New story: Coming to an Understanding - Sam/Dean

[meri_oddities]

Yay pornish_pixies is back! And yay fandom! Go us.

This was written as part of sevenfists BadAss!Sam challenge.

Title: Coming to an Understanding
Author: Meri
Email: Meri_oddities at Yahoo dot com
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Adult
Word count: 2740
Prompt: After the YED is disposed of, Dean nobly ditches Sam in Boston with a fake identity registered for the first year of Harvard Law (courtesy of Ash). Badass!Sam tracks Dean down (half-drunk in Mexico in the middle of a bar fight? wrestling an undead alligator in the Louisiana bayou? maudlin and shivering in a tiny log cabin in the wilds of Nebraska?) and impresses upon Dean how pissed-off he is.
Notes: Many thanks to my betas destina, molly_o, and Marcelle. Any mistakes after their hard work are all my own.
Disclaimer: I know these characters don't belong to me. I'm just playing with them and will return them unharmed when I'm done. Promise.



*****

Sam pulled the battered Ford into the parking lot of some shitty bar in the middle of South Dakota. The car made a rattling sound, as if it were giving up its last breath, and died. Third time since he'd left Boston. Fuck.

The Impala was parked off to one side. Finally, after three long weeks. Sam breathed out in relief.

As much as he wanted to kick Dean's ass for having dumped him in Boston like yesterday's garbage, he couldn't help the warmth that settled into his chest. He'd chased the jerk halfway across the country, always managing to be one step behind him. The Ford hadn't helped much -- not that he'd had a lot of choice there either.

Sam ignored everyone else in the place as he stalked over to Dean. He especially ignored the smile that wanted to break out at seeing Dean.

"Sammy? What are you doing here? Why aren't you in Boston?" A smile lit Dean's face for a second, and he glowed with it.

Completely ignoring the sweet pressure in his chest, Sam grabbed the front of Dean's shirt with both hands and shook him. "What the fuck did you think you were doing?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, and his mouth pulled into a flat line. Curling his fingers deeper into the soft flannel, Sam resisted the urge to let him go.

"This isn't the place for this," Dean snarled, tugging free of Sam's hold.

Sam swallowed. "The hell it's not," he said, but really, it wasn't the place. They needed some privacy, to be away from prying eyes. "Where are you staying?"

"Just off the highway, a couple of miles down," Dean said, after a moment's hesitation.

"Let's go," Sam said, jerking his head toward the door. He wasn't going to be responsible for his actions if they didn't get out of here now.

"I'm not finished here," Dean had a cheeky half-smile on his face, and looked pointedly to the pool table, then the two guys he was probably hustling.

Sam straightened up to his full height, and folded his arms over his chest. "Now, Dean. Or we'll have that discussion here."

Dean's smirk faded, his shoulders squared, and his fingers tightened around the cue he was holding. He glanced at the two guys and then back at Sam. After another second, he deflated, exhaling. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

Neither of the guys seemed like they wanted to argue with Sam. All in all, that was a good thing.

"Let's go," Sam repeated and started toward the door, fully expecting Dean to follow.

"You got a ride?" Dean asked as soon as they were outside.

"Yeah." Sam pointed at the piece-of-crap car. It was an embarrassment to be seen in it.

"No style there." Dean chuckled and opened the passenger door of the Impala, nodding to Sam to get in.

Sam slid into the seat, breathing in the scents of the leather and of the polish Dean used on the dashboard to keep it from cracking, letting the memories wash over him for a moment. He shook it off. Nostalgia was not on tap for tonight.

Dean slipped a tape in and Metallica's The Unforgiven filled the car. That worked to keep them from talking. But it wouldn't put it off forever. All Sam had to do was think about what Dean had done to him, the three weeks he'd spent on the road, and his blood pressure started to rise again.

By the time they got to the motel, Sam's hands were shaking with the effort to control himself. When Dean blithely opened the door to the room, standing aside to let him pass with a slight bow, Sam lost it.

He pushed Dean into the room, leaning hard into his back, Dean's face against the wall. "What the fuck did you think you were doing dumping me in Boston, you asshole?"

Dean cleared his throat, his body shifting, but he didn't try to struggle. "Dude, I thought I was giving you the future you wanted. I thought I was doing you a favor."

"Did it never occur to you, dude, that I might want a say in my future? That I might not want you to make that decision for me?" Sam managed to get the words out past the tightness that was suddenly in his throat.

"What? You didn't want to go to Harvard? It's like the best law school there is." Dean sounded as if he genuinely didn't understand why Sam was angry.

"Aside from the fact that Sam Thompson was accepted to Harvard, not me. And that he was awarded a full ride that I didn't earn--" Sam took a breath and counted to twenty. In Latin. "If I wanted to go to Harvard, I would have applied there. I am capable of doing that, and getting in, you idiot."

