Fic: Just Give Me A Reason (1/1)
Sam walked through the halls of the Men of Letters bunker in a fog. His brain felt muffled and muted, his thoughts stunted. The only thing vivid to him was how Rowena's blood had flowed over his hands, hot and bright red. Even as he had tried to release the knife, she'd taken his hands and driven it into her, her eyes staring at him bright with the knowledge that this had to be. That it was the only way to close the Rift of Hell and contain the evil spirits therein.
He came to a halt, leaning against the smooth, cool tile of the wall. He covered his face with his hands and slid to the floor, back braced on the wall, knees bent to rest his forehead on. How was he going to live with this? So many people's deaths he was responsible for, so much monster blood he'd shed, and it was the reluctant stabbing of a feisty ginger witch who'd been fond of him that left Sam emotionally eviscerated. It created an ache and a hollowness inside that he didn't know how to deal with.
Sam sat there until his body grew stiff. He felt like he was ninety years old as he slowly rose to his feet, hips and back protesting. He was too seasoned a hunter not to know he needed to find some way to carry this, to deal with his pain and his guilt. It couldn't stop him from hunting. He had to go on, and the first thing he needed to do was to eat, because the emptiness inside him was not merely emotional.
Dean was in the kitchen when Sam entered, eating a homemade club sandwich. Dean's eyes flicked over to Sam and then back to his plate.
“Fix you something there, buddy?”
Sam slid onto a stool.
“Um, yeah. We have stuff for a grilled cheese?” It was the only thing he thought he could stomach at the moment.
“Sure thing.” Dean put his sandwich down and got up. Rustling up bread and butter and cheese, he had two grilled cheeses bubbling in the fry-pan in a few minutes. Sam watched his brother's deft movements, appreciating both his efficiency and grace as he made the food.
Dean slid the sandwiches onto a plate and placed it in front of Sam. “Pickle is up to you,” he joked deadpan, and Sam couldn't help smiling. They ate together silently, but comfortably so. Sam found his sandwiches delicious-the bread perfectly toasted, the cheese all warm and melty.
“Go get some sleep now,” said Dean. “I'll clean up.”
* * *
Sleep was a blessed relief for a few hours, deep and dreamless. Sam started at the sound of a female voice calling...his name? Dean's name? He wasn't sure who was being called, or who was doing the calling. It wasn't Rowena's voice; this sounded deeper, richer, more unearthly.
Amara?
That was it. Amara's voice was calling Dean. And if the last day or two hadn't been enough turmoil, now that whole drama flooded Sam's brain, chilling his body and squeezing his heart. It had been during the time they'd dealt with Amara when he and Dean had...separated? Split? Ceased their incestuous activities? However Sam put it, it had been the end of their more intimate relationship to this very day.
And god, how Sam missed it.
It wasn't just the sex. Oh the hell with that, he missed the sex. Dean was everything Sam had craved in a lover: robust, vital, passionate. He was kinky and open to experimentation, he could be surprisingly tender and considerate, and was the only lover Sam had had who could actually push Sam around and manhandle him. Switching was their thing, since they both loved to fill and be filled by the other. Only Dean knew Sam's dirtiest secrets, and vice versa.
Beyond that was the simple joy of sleeping together, arms wrapped over a shoulder or a leg sprawled over the other. Spooning, warm bodies nestled, breath puffing over the nape of the neck. The comfort of skin against skin. Goofy jokes, silly moments in the midst of scorching sex, all constantly building and reinforcing the bond between them.
When Amara came, that had all ended. The weird thrall she'd had over Dean had taken him away. Even once Amara had left, they never got that closeness back. Sam had made overtures a few times, but it was as if Dean didn't know how to respond anymore. After a few awkward advances and even more awkward rejections, Sam had just stopped trying.
Sam gave a short, bitter laugh, sitting hunched over on his bed in the middle of the night. This thing about Rowena couldn't ultimately be any worse than that, so he ought to be able to handle it. Right?
But the thought of adding his guilt and grief about Rowena to the load he was already carrying made Sam want to simply break down-to just lie on that bed and give up. All he could see ahead was more grief, more horror, more dark bleakness for the rest of his life. More than ever, he realized how his relationship with Dean had offset that-how it had given balance to Sam's life and reminded him of what was worth fighting for.
