind. Time to think about other people, about whether or not you really
want to have sex with your brother.”
“I don’t care about other people,” Sam says fiercely. “I care about you. If
you’re okay with this then I’m okay with it.”
Dean takes a deep breath. “You know we’ll have to be careful when Dad gets
back,” he says quietly. “He won’t understand about any of this.”
“Yeah, I know,” Sam says just as quietly. “I can be careful. I don’t want him
to hurt you.”
Dean looks at Sam sharply. “He wou—“ Dean struggles but can’t get the words
out, finally giving up with a sigh. “We’ll make it work, okay? I won’t let him
hurt you.” Dean knows Sam can hear what Dean won’t say: It’s okay if he hurts
me, as long as you’re safe.
They sit quietly for a few minutes, just taking comfort in each other, but
finally Dean has to say it. “We need to go shower,” he says, rubbing his face
against Sam’s neck and making an exaggerated ewwww face. He smiles
suggestively, not quite a leer. “You wanna come with me?”
Sam nods, eyes wide, pupils blown wider. Dean can feel Sam’s cock taking an
interest, starting to push against Dean’s stomach where they’re pressed
together. “Yeah,” he breathes, rocking his hips just a little.
Dean stands up with Sam still in his arms. Sam squeaks in alarm, wrapping
himself even more tightly around his big brother. Dean’s hand slide under Sam’s
ass, gripping him firmly, big hands covering each cheek as he kneads the firm
muscle gently. “Kiss me,” he orders softly and Sam does, moaning into Dean’s
mouth as Dean’s fingers rub the sensitive skin in between. Dean carries Sam
into the bathroom, holds him against the wall to kiss and bite at his neck
while Sam writhes breathlessly against him.
“Dean, please,” he moans as Dean sucks the tender skin under his ear. “Please…”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get there,” Dean murmurs against his ear. He puts Sam down
reluctantly to turn on the water, spending the moments while it warms on his
knees in front of Sam, pulling off his boxers and running his tongue over the
sensitive skin of his abdomen. Sam moans again, hips rutting against Dean’s
chest, leaving sticky trails as Dean kisses and bites every inch he can reach.
“So beautiful, Sammy,” Dean says, mouth warm against his skin. “So fucking
beautiful.”
Sam pushes back on Dean’s shoulder, eyes wild and a little desperate. “Can I,
Dean? Please? I need…”
Dean shivers a little, then leans forward, breath ghosting over Sam’s cock. His
tongue darts out to taste the clear, sticky precome leaking from the tip and
Sam moans again. “This what you want, Sammy?” Dean asks, low and rough. He
looks up at Sam as he licks his lips, tasting the salty, bitter fluid. “How
many times have you jerked off thinking about me sucking you, Sammy? You get
off thinking about fucking my mouth?” Sam just nods, mouth open, breath
hitching in his chest as Dean leans forward and wraps his lips around the tip.
Sam’s eyes roll back, head hitting the wall with a thunk as Dean sucks hard
then slides down his entire length.
“Oh God, Dean,” Sam moans, hips thrusting forward helplessly. Dean lets him,
grabs one of Sam’s hands and guides it to his head and Sam nearly sobs, pushing
forward until he can feel Dean’s throat flutter around him. Dean doesn’t pull
back, just relaxes his throat as he stares up at Sam through his lashes.
“Fuck, Dean, fuck,” Sam pants. His hand tightens in Dean’s hair as he rocks in
and out of tight, wet heat, perfect suction and Dean just lets him, sea green
eyes wide and wet. Dean does something with his tongue, pressing into the
sensitive spot right under the head and Sam comes with a shout, shoving forward
thoughtlessly, chasing his own pleasure. Dean hums encouragingly, taking as
much as he can until Sam is done, slumped bonelessly against the wall.
Dean pulls off with an obscene pop, standing up and shoving his sweats off
before leaning in to kiss Sam hard. Sam kisses him back eagerly, chasing the
mingled taste of himself and Dean until there’s nothing left.
