The World's a Beast of a Burden - Chapter 3/3 - Would You Have it Any Other Way?
Wincest
NC-17
Light D/s
Top!Sam
~5000 words
The elevator is empty and Sam exhales as the heat from Dean’s body sinks into his. He can see Dean’s face in the glossy mirrored surface. He looks peaceful, eyes are closed and a soft smile on his face. Sam pulls Dean in more tightly against him and Dean feels almost sleepy in his arms. Too bad they’re only going three floors down, Sam just kind of wants to ride the elevator like this for a while.
The couple that enters pushes the button for the library and Sam thinks ‘what the hell’ and rides down with them. Dean’s head is tilted into Sam’s chest and he looks half asleep. The door opens onto the lobby. The woman meets Sam’s eyes and quietly asks, “Floor?”
“Thirty two,” Sam whispers. She presses the button before exiting.
It’s not the fastest elevator in the world, and they’re taking the long way up, people entering and exiting at most of the floors, so Sam has plenty of time to imagine how amazing he and Dean would look fucking inside this mirrored box, their reflections repeating into infinity. He thinks some of the other passengers would approve, might even clap if they knew how ready Dean’s body is for his, how he could just slip that plug out and slip right into him. Luckily for the other guests, Sam couldn’t get it up again right now if they were paying him. Though that doesn’t mean he couldn’t make Dean come spectacularly, make him dirty up this shiny surface.
The elevator dings as it passes the 31st floor, and Sam gently pushes Dean up and off him. The smile hasn’t left his face. He leans in close to Sam’s ear. “Was that your surprise, Sammy? A little elevator ride? Not even gonna fuck me in front of all these mirrors?” Sam’s hand tightens on Dean’s arm, and Dean chuckles low and quiet. “Would be so hot.”
“Narcissist,” Sam jokes.
“I was thinking of watching you,” Dean replies as the elevator stops. They hear the bass thump of music before the door open.
The elevator opens right into the red-velvet rope waiting area. Sam and Dean get the nod, not a surprise, Sam pays the cover and they’re in.
The club is packed. Music two decibels below aerial-assault level, beautiful half-naked people dancing, crammed together. There are dancers, men, women, men who might be women and women who might be men, dancing together or alone in cages from the ceiling on the bars. Sam can’t tell if they’re paid entertainment or just really happy club goers.
The moist heat of sweaty bodies envelopes them and Dean takes off his jacket as soon as he’s inside, carrying it slung over his arm. Even in this crowd of glitterati, Dean stands out with his stark black and white tux and silver tipped cane and the crowd parts in front of him as people try to figure out if they know him, if they should know him.
Mirrored columns separate the dance floor from the rest of the club and Sam checks them out while Dean searches for a place for them to sit. They look damn good and he turns Dean’s head to the sight of the two of them together. Dean’s smile is wide and he’s got that that look in his eyes like every second they spend clothed is just a waste of time. Sam loves that look. “Got a thing for mirrors, Sammy?” he asks. “Guess we’d better do some renovating back at the bunker.” Sam just tilts his head back and kisses him, one hand cupping his face, one hand on his hip. He sees a lady passing behind them walks trip over a low table, she’s staring at them so hard.
Dean pulls his lips away so Sam just moves onto his neck. “Sam?” Dean asks.
“Hmm?” Sam murmurs, not moving his lips off of Dean’s neck. That jacket looks awesome on Dean, fits him like a sin, but it blocks Sam’s access to Dean’s skin. Without the jacket on, he can finally get to that soft spot on Dean’s neck that he loves to mark up. Actually, Sam thinks, if Dean were naked, he could reach all of his skin. Maybe it’s the $200 scotch talking, but part of Sam actually contemplates stripping Dean right here, right now.
Dean shifts the jacket to the arm with the walking stick, then reaches behind him, runs his hand up the back of Sam’s thighs. “I’m sensing a theme here.”
Sam smiles into Dean’s skin, nips at it sharply before pulling away. “Oh?” he asks.
“Is this, perchance, a club of the homosexual persuasion?” He nods across the floor and Sam follows his gaze to two women in a rather heated embrace. When the blonde’s hand slides up the redhead’s skirt, he bites down on Dean’s neck again, loving the shudder that goes through his brother. “I believe it is. And I believe that I am going to fuck you in this club and I want everyone to see.”
Dean’s reaction to that is exquisite. He trembles, bending over like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Sammy,” he gasps, pushing his hand hard against his groin to stave off what Sam is sure is going to be an epic orgasm. “Fuck. Don’t...don’t say things like that if...”
“If what?” He licks up Dean’s neck, digging his fingers hard into his hips. “If I don’t mean it? But I do mean it. You’re strong, and brave, and amazing, and beautiful and mine. Only mine. And I want everyone to see and be jealous.”
“Possessive bitch,” Dean says.
Dean doesn’t know the half of it.
So often what they do is in the shadows, hidden from normal people. They saved the world and no one knows. They love through heaven and hell and no one can see. Dean hides his depths behind his easy beauty and quick mouth, and Sam has learned since puberty how to make 6’ 5” of solid muscle looks small. But sometimes he just wants everyone to see them, to acknowledge them.
Dean turns in Sam’s arms and pulls them back into the mirror, mouth sealed to Sam’s. That’s one way to get people to look at them. Why isn’t there another word for what happens when his mouth is on Dean’s? A kiss is something mothers give children in fairytales. What happens between them when it’s like this is different. It’s an affirmation that they are still here, still alive and still have each other, despite heaven’s plans and hell’s intent. Entire conversations they will never have pass between them in these moments. The way they are, Sam knows it’s not normal. Normal people couldn’t survive this. But, then again, neither will they. There’s no way it will ever end neatly. When one goes, the other will, too. They’ve proven that time and time again.
By the time they make their way to one of the low loveseats near the dance floor, Dean is limping a little, leaning hard on his walking stick, and they both have their jackets off. Sam’s black on black waistcoat is still buttoned up neatly, but he’s taken off his tie and loosened the collar. Dean’s still got his tie on and the suspenders up, but the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up and Sam is mesmerized by the muscles in his forearm and the golden hair. He really wants to see Dean messed up now. They watch the dancers for while, listening to the music. It’s too loud to really talk, so Sam just leans back and pulls Dean between his legs, his back pressed against Sam’s chest. He can’t stop touching, rubbing his hands down Dean’s arms, his thighs. Kissing his temple, the side of his neck. Dean’s breathing gets deeper and Sam can feel the faintest of tremors starting in his legs as he struggles to keep from rolling his hips. God, Dean still hasn’t come yet. Sam can practically feel him trembling in his bones.