“Dean,” Sam murmured, feeling cold and alone in his dark room. “Dean.” All he wanted was to feel Dean's arm over his shoulders, drawing him in close. Feel Dean's warm, soft lips on his cheek, reassuring him. Lie down with Dean, bodies close, just sharing the dark and quiet together. He didn't even care about sex; he just wanted some physical comfort that he was not alone in the world.
Fuck it. Fuck any pride he might have left, fuck their personal history, fuck all of it. He was going to go to Dean and lay it all out, prostrate himself on the floor if he had to, and see if there was anything left at all for them to salvage.
“I have nothing left to lose, do I?” asked Sam aloud to himself. “It's already all gone.” That was a very freeing thought in a dark way; since he wasn't going to worry anymore about making a fool of himself, then anything could happen. Might happen. God knew that things really couldn't feel worse than they did right now.
He opened the door of his room and peered out into the quiet, dim hallway. Gallows humor had him almost giggling as he pictured himself tiptoeing like a cartoon character down the empty corridor. Passing a door near the end of the hallway, he heard a noise that made him freeze. It was Eileen's room, carefully selected by Dean to be near Sam's; easy access without being so close as to be blatantly suggestive.
Sam shook his head. He was very fond of Eileen, but not like that. He admired her tenacity in overcoming the obstacles in her life, and he respected that she was an excellent hunter. She was smart and attractive and fun, and she made a mean margarita. He knew Dean was anticipating something happening between Sam and her, but Sam didn't feel that way at all. She was a hunting partner and a good friend, and that was it. Lately he'd started worrying that Eileen herself was picking up on Dean's vibes with her frequent attempts to get Sam to loosen up. A few times now he had turned to find her dark eyes meaningfully on him. It had made him a little nervous.
He was past her door now, and he turned the corner into Dean's hallway. Pausing outside Dean's door, Sam took a deep breath. He could walk away now and not chance anything.
“Fortune favors the brave,” Sam muttered to himself, and pushed the door open.
* * *
Dean lay on his bed, limbs sprawled in a way Sam knew well. That sprawl spoke of booze, of chasing a relaxation his brother found elusive and therefore sought in a bottle. For being the younger brother, Sam always felt the urge to nurture Dean; to give him the care that he'd know so briefly, that affection without responsibility that Dean lost when he'd become Sam's caretaker.
Sam's own frustration abated, and he picked up a corner of Dean's blanket so he could drape it over Dean's languid form. Sam's own need for comfort morphed into the desire to comfort Dean. Kneeling down next to the bed, Sam studied Dean's face, noting how smooth it was without the worry lines and stress it usually bore. He lifted a finger, delicately brushed one perfect cheekbone, traced the swell of that full bottom lip, biting his own lip as he did so.
He turned to go, silently pushing up from the kneel and stepping back toward the door.
“Sam.”
Husky and quiet, Dean's voice stopped Sam in his tracks. He turned back to see his brother propped up on one elbow, blinking owlishly at him.
“Shh, sorry. Go back to sleep.”
Dean rubbed at his eyes with one hand, then ran it through his messy bedhead. “Everything okay?”
Sam nodded. “Fine. Really, go back to sleep.”
Dean flopped back down onto the bed. “What's up? Why are you here?” He yawned hugely, Sam just about saw his back molars. “Something's up, yeah?”
Sam's eyes trailed down Dean's body; his torso narrowing to a small waist, the bowed legs discernible despite Dean's baggy sleep pants, the almost dainty feet for a man his size. The only other thing of note was the half-mast at Dean's groin, a sleep-woody poking insolently at the soft fabric. Sam averted his eyes.
Dean gave a dirty chuckle. “Oh, come on dude. Don't go getting all shy.” He reached down and palmed himself. “Either tell me what's going on with the midnight visit or go away and let me take care of this.” He leered and gripped himself, his eyes closing.
Sam was frozen; seeing Dean lying there so relaxed and comfortable with himself, touching himself so easily, sent the blood rushing to Sam's cock. It hardened inside his pajamas while Sam's mouth went dry and his nipples tingled. He yearned to throw himself down there on Dean's bed, to rip off their clothes and rub skin against skin, feel Dean's warmth on himself.