“We better get in the shower before the water turns cold,” Dean murmurs after a
few moments. Sam lets him pull away reluctantly, climbing in the shower and
dragging Dean in after him. Dean grabs the shampoo and lathers Sam’s hair,
fingers digging into his scalp soothingly. It feels amazing, and Sam leans into
it, relishing the luxury of Dean’s hands in his hair. Afterwards, Dean washes
him gently, sending shivers through Sam as he rubs silky smooth soap over soft
skin. Dean stops when he reaches Sam’s ass, but Sam doesn’t hesitate. He leans
both hands against the wall, offering himself completely, and Dean can’t
resist. He falls to his knees behind Sam, spreading him open and running soap
slick fingers over every inch. Sam moans, pushing back into Dean’s hands as
Dean pushes his thumb against the tight muscle, not quite breaching him. Dean
urges Sam’s foot onto the side of the tub, opening him up more. He lets the
soap sluice away before leaning in push to his face right against Sam,
breathing in his warm, clean scent.
Sam can’t help the sound he makes, torn between a gasp and a whimper as Dean’s
tongue rasps over the sensitive flesh, tasting. “Dean—Dean—what—“
Dean smirks up at Sam, staring down at him in shock, blushing.
“Gotta open you up, Sammy,” he says, voice like gravel. He pushes his thumb
against Sam’s hole again, smearing spit and water, watching Sam’s face closely.
“Gotta get you open and wet and ready—“ He pushes with each word, just the tip
of his thumb slipping inside on the final word, leaving Sam panting and pushing
back against his hand, begging wordlessly. “But not here,” he says roughly. He
stands up, bracketing Sam with his body and threading his fingers through Sam’s
as his erection slides hot and wet over Sam’s ass and back. Dean noses into
Sam’s hair, breathing deeply. “Gonna take you back to bed and open you up
right, nice and slow, get you wet and loose so I can just slide right in.” Sam
shudders underneath him and whimpers, fingers flexing against the hard tile.
In response, Dean moves back slightly so that only their hands are touching.
“You sure that’s what you want, Sam?” he asks quietly. “We’re moving pretty
fast here. If you want to slow down all you have to do is say so and we can
stop.”
Sam shakes his head vehemently. “No. I want to do it all, today.” He looks at
Dean over his shoulder, face serious. “I don’t ever want you to say I didn’t
want this,” he says, eyes holding Dean’s. “I need you to know we both wanted
this. No take backs later, no guilt trips. Okay?”
Dean hesitates. “I can’t promise that 100%,” he says honestly. “There are gonna
be days when look at this and wonder if I hurt you, if I made you this way. But
I’ll try.” He turns Sam around to look at him fully. “I’ll do my damnedest to
remember that we both want this, how it felt when I tried to lie, that you
promised this wasn’t just to make me happy. That’s all I can do, Sammy.”
Sam smiles up at him. “That’s all I need,” he says simply, clasping his hands
around Dean’s neck. Dean picks him up with a grin, enjoying Sam's startled
squeak and how Sam feels in his arms, plastered tight against him.
“Not gonna be able to do this much longer,” he says playfully . “Better make
the most of it while we can.” Sam melts against him, arms and legs wrapped
tight, face buried in the warm space between Dean’s neck and shoulder as Dean
steps out of the shower and grabs the threadbare towel off the rack.
Back in the bedroom Dean dries Sam off then himself as best he can, dropping
the soaked towel on top of the growing pile of laundry next to the bed. He
pauses to look at Sam, really looks at him without guilt or subterfuge, for the
first time in forever. Sam blushes under his gaze, hands fluttering as he tries
to hide instinctively. “Stop it,” he mumbles under his breath, but Dean just
grabs his hands and holds them still.
“Hey,” he says. “Let me look. Let me tell you what I see.” He brings Sam’s hand
to his lips, presses a kiss to his palm. “I see a kid—“ Sam protests wordlessly
“—who is growing up to be beautiful.” He makes his way up Sam’s arm—wrist, the
bend of his elbow, biting gently into his bicep, sending shivers all through
him. “Miles of gorgeous tan skin. Long legs perfect for wrapping around me.”
