Blue Skies From Rain Part 5 - Chapter 25 cont.

[lovesrain44]

 

“Cool, huh?” Dean asked. Smiling.

“C’mon,” Sam said, coaxing, as if Dean had been resisting him this whole time. “Now, you.”

“What?” asked Dean.

“Down. On the bed.”

“Bossy,” said Dean, but he sat down, and pulled Sam between his bare legs, close enough to rest his face on Sam’s stomach as he stood there, like he was soaking up the heat and the feel of Sam. He took one hand and brushed it slowly down the length of Sam’s hip.

But Sam wanted to take care of Dean, not the other way around, it was always the other way around. Dean seemed to think it was his job or something, taking care of Sam, making sure Sam’s needs were met, always, before his own. Well that was going to have to stop. It wasn’t fair, and it made Sam feel like that’s all he meant to Dean. He wanted to mean more. Starting now.

He pushed and made Dean move back on the bed and then settled down, lying on top of Dean, their skins still slightly damp and warm where their bodies touched. He planted his elbows on the side of Dean’s head, legs tangled with Dean’s. In the back of his head, he considered that he might be too heavy for this, for long, but Dean seemed to like it, his eyes closed halfway, hands coming up to touch Sam’s hips, gentle, waiting.

“Do I have your permission?” asked Sam.

Dean’s fingers pressed down, muscle into bone, and Dean tipped back his chin, eyes closing, nodding, letting Sam have it. This is for us, Dean’d said, so this would be for Dean. He kissed Dean’s neck, pulling Dean’s head up with his hands, so Dean wouldn’t have to do even that much. Felt Dean shiver beneath his mouth, opening to suck at the skin, and use his teeth to nip, feeling the fierce desire to mark Dean as his, his, his Dean. Then he realized that Dean was turning his head back, mouth open, like he wanted Sam, twisting into his arms, and Sam moved so they could kiss. So he could taste Dean, and pull at his hair a little, tip Dean’s mouth into his own. Felt Dean’s cock hardening against his hip. Knew what he wanted.

“Do we have lotion?” Sam asked, testing the warmth of Dean’s lips with his own.

“Uh-no.” Dean's eyelashes fluttered open, and he was right there, looking at Sam. “I don’t know. Just use-don’t worry about the lotion. Just do it. Use spit.”

Sam felt his eyebrows go up, and thought for a second how that would work. Dean had been tight last time, snug and close around Sam’s cock. It would take a lot of spit, Sam’s fingers in him, working him open, and his stomach plunged, groin tightening at the thought of it.

Dean was warm beneath him, shifting under Sam’s weight, but Sam held him there, knowing what Dean was going to do, his intent to roll and face the pillow. But he wanted Dean like this, watching through half-lidded eyes that glittered green, and that lush mouth, pink and moist from Sam’s kisses. He took his fingers from around Dean’s head and brushed them against Dean’s mouth, testing the soft skin, ash rose beneath the hard white tips of Sam’s fingernails, scraping a little with the edges. Dean opened his mouth, sucking Sam’s fingers in, three of them all at once, surprising Sam, making him jerk in a breath, his cock twitching in sympathy.

He made a sound in his chest, and Dean smiled around his fingers, crinkles at the corner of his eyes. Mouth sucking, his tongue curling around the tips of Sam’s fingers, his eyes glinting as if to say, it’s like that, huh? It was like Dean, this little joke, being there, being with Sam, though Sam knew, somewhere still, that Dean was doing this for him, mostly, taking what pleasure he could, and hopefully he could do that, but it was for Sam that Dean did this. As always. That was a kind of love too, selfless, and it made Sam’s chest feel like it was bursting. There was never enough he could do in return, but take it, as Dean seemed to want him to. To accept it, because in doing that, that would be love for Dean.

So Sam pushed and took, and moved his fingers a little rough in Dean’s mouth, pressing down with his chest, taking kisses from Dean’s skin. Along his jaw, biting, sucking in, leaving marks, making Dean a little breathless, shifting under Sam, but trapped, not getting away.