Dean opened his eyes and focused them lazily on Sam. “Dude, either strip or get the hell out of here, because one way or the other, I'm gonna get off.” His gaze remained fixed on Sam as Dean's hand began to slowly move up and down, his grip still outside of his pajamas. His dick was clearly defined through the thin knit fabric, the flimsy material unable to obscure the push of flesh against it. Sam could already see a darker spot at the apex where fluid was already soaking through.
“I should go,” mumbled Sam, eyes flicking between Dean's face and his cock. Move, he told his feet, and they did...towards Dean. A smirk played about Dean's mouth as he watched Sam get closer to the bed. “Um, I mean...you're uh...” stuttered from Sam's mouth while his hand slipped over his crotch, pressing against the bulge in his own pajamas. There was no way Dean wouldn't have seen it by now; subtlety was impossible when your dick was as substantial as Sam's. Sure enough, he saw Dean's eyes spark and his mouth widen in a grin.
“You got something for me, Sammy?” Dean's voice growled rich and rough, making Sam's breath catch in his throat. Fuck, his brother was the sexiest man Sam had ever been with, had ever even seen. That beautiful face filled with lust, the perfect proportions of his body that he displayed so unabashedly. Even now, Dean was shoving his pajamas down to his thighs, kicking them free and pulling his t-shirt off, revealing the pale skin Sam loved to kiss and stroke, the tiny freckles that always needed to be counted and assessed.
Sam's dick was leading the way now, and it led Sam right next to the bed, looking down at his naked brother. Mouth dry, Sam's words died on his tongue, and he tried to swallow while his eyes stayed fixed on Dean's hand moving slowly up and down his cock, now exposed in its full glory. Glorious indeed, Sam's fractured thoughts gibbered, big, thick, perfect. Flushed a deep pink fading to light brown at his balls, nestled between the muscular thighs and close-trimmed ginger fluff.
“You fall on me, you're outta here, Sasquatch,” drawled Dean. “Stop looming over me and get down on this goddamn bed.”
Still feeling like he was dreaming, Sam watched his hands undress himself, letting everything drop onto the floor before lowering himself down onto the bed, halfway on Dean. The touch of Dean's skin-hot, smooth, pulsing with life-broke the spell.
“What are we doing?” whispered Sam. Three-quarters of his mind was busy with how amazing Dean felt; the warm skin, curves of muscle, long strong bones. Let's get busy it whined. Been so long. Already one hand was trailing across Dean's belly, a slight soft oasis in the realm of bone and sinew, shivering under Sam's fingertips.
No.
“No,” Sam murmured. “I can't.” He half-laughed, half-sobbed. “God, Dean, I want you so badly. In every way. Wanna kiss you and fuck you and touch you and then do it some more. But I can't.”
He felt Dean stiffen beneath him. “The fuck are you doing naked in my bed then, Sam? What kind of fucked-up game are you playing?”
See, you ruined it! Sam's inner voice cried. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes, but he took a deep breath, clenching his teeth before he answered Dean.
“What happened to us?”
A hand behind Sam's head drew him in the rest of the way. Dean's magnificent lips pressed against Sam's, every bit as soft and still firm as he remembered. Dean's other hand stroked down Sam's back, cupping one cheek, squeezing it and pulling Sam's hips in tightly. Dick rubbed on dick, Sam's thigh automatically slipping between Dean's to start the grind they both knew.
“Talk...after...” murmured Dean, kissing Sam's ear. “We need this first.”
Sam couldn't deny that; his blood was already pulsing harder, his skin heating up. He could feel the damp spots of both his and Dean's pre-come on their thighs.
“Yeah...”
It was like they'd never stopped, and it was brand new. The smell of Dean's skin was unchanged, but there were new scars, scars Sam had seen created, but had never kissed. Dean's hands slid around Sam's body in sure motions, remembering the electric paths of Sam's arousal, but he could feel the momentary hesitations when Dean hit an unknown change on Sam. The blend of familiarity and discovery was intoxicating, and Sam let himself go to revel in the melding of their bodies.