Sam slips his hand under the suspenders, right where they attach to Dean’s pants. His fingers dip down under the waistband, quick and light. He feels Dean’s muscles flutter. Dean is firm and hot under his palm. He drags his hand slowly up under the suspender strap, stopping to pinch at a nipple. Does it again, rolling the rough point between his fingers to hear Dean moan his name again. He pulls Dean’s head to the left with one hand as he slide the suspender down off his shoulder, trapping Dean’s arm against his body.
A low ,i>‘fuck yeah’ carries below the music and Sam looks up without moving his mouth from Dean’s neck. A slender young man with dark hair is watching them, gaze locked on where Sam’s hand disappears into Dean’s clothing. As Sam pulls the other suspender off Dean’s shoulder, the man points his partner in Sam’s direction. Sam pulls Dean’s chin up so he can see the men are watching them. Then he gently pulls Dean’s shirt out from his pants and unbuttons it. He slides his hand back down into Dean’s pants, feeling Dean hard and leaking. The contact makes them both moan and the music thuds through them like a shared heartbeat.
They draw the dancers like moths to their flame. Vegas is full of jaded, sophisticated social climbers who try to hide their desire under a mask of ennui, but Sam can sense their eyes sliding over him and Dean, sees them dance a little closer, the crowds thickening near their loveseat. He completely understand why people can’t look away, he knows what Dean looks like when like this, seen it a hundred times, and he still can’t ever look away either. The soft, almost-feminine prettiness of Dean’s teens and twenties has grown into a chiseled handsomeness without diminishing the plushness of his lips or the lush sweep of lashes around his green-gold eyes.
So Sam lets them watch as he strokes Dean slowly and firmly from root to tip, moving with the rolling of Dean’s hips. There’s a temptation to just keep it building like this, just slow and deep and moving his hand steady, until Dean comes hot and wet over Sam’s hand, sweeping them both along in a pyroclastic flow of heat. But he wants more than that. He wants Dean’s brain fried and body boneless by the end. And he knows exactly how to do that. He pulls his hand out of Dean’s pants. “Sammy” Dean whispers. Letting Sam know he’s okay with whatever Sam wants.
And Sam needs to know that he can do things for Dean. Dean gives himself over and over to the world. It’s Sammy’s job to give back to him. To bring him back to himself and gather up all those pieces he’s given away. To put him back together with his hands and his words and his cock and his love.
Sam’s not stupid, he’s done the research on how they are with each other. Knows all the terminology and the psychology. But it doesn’t really apply to them. They’ve held each other as they died, as they were flayed open emotionally and physically. He knows Dean. If he were forced to talk about this, put a name to it, it would be over. When Dean is like this, Sammy knows he could ask Dean to bleed for him, he would, gladly. It’s ironic that the only thing Dean would safeword out of would be a conversation on safewords.
Sam’s hand stills as the urge to protect Dean wars with the urge to show the world the shining thing that is Dean Winchester.
Dean makes the decision for him when he rolls his head against Sam’s chest languidly, decadently. “Kiss me, baby boy,” he demands into the skin of Sam’s neck. And Sam does. There is no power on earth that could stop him. Their mouths press and slide over each other, the angle wrong for the deep kisses Sam prefers, where he feels like he can breathe Dean’s air. This soft, teasing touches of lips and tongue that make Sam crazy is Dean’s territory. More than once Dean has tied Sam to the bed, blindfolded him, and tortured him with his mouth for what seems like eternity. Nipping, licking, and sucking - never in one place long enough to let Sam relax. Not until Sam is trembling, arms and legs pulled tight against the restraints, every muscle strained and outlined in sweat, not until the tears fall from his eyes and his voice is hoarse from begging, does Dean take pity on him. The wet-hot-tight plunge of Dean’s mouth on his painfully hard cock is like a punch to the gut and Sam comes with a white-blind scream that has broken more than one headboard and gotten them kicked out of more than one motel with paper-thin walls.
Sam’s groans with the memory. Resting his head on Dean’s temple, he can see the fine lines feathering out from his eyes get deeper as Dean smiles, can feel Dean’s chest press out, thighs drop open a little further as he shows off. Seducing the crowd. Dean knows he’s gorgeous. Sam growls into his brother’s ear. “You make me crazy. I’m two seconds away from fucking you on this couch.” All the air leaves Dean’s lungs in a long exhale and his fingers dig into Sam’s thigh muscles. It’s the closest Dean gets to begging like this and it’s all Sam needs to know.
He pries Dean’s hands off his thighs and pulls his arms up over his head, hooking them around his neck. Dean’s shirt is in Sam’s way, so he yanks it out from under the suspenders. He slides one hand back down, gripping Dean’s cock hard, pinching his nipple with the other. Dean gasps and twists up with a pained moan. Sam hears the moan echoed back from somewhere behind him. “Keep your eyes open as long as you can,” he tells Dean. “I want them to see how gorgeous you are when you come.”
“Okay, Sammy,” Dean pants. Sam is jacking him in earnest now, hand tight and deliberate, from top to bottom, over and over. There’s not a lot room in the tux pants and Sam really wants to watch. He feels Dean pulse hot over his hand on the next upstroke and give the shuddering exhale that means he close and Sam just has to see it. He stops torturing Dean’s nipples long enough to one-handedly open the fasting on the trousers. A push from the back of his hand, and the zipper slides down. Dean’s cock arches from the opening of his briefs. “Oh fucking hell,” Dean curses, pressing his head back into Sam’s chest. Sam kisses his head as his hand slips over the wet tip and slides back down.
The dark-haired man is openly rubbing his erection through his pants. The lesbian couple is leaning back against a pillar, watching. The blonde stands behind her partner, rolling the other’s nipples between her fingers. Sam loves it. “Fuck, Dean,” he growls. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Look what you’re doing to them.” Dean melts against Sam and Sam just curves as much as he can over Dean, holding him, protecting him, and making him feel so, so good.
And, oh, this is Sam’s favorite place to be. When everything falls away and all Sam can see and feel and hear is Dean, under his hand, his mouth, pressed against his own hardness. All his focus is on pushing this to the edge, to pulling absolutely everything from Dean he can. So when a body knocks against his leg, the only thing he can process is not Dean. The disorientation is dizzying. In the space of a blink, Dean’s arms are gone from around his neck and he hears a small scraping sound and the air around them goes oddly quiet and tense.
The flashing lights and the pounding music come crashing back into his consciousness. The black and white flash of the strobe illuminates the tableau in bits and pieces. A small crowd around them, standing stock still. Flash. The brunette man, eyes wide, hand held out in front of him. Flash. Dean’s arm rock steady, holding the long knife from the walking stick against the man’s palm. Flash. Sam can see the point pressing just the smallest bit into the soft flesh. Dean’s body is still relaxed against Sam’s chest, his cock still hard under Sam’s hand.