Sam took his fingers out of Dean’s mouth and kissed Dean hard, tasting the salt of his own skin. He moved his hand down along Dean’s body, trailing the moisture, knowing it would dry and cool across Dean’s skin and make Dean shiver. He pulled Dean to him and moved his hand behind Dean, to shove his hand between Dean’s legs, to press his fingers between Dean’s buttocks, and all the while, leaving cooling marks. He threw his leg over Dean’s thigh, trapping him there, and yes, Dean liked that, sighing, eyes closing. He liked being secure in Sam’s arms, and Sam could give him this.

He was going to press his fingers in, and knew that because spit had already dried, it might be a little rough. So he looked at Dean and asked, and Dean answered, a flickering of lashes, his mouth open, eyes wide and on Sam, like Sam was the only thing in his world, the only thing he could see, and anything Sam wanted, Dean would give him. It should be the other way sometimes, Sam knew that. So he bent low and planted the softest of kisses, there on the corner of Dean’s mouth, making Dean smile again.

“You sure?” he asked.

Dean’s mouth moved as if to say yeah, but he didn’t make a sound, just that wordless giving that worked its way into Sam’s gut, piercing, twisting in there so tight, Sam knew it would never come undone. Dean was his, to love and to take. This would hurt a little, but Dean seemed to be aware of that, to want it, so Sam could only bow his head in return and silently promise to go slow, to be careful, sweeping his lips along the curve of Dean’s jaw, feeling the muscles tighten and then relax, and Dean’s whole body felt safe in Sam’s arms.

Dean took a breath. “Sam,” he said. “Sam-I-Am.”

Then it felt better, felt right, to tug on Dean’s shoulder, and push him face down into the pillow, moving his arms up to curve around his head. Sam pulled the blankets away, swept his hand down Dean’s side, beneath his hip, to make sure there weren’t any ridges in the sheets, nothing to make Dean uncomfortable. He climbed up behind Dean, stroking his hands through Dean’s hair, moving down his neck, sweeping down Dean’s back as he settled himself between Dean’s thighs. He bent close with more kisses, making moist marks along Dean’s spine, heat rising up from Dean, sinking into his bones.

His fingers were completely dry now, so he sucked them into his own mouth, and shifted back, intent on this till Dean turned his head to look back, eyes glinting like two sparks in the night, small green fires to draw him in.

“Okay, you,” Sam said. He slipped his damp fingers into Dean’s mouth, letting him suck on them, make them wet all up and down, till Dean’s neck was hot beneath Sam’s hand. He pulled his fingers free and shifted them, moving fast, back between Dean’s buttocks, circling Dean’s asshole with them, leaving circles of wet, and then he pushed in, curving his finger so he didn’t rip at Dean with his nail, but pushing it in with a little force, so that Dean would know it was there.

Dean made a sound, a soft surprised noise from his throat, but as Sam moved his finger, he sighed and moved his forehead against the pillow, settling into it. The back of his neck was starting to sparkle with sweat in the bright overhead lights, and Sam wished he’d thought to turn the lights off, but it was good like this. In the hospital, he’d never been able to watch, and now he could, so maybe leaving the lights on was a good thing, if he could see Dean beneath him, lashes against his cheek, mouth slightly open. Trusting. Waiting for Sam.

Sam drew his finger out and then pushed two back in, moving his fingers apart and then together, using his other hand to make circles on Dean’s back, his palm along Dean’s rib, his skin, feeling the sweat start to build, keeping Dean still as he moved his fingers in and out, side to side, pushing, always pushing. Making it a little hard, watching Dean squirm as he listened to the small, almost high sounds Dean was making as he pushed his hips back into Sam’s hand. Sam pulled out and then pushed in three fingers, and Dean made the same sound he had in the hospital, a little yip that made Sam want to stop. But Dean was shivering beneath him and grinding his hips into the mattress, thighs strong alongside Sam’s knees. Dean could push Sam off if he wanted to, but he wasn’t, because he didn’t. He wanted Sam, right where he was, doing what he was.

Sam curved in to kiss Dean again, to lick the sweat from the back of his neck, the salt from the top of Dean’s spine, tender in Sam’s mouth, sweet in his brain, Dean like this, laid out like this, pushing back into Sam’s hand because he wanted it, really wanted it now. That was better, like this, Sam kissed and moved his fingers, till he heard Dean grunting, as though he were protesting, wanting Sam to hurry, now, to go there, to do it. Sam pulled out his fingers all at once, thinking that might cause friction, a burn, but Dean moaned into the pillow and Sam petted the back of his head, Dean’s hair silky and damp beneath his palm. Yes.