He pushed Dean's thighs up and stopped for a second to simply admire the erotic beauty laid out in front of him. Dean's perfect cock, swollen and flushed, framed by those muscular thighs and with his balls snugged up tight underneath. Dean handed Sam a half-empty tube of lube and Sam squeezed a generous blob right onto Dean's hole. Smearing his fingers in it as he spread it onto Dean, Sam slid two fingers inside, too impatient to start with one. He thought he'd remembered how hot Dean was inside, but he hadn't and it made him stop and gasp in awe.
“Fuck that, Sammy. Get in me now!” ordered Dean gruffly. He slapped Sam's leg as if he was hurrying a horse along, and it made Sam laugh. Dean chuckled too, but then squeezed Sam with his thighs. “Come on, waited too long already!”
Sam took a deep breath, his heart racing while he slicked himself up. He rubbed the head of his dick on Dean's hole, spreading even more lube around, and then pushed.
It took more force than Sam remembered, but then he'd hardly prepped Dean. This wasn't one of those times where they'd played with each other for hours, fingering and teasing and rimming before one sank into the other. They'd always switched, both enjoying each position, but here Sam had just gone ahead and topped. He felt the need to take Dean as his own again, reclaim this aspect of their relationship that had been so long neglected. And Dean didn't seem to object, throwing his head back and uttering loud groans while Sam slowly advanced, millimeter by millimeter, until he was completely inside and his balls rested on Dean's.
They both were breathing heavily, adjusting to each other again; Sam to the pressure and heat of Dean, and Dean, Sam was sure, to the intrusion of Sam's sizable cock into his ass. It was mere seconds though, and then Dean was urging Sam to move.
And just like that, it was like no time had passed. They were totally wrapped up in each other; their bubble of heat, lust, and the bond that had been bent and stretched, but remained unbroken. Sam was as glad to feel that bond revive as he was to feel Dean around him, hands grabbing at him, body welcoming him in every possible way. He stared into Dean's deep green eyes and felt, as he always had, that he could fall into them and be safe and loved forever.
“Sam!”
A voice shrilled through the air, freezing both men despite the heat of their reunion.
Sam and Dean turned their faces toward the door as one. Still buried in his brother, Sam's dick was blissfully unaware of the interruption and gave a mighty twitch, drawing an involuntary, throaty moan from Dean.
Eileen stood in the doorway of Dean's room, the dim light of the hallway falling around her. It wasn't a lot of light, but it was enough to see the shock on her face. Her mouth stayed open after her outcry, her jaw working silently.
Sam didn't know what to do. Ignore her and finish fucking Dean? Pull out of Dean and try to face Eileen with a dripping erection? All the choices seemed bad.
“I...you...your brother?” she managed to spit out. Her voice was a mix of anger and confusion. She stammered for another second, and then vanished back into the hallway, her running footsteps echoing on the linoleum.
Sam looked back at Dean. “What...I don't...” Sam managed to say, which Dean answered with an upward buck of his hips, his turn to make Sam groan loudly.
“Dude, it sucks, but what's really going to suck is if you don't finish what we're doing. So get focused and fuck me, and we'll talk to her after!” Dean reached down and stroked his own cock, distracting Sam from the crisis by smearing pre-come on his belly and licking his fingers while staring at Sam.
“Yeah, after,” mumbled Sam, avidly watching Dean's pink tongue sweeping between his shiny fingers. He started driving hard into Dean, hands tightly gripping his hips. “Now...fucking.” He applied himself to that end with every ounce of strength he had, making sure to nail Dean's prostate until his brother was yelling out his pleasure.
After they'd both climaxed ecstatically and were lying with limbs intertwined, Sam brought up the question of their separation. It was so much easier to talk with their bodies all heavy and sated, foreheads touching. Sam was able to ask without feeling like he was attacking Dean, and Dean answered without that defensive bitterness that Sam had come to dread.
“Amara left me so...hollow. I was so full of emptiness that I couldn't even fill it with you, Sammy. I just...buried myself in the hunting and the world almost ending a couple of times, and...that was all I could do.” Dean kissed Sam's cheek, then his lips. “I'm so sorry. I think somehow...seeing you and Rowena, what you had to do, what she made you do...I started to really feel again. Moved out of autopilot, you know?” He gave a bitter chuckle. “Every time I tried to break out of it-Mom, Jack-it seemed like I got slammed in the face with another crisis or loss. Now...God, Sam, to really feel you again, share that with you, share this with you...fuck, baby, I swear I'll never leave you like that again.”