Dean buries his face in Sam’s neck, still breathing praise. “Throat just
begging for my lips, for my teeth, to be marked up so everyone can see you’re
taken.” Dean latches on to the delicate skin, sucking hard as Sam gasps. He’s
breathing harder, flush taking over his whole body. Dean pulls back after a
moment, breathing hard himself, looking pleased with the mark he’s left behind.
Sam reaches up to touch it, hisses when he touches the tender skin. “Did you,”
he asks, a little breathless. Dean nods, eyes dark.
“Want everyone to know,” he says, growl creeping into his voice. He leans
forward to pepper kisses all over Sam’s face, gentle in spite of his tone.
“Beautiful eyes, gorgeous cheekbones, and the prettiest pink mouth I’ve ever
seen, perfect for taking my cock.”
Sam starts to protest then stops, just tracing over Dean’s lips with his
fingers in silent disagreement. Dean draws them in, sucking the flavor of Sam
into his mouth before he lets his hands slide down Sam’s back to cup his ass.
“Tight, round little ass, always right in front of me, begging to be touched.”
Dean falls to his knees in front of Sam, and Sam stares down at him like he’ll
ever get tired of seeing that. He reaches out a shaking hand to stroke Dean’s
hair and Dean pushes into it briefly before nuzzling the firm muscles of Sam’s
stomach and the sharp cut of his hips.
“Fucking perfect cock, just waiting for me to lick and suck and play with.”
Dean bites down playfully on Sam’s hip and Sam jerks forward, shock of pleasure
and pain taking him by surprise. Dean growls a little, pulling up a mouthful of
thin skin and drawing hot blood to the surface. Sam shudders, biting his lip
and running his fingers through Dean’s short hair again as he looks down at his
brother with something akin to reverence.
“You’re fucking perfect, Sammy,” Dean tells him quietly, looking up and
catching his eyes. “You don’t ever have to be embarrassed, not around me.” He
stands up. “Now you say it,” he says, cupping Sam’s face and tracing his thumbs
over his cheekbones.
“I—I’m—“ Sam stutters over the words, blood rushing to his face when he can’t
get them out. “I can’t,” he whispers, aching with the knowledge that he’s
disappointing his brother. But Dean just smiles.
“s’okay little brother,” Dean says gently. “You are, to me. Just remember that,
okay?” Sam nods, and Dean gives himself a little shake.
“Alright,” he says, smile changing into something the sends heat creeping
through Sam’s veins. “Enough emo crap. Why don’t you get your pretty little ass
on the bed? I’ve got a birthday present for you.” Dean leers down at Sam, using
his best porno voice.
Sam rolls his eyes, grinning a little at how ridiculous Dean sounds, but he
drops onto the bed immediately. “How—how do you want me?” he asks, suddenly
feeling shy again.
Dean hesitates, considering, eyes hot and heavy on Sam like an actual caress.
“On your front for now,” he decides. “It’ll be easier the first time.”
Sam watches as Dean digs through his duffle and comes up with a bottle of lube
and a strip of condoms. He frowns. “Do you have to?” he asks, trying not to let
his disappointment color his voice. He wants to feel every part of Dean inside
him, no barriers. “I know you get tested every couple of months,” Sam rushes on
before Dean can protest. “Can’t we just…? Please?”
After a moment Dean drops the condoms back into the bag. “Haven’t been with
anyone since the last test,” he admits. “Couldn’t think about anyone but you.”
Sam’s smile is blinding. “And you’re not going to be, right?” he says
hopefully. “Just me and you now.”
Dean smiles back, just as happy. “Just you and me, kiddo. If that’s what you
want.”
Sam nods vigorously, turning away from Dean slightly and planting his elbows
into the mattress, ass in the air.
Dean hmms appreciatively at the sight. “So good for me, Sammy,” he says
approvingly, and Sam feels the warmth of Dean’s praise flush all the way
through him. The bed shifts as Dean kneels behind him. “Next time I’m gonna
have you do this yourself,” he muses, rough hands stroking over Sam's narrow
hips. “Bet you’d look so good fucking yourself with your own fingers, opening
yourself up for me.”