Laying full out, he tipped his weight to one side along Dean, knowing he was heavy but not moving away. Instead he grabbed his cock and snubbed the head up close between Dean’s legs, pushing with his knees, till he pushed inside, just a little, Dean’s heat, the heat from inside his body soaking into Sam’s cock, making it want to pulse now. Sam tightened his groin, and thought distant thoughts of cool water, making his body obey him, not now, not yet.

He pushed, pushing with his cock and his knees behind, pushing, feeling the resistance of Dean’s body, waiting, letting his blood pound behind his eyes, breath humming in his throat as a drop of sweat from his forehead slid into his eyes, making it sting. He closed his eyes, and felt the pounding now, in the darkness, Dean’s body hot around him as he nudged in, and then a bit more, pushing, keeping on pushing, Dean’s body rising to push back, the only way he knew Dean wanted it like this, for Sam to keep doing it, with only spit and heat to ease the way. Dean was tight, nudge by nudge, Sam’s cock felt huge inside of Dean, like an iron brand, marking Dean from the inside as his, just his and no one else’s. He opened his eyes. Saw Dean’s back, the long line of spine, the curve of ribs as Dean breathed hard, the length of him, sweat and muscle.

With a final grunt, his thighs shaking, Sam knew he was full in, his pubic hair pushing up behind Dean’s balls, and he took his hands away from Dean’s body to brace his weight so he could move his hips, drawing back to thrust into Dean, hard, the slam making the bed frame jerk against the wall with a click. Making Dean’s shoulders roll back, his arms reaching out to grip the sheets, hair dark with sweat now, shuddering all up and down his length. Good, that was good.

Dean pressed his cheek into the pillow, his head tipped to one side, so that Sam could see that Dean’s eyes were closed, almost as though he were lost. Lost to be found, but only by Sam, Sam who loved him, moving now, thrusting in with his thighs, drawing out to push in again, in rhythm, tandem with Dean as he pushed back, coming up on his knees so Sam could grip his hips and hold on, feeling the piston impulse of his thighs as they took over, sweat streaking his skin, shining on Dean’s back.

Sam held on as he ground into Dean, pumping with short, hard jerks, and then something snapped in his head, taking him to a place filled with blackness and then sparks, showering down, coming up through his spine and into his brain, and he pushed, hard, hard, hard, fingers gripping so tightly, shoving and pulling, he knew Dean would feel the bruises for days. Felt the final thrust as his cock pulsed, hot, thumping inside of Dean, while Dean sank back against him, grunting low, his arms stretched out, fingers tight inside of sheets that were now pulled free from the mattress.

Still hot beneath him, Dean shook, and Sam reached around the front of Dean’s body to find that Dean’s cock was hard and tight up against his stomach and he frowned. Thinking that Dean seemed prepared to go on, letting Sam have his pleasure without taking something for himself. It made him mad, a sizzle in his brain, tired of that, not wanting it for Dean, and why on earth did Dean think that Sam would let him? He pulled out fast enough to hurt, letting his anger take him, so he could give Dean what he wanted, needed, even though he wasn’t going to ask. Not for anything, but didn’t he know Sam would give him the world?

Dean’s mouth fell open, shock widening his eyes as Sam flung him back on the bed. His head hit the pillow and slipped off it, at an angle, his shoulders tangled in the sheets. Sam wrapped his arm behind Dean, cupped around Dean’s ribs, trapping Dean’s arm against his own side. He threw his leg over Dean’s body, making Dean struggle against him, his mouth trying to work in protest, but his mouth was dry. Sam kissed him, making his mouth wet, marking Dean’s lips with a nip. Dean threw up his chin, pulling away, and Sam let him.

“Mine,” Sam said. Growling. But his other hand was soft, stroking down along Dean’s belly that quivered under his touch. He didn’t play around, but circled his fingers around Dean’s cock, pulling up, the sweat of Dean’s skin almost enough but not enough, making it a little rough again. He liked the feel of the hairs on Dean’s thighs, scratchy against his own, hot sweat sparking all over between them where their skin touched, the pulse of Dean’s heart against his chest. And Dean’s face, close enough to kiss, to see Dean’s eyes, dark pupils expanding, and yeah, all Dean had to do was say it, say no, and Sam would stop. But though Dean’s throat worked, it was for air and not to protest, so Sam did what he wanted to do.

