The S-Files Part Three
"I don't understand how the bank robberies matched the killings," Dean said.
"If you're going on a cross-country killing spree," explained Sam, "you have to finance it somehow. Is it horrible to say I'm disappointed it was a serial killer and not Hunters?"
"Would be nice to close another Hunter case," mused Dean. "I ever tell you about the bank robbery in Milwaukee? Guy said he had the hostages locked up because one of them was a mandroid."
"A what?"
"Mandroid. Glowing eyes, took over people's bodies. Henriksen was the lead agent on that."
Sam's brow furrowed. "That's not one of our cases."
"Huh," said Dean. "Mind if we stop for coffee?" he asked, seeing a sign for a convenience store just off the highway.
"Yeah. You gas up; I'll get the coffee. You want snacks?"
"None of that healthy crap, Sam." admonished Dean.
He pulled off the highway and drove up to the pump. Sam's long strides ate up the distance to the door of the convenience store, and Dean shook his head with a smile. Sam's energy and focus were a challenge. He knew Sam deserved someone better than him, someone awesome without the constant self-worth issues Dean had, but it seemed Sam had chosen. They were still in the early stages of their relationship, seeing if they would fit together long term, but they were getting there. He finished filling the tank and looked toward the doors of the convenience store.Where was Sam?
Dean shut the latch on the tank and walked toward the convenience store. His hand wasn't on his sidearm, but he was ready to draw.
In the empty convenience store, the staff was absent, registers open and drawers empty. "Shit" blurted Dean, and drew his Glock. Sam lay on the floor, the handle of a shattered coffee urn still in his hand. Dean scanned the area before he bent down to touch Sam's throat. Pulse steady, but no response.
"Sam," he said loudly.
His partner groaned, as he reached for his weapon.
"Dean?" he asked softly.
There was still no movement in the store, and Dean helped him to a sitting position without holstering his Glock.
"Hey."
Sam looked disoriented and blinked his eyes. "Ow."
Dean shook his head and holstered his weapon, "Looks like you walked in on a robbery." He slipped his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911.
"911, what is the nature of your emergency?"
"This is Special Agent Dean Blake, Badge #JTT0331613. I am in," he looked at his phone, "River Grove, Oregon. I need local police and an EMT at the service station just off Highway 5. There appears to have been a robbery and my partner is injured."
"I'm dispatching a state patrol car and the EMTs to your location."
Sam scrambled to his feet. "We need to secure the building."
Dean nodded and grabbed a stack of napkins, motioning to Sam's head. "You're bleeding."
Sam snatched the napkins from his hand and held them to the back of his head, grimacing. "Ow"
Left hand pressing the napkins to his head, Sam gestured with his gun. "There's no one in the store. No one in the lot, one car besides our own. Let's check the back."
They covered each other searching the cooler, then the back office. There was another door, propped open as if someone had gone for a cigarette break. Dean looked out the door and shouted "Stop! Federal Agent!"
Sam followed Dean through the door in time to see one person straddling another, about to hit them in the head with a rock. Still moving, Dean shot, into the air. The man stood and ran into the surrounding woods, and Sam bent to check the vitals of the woman on the ground, just as the sound of sirens reached them.
"Guns on the ground," demanded the sheriff, as she came toward them. "Identify yourselves."
"Special Agents Blake and Moore, ma'am." said Dean, as he backed away from his weapon, hands raised. "I called in a robbery, then we found this."
"I'm Sheriff Mills. What happened?" she asked, as she waved the EMTs over.
They began treating the woman, as Dean told the sheriff what they had seen. Sam retrieved their weapons at the Sheriff's nod.
"You shot in the air?"
"Yes, ma'am. It was a kid, maybe 20." Dean looked at the woman being treated. "Both of them had the same smock, maybe employees?"
"Hmm." she said. "Your call said your partner was injured?"
"Yes.” Sam turned and the woman rolled her eyes at Dean. "I would need a ladder to see that, but the blood's real enough. You can ride with the EMTs, or drive down to the clinic in town. I'll come take your statements formally as soon as I'm done here. Be careful. We've gotten some calls from the area about smoke in the air. Could be a fire, could be something else."