“I do that, sometimes,” Sam admits, blushing a little. “I pretend I’m doing it
for you, that you’re waiting for me.”
Dean groans behind him, hands tightening on Sam’s hips. “Christ, Sammy,” he
mutters under his breath. “Gonna be the death of me, I swear.” He leans forward
to press a kiss to Sam’s shoulder. “You’re definitely gonna put on a show for
me later,” he whispers, breath ghosting over Sam’s neck and ear. “But for now,
this time, I want to make sure everything goes right. I want to make sure this
feels just as good for you as it does for me.”
Sam shivers underneath him. “I trust you, Dean,” he says seriously, looking
over his shoulder at Dean with wide eyes. “Always. I know you’d never hurt me.”
Dean brushes the hair out of Sam’s eyes and then pulls back slightly. “I
changed my mind,” he says, voice rough with emotion. Before Sam can protest he
continues. “Turn over. I need to see you.” Sam rolls over onto his back,
smiling up at Dean a little shyly. He flushes again as he lets his legs fall
open, cock already hard and needy against his flat stomach. Putting on a show,
letting Dean really see him.
“Like this?” he asks coyly, and Dean swallows hard.
“Yeah, Sammy, that’s perfect. You’re perfect.” Dean hesitates. “This is gonna
hurt a little no matter how we do it,” he says, opening the bottle of lube.
Sam’s eyes are huge, never leaving Dean’s face as Dean slicks up one finger and
circles Sam’s opening in short, teasing strokes.
“Dean,” Sam whines, hips shifting restlessly. “C'mon, don't tease—“ His voice
breaks on a strangled whimper as Dean pushes in slowly. “Ohhh,” he gasps, eyes
snapping shut.
“Just relax,” Dean says softly, but he doesn’t need to, Sam’s taking him
beautifully, hands clenched in the sheets as he tries to open himself wider,
take Dean deeper.
“More, Dean, please,” Sam begs, voice cracking as Dean pulls out. “I can take
it, I need it please—“
Dean shushes him with a kiss, slicking his middle finger and pushing both back
into the tight heat of Sam’s body. Sam hisses in shock, back arching a little
at the intrusion. It stings, a dull achy burn that fades away almost instantly
as Dean shifts to get his free hand on Sam’s hip, holding him down as gently as
he can as he works his fingers in and out, spreading Sam wide.
“Please,” Sam whispers feverishly, spreading his legs wider, pulling his knees
higher. “Please, Dean, please—“ His voice breaks as Dean adds another finger,
so much thicker than Sam’s ever tried before, filling him up so much more, so
much better. He whimpers again as Dean just keeps going, one hand clenched on
Sam’s hip, holding him still, the other pushing deep into Sam’s ass. Dean
spreads his fingers wide, splitting him open it feels like, and Sam whines just
a little at the rush of pleasure and pain. Dean shifts to plant one hand next
to Sam's head, leaning in to kiss him again.
“Just relax, Sammy,” Dean says against his lips, sounding as out of breath and
out of his mind as Sam feels, “just relax, let me make you feel good, gonna
feel so good I promise.” Sam nods a little, gasps yeah, yeah then his whole
body goes tight when Dean touches something electric inside him. Dean groans as
Sam clamps down on his fingers with a cry, pushing down onto Dean’s hand
desperately.
“Oh God, Dean, do that again,” Sam begs, his voice shaking. He starts stroking
himself again, slicking his palm with the clear fluid leaking steadily onto the
flat planes of his stomach. “I’m ready, Dean, please, I need you, please—“
“You sure you're ready, Sammy?” Dean teases, twisting his fingers deeper and
rubbing that spot inside him. Sam's whole body arches beautifully, pretty pink
mouth falling open as he tries to suck in a breath that he can't quite catch.
Dean takes pity on him and reluctantly pulls his fingers free of Sam's body.
Sam pulls Dean close, panting against his shoulder.
“Want you,” he says against Dean’s neck. “Please.” Dean shivers against him.