Lust shoots through Sam and his hand tightens around Dean at the same time he thrusts against Dean’s back. Oh, fuck. Feels so good. And he can tell from the pulsing of Dean’s blood and the way he swells under Dean’s hand that he is so close.
The strobe lights give over to a rain of wildly swinging colored lights, and Sam can see the crowd staring to part from the rear as security makes its way towards them. He leans as far over Dean as he can, sliding down one hand to push hard against the plug still inside Dean. It’s slippery from the come leaking out of it. He rubs around so gently in contrast to the rough fast way he is stripping Dean’s cock. “Come for me Dean, before those security guys get here. Then I’m gonna take you back to the room and -” And Dean is coming, almost silently just some soft grunts, knife point not wavering. Sam’s eyes roll back in his head at the feel of Dean’s heat sliding over his fingers, and the strength in Dean’s body, and the steadiness of his hand. It’s all of Dean condensed into one moment.
Security is getting closer and he can hear the crowd start murmuring. Dean is still half-hard and still working through the aftershocks of his orgasm as Sam maneuvers them off the couch. He pulls Dean’s hand away from the dark-haired man, lets him stumble back into the crowd, and zips Dean’s pants back up. They stand, neither one too steadily, and Dean sheathes the knife. They walk towards the door in silence, jackets flung over their arms, Dean’s open shirt flapping in the breeze. Sam drags Dean by the hand and they make it out in record time. Dean nods at the bouncer as they walk into the blessedly empty elevator.
Sam drags Dean in, pushes the button for their floor and leans heavily against the wall with a sigh. He hears a choked sound from Dean. When he opens his eyes, he sees Dean in the reflection across him. God, Dean looks amazingly, completely, debauched. Shirt open, pants undone and clinging to him damply. His beautiful face and perfect neck are still flushed, hair wild. And he’s looking at Sam all bedroom-eyed, smiling that wide shit-eating grin that’s brighter than all the disco lights in the club. When he sees Sam looking at him, he laughs silently and holds up their (come-covered Sam realizes) hands. “Nice surprise, Sammy,” he says with a smirk. “Sex and violence, my favorite. We haven’t been almost arrested in a while.”
They both burst out laughing. Air is already in short supply from the gasping laughter when Dean pulls Sam’s hand up to his mouth and starts licking at it. Impossibly, Sam feels another orgasm building. “Dean,” he warns as the bell dings and the doors slide open.
The walk to the room is a blur and Sam is pushing Dean through the door, dragging him towards the dresser. Stripping him as they go, kissing him, telling him how perfect he is, how beautiful, and how hard he’s going to fuck him. Dean is almost drunk with it, can only take all Sam gives him. Eyes heavy-lidded, limbs heavy and languorous.
Dean’s legs are still trembling a little when Sam positions him in front of the mirror over the black lacquer dresser. So many mirrors tonight. Maybe he is the narcissist, but he never gets tired of watching them. He loves the way Dean’s pale skin looks against the black. He places Dean hands down on the top of the dresser and makes him look at the both of them: Sam fully dressed, Dean’s naked body. Sam pulls him upright against his body. He pulls Dean’s head back to kiss him, tongue pressing in, lips sliding, flicking at Dean’s incredible mouth, biting until Dean is panting and his lips are red and swollen. One of Sam’s hands cups Dean’s face, keeping it just where Sam wants it. The other caresses Dean’s body, scraping across nipples, pinching, running down his torso, scratching into this pubic hair. When he finally grabs Dean’s cock, already hard again and dripping, Dean pulls off with a gasp. “God Sammy. So good.” He closes his eyes, hips rolling into Sam’s loose hold.
“Open your eyes, Dean,” Sam whispers. He does, mesmerized as Sam is at the picture they make - Sam so dark and tall behind him, his black-clad arm reaching down and across the white skin of Dean’s body. Almost a study in black and white except for the the blood red of his lips and the dark green of his eyes. The hard gorgeous head of Dean’s cock sliding through Sam’s huge hand that almost covers his entire length. Dean shudders hard, hips thrusting forward quickly, jerkily, as he moans out Sam’s name again.
Sam shushes him and pushes him down with a gentle hand at his back until Dean is braced once again against the dresser. “Should fucking videotape it, Dean. You’re so beautiful.”
Sam reaches down and gently feels for the edge of the plug, spreading the wetness around gently with his fingers. Dean’s skin twitches, but except for the jerk of his hard cock, he makes no sound, doesn’t move. Sam lays a line of gentle kisses down his back, licking up the spine as he fingers dig in a little, searching for purchase on the slick silicone. “I’m going to pull it out now,” he whispers into Dean’s back. Dean just exhales, leans a little lower, spread his legs wider. Sam tugs and he can’t look away. They both groan as the widest part stretches Dean open. Sam stops holding him open like that. “Jesus Dean,” he chokes out.
Dean’s answering groan turns to a hiss as Sam slides it out slowly over the red, tender skin. Dean’s exhale is broken, and slick pulses from of his cock, slipping down the same way Sam’s come drips out of Dean. Sam watches as it slowly seeps around the curve of his ass. Despite three massive orgasms, Sam feels his cock twitch as it tries to rise to the incredible sight. Moving his hands to either side of Dean’s hips, Sam sinks down onto his heels, dragging his mouth down Dean’s body as he does. Gently he spreads Dean’s cheeks and blows gently across the tender flesh.
“God, Sam,” Dean moans, head hanging heavy down, his shoulders are trembling. Sam presses forward and licks in hard, tasting himself and Dean together. Dean yells, and his arms give out. He falls to his forearms on the desk. “Fuck, Sam.”
“So good for me, baby. Oh fuck. You took it so gorgeous. So amazing.” The praise falls from him lips when he pulls off, rolls through his mind when he licks and sucks until Dean is a trembling mess in front of him.
“Sam!” Dean groans long and low, like the roar of the impala’s engine, his flanks trembling like she does when Dean gets her up to 100 miles an hour on those Montana highways. Sam pushes up, getting his arms under Dean’s arms before he collapses. He turns Dean in his arms until they are face to face. Kissing everywhere he can reach, Dean’s forehead, neck, cheeks, mouth, chin, as he walks them backwards until Dean’s knees hit the bed and he sits heavily. Sam sinks back down, spreading Dean’s legs as he does until he is kneeling between Dean’s spread thighs. Dean is panting, cock hard and shiny, dripping wet. His hands are clenched around his own knees, knuckles white. Eyes shuttered and Sam knows Dean is deep in it now. He’s where he needs to be. And now what Sam needs is to bring Dean back. Needs to see his big brother is in this with him.