He let go of Dean’s shoulders and moved down Dean’s body, planting kisses to make Dean stay still. He shifted so he was between Dean’s thighs, making Dean spread his legs for Sam’s knees. With one hand he stroked Dean’s cock up and down, and with his fingers, still damp, he moved them into Dean, all at once, reaching for that spot, a little bump that he rubbed, touching it, moving back, pushing and pulling, his three fingers slick with his own come.

And then he leaned up to take Dean’s cock in his mouth, his fist curled around the base, holding it there where he wanted it, spit trailing down, wet, making Dean wet, Dean’s taste soaking his mouth. Tasting new, tasting like an echo, Dean’s smell, strong in his mouth as he sucked and moved his hand in and out of Dean. Making Dean writhe now, not moving away, but moving, ceaseless, toward the friction of Sam’s mouth and his hand, high sounds punctuating each breath, eyes closed tight, eyelashes fanning on flushed cheeks, dappled with sweat all over. And then Sam went fast, his hand moving in and out of Dean, his mouth sucking hard. Dean’s whole body twitched and the heat from his cock streamed into Sam’s mouth, impossibly hot, while Sam let it move over his tongue, swallowing because now Dean was inside of him now. A part of him.

He waited till Dean was still before he let Dean’s cock slip out of his mouth, pulling his fingers out of Dean’s body, gently now, slowly. Carefully. He crawled up along Dean’s body, the light of the hotel room bare and obvious all around them and if there was a way he could have turned out the lights with his mind, he would have. But he pulled Dean into his arms anyway, in spite of the fact that they were both breathing hard, and hot, it was almost too hot where their chests and legs touching in one long line.

Dean rested his head on Sam’s shoulder, his hair bristly and wet, poking into Sam’s skin. But Sam wanted it like that. He petted Dean’s shoulders and his chest, waiting till the heaving breaths slowed down, and the sweat started to cool. Then he pulled up a sheet, reaching with one hand to do this, and covered them both. Felt Dean sigh against him, and sighed in return. And stifled the impulse that wanted to fill Dean’s ears with words pulsing up from Sam’s heart, words of love and forever and Dean.

Dean reached up to stroke his face, like he knew. And that would have to be enough for Sam.

*

Dean stood there, naked, watching Sam sleep. His cock and the flesh between Dean’s legs ached when he walked. His ass ached when he sat down, or moved, or even thought about moving. His body was going to remember Sam for a long, long time, and even after the feeling faded, warm and achy and constant, Dean knew his heart would remember the feeling Sam’s touch had left on his soul forever.

There weren’t any words for it, not really. Dean had never needed any before, but he wished he had some now so he could mark that moment, Sam’s hands on his back, Sam moving inside of him, laying kisses along Dean’s spine, leaving his mark. Leaving a feeling like whispered prayers of worship, trailing into Dean’s soul, a feeling he couldn’t even begin to express. The feeling of being loved. That word that Sam used, liked to use, flinging it all over the place like it cost him nothing, but that to Dean was worth more than he could ever count, a feeling of being adored and treasured and held there in Sam’s arms, so safe that the darkness could never get him. Not ever.

To let that go was going to kill him. But better to die than have Sam come to his senses and realize what was going on and push Dean from him, hate in his eyes, flaring with disgust because Dean couldn’t stop what he should never have started. That he knew he could never stop. Didn’t want to. And so he had to go.

He rubbed his head as he sat on the other bed and watched Sam sleep, the light from the bathroom falling on Sam’s hand and his shoulder. But not on his face; Dean had moved the door so the light wouldn’t keep Sam awake. He’d told Sam he was taking a shower, and he had, and Sam had fallen asleep, waiting.

Everything seemed normal, Sam’s snuffle as he turned over to sprawl, his face buried in the pillow, dark hair spilling across his temples, everything just like a thousand times before, in Dean’s memory, even if not in Sam’s. There were low tick tick sounds coming from the air conditioner as it came to life and oozed cool air into the room. The roar of the highway passing outside the window. Some faraway pipes clacking.