“Want you too, Sammy.” Dean lays Sam back down and flips the cap on the bottle
of lube. He slicks his cock, biting his lip at the sensation. Sam can’t look
away, his entire body trembling with a mix of want and trepidation. Dean looks
bigger now, the head of his dick swollen and red, shiny with lube and precome.
Sam remembers how it felt in his mouth and licks his lips, wishing he could
still taste his brother there. He doesn’t realize how intently he’s been
staring until he feels Dean’s hand on his face. Sam can feel the blood rising
in his cheeks but Dean just smiles at him.
“You ready, Sammy?” he asks again. Sam nods but Dean still hesitates. “It’s
going to hurt a little,” he says, and Sam is ready to beg again if he has to
but Dean doesn’t make him wait any longer.
The head of Dean’s dick feels huge as Dean pushes against Sam’s opening. Sam
tries to relax, but it hurts, more than he thought it would after Dean’s prep.
He breathes deep, forces his muscles to unknot, to let Dean in, and finally it
works. Sam opens his eyes to see Dean watching him. When their eyes meet, Dean
rolls his hips deliberately, hard, and pushes right past the tight ring of
muscle. Sam tightens on instinct, bearing down, and Dean drops his head to
Sam’s shoulder with an almost hurt sound, fighting the urge to just push into
that tight, wet heat. He gives Sam a moment to adjust, waiting for him to relax
before moving again, willing to wait as long as Sam needs him to. Sam’s fingers
are clenched on Dean’s shoulders, face buried against Dean’s neck, trying to
process the overwhelming feeling of fullness, of Dean. He finds Dean’s ear,
lips moving almost soundlessly as he begs for more Dean please I need--until
Dean is finally buried inside him all the way, sweet, merciless pressure
rubbing all over his insides.
“Fuck, Sammy. So good for me,” Dean groans, their bodies flush together. Sam's
legs instinctively wrap around Dean’s waist, wanting him closer, deeper. They
breathe together, moving as one, Sam pushing up into Dean’s thrusts as Dean
dips down to capture Sam’s mouth in an eager kiss.
“Dean,” Sam gasps against his mouth. He can already feel white hot pressure
building inside him as Dean’s cock strokes his inner walls and nudges against
his prostate with every slow, deep thrust. “Dean, please, I need you to touch
me.”
“Shh, I got you, Sammy,” Dean says gently. He shifts to wrap one sweatslick
hand around Sam, stroking in time with the push-pull of his cock in Sam’s ass.
It’s amazing, sparks firing along every nerve as the pleasure builds and builds
until Sam thinks he might die. “Come on, Sam, come for me,” Dean whispers,
biting down gently on his neck, and that’s all it takes. Sam can’t see
anything, feel anything except Dean Dean Dean over him, around him, inside him
as the world remakes itself. He feels Dean’s rhythm stutter, hears Dean swear
low and broken as he comes hot and wet inside him and Sam clings to him,
wanting nothing more than to stay like this for as long as possible.
It’s long moments before either of them move beyond Dean shifting slightly so
that Sam can breathe. Dean had tried to pull out and away, but Sam held on
wordlessly, wanting to feel him a little longer, and Dean couldn’t resist. He
wants to savor this moment as much as Sam—every smell, every feeling, every
inch of Sam’s sweaty, flushed, wrung out body underneath his. Finally, Sam
sighs and stretches, wincing just a little as the movement allows Dean to slip
free.
“We need another shower,” he says, smiling dopily up at Dean. Dean feels a
similar expression pulling at his face, knows he probably looks ridiculously
stupid. At least there’s no one here to see except Sam, he thinks gratefully.
“Mmmm,” Dean says, rubbing his face against Sam’s hair. “Maybe just wash up for
now. You’re wearing me out, kiddo.”
Sam laughs as Dean staggers off to the bathroom on sex weak legs, smiles up at
him when he comes back with a warm cloth. He sprawls bonelessly across the bed,
just enjoying the warmth and care of Dean cleaning him up gently. Afterward
Dean stretches out beside him and pulls the sheet up over them, curling around
Sam as they both drift off to sleep.
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