So Sam smiles a wicked smile up through his hair, knowing that makes Dean crazy. He is rewarded by Dean’s deep in-drawn breath and the jerk and throb of Dean’s dick. He knows Dean is right on the edge, the orgasm in the club nothing, a tease. Bending down to kiss the inside of his left thigh, Sam pulls Dean’s hand off his knee and puts it on his head. Dean’s fingers instantly twine into Sam’s hair. He repeats the gesture on the other side. “Hold on,” he purrs as he opens his mouth and slides right down his brother’s dick, until he feels Dean pushing against the back of his throat.
“Jesus!” Dean yells, his hand tightening in Sam’s hair. Sam groans around Dean’s cock. Pulls back, twirls his tongue around the head and slides back down. “Oh shit. Fuck.” Dean’s curses give way to grunts and heavy breaths. Sam does it again and again, feeling Dean thrusting up and pushing back against the bed, knowing Dean can feel the come seeping out of him, feel the rough bedspread rubbing against his over sensitized hole. Sam goes up and down and around until he hears Dean starting to chant his name, feels his hands spread across Sam’s skull, cradling him gently. He pulls off and looks up, meeting Dean’s eyes. The deep green ring sparkles around the lust-wide blackness of the pupils. And finally sees the wicked effervescent Dean who Sam would and has gone to hell and back for.
“Dean,” Sam whispers.
“Hey, little brother,” Dean purrs back. “You sure look good on your knees in that fucking tux with your mouth around my cock.”
“Oh god,” Sam moans, as the blood flows almost painfully into his rapidly swelling cock. “Jesus, Dean. Come on, fuck me. Fuck my mouth.”
“Well since you asked so pretty,” is all the warning Sam gets before Dean uses his grip in Sam’s hair to drag his face back down. Dean lets himself fall backwards on the bed, keeping Sam pressed against him so that Sam has to quickly rise up on his knees. Dean fucks into his mouth hard and perfect and Sam can hardly breathe. He digs one hand into the meat of Dean’s thigh. The other, he manages to slide underneath Dean. He pushes two fingers into the hot, wet slick of his abused hole. Dean yells so loudly Sam tenses, waiting for the pounding on the walls from their neighbors that doesn’t come. So he does it again, thrusting as best as he can in the confined space. Dean’s slamming down onto his finger and up to his mouth.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh, god, oh, Sam, Sam, Sammy. God!” and with that his hands slam Sam down and with three short sharp thrusts he is coming in Sam’s mouth, sitting up with the force of it, pulsing so long and hard Sam can’t begin to hold it all and it drips out the side of his mouth, pushing out with each of Dean’s thrusts. Tears force their way from the corners of Sam’s eyes. His hand flies off Dean’s thighs to clutch at his own cock, And with the press of his hand, he is coming inside his pants.
Dean yanks him off his oversensitive cock while he’s still coming and he falls back on the ground, hips thrusting against nothing, back arched. Dean groans, watching Sam coming in his pants, cock jerking with aftershocks.
Dean collapses back down on the bed as Sam’s back thuds back onto the carpet. The only sound is the pained panting as they struggle to get their breath under control. Dean’s strangled breaths gradually turn into incredulous laughter. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sammy. I think you killed me.”
“You?” Sam says from the floor. “Who’s on the floor here? I don’t think I can ever come again. Goddamn.”
Dean snorts skeptically and kicks weakly in Sam’s direction.
Sam gathers his energy and drags himself up off the floor. Dean is half-asleep already but Sam kisses his shoulder and covers him as he starts to shiver. Sam makes him drink some water, then turns him onto his side and tucks him in as he starts to slip into sleep. It’s incredibly hard to stop himself from sinking into the bed next to Dean. He doesn’t think he’s come so many times in one night in years. But the night isn’t over yet. And they need this next part as much as they needed anything else.
The light in the bathroom is too-bright as he starts the water, filling the huge tub. This giant tub is his main reason for getting this room. He adds the bubble bath he bought with him, because he and Dean both love bubble baths. It was something they almost never saw in real life when they were kids. It always seemed like the utmost symbol of luxury to two kids growing up in motels and run-down rentals. There are a million light switches on the wall, and he fiddles with them until the light is just right. Then he calls housekeeping and orders the bed linens changed and two steak dinners, telling them to just come in and leave the tray in the room.
He strips and wakes Dean gently, coaxing him into the tub with the promise of a hair wash.
Once in the tub, Dean leans with his back against Sam’s chest. “Fucking amazing, Sammy. I should pimp you out. I’d make a million dollars a night.”
“It was good?” Sam tries to keep the neediness of out of his voice, but he pushed it tonight in the club and he needs to know if it was okay with Dean. “Not too much?”
Dean shakes his head. “Just perfect.” He moans as Sam works the shampoo into a lather. “Lucky for you I’m easy.”
Sam laughs. “Not easy. Not at all. Just…perfect. Perfect.”
“Yeah?” Dean twists to look at him suspiciously.
“Yeah.”
Dean shrugs. “Well I guess I gotta trust you. You’re the brains of this operation. I’m just the eye candy.”
“Damn straight,” Sam jokes, trying to push him down under the water to rinse his head. He stops when Dean hisses as he foot hits the end of the tub. “Hurts my knee,” he explains.
“Oh, sorry. Sorry.” He looks around for some other way to rinse Dean’s hair. Notices the shower head detaches, he reaches for it and figures out how to make it work. He pushes Dean to lean forward. “Sorry,” he apologizes again, fingers rubbing the shampoo away. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were in pain sooner.”
Dean shakes his head, turns as best he can in the tub, kisses Sam again. “We live a hard life, baby boy. We’re both just doing the best we can. I know it, when I’m not being a bitch, I know it.”
The door to their room opens and they hear housekeeping remaking the bed. “God, they’re going to think we’re sex maniacs. Tell me you put the plug in a drawer or something?”
Sam just laughs and calls out to the housekeeper. “Can you leave some extra pillows?” He finishes washing them both as she works, then drags them both out of the tub and into the soft, plush complementary bathrobes.
Dean sighs, wincing a tiny bit, as he sinks onto the bed, back propped up on the extra pillows. There’s a knock at the door and it opens, a red-suited bellhop pushes in a room service cart. “Now I know you love me, Sammy,” Dean says as the bellhop rolls the plates of steak and potatoes over to the small table.