Dean stiffened under his hands and grunted. "I just thought --"

"You didn't think, Dean. You decided what I wanted and made sure that I had it, even if it wasn't what I wanted. It's what you wanted for me." Sam batted him on the side of the head with his open hand. It was less than he wanted to do.

"Hey, stop it! Or I'm going to hurt you, bitch." Dean ducked his head when Sam went to smack him again.

"As if you could." But Sam didn't hit him again, instead he shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them still, and stayed at Dean's back. "What were you thinking to try something this stupid?"

Now that Sam had released him, Dean turned around, sighing as he met Sam's eyes. "This is what you've said you wanted more than once. Why would that have changed from Stanford?"

"Oh, let's see: It's been three years, and a million miles and too many deaths to count. Why wouldn't that change me?" Sam exhaled and unclenched his hands.

"Now that we're free of the demon -- both of them -- I wanted you to be happy. I don't get why you're pissed off." Dean's eyes were wide and clueless.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Sam drew in a shaky breath. "I know what you were trying to do. And some part of me appreciates the gesture, but mostly I'm so pissed off that I could smack you one."

"You just did. But feel free to do it again, if it will make you feel better." Dean held his hands out.

If Sam thought it would do any good, he might. But really, he didn't want to hurt Dean. "You're not getting off that easily. And you're not getting rid of me that easily, either."

"I don't want to get rid of you."

There was a flash of something in Dean's eyes that Sam didn't recognize. Something unexpected. Something that made Sam stomach hurt. "Do you want me gone --"

Dean was already shaking his head. "No, of course I don't."

"What then? Do you want to go back to being alone all the time?" Sam shivered. He'd turned around a hundred times in the last three weeks to tell Dean something, to make a comment, to just say good morning, and been surprised to find no one there.

They were still standing nearly against each other, and Dean tried to shoulder him away. But Sam was having none of that shit. Dean wasn't getting away from him. He leaned into him, pushing him against the wall, body to body.

And, oh fuck, what was that? No, never mind, he knew. Sam stepped back. Actually, that explained a whole lot.

Dean looked down, his cheeks tinged with red, and wouldn't look back at Sam no matter how hard he stared at Dean's head.

"Fuck," Sam muttered.

"Yes. That would be the problem." Dean's tone was miserable, lost.

Closing his eyes for a second, Sam breathed out sharply. This was so not what he'd expected. He wanted to cross his hands and ask for a time-out so he could think past the barrage of conflicting emotions.

But damn. Dean had the same look on his face that he'd worn when Sam was young and their father was about to leave on a long hunt without them.

Sam's stomach knotted.

"Dean," Sam started, and then trailed off. He had no idea where to go with it. "We should talk about what --"

"No emo scenes. There's --"

"Fuck, no. Don't even begin to start that with me now. Or I'm going to kick your ass." Sam pushed Dean back against the wall, his arms extended and both hands on Dean's shoulders.

Dean wouldn't meet his eyes. "Sammy --"

"You're going to say it to me straight." Because then Sam could deal. If Dean were okay with this, really okay, then maybe he could be, too.

It was across the line. Yes, he knew that. But he and Dean had crossed a lot of lines in their time, and this wouldn't be the worst of them.

"I thought it would be for the best. Given everything." The color in Dean's face harsh in the lamplight.

"You stupid fuck. You want to, don't you? And you were never going to say anything, were you? You were just going to get rid of the temptation." His nails were starting to dig into his palm and Sam opened his hands deliberately.

"What do you want me to say?" Dean sighed and licked his lips.

Sam couldn't help but watch the progress of Dean's tongue, and fuck, it was distracting. "I want you to admit what you want."

"So you can ride my ass for it?" In contrast to his tight words, Dean's eyes were cracked open, raw with want.

Even if Sam hadn't considered the idea before, Dean was all he had left. All he was likely to ever have. Funny how the decision wasn't that hard after all. Because no matter what, Sam wasn't leaving Dean. Ever. Sam smiled. "Maybe I do want to ride your ass."

Dean blinked and then, ever so slowly, a smile lit his face. "Is that so? All of this was--"

"You jerk. Everything I said before was legitimate. You can't make decisions for me. But did you ever think we could make this decision together?" He dug his fingers into the tense muscles of Dean's shoulders and felt Dean relax ever so slightly under his hands.

Dean let out a slow breath that actually sounded like a nervous laugh. "It's totally fucked up."

Surprisingly, Sam was okay with that, too, as long as he and Dean were together. "That would be the Winchester way, wouldn't it?"

"Might be." Dean's voice dropped into a completely other register, and Sam's heart rate sped up.