But it wasn’t normal.

We were brothers and I fell in love with you-

It was something he’d said to only a handful of women in his life time.

-in love with your skin and the feel of your breath against my neck and the constant source of you there. Always there.

He knew he could have found another way to convince Sam to trust him enough to come with him. But at the time, in that place, with the walls and the pills and the orderlies, all the constraints, he’d not been able to just say trust me, come with me. Instead he’d felt he had to touch Sam all over, to make a place for Sam, to keep that Sam who didn’t know him at his side. He remembered thinking it, this is the only way. But now, out of the institution, on the road again, with Sam, he couldn’t find his way back to that moment when he’d made that choice. For surely he’d made it, and not Sam; Sam hadn’t been in his right mind; it had been Dean’s choice, only.

It was nothing Sam would ever have done, not any of it. The day would come and Sam would remember. And when he did, and he would, he would do what he’d done before, and leave Dean standing by the roadside, alone. Alone by the Impala with both doors open, with Sam striding off down some highway, destination unknown. Leaving Dean. Sam would walk, and Dean would be all alone. Forever.

And it wasn’t that Sam would tell anyone, it was likely that he would not. But he would never let Dean contact him again, never reach out to brush away a stray eyelash, never burrow under Dean’s chin, pressing close for warmth or just because he could.

Dean had to leave, because if he stayed, he’d never be able to say no to Sam. His excuse of Sam needing it was long gone and it would be obvious what Dean was really doing, what he really wanted. How he felt. If he left now, before that happened, then maybe Sam might some day understand only that he’d done the best he could. But if he stayed, then Sam would find out everything.

He didn’t know what hurt worst, the ache in his heart at hurting Sam, or the dread in his stomach of loosing Sam. He clenched his jaw so hard he heard something crack, and as he tried to take a breath, he missed Sam so bad, even with Sam right there in the bed, peacefully asleep. Oh, he’d missed Sam before, when he’d gone off to Stanford, or marched off in Indiana, or even when they’d fought, and Sam didn’t talk to him for a whole day. That wasn’t this. This empty hole, a great big nothingness coming up to swallow him. His lungs felt like they were being squeezed by a fist

Something hot slid down his face, past his nose, onto his knees, and he sat scrubbing his face, feet curling and uncurling against the greasy carpet.

He stared at Sam, at the length of his body in the half-darkness, trusting and asleep, the room cloaked against the outside by heavy curtains and the hum of the air conditioner. He choked back a hard breath and then his back curved itself forward till his head was resting on his knees, tears hot against his bare skin. He could almost hear Dr. Logan saying it was okay to feel sad, but his face felt like it was being seared by acid and his insides were eating their way out through his chest. Nothing was supposed to feel like this, nothing.

With his arms curved around his head, he listened to Sam breathe, and tried to stop crying. He straightened up, wiping his face with the back of his hand, ignoring the shake of his fingers, the emptiness of his chest.

He knew what he had to do. For this one night, he would stay, and lay with Sam. He would listen to Sam sleeping, and before the sun came up, he would pack and he would go. He would pack and go and leave Sam before Sam found out. And then when Sam did, and he would, Dean would be long gone, and any conversations or recriminations would be meaningless and unnecessary. Sam couldn’t hate him if he wasn’t there to hate.

Dean got up to turn out the light, and crawled in under the sheet, next to Sam. After so many nights in a too-narrow bed with not enough blanket and the overly chilly air wafting from some unseen vent, it was heaven. Just a little piece before the blank, hellish emptiness that awaited him.

He pushed his head back into the pillow, trying not to feel it. He pulled the covers up to his chin. Sam shifted and made a sound, and had they been back in the hospital, Dean could have reached out and pulled Sam close and felt the contact ease the tension in Sam’s body. In his own. It had been good that way, having that, Sam’s head tucked in, Sam’s hair leaving a scent trace across Dean’s face.

The force in his throat grew thick, and he reached out a hand to wipe across his face. He was going to do this, it had to be done. In the morning, before the sun came up, and way too late for Sam to do anything about it.
Chapter 26

Blue Skies From Rain Master Fic Post