Sam opens two beers from the minbar, hands one to Dean, and toasts him. “Yeah, I do.”
NC-17
Light D/s
Top!Sam
~5000 words
The elevator is empty and Sam exhales as the heat from Dean’s body sinks into his. He can see Dean’s face in the glossy mirrored surface. He looks peaceful, eyes are closed and a soft smile on his face. Sam pulls Dean in more tightly against him and Dean feels almost sleepy in his arms. Too bad they’re only going three floors down, Sam just kind of wants to ride the elevator like this for a while.
The couple that enters pushes the button for the library and Sam thinks ‘what the hell’ and rides down with them. Dean’s head is tilted into Sam’s chest and he looks half asleep. The door opens onto the lobby. The woman meets Sam’s eyes and quietly asks, “Floor?”
“Thirty two,” Sam whispers. She presses the button before exiting.
It’s not the fastest elevator in the world, and they’re taking the long way up, people entering and exiting at most of the floors, so Sam has plenty of time to imagine how amazing he and Dean would look fucking inside this mirrored box, their reflections repeating into infinity. He thinks some of the other passengers would approve, might even clap if they knew how ready Dean’s body is for his, how he could just slip that plug out and slip right into him. Luckily for the other guests, Sam couldn’t get it up again right now if they were paying him. Though that doesn’t mean he couldn’t make Dean come spectacularly, make him dirty up this shiny surface.
The elevator dings as it passes the 31st floor, and Sam gently pushes Dean up and off him. The smile hasn’t left his face. He leans in close to Sam’s ear. “Was that your surprise, Sammy? A little elevator ride? Not even gonna fuck me in front of all these mirrors?” Sam’s hand tightens on Dean’s arm, and Dean chuckles low and quiet. “Would be so hot.”
“Narcissist,” Sam jokes.
“I was thinking of watching you,” Dean replies as the elevator stops. They hear the bass thump of music before the door open.
The elevator opens right into the red-velvet rope waiting area. Sam and Dean get the nod, not a surprise, Sam pays the cover and they’re in.
The club is packed. Music two decibels below aerial-assault level, beautiful half-naked people dancing, crammed together. There are dancers, men, women, men who might be women and women who might be men, dancing together or alone in cages from the ceiling on the bars. Sam can’t tell if they’re paid entertainment or just really happy club goers.
The moist heat of sweaty bodies envelopes them and Dean takes off his jacket as soon as he’s inside, carrying it slung over his arm. Even in this crowd of glitterati, Dean stands out with his stark black and white tux and silver tipped cane and the crowd parts in front of him as people try to figure out if they know him, if they should know him.
Mirrored columns separate the dance floor from the rest of the club and Sam checks them out while Dean searches for a place for them to sit. They look damn good and he turns Dean’s head to the sight of the two of them together. Dean’s smile is wide and he’s got that that look in his eyes like every second they spend clothed is just a waste of time. Sam loves that look. “Got a thing for mirrors, Sammy?” he asks. “Guess we’d better do some renovating back at the bunker.” Sam just tilts his head back and kisses him, one hand cupping his face, one hand on his hip. He sees a lady passing behind them walks trip over a low table, she’s staring at them so hard.
Dean pulls his lips away so Sam just moves onto his neck. “Sam?” Dean asks.
“Hmm?” Sam murmurs, not moving his lips off of Dean’s neck. That jacket looks awesome on Dean, fits him like a sin, but it blocks Sam’s access to Dean’s skin. Without the jacket on, he can finally get to that soft spot on Dean’s neck that he loves to mark up. Actually, Sam thinks, if Dean were naked, he could reach all of his skin. Maybe it’s the $200 scotch talking, but part of Sam actually contemplates stripping Dean right here, right now.
Dean shifts the jacket to the arm with the walking stick, then reaches behind him, runs his hand up the back of Sam’s thighs. “I’m sensing a theme here.”
Sam smiles into Dean’s skin, nips at it sharply before pulling away. “Oh?” he asks.
“Is this, perchance, a club of the homosexual persuasion?” He nods across the floor and Sam follows his gaze to two women in a rather heated embrace. When the blonde’s hand slides up the redhead’s skirt, he bites down on Dean’s neck again, loving the shudder that goes through his brother. “I believe it is. And I believe that I am going to fuck you in this club and I want everyone to see.”
Dean’s reaction to that is exquisite. He trembles, bending over like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Sammy,” he gasps, pushing his hand hard against his groin to stave off what Sam is sure is going to be an epic orgasm. “Fuck. Don’t...don’t say things like that if...”
“If what?” He licks up Dean’s neck, digging his fingers hard into his hips. “If I don’t mean it? But I do mean it. You’re strong, and brave, and amazing, and beautiful and mine. Only mine. And I want everyone to see and be jealous.”
“Possessive bitch,” Dean says.
Dean doesn’t know the half of it.
So often what they do is in the shadows, hidden from normal people. They saved the world and no one knows. They love through heaven and hell and no one can see. Dean hides his depths behind his easy beauty and quick mouth, and Sam has learned since puberty how to make 6’ 5” of solid muscle looks small. But sometimes he just wants everyone to see them, to acknowledge them.
Dean turns in Sam’s arms and pulls them back into the mirror, mouth sealed to Sam’s. That’s one way to get people to look at them. Why isn’t there another word for what happens when his mouth is on Dean’s? A kiss is something mothers give children in fairytales. What happens between them when it’s like this is different. It’s an affirmation that they are still here, still alive and still have each other, despite heaven’s plans and hell’s intent. Entire conversations they will never have pass between them in these moments. The way they are, Sam knows it’s not normal. Normal people couldn’t survive this. But, then again, neither will they. There’s no way it will ever end neatly. When one goes, the other will, too. They’ve proven that time and time again.
By the time they make their way to one of the low loveseats near the dance floor, Dean is limping a little, leaning hard on his walking stick, and they both have their jackets off. Sam’s black on black waistcoat is still buttoned up neatly, but he’s taken off his tie and loosened the collar. Dean’s still got his tie on and the suspenders up, but the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up and Sam is mesmerized by the muscles in his forearm and the golden hair. He really wants to see Dean messed up now. They watch the dancers for while, listening to the music. It’s too loud to really talk, so Sam just leans back and pulls Dean between his legs, his back pressed against Sam’s chest. He can’t stop touching, rubbing his hands down Dean’s arms, his thighs. Kissing his temple, the side of his neck. Dean’s breathing gets deeper and Sam can feel the faintest of tremors starting in his legs as he struggles to keep from rolling his hips. God, Dean still hasn’t come yet. Sam can practically feel him trembling in his bones.