He drew Sam into his arms. Sam sighed and relaxed-really relaxed-and fell asleep with Dean's breath exhaling rhythmically on the back of his neck.
He came to a halt, leaning against the smooth, cool tile of the wall. He covered his face with his hands and slid to the floor, back braced on the wall, knees bent to rest his forehead on. How was he going to live with this? So many people's deaths he was responsible for, so much monster blood he'd shed, and it was the reluctant stabbing of a feisty ginger witch who'd been fond of him that left Sam emotionally eviscerated. It created an ache and a hollowness inside that he didn't know how to deal with.
Sam sat there until his body grew stiff. He felt like he was ninety years old as he slowly rose to his feet, hips and back protesting. He was too seasoned a hunter not to know he needed to find some way to carry this, to deal with his pain and his guilt. It couldn't stop him from hunting. He had to go on, and the first thing he needed to do was to eat, because the emptiness inside him was not merely emotional.
Dean was in the kitchen when Sam entered, eating a homemade club sandwich. Dean's eyes flicked over to Sam and then back to his plate.
“Fix you something there, buddy?”
Sam slid onto a stool.
“Um, yeah. We have stuff for a grilled cheese?” It was the only thing he thought he could stomach at the moment.
“Sure thing.” Dean put his sandwich down and got up. Rustling up bread and butter and cheese, he had two grilled cheeses bubbling in the fry-pan in a few minutes. Sam watched his brother's deft movements, appreciating both his efficiency and grace as he made the food.
Dean slid the sandwiches onto a plate and placed it in front of Sam. “Pickle is up to you,” he joked deadpan, and Sam couldn't help smiling. They ate together silently, but comfortably so. Sam found his sandwiches delicious-the bread perfectly toasted, the cheese all warm and melty.
“Go get some sleep now,” said Dean. “I'll clean up.”
* * *
Sleep was a blessed relief for a few hours, deep and dreamless. Sam started at the sound of a female voice calling...his name? Dean's name? He wasn't sure who was being called, or who was doing the calling. It wasn't Rowena's voice; this sounded deeper, richer, more unearthly.
Amara?
That was it. Amara's voice was calling Dean. And if the last day or two hadn't been enough turmoil, now that whole drama flooded Sam's brain, chilling his body and squeezing his heart. It had been during the time they'd dealt with Amara when he and Dean had...separated? Split? Ceased their incestuous activities? However Sam put it, it had been the end of their more intimate relationship to this very day.
And god, how Sam missed it.
It wasn't just the sex. Oh the hell with that, he missed the sex. Dean was everything Sam had craved in a lover: robust, vital, passionate. He was kinky and open to experimentation, he could be surprisingly tender and considerate, and was the only lover Sam had had who could actually push Sam around and manhandle him. Switching was their thing, since they both loved to fill and be filled by the other. Only Dean knew Sam's dirtiest secrets, and vice versa.
Beyond that was the simple joy of sleeping together, arms wrapped over a shoulder or a leg sprawled over the other. Spooning, warm bodies nestled, breath puffing over the nape of the neck. The comfort of skin against skin. Goofy jokes, silly moments in the midst of scorching sex, all constantly building and reinforcing the bond between them.
When Amara came, that had all ended. The weird thrall she'd had over Dean had taken him away. Even once Amara had left, they never got that closeness back. Sam had made overtures a few times, but it was as if Dean didn't know how to respond anymore. After a few awkward advances and even more awkward rejections, Sam had just stopped trying.
Sam gave a short, bitter laugh, sitting hunched over on his bed in the middle of the night. This thing about Rowena couldn't ultimately be any worse than that, so he ought to be able to handle it. Right?
But the thought of adding his guilt and grief about Rowena to the load he was already carrying made Sam want to simply break down-to just lie on that bed and give up. All he could see ahead was more grief, more horror, more dark bleakness for the rest of his life. More than ever, he realized how his relationship with Dean had offset that-how it had given balance to Sam's life and reminded him of what was worth fighting for.
“Dean,” Sam murmured, feeling cold and alone in his dark room. “Dean.” All he wanted was to feel Dean's arm over his shoulders, drawing him in close. Feel Dean's warm, soft lips on his cheek, reassuring him. Lie down with Dean, bodies close, just sharing the dark and quiet together. He didn't even care about sex; he just wanted some physical comfort that he was not alone in the world.