Sam thumbed his phone on. "Cancelling our flights. No way we'll make it now."
"I'm not driving back to DC," said Dean. Sam laughed.
The clinic was busily treating people with bloody wounds, and the staff was harried. A nurse directed Sam to a treatment bay. He sat on the bed, and looked around. "Think they're always this busy?" He tried to look behind him. "Shirt's ruined isn't it?" he asked.
Dean's mouth pursed. The blood from Sam's head wound stuck the shirt to his back, outlining lean swimmer's muscles. "Unless you have a dream of a dry-cleaner, I think it's toast."
Sam sighed, and a woman in a lab coat hurried toward them.
"I'm Dr. Lee. Sorry, it's not normally like this. Something strange going on, maybe in the air." She reached into her pocket and frowned. "Need gloves, hang on." She handed Sam an ice pack. "Hold this on the wound." and went to the back. Through the front door, a burly man with a rifle brought in a young man, whose face and hands were bloody, writhing in his grasp, shouting about someone trying to get him, to hurt him.
"Something is very wrong here," said Dean, and pulled out his phone. "Huh. No signal."
Sam reached into his pocket for his phone, the motion pulling on the shirt stuck to his back. He hissed, thumbed in the security code and frowned. "Me either."
Dean looked around the clinic and spotted a land line. He picked up the receiver as the doctor returned. There is no dial tone, just a high pitched humming.
"That's been dead all day, happens sometimes around here. They keep promising to bury the lines, but whenever we have severe weather, something blows down somewhere. Use your cell."
"No signal," explained Dean.
"Really?" She reached into her back pocket for an ancient candy bar phone. "Huh. Me either. That's weird." She shrugged, thrust the phone back into the pocket, and snapped on purple latex gloves. "What happened?" she asked Sam.
"Guess I walked in on a robbery. Sheriff Mills sent me here to get stitched up."
"Jodi's a good one. Let's get this done." She cleaned the back of Sam's head. "Nice goose egg, there. Couple of stitches and ice. I'll just numb it before I start. Gonna have to trim some of this hair, though."
Sam sighed heavily. "Go ahead.”
Dean laughed. Sam's hair was a character in its own story. At Sam's look of pained self-awareness, Dean laughed again. "I'm going to see if I can get a signal outside, okay? Concrete building," he shrugged, "maybe. Although," he looked around, expression turning serious, "it's an awful lot of weirdness. I don't like it, Sam."
"Yeah. Bring me a shirt while you're out there, can you?"
"Sure thing."
"Doc? Samples are up and they look mighty strange to me," a woman in a lab coat said
The doctor sighed. "Be right back."
Dean raised his phone and walked out He tried, but there was still no signal. Looking uneasily down the street, he noticed there wasn't another person in sight. He opened the trunk of the car and grabbed a fresh shirt from Sam's case, turned and went back inside.
As Dean walked back in, the blood stained young man broke free from his captor.
"You!" he shouted, coming directly at Sam. "You were there!" He grabbed a scalpel from the treatment tray and Sam's shoulder with his other hand, and then stabbed through his hand and into Sam's shoulder.
Dean dropped the shirt next to Sam. He pulled the attacker away, and knocked him down. He reached for his cuffs and sank onto the man's back to restrain him as the medical staff came running. Blood streamed from the man's hand, the scalpel still stuck through it, as he went limp.
"What in the world--" began Dr. Lee.
Sam looked at his shoulder in disbelief, and balled up the fresh shirt to put pressure on the wound.
"Sam?" asked Dean.
"I am having the worst day in the history of bad days," said Sam.
One of the women in the waiting room let out a shriek and ran out the door, the handful of people that remained looked at each other and followed.
"Lock the doors, Katie," barked Dr. Lee at the nearest nurse, who scrambled to comply. She looked at the man who had brought the boy in. "Mark, what in the name of all that's good is going on here?"
"I don't know, Doc." The man said. "I found him out there, on the road from the convenience store. It's Duane Tanner. Boy never did anything wrong, maybe smoked a little weed, but I've never seen him wound up about nothin'."
"Get a blood sample, Pam, there's plenty of it."
The nurse nodded. "He stabbed that man." She jerked her head toward Sam.