Sam let his hands drop and stepped up to Dean, chest to chest. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of Dean's chest. "I think --"

"Don't over-think this, Sammy. There's too much margin for fucking it up." Dean leaned forward and kissed him.

Sam found that he wasn't at all prepared for his body's reaction to that. He was hard in seconds, aching. His body throbbed in time with his heartbeat. And that was before Dean's tongue nudged his mouth opened and slid in. Then, it was as if the floor had given way and he was in free-fall: stomach dropping, breath vanishing, and limbs flailing.

Barely breathing, Sam reached for Dean's hips, moving him forward until they were standing pressed together tightly, hips, chests, lips. He let his trembling fingers travel over Dean's back, up to his shoulders, around to his chest, mapping surfaces he was familiar with and yet had never considered in quite this way before.

Groping more than caressing, Sam's hands had a mind of their own, finally settling on Dean's round ass and squeezing hard. Dean moaned, pressing into him.

Under Sam's shirt, Dean's fingers drew patterns down his back, tracing circles on his lower spine. Sam shivered, pressing into Dean, heat flaring. With a slight twist of his body, he moved them so he could nibble along Dean's jaw and down his neck, licking his Adam's apple and then the hollow of his throat. Dean smelled of sweat and beer and smoke, and Sam inhaled deeply, drinking it in.

"Need you naked, now," Sam growled, pulling at Dean's shirt, buttons popping, forcing the material to yield to his will.

"Working on it," Dean said, pushing his jeans and underwear off himself--and then reaching for Sam's shirt with the same disregard for rent seams and torn fabric.

Finally, they sprawled across the lumpy mattress, kissing and licking and sucking whatever skin they could reach. Sam was shaking, wanting to taste and touch every bit of Dean -- all at once. Wishing he could speed up and slow down and maybe even stop for a second, just to revel in it. But he wanted more, needed it as he needed air to breathe. He'd never be able to get enough of the taste of Dean's skin, of his sweat, of his fingers, of his body arching into Sam's hands.

Feeling his way down Dean's body, letting his lips lead him to where he was going, Sam closed his mouth over Dean's straining cock and sucked him in as far as he could. He loved the taste, the smell of Dean on his tongue and in his throat.

Dean groaned and bucked into his mouth. God, Sam liked that sound.

It made him harder, close, too close, and he pulled up.

"What? Why'd you stop?" Dean looked about a second away from violence.

"You're going to come with me inside you. Got a problem with that?" Once Sam had a plan, he would see it through to completion.

A deep shudder went through Dean's body as he looked up at Sam. His pupils were huge, dilated, his chest heaving, and his mouth turned up in an unlikely gentle smile that reminded Sam of Christmas morning. "Go to it, Sammy," Dean whispered, subsiding back on the bed.

"Lube?" Sam knew Dean had to have some, because Dean was like a fucking boy scout, always prepared.

"Top drawer."

After a moment's fumbling, squirting the lube across the sheets in his haste, Sam slid two fingers into Dean. Heat and constriction closed around him, and he couldn't wait until it was him and not just his fingers buried in Dean. Sam's whole body tightened, his breath coming in gasps.

Dean let out a delicious whine. The sound went right to Sam's cock, making him even harder, and he had to take a deep breath before he could continue.

"Now, fuck, Sam," Dean said, tilting his hips into Sam's fingers.

Sam was so ready. He lifted Dean's legs over his shoulders, pressing into Dean's heat, letting it surround him. Sam forced himself to stop, to wait the necessary seconds for Dean to adjust to his invasion.

"God, so tight, so good," Sam moaned, closing his eyes, shaking. His muscles strained, and sweat started to break out all over his body.

Dean grunted, and Sam could feel the loosening, just enough for him to slide all the way home. And that's what it felt like, coming home: Dean tight and hot around him, Dean everywhere that he needed him to be, Dean with him all the way.

He pulled back and slowly sank in again. Sam shuddered. Bliss.

Sam took hold of Dean's leaking cock, stroking in rhythm with his thrusts. Dean tried to meet him, but the angle wasn't that good, so Sam did the work for both of them this time.

As much as he wanted it to last forever, or at least a while longer, the heat and sensation all conspired against him, them. He was shaking, sweating, his body tensing more and more as he drove into Dean's delicious heat.

After another second or two, Dean came across his fingers, calling out Sam's name. And that was all it took for Sam to fall.

Sometime later, Sam awoke to Dean's fingers trailing through the sweat and come on his belly.

"I hope you've learned your lesson," Sam whispered when Dean leaned over to kiss him.

Dean smirked, a completely self-satisfied smirk. "Oh, yeah. I'll never try and send you to law school again."

Sam supposed that was as good as he was going to get. "Damn right."

--finis