Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/619090.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Gary
  Additional Tags:
      gary!sam, Mistaken_Identity, I_guess_technically_underage_since_gary_is_a
      teenager, don't_look_at_me_I_don't_know_how_this_happened, Episode:
      s05e12_Swap_Meat
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-01 Words: 2639
****** This Wasn't Part of the Plan ******
by isengard
Summary
     Dean stares him down while he drains the bottle, and Gary feels cold
     sweat bead across the back of his neck. He swallows, hard, and
     notices how Dean’s eyes flick over his throat as he does.
     Reading his body language. He’ll know something is up. Shit – he’s
     stepping forward, he knows something’s up, Gary’s gonna get caught –
     Fingers brush Sam’s hair back behind his ear, unexpectedly gentle,
     and Dean is close, all up in his personal space, smiling wickedly.
     “You’re all wet, Sammy,” he says, and his voice is a deep growl, low
     and – erotic?
     What the fuck is going on?
Gary showers at the motel, feeling admittedly like less of a stud than he’d
hoped. Crystal, the cougar he’d bagged in Sam’s body, was practically militant
in the bedroom; he hadn’t had a clue what to do. It’d been pretty clear that
she was disappointed, especially when she finally sank down on top of him and
he came three minutes later.
Oh, well. Not his body, not his problem. Maybe he can try again tomorrow –
maybe with Melanie Barnes, the hot cheerleader in his history class…
Except, that would be all kinds of wrong, right? And illegal. Because Sam is
twenty-six; and Melanie is sixteen. Like him. He could probably go to jail, and
that would definitely throw a wrench in his plans.
Body-switching is complicated. Maybe next time he’ll swap with the captain of
the basketball team. He towels off, laughing to himself. There’s an idea.
Sam’s naked body in the soft light of the clouded bathroom is still amazing to
him – so thick and strong, every inch of skin stretched tight over ropes of
muscle, and his dick. It’s probably gay as fuck to be admiring Sam’s dick the
way he is, but damn. Dude’s got like, a full three inches on him in length, and
there’s something pretty about the way it curves when strokes himself hard –
no, no way, too gay. He is, for all intents and purposes, playing with another
guy’s cock.
This is not what you came here to do, Gary. Man up.
He throws on a pair of sweatpants, foregoing boxers, and a t-shirt that he
realizes once it’s on must be Dean’s. It’s comically tight, but he can’t seem
to find any shirts that look like they’re Sam’s size.
He hunts around the motel room, finding a shit-ton of weapons, a 10lb bag of
salt (what?), some cool old books half translated from Latin that he’ll
definitely have to swipe after he kills Dean, and – lube. A sticky, half-full
bottle and a dozen or so packets, like the kind they got in health class along
with their diaphragms and egg babies.
Weird.
The door clicks open behind him while he’s still in the process of looking, and
he turns around to see Dean Winchester standing there, looking weary and
clutching a six-pack. “Hey, Sammy,” he says with a small salute. His weariness
melts into a smile. “Hope you had better luck than I did. Can’t find a single
goddamn record on Margaret Briggs that lists where she’s buried.”
That statement is so startling to him that he blurts out, “You mean Maggie
Briggs?” and immediately wants to clap his hand over his mouth. He doesn’t
sound like Sam the Hunter – he sounds like Gary, all chirpy and bookish.
Dean sets the six-pack down and gives him a weird look. “Obviously.”
Again, before his brain-to-mouth filter can engage, he’s saying, “She’s buried
in the cellar of her old house. At least that’s what everyone says.”
Dean pops the top off his beer and steps forward, still frowning. “Uh, and you
know this how?”
“Um.” He’s never been good under pressure like this. “I…talked to people?”
“You talked to people,” Dean repeats, like he’s not quite sure he heard
correctly. Then he shrugs. “All right. You feeling okay, Sammy?”
“Oh, yeah,” Gary nods, trying to imitate his best tense, manly smile. “Great.
Totally great.”
Dean stares him down while he drains the bottle, and Gary feels cold sweat bead
across the back of his neck. He swallows, hard, and notices how Dean’s eyes
flick over his throat as he does.
Reading his body language. He’ll know something is up. Shit – he’s stepping
forward, he knows something’s up, Gary’s gonna get caught –
Fingers brush Sam’s hair back behind his ear, unexpectedly gentle, and Dean is
close, all up in his personal space, smiling wickedly. “You’re all wet, Sammy,”
he says, and his voice is a deep growl, low and – erotic?
What the fuck is going on?
He says, “Yeah, I took a shower,” and takes a step back, which only makes Dean
advance on him in a predatory stalk that sends his heart racing.
“You’re about to need another one,” Dean murmurs, and then a warm, calloused
palm is cupping Gary’s – Sam’s – face, and full, wet lips are pressed to his, a
tongue soaked in beer pushes through to lick along the inside of his mouth.
He tries to jump back, but finds he’s all the way against the wall, and then
Dean’s body is a hot line against his, pinning him, overwhelming him. Dean’s
hands slip under his shirt, and Dean’s mouth goes to lick his neck and suck at
the base of his ear, and Gary lets out a gasp, because wow, Crystal didn’t do
that.