Dr. Lee rolled her eyes. "Get that blood work done. There's bound to have been transference." She looked at Dean apologetically. "Let me get some restraints."
Dean looked at Sam, who was putting pressure on the wound. Blood ran between his fingers. "Shirt's had it now, for sure."
Sam barked a laugh, and unbuttoned his shirt, tugging where it was stuck to his back, and dropping the bloody mess into the hazmat bag standing in the treatment room. He looked at the wadded fabric he was still holding, and shook his head. "These are bespoke!"
Dr. Lee came back with a straitjacket; Dean, Dr. Lee and Mark strapped the Tanner boy into it, and then sat him down, with the chair back through the straps.
Dean gestured at Mark's tattoo. "What else do you know, Master Sergeant?"
Mark gave him a cold look. "You serve?"
Dean nodded. "MOS in the Gulf." Past the man, he could see Sam, standing shirtless in the treatment bay, a pretty sight he didn't have time to appreciate. "I'm FBI, now, and my partner's sore hurt." He stuck out his right hand. "Special Agent Dean Blake. That's my partner, Agent Moore."
"He ain't special?" asked Mark, jerking his head at Sam.
"Special as can be," answered Dean. "All Field Agents are Special Agents. What else do you know?"
"Well, Agent, I was eating my lunch when I heard a commotion from toward the road, so, I picked up my rifle and went to see what it was. The Tanner boy, there, was punching at nothin', so I thought I should bring him here. Everyone I passed was either runnin' or talkin' to themselves." He thought for a moment. "Weird rotten egg smell, too."
Dean looked up. Sam nodded at him. Dr. Tanner was stitching his shoulder, when Pam stepped out of the back. Dean assumed it was where the lab was housed. "Dr Lee, you'll want to see this."
"Just a sec, Pam, and bring me the clippers."
"You're gonna want to see this now."
The doctor motioned Dean over. "This is the blood sample from Tanner I know you're not a medical professional, but I want someone else to witness this. It's a virus I've never seen." She clicked a button on the side of the scope to capture the image. "I'm trying to send a picture to CDC through the internet. His lymphocyte count is off the charts, like it's fighting a viral infection. I've saved the images to this flash drive." She pulled it from the computer and put it in her pocket.
"What kind of a virus?" asked Sam.
"Can't say. I've never seen it, nor anything like it. Let's get your head stitched up." She buzzed a tiny line of Sam's hair away, and cleaned the wound.
"Could an infection have made him act like that?"
"None that I've heard of, not that kind of violence. Besides, I've never heard of one that did this to blood."
"Did what?" asked Dean.
Sam hissed as she began stitching. "There's a weird residue. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was sulfur."
Sam gave Dean a startled glance, and Dean nodded. Sulfur was following them around.
"What do you think," Dean asked the Top.
He had his rifle trained on Tanner, and thought for a moment. "Chemical spill? Drugs? Something out there burning causing a psychotic reaction?"
Dr. Lee tied off the last of the stitches, and looked at Sam's chest. "This too," she said. She made quick work of the wound, and covered it with gauze, then picked up the instrument tray and took it to the sinks. "Each of the cases we had today had the same virus in their bloodstream."
"I think we should all get in our car and get out." said Dean.
"I can't go, Dean. I've been infected. You take them and get out of here," said Sam.
"What?" asked Dean, turning to look at Sam.
"Transference. I can't go."
"I'm not leaving you."
"Dean. Go. I don't want you to see me like that." He jerked his head at Tanner.
Dean throws the keys to the Top. "Get them out,"
"Everyone, move, move, move, shouted Dr. Lee.
"What about him?" asked the Top, looking at the boy.
"He's infected. He stays," said Dean. "Go. Sheriff Mills is at the service station by the highway.
"That's where the Tanner boy works," said the doctor.
"Go there. She'll take care of you," said Dean.
"We'll send help," said the doctor, and the door closed in her wake, the first drops of rain starting to fall.
Dean locked it behind them and watched the car drive out of sight.
'You should have gone Dean," Sam said in a low voice. "I couldn't help my sister, I can't help myself."