Sam slips his hand under the suspenders, right where they attach to Dean’s pants. His fingers dip down under the waistband, quick and light. He feels Dean’s muscles flutter. Dean is firm and hot under his palm. He drags his hand slowly up under the suspender strap, stopping to pinch at a nipple. Does it again, rolling the rough point between his fingers to hear Dean moan his name again. He pulls Dean’s head to the left with one hand as he slide the suspender down off his shoulder, trapping Dean’s arm against his body.
A low ,i>‘fuck yeah’ carries below the music and Sam looks up without moving his mouth from Dean’s neck. A slender young man with dark hair is watching them, gaze locked on where Sam’s hand disappears into Dean’s clothing. As Sam pulls the other suspender off Dean’s shoulder, the man points his partner in Sam’s direction. Sam pulls Dean’s chin up so he can see the men are watching them. Then he gently pulls Dean’s shirt out from his pants and unbuttons it. He slides his hand back down into Dean’s pants, feeling Dean hard and leaking. The contact makes them both moan and the music thuds through them like a shared heartbeat.
They draw the dancers like moths to their flame. Vegas is full of jaded, sophisticated social climbers who try to hide their desire under a mask of ennui, but Sam can sense their eyes sliding over him and Dean, sees them dance a little closer, the crowds thickening near their loveseat. He completely understand why people can’t look away, he knows what Dean looks like when like this, seen it a hundred times, and he still can’t ever look away either. The soft, almost-feminine prettiness of Dean’s teens and twenties has grown into a chiseled handsomeness without diminishing the plushness of his lips or the lush sweep of lashes around his green-gold eyes.
So Sam lets them watch as he strokes Dean slowly and firmly from root to tip, moving with the rolling of Dean’s hips. There’s a temptation to just keep it building like this, just slow and deep and moving his hand steady, until Dean comes hot and wet over Sam’s hand, sweeping them both along in a pyroclastic flow of heat. But he wants more than that. He wants Dean’s brain fried and body boneless by the end. And he knows exactly how to do that. He pulls his hand out of Dean’s pants. “Sammy” Dean whispers. Letting Sam know he’s okay with whatever Sam wants.
And Sam needs to know that he can do things for Dean. Dean gives himself over and over to the world. It’s Sammy’s job to give back to him. To bring him back to himself and gather up all those pieces he’s given away. To put him back together with his hands and his words and his cock and his love.
Sam’s not stupid, he’s done the research on how they are with each other. Knows all the terminology and the psychology. But it doesn’t really apply to them. They’ve held each other as they died, as they were flayed open emotionally and physically. He knows Dean. If he were forced to talk about this, put a name to it, it would be over. When Dean is like this, Sammy knows he could ask Dean to bleed for him, he would, gladly. It’s ironic that the only thing Dean would safeword out of would be a conversation on safewords.
Sam’s hand stills as the urge to protect Dean wars with the urge to show the world the shining thing that is Dean Winchester.
Dean makes the decision for him when he rolls his head against Sam’s chest languidly, decadently. “Kiss me, baby boy,” he demands into the skin of Sam’s neck. And Sam does. There is no power on earth that could stop him. Their mouths press and slide over each other, the angle wrong for the deep kisses Sam prefers, where he feels like he can breathe Dean’s air. This soft, teasing touches of lips and tongue that make Sam crazy is Dean’s territory. More than once Dean has tied Sam to the bed, blindfolded him, and tortured him with his mouth for what seems like eternity. Nipping, licking, and sucking - never in one place long enough to let Sam relax. Not until Sam is trembling, arms and legs pulled tight against the restraints, every muscle strained and outlined in sweat, not until the tears fall from his eyes and his voice is hoarse from begging, does Dean take pity on him. The wet-hot-tight plunge of Dean’s mouth on his painfully hard cock is like a punch to the gut and Sam comes with a white-blind scream that has broken more than one headboard and gotten them kicked out of more than one motel with paper-thin walls.
Sam’s groans with the memory. Resting his head on Dean’s temple, he can see the fine lines feathering out from his eyes get deeper as Dean smiles, can feel Dean’s chest press out, thighs drop open a little further as he shows off. Seducing the crowd. Dean knows he’s gorgeous. Sam growls into his brother’s ear. “You make me crazy. I’m two seconds away from fucking you on this couch.” All the air leaves Dean’s lungs in a long exhale and his fingers dig into Sam’s thigh muscles. It’s the closest Dean gets to begging like this and it’s all Sam needs to know.
He pries Dean’s hands off his thighs and pulls his arms up over his head, hooking them around his neck. Dean’s shirt is in Sam’s way, so he yanks it out from under the suspenders. He slides one hand back down, gripping Dean’s cock hard, pinching his nipple with the other. Dean gasps and twists up with a pained moan. Sam hears the moan echoed back from somewhere behind him. “Keep your eyes open as long as you can,” he tells Dean. “I want them to see how gorgeous you are when you come.”
“Okay, Sammy,” Dean pants. Sam is jacking him in earnest now, hand tight and deliberate, from top to bottom, over and over. There’s not a lot room in the tux pants and Sam really wants to watch. He feels Dean pulse hot over his hand on the next upstroke and give the shuddering exhale that means he close and Sam just has to see it. He stops torturing Dean’s nipples long enough to one-handedly open the fasting on the trousers. A push from the back of his hand, and the zipper slides down. Dean’s cock arches from the opening of his briefs. “Oh fucking hell,” Dean curses, pressing his head back into Sam’s chest. Sam kisses his head as his hand slips over the wet tip and slides back down.
The dark-haired man is openly rubbing his erection through his pants. The lesbian couple is leaning back against a pillar, watching. The blonde stands behind her partner, rolling the other’s nipples between her fingers. Sam loves it. “Fuck, Dean,” he growls. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Look what you’re doing to them.” Dean melts against Sam and Sam just curves as much as he can over Dean, holding him, protecting him, and making him feel so, so good.
And, oh, this is Sam’s favorite place to be. When everything falls away and all Sam can see and feel and hear is Dean, under his hand, his mouth, pressed against his own hardness. All his focus is on pushing this to the edge, to pulling absolutely everything from Dean he can. So when a body knocks against his leg, the only thing he can process is not Dean. The disorientation is dizzying. In the space of a blink, Dean’s arms are gone from around his neck and he hears a small scraping sound and the air around them goes oddly quiet and tense.
The flashing lights and the pounding music come crashing back into his consciousness. The black and white flash of the strobe illuminates the tableau in bits and pieces. A small crowd around them, standing stock still. Flash. The brunette man, eyes wide, hand held out in front of him. Flash. Dean’s arm rock steady, holding the long knife from the walking stick against the man’s palm. Flash. Sam can see the point pressing just the smallest bit into the soft flesh. Dean’s body is still relaxed against Sam’s chest, his cock still hard under Sam’s hand.