Fuck it. Fuck any pride he might have left, fuck their personal history, fuck all of it. He was going to go to Dean and lay it all out, prostrate himself on the floor if he had to, and see if there was anything left at all for them to salvage.
“I have nothing left to lose, do I?” asked Sam aloud to himself. “It's already all gone.” That was a very freeing thought in a dark way; since he wasn't going to worry anymore about making a fool of himself, then anything could happen. Might happen. God knew that things really couldn't feel worse than they did right now.
He opened the door of his room and peered out into the quiet, dim hallway. Gallows humor had him almost giggling as he pictured himself tiptoeing like a cartoon character down the empty corridor. Passing a door near the end of the hallway, he heard a noise that made him freeze. It was Eileen's room, carefully selected by Dean to be near Sam's; easy access without being so close as to be blatantly suggestive.
Sam shook his head. He was very fond of Eileen, but not like that. He admired her tenacity in overcoming the obstacles in her life, and he respected that she was an excellent hunter. She was smart and attractive and fun, and she made a mean margarita. He knew Dean was anticipating something happening between Sam and her, but Sam didn't feel that way at all. She was a hunting partner and a good friend, and that was it. Lately he'd started worrying that Eileen herself was picking up on Dean's vibes with her frequent attempts to get Sam to loosen up. A few times now he had turned to find her dark eyes meaningfully on him. It had made him a little nervous.
He was past her door now, and he turned the corner into Dean's hallway. Pausing outside Dean's door, Sam took a deep breath. He could walk away now and not chance anything.
“Fortune favors the brave,” Sam muttered to himself, and pushed the door open.
* * *
Dean lay on his bed, limbs sprawled in a way Sam knew well. That sprawl spoke of booze, of chasing a relaxation his brother found elusive and therefore sought in a bottle. For being the younger brother, Sam always felt the urge to nurture Dean; to give him the care that he'd know so briefly, that affection without responsibility that Dean lost when he'd become Sam's caretaker.
Sam's own frustration abated, and he picked up a corner of Dean's blanket so he could drape it over Dean's languid form. Sam's own need for comfort morphed into the desire to comfort Dean. Kneeling down next to the bed, Sam studied Dean's face, noting how smooth it was without the worry lines and stress it usually bore. He lifted a finger, delicately brushed one perfect cheekbone, traced the swell of that full bottom lip, biting his own lip as he did so.
He turned to go, silently pushing up from the kneel and stepping back toward the door.
“Sam.”
Husky and quiet, Dean's voice stopped Sam in his tracks. He turned back to see his brother propped up on one elbow, blinking owlishly at him.
“Shh, sorry. Go back to sleep.”
Dean rubbed at his eyes with one hand, then ran it through his messy bedhead. “Everything okay?”
Sam nodded. “Fine. Really, go back to sleep.”
Dean flopped back down onto the bed. “What's up? Why are you here?” He yawned hugely, Sam just about saw his back molars. “Something's up, yeah?”
Sam's eyes trailed down Dean's body; his torso narrowing to a small waist, the bowed legs discernible despite Dean's baggy sleep pants, the almost dainty feet for a man his size. The only other thing of note was the half-mast at Dean's groin, a sleep-woody poking insolently at the soft fabric. Sam averted his eyes.
Dean gave a dirty chuckle. “Oh, come on dude. Don't go getting all shy.” He reached down and palmed himself. “Either tell me what's going on with the midnight visit or go away and let me take care of this.” He leered and gripped himself, his eyes closing.
Sam was frozen; seeing Dean lying there so relaxed and comfortable with himself, touching himself so easily, sent the blood rushing to Sam's cock. It hardened inside his pajamas while Sam's mouth went dry and his nipples tingled. He yearned to throw himself down there on Dean's bed, to rip off their clothes and rub skin against skin, feel Dean's warmth on himself.
Dean opened his eyes and focused them lazily on Sam. “Dude, either strip or get the hell out of here, because one way or the other, I'm gonna get off.” His gaze remained fixed on Sam as Dean's hand began to slowly move up and down, his grip still outside of his pajamas. His dick was clearly defined through the thin knit fabric, the flimsy material unable to obscure the push of flesh against it. Sam could already see a darker spot at the apex where fluid was already soaking through.