"You're helping me, Sam." Dean leaned over, and ran his hand down Sam's chest. He stopped with his palm over Sam's heart. "You help me every day, Sam. I'm staying"
"Cuff me."
"Sam?"
"Cuff me. Take my gun. At least you'll have warning."
"Sam--"
"It's not negotiable, I'll shoot myself first."
Dean nodded. "This is not how I imagined you in handcuffs, Sam."
Sam hiccuped, laughing through the tears that threatened.
"Well, where should I cuff you?"
"My ankles. Run the other cuff through and get my wrists."
Sam sat on the floor, effectively hogtied, and Dean looked at him. "I'm not losing you. I already lost Ty and myself; I'm just starting to get it back. Sometimes, Sam, I feel like I am barely holding it together."
"Dean," began Sam.
Dean settled on the floor facing Sam. "Let me tell you." He thought back. "I met Bela while I was in the service. She was a finder, not particular about how she got hold of the things she was commissioned to get, especially in a war zone. She was funny, and we drank a lot. She got pregnant, so I married her, and moved her to the States. I thought I could make it work, and I tried, Sam, I really tried, but women aren't actually my thing."
Sam nodded. He'd wondered how Dean came to have a son.
"Ty was six months old - might even be exactly the day. I was just back, my deployment was over, and the FBI recruited me. We were in the kitchen of our tiny apartment, and I remember it was hot. I'd just put Ty down." Dean smiled at the memory. The monitor was humming, and Bela said we had to talk." Dean drifted into his memory of the night.
"It's not working, Dean," said Bela.
Dean looked down at his hands. "It's not," he said, finally.
"I thought I could make it work for us, be a family, even though we're not --" she gestured. "I need a man in my life.
Dean laughed. "You have a man in your life, just not between your legs."
"You know what I mean."
Dean nodded. "Me too, Bel, me too."
He shook himself out of the memory, and cleared his throat. "There was a noise from the nursery, and on the monitor, we could hear something wasn't right." He looked at Sam. "It wasn't the greatest neighborhood."
"Ty was the only thing that mattered. We burst into the room to see a scruffy man fighting with another man in the nursery, one with yellow eyes. The yellow eyed man pointed at Bela. I don't know what kind of a weapon he had, Sam. but it would have sliced Bela in two if the scruffy looking guy hadn't slapped his arm. Bela was screaming and bleeding, they were fighting between us and Ty's crib. Ty was crying, and I didn't have the first clue what was going on."
Sam sat enthralled. "Then what?" he asked.
The scruffy man knocked the other guy out of the way, and pulled out a revolver. A real six-shooter. The other guy glared at us, and the room caught fire, then he vanished. The curtains were ablaze, and the other guy, the scruffy one grabbed Ty out of the crib and shoved him at Bela. He looked at me, Sam, and said 'Take your family and run, son, don't look back.' I scooped them both up and ran out into the street."
Dean looked at his watch. An hour gone, maybe two since Sam had been attacked. "How are you feeling?"
"The same. Everything hurts, but otherwise, I'm fine."
Dean got up and rummaged through the cupboards. He found some ibuprofen and dumped four into his hand. In the refrigerator, there was a bottle of water, and he brought them to Sam. "Here. This'll help."
Sam looked at him and gestured with his cuffed hands.
"Ah, shit." Dean dropped the pills onto Sam's tongue and held the bottle for him to drink.
"Thanks, man. Why don't I feel sick, or crazy?"
"Beats me." Dean scratched his head. I've never been able to get over the feeling I've heard those words before. 'Run and don't look back.' Weird, huh?"
Sam leaned back against the examination table. "When Jess died, I was at the church, at a lock-in. It's a youth group thing. My folks rented this house because it was closer to the 'good' schools they wanted me and Jess in. We were posted in the States for the first time in a long time, and mom wanted us to make friends. I uh, buddied up with Brady, in the bathroom. That was the first blow job of my life, and an hour later, the cops were there to get me." He changed the subject abruptly. "There's so much I want to say to you, we were supposed to have time."
"We'll have time, Sam," Dean said. "You never asked me about Ty."
"Wanted you to tell me when the time was right." Sam snorted. "The time is so damned wrong."