Lust shoots through Sam and his hand tightens around Dean at the same time he thrusts against Dean’s back. Oh, fuck. Feels so good. And he can tell from the pulsing of Dean’s blood and the way he swells under Dean’s hand that he is so close.
The strobe lights give over to a rain of wildly swinging colored lights, and Sam can see the crowd staring to part from the rear as security makes its way towards them. He leans as far over Dean as he can, sliding down one hand to push hard against the plug still inside Dean. It’s slippery from the come leaking out of it. He rubs around so gently in contrast to the rough fast way he is stripping Dean’s cock. “Come for me Dean, before those security guys get here. Then I’m gonna take you back to the room and -” And Dean is coming, almost silently just some soft grunts, knife point not wavering. Sam’s eyes roll back in his head at the feel of Dean’s heat sliding over his fingers, and the strength in Dean’s body, and the steadiness of his hand. It’s all of Dean condensed into one moment.
Security is getting closer and he can hear the crowd start murmuring. Dean is still half-hard and still working through the aftershocks of his orgasm as Sam maneuvers them off the couch. He pulls Dean’s hand away from the dark-haired man, lets him stumble back into the crowd, and zips Dean’s pants back up. They stand, neither one too steadily, and Dean sheathes the knife. They walk towards the door in silence, jackets flung over their arms, Dean’s open shirt flapping in the breeze. Sam drags Dean by the hand and they make it out in record time. Dean nods at the bouncer as they walk into the blessedly empty elevator.
Sam drags Dean in, pushes the button for their floor and leans heavily against the wall with a sigh. He hears a choked sound from Dean. When he opens his eyes, he sees Dean in the reflection across him. God, Dean looks amazingly, completely, debauched. Shirt open, pants undone and clinging to him damply. His beautiful face and perfect neck are still flushed, hair wild. And he’s looking at Sam all bedroom-eyed, smiling that wide shit-eating grin that’s brighter than all the disco lights in the club. When he sees Sam looking at him, he laughs silently and holds up their (come-covered Sam realizes) hands. “Nice surprise, Sammy,” he says with a smirk. “Sex and violence, my favorite. We haven’t been almost arrested in a while.”
They both burst out laughing. Air is already in short supply from the gasping laughter when Dean pulls Sam’s hand up to his mouth and starts licking at it. Impossibly, Sam feels another orgasm building. “Dean,” he warns as the bell dings and the doors slide open.
The walk to the room is a blur and Sam is pushing Dean through the door, dragging him towards the dresser. Stripping him as they go, kissing him, telling him how perfect he is, how beautiful, and how hard he’s going to fuck him. Dean is almost drunk with it, can only take all Sam gives him. Eyes heavy-lidded, limbs heavy and languorous.
Dean’s legs are still trembling a little when Sam positions him in front of the mirror over the black lacquer dresser. So many mirrors tonight. Maybe he is the narcissist, but he never gets tired of watching them. He loves the way Dean’s pale skin looks against the black. He places Dean hands down on the top of the dresser and makes him look at the both of them: Sam fully dressed, Dean’s naked body. Sam pulls him upright against his body. He pulls Dean’s head back to kiss him, tongue pressing in, lips sliding, flicking at Dean’s incredible mouth, biting until Dean is panting and his lips are red and swollen. One of Sam’s hands cups Dean’s face, keeping it just where Sam wants it. The other caresses Dean’s body, scraping across nipples, pinching, running down his torso, scratching into this pubic hair. When he finally grabs Dean’s cock, already hard again and dripping, Dean pulls off with a gasp. “God Sammy. So good.” He closes his eyes, hips rolling into Sam’s loose hold.
“Open your eyes, Dean,” Sam whispers. He does, mesmerized as Sam is at the picture they make - Sam so dark and tall behind him, his black-clad arm reaching down and across the white skin of Dean’s body. Almost a study in black and white except for the the blood red of his lips and the dark green of his eyes. The hard gorgeous head of Dean’s cock sliding through Sam’s huge hand that almost covers his entire length. Dean shudders hard, hips thrusting forward quickly, jerkily, as he moans out Sam’s name again.
Sam shushes him and pushes him down with a gentle hand at his back until Dean is braced once again against the dresser. “Should fucking videotape it, Dean. You’re so beautiful.”
Sam reaches down and gently feels for the edge of the plug, spreading the wetness around gently with his fingers. Dean’s skin twitches, but except for the jerk of his hard cock, he makes no sound, doesn’t move. Sam lays a line of gentle kisses down his back, licking up the spine as he fingers dig in a little, searching for purchase on the slick silicone. “I’m going to pull it out now,” he whispers into Dean’s back. Dean just exhales, leans a little lower, spread his legs wider. Sam tugs and he can’t look away. They both groan as the widest part stretches Dean open. Sam stops holding him open like that. “Jesus Dean,” he chokes out.
Dean’s answering groan turns to a hiss as Sam slides it out slowly over the red, tender skin. Dean’s exhale is broken, and slick pulses from of his cock, slipping down the same way Sam’s come drips out of Dean. Sam watches as it slowly seeps around the curve of his ass. Despite three massive orgasms, Sam feels his cock twitch as it tries to rise to the incredible sight. Moving his hands to either side of Dean’s hips, Sam sinks down onto his heels, dragging his mouth down Dean’s body as he does. Gently he spreads Dean’s cheeks and blows gently across the tender flesh.
“God, Sam,” Dean moans, head hanging heavy down, his shoulders are trembling. Sam presses forward and licks in hard, tasting himself and Dean together. Dean yells, and his arms give out. He falls to his forearms on the desk. “Fuck, Sam.”
“So good for me, baby. Oh fuck. You took it so gorgeous. So amazing.” The praise falls from him lips when he pulls off, rolls through his mind when he licks and sucks until Dean is a trembling mess in front of him.
“Sam!” Dean groans long and low, like the roar of the impala’s engine, his flanks trembling like she does when Dean gets her up to 100 miles an hour on those Montana highways. Sam pushes up, getting his arms under Dean’s arms before he collapses. He turns Dean in his arms until they are face to face. Kissing everywhere he can reach, Dean’s forehead, neck, cheeks, mouth, chin, as he walks them backwards until Dean’s knees hit the bed and he sits heavily. Sam sinks back down, spreading Dean’s legs as he does until he is kneeling between Dean’s spread thighs. Dean is panting, cock hard and shiny, dripping wet. His hands are clenched around his own knees, knuckles white. Eyes shuttered and Sam knows Dean is deep in it now. He’s where he needs to be. And now what Sam needs is to bring Dean back. Needs to see his big brother is in this with him.