“I should go,” mumbled Sam, eyes flicking between Dean's face and his cock. Move, he told his feet, and they did...towards Dean. A smirk played about Dean's mouth as he watched Sam get closer to the bed. “Um, I mean...you're uh...” stuttered from Sam's mouth while his hand slipped over his crotch, pressing against the bulge in his own pajamas. There was no way Dean wouldn't have seen it by now; subtlety was impossible when your dick was as substantial as Sam's. Sure enough, he saw Dean's eyes spark and his mouth widen in a grin.
“You got something for me, Sammy?” Dean's voice growled rich and rough, making Sam's breath catch in his throat. Fuck, his brother was the sexiest man Sam had ever been with, had ever even seen. That beautiful face filled with lust, the perfect proportions of his body that he displayed so unabashedly. Even now, Dean was shoving his pajamas down to his thighs, kicking them free and pulling his t-shirt off, revealing the pale skin Sam loved to kiss and stroke, the tiny freckles that always needed to be counted and assessed.
Sam's dick was leading the way now, and it led Sam right next to the bed, looking down at his naked brother. Mouth dry, Sam's words died on his tongue, and he tried to swallow while his eyes stayed fixed on Dean's hand moving slowly up and down his cock, now exposed in its full glory. Glorious indeed, Sam's fractured thoughts gibbered, big, thick, perfect. Flushed a deep pink fading to light brown at his balls, nestled between the muscular thighs and close-trimmed ginger fluff.
“You fall on me, you're outta here, Sasquatch,” drawled Dean. “Stop looming over me and get down on this goddamn bed.”
Still feeling like he was dreaming, Sam watched his hands undress himself, letting everything drop onto the floor before lowering himself down onto the bed, halfway on Dean. The touch of Dean's skin-hot, smooth, pulsing with life-broke the spell.
“What are we doing?” whispered Sam. Three-quarters of his mind was busy with how amazing Dean felt; the warm skin, curves of muscle, long strong bones. Let's get busy it whined. Been so long. Already one hand was trailing across Dean's belly, a slight soft oasis in the realm of bone and sinew, shivering under Sam's fingertips.
No.
“No,” Sam murmured. “I can't.” He half-laughed, half-sobbed. “God, Dean, I want you so badly. In every way. Wanna kiss you and fuck you and touch you and then do it some more. But I can't.”
He felt Dean stiffen beneath him. “The fuck are you doing naked in my bed then, Sam? What kind of fucked-up game are you playing?”
See, you ruined it! Sam's inner voice cried. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes, but he took a deep breath, clenching his teeth before he answered Dean.
“What happened to us?”
A hand behind Sam's head drew him in the rest of the way. Dean's magnificent lips pressed against Sam's, every bit as soft and still firm as he remembered. Dean's other hand stroked down Sam's back, cupping one cheek, squeezing it and pulling Sam's hips in tightly. Dick rubbed on dick, Sam's thigh automatically slipping between Dean's to start the grind they both knew.
“Talk...after...” murmured Dean, kissing Sam's ear. “We need this first.”
Sam couldn't deny that; his blood was already pulsing harder, his skin heating up. He could feel the damp spots of both his and Dean's pre-come on their thighs.
“Yeah...”
It was like they'd never stopped, and it was brand new. The smell of Dean's skin was unchanged, but there were new scars, scars Sam had seen created, but had never kissed. Dean's hands slid around Sam's body in sure motions, remembering the electric paths of Sam's arousal, but he could feel the momentary hesitations when Dean hit an unknown change on Sam. The blend of familiarity and discovery was intoxicating, and Sam let himself go to revel in the melding of their bodies.
He pushed Dean's thighs up and stopped for a second to simply admire the erotic beauty laid out in front of him. Dean's perfect cock, swollen and flushed, framed by those muscular thighs and with his balls snugged up tight underneath. Dean handed Sam a half-empty tube of lube and Sam squeezed a generous blob right onto Dean's hole. Smearing his fingers in it as he spread it onto Dean, Sam slid two fingers inside, too impatient to start with one. He thought he'd remembered how hot Dean was inside, but he hadn't and it made him stop and gasp in awe.