“Wearing my shit again, Sammy,” Dean mutters against his throat, dragging his
hand down Sam’s chest and slipping his fingers inside the waistband of the
sweatpants. “You know it makes me crazy when you do that. Gonna be walking
around smelling like you, pitching a goddamn tent on a graveyard dig. Can’t
have that.”
To Gary’s complete shock, he’s actually getting hard. Which can’t be, because
Dean – Dean’s a dude, for crying out loud, and he’s Sam’s brother.
Brother.
Flesh and blood brother.
Isn’t he?
“C’mon, you’re making me do all the work here,” Dean whispers, and then his
mouth is covering Sam’s ear, and his hand is in – actually in Sam’s pants,
wrapping around Sam’s cock, thumb circling the head like he’s done it a
thousand times before – and Sam’s knees buckle, and Gary almost goes down.
“Oh, my God,” he hears himself say, and he knows his eyes are huge, and he’s
trembling, and Dean pulls back to eye him again.
“You sure you’re all right?”
“Do that again,” Gary pants, completely forgetting himself. “Please, God – ”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean soothes, dragging him forward by the shirt. His legs are
rubber; he follows the movement without resisting. “I got you, baby bro. Come
on, we’ll take it easy.”
Yep. Definitely brothers.
Dean guides him towards the bed – there are two queens, and he can’t believe he
didn’t notice only one of them was actually being slept in – and rubs a hand up
and down his shaft, gentle through the thin fabric of the navy lounge pants. He
tugs off his own shirt and then helps Gary with his, laughing a little when the
stretched-tight cotton gets stuck on Sam’s broad shoulders.
Then he pushes Gary down on the mattress and crawls over him, clasping their
hands together, straddling Sam’s hips and rocking back against him, easy, slow.
“One of those days, huh?” he asks sympathetically. “You having withdrawals?”
There’s a warning in his voice too, but Gary can’t even begin to guess what
he’s talking about, so it doesn’t register all that much. He says, “Uh, sort
of,” and then squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip hard when Dean rolls
their hips together again, which gets a chuckle out of Dean, anyways.
“You’re acting like a fucking teenager,” he says, fondly. “Tell me what you
want, Sammy. I’ll give it to you, I swear. Make you forget about the whole
goddamn world; all right? You’re safe here with me. I got you.”
Dean is Sam’s brother, and Gary’s not fucking gay, but he’s saying, “Just –
just touch me, like you were before, that was so good – ” and Dean’s grinning
like he’s saying every word he’s ever wanted to hear, leaning forward to press
a searing kiss to his lips before reaching back to pull Sam’s pants down,
dragging the seam of the waistband all the way down Sam’s oversensitized
length, and Gary bucks into it, choking on a sharp inhale.
“Look at you,” Dean muses, gazing darkly up at him from between Sam’s knees.
“You are just ready to go.” He licks his palm and wraps it around Sam’s cock
again, jerking him once, twice, three times, and widens his eyes at the
reaction it gets from Gary. “The fuck’s gotten into you, Sammy?”
The hand goes away, and Gary bites Sam’s lip hard, grunting, “Don’t stop,
please,” but Dean just laughs and shakes his head, reaching for something on
the floor.
“No way, man. You’re about ten seconds away from blowing your load, and I
haven’t even gotten my dick in you yet.”
Wait, what?
Gary pushes up on his elbows and stares wildly at Dean, chest heaving, thoughts
flying through his mind too fast to come out in any form of coherency. “Uh,” he
manages breathlessly, “Uh, I – I don’t know – ”
Dean tears a lube packet open with his teeth and wets his fingers, frowning as
he reaches behind Sam’s balls. “I’ll go slow,” he reassures him, although he
doesn’t sound entirely sure himself. “Whatever you need, Sammy.”
The first few touches are so shocking and alien that he loses his hard-on
entirely, making Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Jesus, you’re a mess today,” he
says worriedly, pressing a kiss to Sam’s hip. His finger is pressing inside
Sam, and Gary’s squirming around it, trying to accept it – and then Dean gives
him one wet stroke deep down, and his whole body practically jerks up off the
bed.
Dean pauses and pulls his fingers out, and five seconds ago, Gary would’ve
welcomed that, but now he just wants more, he wants Dean to touch that spot
again, that spot somewhere inside Sam – what is it called again? They talked
about this in Sex-Ed – the prostate, that’s right.
Nice to know it’s a real thing.
Dean says, “Sam, if you’re not feeling okay, maybe we should just – ” and
something comes over Gary that he doesn’t have a name for, a hunger he never
knew he had, and he scrambles up to his knees and kisses Dean, really kisses
him, with tongue and everything, something he hasn’t done since he got shoved
in a closet with Christina Miller in the ninth grade during a pop-rocks fueled
game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Christina’d practically sucked his tongue off,
and he’d been sore for a whole day, but when Dean sucks on his tongue, when
Dean lets him in and gives his mouth over to him, steady, certain, completely
trusting, it’s the most intoxicating thing he’s ever known. They kiss like
that, deep and lavish, until Dean breaks away with a gasp and says, “Fuck.”