So Sam smiles a wicked smile up through his hair, knowing that makes Dean crazy. He is rewarded by Dean’s deep in-drawn breath and the jerk and throb of Dean’s dick. He knows Dean is right on the edge, the orgasm in the club nothing, a tease. Bending down to kiss the inside of his left thigh, Sam pulls Dean’s hand off his knee and puts it on his head. Dean’s fingers instantly twine into Sam’s hair. He repeats the gesture on the other side. “Hold on,” he purrs as he opens his mouth and slides right down his brother’s dick, until he feels Dean pushing against the back of his throat.
“Jesus!” Dean yells, his hand tightening in Sam’s hair. Sam groans around Dean’s cock. Pulls back, twirls his tongue around the head and slides back down. “Oh shit. Fuck.” Dean’s curses give way to grunts and heavy breaths. Sam does it again and again, feeling Dean thrusting up and pushing back against the bed, knowing Dean can feel the come seeping out of him, feel the rough bedspread rubbing against his over sensitized hole. Sam goes up and down and around until he hears Dean starting to chant his name, feels his hands spread across Sam’s skull, cradling him gently. He pulls off and looks up, meeting Dean’s eyes. The deep green ring sparkles around the lust-wide blackness of the pupils. And finally sees the wicked effervescent Dean who Sam would and has gone to hell and back for.
“Dean,” Sam whispers.
“Hey, little brother,” Dean purrs back. “You sure look good on your knees in that fucking tux with your mouth around my cock.”
“Oh god,” Sam moans, as the blood flows almost painfully into his rapidly swelling cock. “Jesus, Dean. Come on, fuck me. Fuck my mouth.”
“Well since you asked so pretty,” is all the warning Sam gets before Dean uses his grip in Sam’s hair to drag his face back down. Dean lets himself fall backwards on the bed, keeping Sam pressed against him so that Sam has to quickly rise up on his knees. Dean fucks into his mouth hard and perfect and Sam can hardly breathe. He digs one hand into the meat of Dean’s thigh. The other, he manages to slide underneath Dean. He pushes two fingers into the hot, wet slick of his abused hole. Dean yells so loudly Sam tenses, waiting for the pounding on the walls from their neighbors that doesn’t come. So he does it again, thrusting as best as he can in the confined space. Dean’s slamming down onto his finger and up to his mouth.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh, god, oh, Sam, Sam, Sammy. God!” and with that his hands slam Sam down and with three short sharp thrusts he is coming in Sam’s mouth, sitting up with the force of it, pulsing so long and hard Sam can’t begin to hold it all and it drips out the side of his mouth, pushing out with each of Dean’s thrusts. Tears force their way from the corners of Sam’s eyes. His hand flies off Dean’s thighs to clutch at his own cock, And with the press of his hand, he is coming inside his pants.
Dean yanks him off his oversensitive cock while he’s still coming and he falls back on the ground, hips thrusting against nothing, back arched. Dean groans, watching Sam coming in his pants, cock jerking with aftershocks.
Dean collapses back down on the bed as Sam’s back thuds back onto the carpet. The only sound is the pained panting as they struggle to get their breath under control. Dean’s strangled breaths gradually turn into incredulous laughter. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sammy. I think you killed me.”
“You?” Sam says from the floor. “Who’s on the floor here? I don’t think I can ever come again. Goddamn.”
Dean snorts skeptically and kicks weakly in Sam’s direction.
Sam gathers his energy and drags himself up off the floor. Dean is half-asleep already but Sam kisses his shoulder and covers him as he starts to shiver. Sam makes him drink some water, then turns him onto his side and tucks him in as he starts to slip into sleep. It’s incredibly hard to stop himself from sinking into the bed next to Dean. He doesn’t think he’s come so many times in one night in years. But the night isn’t over yet. And they need this next part as much as they needed anything else.
The light in the bathroom is too-bright as he starts the water, filling the huge tub. This giant tub is his main reason for getting this room. He adds the bubble bath he bought with him, because he and Dean both love bubble baths. It was something they almost never saw in real life when they were kids. It always seemed like the utmost symbol of luxury to two kids growing up in motels and run-down rentals. There are a million light switches on the wall, and he fiddles with them until the light is just right. Then he calls housekeeping and orders the bed linens changed and two steak dinners, telling them to just come in and leave the tray in the room.
He strips and wakes Dean gently, coaxing him into the tub with the promise of a hair wash.
Once in the tub, Dean leans with his back against Sam’s chest. “Fucking amazing, Sammy. I should pimp you out. I’d make a million dollars a night.”
“It was good?” Sam tries to keep the neediness of out of his voice, but he pushed it tonight in the club and he needs to know if it was okay with Dean. “Not too much?”
Dean shakes his head. “Just perfect.” He moans as Sam works the shampoo into a lather. “Lucky for you I’m easy.”
Sam laughs. “Not easy. Not at all. Just…perfect. Perfect.”
“Yeah?” Dean twists to look at him suspiciously.
“Yeah.”
Dean shrugs. “Well I guess I gotta trust you. You’re the brains of this operation. I’m just the eye candy.”
“Damn straight,” Sam jokes, trying to push him down under the water to rinse his head. He stops when Dean hisses as he foot hits the end of the tub. “Hurts my knee,” he explains.
“Oh, sorry. Sorry.” He looks around for some other way to rinse Dean’s hair. Notices the shower head detaches, he reaches for it and figures out how to make it work. He pushes Dean to lean forward. “Sorry,” he apologizes again, fingers rubbing the shampoo away. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were in pain sooner.”
Dean shakes his head, turns as best he can in the tub, kisses Sam again. “We live a hard life, baby boy. We’re both just doing the best we can. I know it, when I’m not being a bitch, I know it.”
The door to their room opens and they hear housekeeping remaking the bed. “God, they’re going to think we’re sex maniacs. Tell me you put the plug in a drawer or something?”
Sam just laughs and calls out to the housekeeper. “Can you leave some extra pillows?” He finishes washing them both as she works, then drags them both out of the tub and into the soft, plush complementary bathrobes.
Dean sighs, wincing a tiny bit, as he sinks onto the bed, back propped up on the extra pillows. There’s a knock at the door and it opens, a red-suited bellhop pushes in a room service cart. “Now I know you love me, Sammy,” Dean says as the bellhop rolls the plates of steak and potatoes over to the small table.
Sam opens two beers from the minbar, hands one to Dean, and toasts him. “Yeah, I do.”