“Fuck that, Sammy. Get in me now!” ordered Dean gruffly. He slapped Sam's leg as if he was hurrying a horse along, and it made Sam laugh. Dean chuckled too, but then squeezed Sam with his thighs. “Come on, waited too long already!”
Sam took a deep breath, his heart racing while he slicked himself up. He rubbed the head of his dick on Dean's hole, spreading even more lube around, and then pushed.
It took more force than Sam remembered, but then he'd hardly prepped Dean. This wasn't one of those times where they'd played with each other for hours, fingering and teasing and rimming before one sank into the other. They'd always switched, both enjoying each position, but here Sam had just gone ahead and topped. He felt the need to take Dean as his own again, reclaim this aspect of their relationship that had been so long neglected. And Dean didn't seem to object, throwing his head back and uttering loud groans while Sam slowly advanced, millimeter by millimeter, until he was completely inside and his balls rested on Dean's.
They both were breathing heavily, adjusting to each other again; Sam to the pressure and heat of Dean, and Dean, Sam was sure, to the intrusion of Sam's sizable cock into his ass. It was mere seconds though, and then Dean was urging Sam to move.
And just like that, it was like no time had passed. They were totally wrapped up in each other; their bubble of heat, lust, and the bond that had been bent and stretched, but remained unbroken. Sam was as glad to feel that bond revive as he was to feel Dean around him, hands grabbing at him, body welcoming him in every possible way. He stared into Dean's deep green eyes and felt, as he always had, that he could fall into them and be safe and loved forever.
“Sam!”
A voice shrilled through the air, freezing both men despite the heat of their reunion.
Sam and Dean turned their faces toward the door as one. Still buried in his brother, Sam's dick was blissfully unaware of the interruption and gave a mighty twitch, drawing an involuntary, throaty moan from Dean.
Eileen stood in the doorway of Dean's room, the dim light of the hallway falling around her. It wasn't a lot of light, but it was enough to see the shock on her face. Her mouth stayed open after her outcry, her jaw working silently.
Sam didn't know what to do. Ignore her and finish fucking Dean? Pull out of Dean and try to face Eileen with a dripping erection? All the choices seemed bad.
“I...you...your brother?” she managed to spit out. Her voice was a mix of anger and confusion. She stammered for another second, and then vanished back into the hallway, her running footsteps echoing on the linoleum.
Sam looked back at Dean. “What...I don't...” Sam managed to say, which Dean answered with an upward buck of his hips, his turn to make Sam groan loudly.
“Dude, it sucks, but what's really going to suck is if you don't finish what we're doing. So get focused and fuck me, and we'll talk to her after!” Dean reached down and stroked his own cock, distracting Sam from the crisis by smearing pre-come on his belly and licking his fingers while staring at Sam.
“Yeah, after,” mumbled Sam, avidly watching Dean's pink tongue sweeping between his shiny fingers. He started driving hard into Dean, hands tightly gripping his hips. “Now...fucking.” He applied himself to that end with every ounce of strength he had, making sure to nail Dean's prostate until his brother was yelling out his pleasure.
After they'd both climaxed ecstatically and were lying with limbs intertwined, Sam brought up the question of their separation. It was so much easier to talk with their bodies all heavy and sated, foreheads touching. Sam was able to ask without feeling like he was attacking Dean, and Dean answered without that defensive bitterness that Sam had come to dread.
“Amara left me so...hollow. I was so full of emptiness that I couldn't even fill it with you, Sammy. I just...buried myself in the hunting and the world almost ending a couple of times, and...that was all I could do.” Dean kissed Sam's cheek, then his lips. “I'm so sorry. I think somehow...seeing you and Rowena, what you had to do, what she made you do...I started to really feel again. Moved out of autopilot, you know?” He gave a bitter chuckle. “Every time I tried to break out of it-Mom, Jack-it seemed like I got slammed in the face with another crisis or loss. Now...God, Sam, to really feel you again, share that with you, share this with you...fuck, baby, I swear I'll never leave you like that again.”
He drew Sam into his arms. Sam sighed and relaxed-really relaxed-and fell asleep with Dean's breath exhaling rhythmically on the back of his neck.