Gary watches him – was that good or bad? – and Dean sucks in a breath and then
smiles ruefully. “You are gonna kill me, Sammy. Jesus.”
Gary says, “Please, Dean,” and then he’s being shoved back down, and Dean’s
fingers are in him again, Dean’s other hand slicking over his reanimated cock,
mixing long, full-fisted strokes with fingertips ghosting, clamping around the
base, swiping over the head – he’s dizzy with lust, and there’s so much wet
everywhere, between his cheeks, slipping down his thighs, Dean’s hand is shiny
with it – “oh God, oh God,” he whines, clenching around Dean’s fingers as they
push against that spot again. “Dean – fuck, just – fuck,” he gasps.
Dean bares his teeth in an animalistic grin and leans forward suddenly, biting
him right under his nipple. His skin is alive with the shock of it, but it’s
good, so good, and he hears himself whisper, “Do that again,” and Dean obliges,
leaving teeth marks all the way down to his groin. His cock is leaking steadily
now, and he takes one, two deep breaths before saying three words he never,
never thought he’d utter in his life.
“Fuck me, Dean.”
Dean moans, there’s another obscene, slick-sliding sound, and then Dean’s
pushing in, and wow. There’s just – it’s too big, it won’t fit, it shouldn’t
fit – but somehow it does, and Dean’s sheathed inside him, and it’s too much.
He’s clawing at the sheets, his breath is coming shallower, there’s a dim panic
somewhere inside him, it aches –
A warm palm settles on his stomach, and Dean says, “Hey, hey, take it easy. I’m
not moving. Take it easy, Sammy, I’m here, it’s just me.”
Gary nods frantically and tries to breathe deeper through his teeth.
“Just relax. We’re going slow.”
When he’s finally able to open his eyes, he sees the struggle Dean’s going
through painted plainly across his features. He’s trembling with the effort
it’s taking not to move, but he’s concerned, he’s worried about his brother –
his brother that he’s fucking, Gary thinks, but somehow even that doesn’t make
Dean’s expression any less raw or tender. He loves Sam, Gary can see it, loves
him like a limb, and keeps him just as close.
He feels his jaw unclench, and it sends a wave of relief through him, all the
way to the ache between his legs, which is becoming more of a dull throb – and
an itch, almost, a teasing sort of burn, and he doesn’t fully understand it
until Dean tentatively pulls out and pushes back in, and it blooms all over his
skin, and he knows, this is right.
“Again,” he breathes.
Dean moves, at first rocking and hesitant, then stronger, faster, deeper, and
it builds and builds until Sam’s ankles are hooked over his shoulders, and
Gary’s sweating and cursing and clenching desperately around Dean, and Dean’s
groaning, “Sam, Sam, Sam,” and when Gary’s orgasm finally hits, it knocks the
wind out of him, he arches all the way off the bed, and catches the tail-end of
Dean’s wide-eyed look of wonder before he cries out and slumps forward, seizing
inside him.
He slides out a few moments later and staggers to the bathroom, returning with
a towel. Gary looks at him helplessly. He feels like there’s sand weighing down
every part of his body; he can’t move, he doesn’t want to. His muscles will not
cooperate to even lift his arm an inch off the bed and grab the towel from
Dean’s hand.
Dean just laughs and says, “God, you’re fucking useless after you come,” and
cleans him up, mopping the puddle of semen off his stomach and then grinning
when he goes back between his legs, gently wiping with a damp part of the
towel, then drying all the wet between his thighs.
“Thanks,” Gary mumbles, but he’s not sure it comes out in word form.
Dean crawls in beside him in a few seconds later, and when he doesn’t slide up
against Sam’s body, Gary finds the strength to reach over and tug him close.
“You big baby,” Dean mutters, his lips against Sam’s throat. “Should’ve known
you’d girl up on me tonight.”
Gary cards Sam’s long fingers through Dean’s hair and says, “Shut up,” because
he feels like that’s something Sam would say at this point.
A few minutes later, he’s half asleep, and Dean stirs and asks, “You sure
you’re okay?”
Gary nods sleepily, his chin bumping the top of Dean’s head. “Mm.”
“You’d tell me if something was going on?”
A flash of guilt travels through Gary at that, and he dimly remembers that he’s
supposed to kill Dean tomorrow – that’s seeming like less and less of a
possibility, though. It seems crazy, actually.
He can’t kill Dean. Hell, he thinks he’s halfway in love with Dean, at this
point. Which is ten times more fucked up than anything he thought he was
getting himself into, and when he wakes up he’ll probably want to kill himself,
but there it is.
His judgment shot to hell as it is, nothing to lose, he decides to try the
words out. “I love you.”
Dean stills under his arm, and he wonders if they don’t normally say that, if
it’s something that they tell each other through touch and gaze and grip,
instead of words.
He’s drifting off when Dean finally replies, “I love you too, Sam.”
Gary wishes he could be Sam Winchester forever.
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