"I'll tell you anyway." said Dean. "You can imagine, after the fire, we were homeless, and Bela and I agreed to a divorce. She took Ty, and I got to have him weekends. When he was eight, the three of us were driving back from his baseball game, when a semi broadsided us. Bela and I were pinned, and the driver of the truck got out, and took Ty out of the car. I heard a shot, and that's the last I've seen of my son. You read the file. Guy had black eyes. What the hell does that mean, Sam?"
* * *
Dean looked at his watch. Four and a half hours. The Tanner boy was moving restlessly, starting to come around, and Sam's eyes were wide. "What happened?" asked the boy. "Why am I all tied up?
"Sam?" asked Dean, "How you doing?"
"Same as I was ten minutes ago. Dean, I don't think I have this thing."
Dean could hear approaching vehicles, and he looked out the doors of the clinic.
It was just approaching dusk, and the Sheriff's car was leading an ambulance through the rain. There was still no one out on the street. Dean opened the door, and Sheriff Mills walked in. She took in the Tanner boy, and Sam bent like a pretzel. "Where is everyone?" she asked.
"They were supposed to come to you," said Dean.
"Not the doc, they got to us just fine, but there's not another soul in this town. Just a word carved into the 'welcome' sign."
"Word?"
"Yeah. Says Croatoan. Mean anything to you?
Dean shook his head.
Doctor Lee came in next, and directed the ambulance staff to get blood samples from Tanner and Sam. She went to the microscope where she'd looked at the samples with the virus and drew back in shock. "These samples," she said, "are clean. No sign of infection."
"How can that be?" asked Dean. "Check Agent Moore's."
The doctor prepared the slides from the fresh sample and looked at them in amazement. He's clear. So's young Dwayne."
"I'm going to ask you to do a full work up. DNA, bloodwork --"
"Dean? Could you--," Sam gestured at the cuffs.
Dean uncuffed Sam, who stretched out on the floor, rotating his shoulders, still shirtless.
"I brought your bags," said the doctor. "Your car's out front as well."
Sam took his case and disappeared into the washroom.
"I'm serious," Dean said to the doctor, although he was watching for his partner. "The Bureau'll give us physicals when we get back, but I want independent results."
In moments, Sam returned, once again buttoned up neatly, hair styled, a professional federal agent. Dean liked him better shirtless, already missing their quiet intimacy.
Sam walked into the waiting room and Dean followed. The door to the clinic closed behind him, giving them the illusion of privacy. Dean's eyes took a moment to adjust to the light in the vestibule, a washed out blue grey, darkening by the moment. The raindrops made a pattern on Sam's suit that Dean wanted to brush away just to feel the firm muscle underneath it, but the drops weren't really there, they were on the glass. Dean knew that moment had passed.
He tried for a casual tone, asking, "Sam, are you all right?" as if it were any other day.
"Yeah," answered Sam, although his voice shook. "I'm fine, just need a minute. Brushes with mortality, Dean, they change your thinking."
Dean reached out to touch Sam's sleeve, to get him to just look at him. Was this it? Sam was calling it quits?
When Sam's eyes lift, it wasn't what Dean expected at all. There was tenderness in Sam's expression that warmed Dean to his toes, warmth he wanted to be blanketed in forever. To get there, to stay there, he needed Sam to kiss him, but he was struck dumb, staring, mouth partly open. Sam framed his face with his impossibly large hands, and made him whole with a chaste kiss.
"Bela's loss. I want you to be the man in my life."
Moore Family Home
Sam pulled up to the driveway of a Chevy Chase maisonette, and keyed in a security code. The gate opened and Sam pulled up in front of the house, as the gate closed behind the car.
"This is your place?" asked Dean incredulously.
"Well, it is, it's my mom's place, but she's-- she's not here."
"It's -- we couldn't afford this."
Sam feels ridiculously warmed at the 'we'.
"My mother is in a memory care unit. She's not coming back."
"Oh, Sam. I -- I'm sorry."
Sam shrugged. "Sometimes she knows me, sometimes she doesn't. It is what it is. The place she lives -- it’s for people who know things they might say that aren't okay for public consumption. Come on." He opened the door, and climbed out of the car, cracking his back as soon as he got out.
Dean stepped out of the car and looked around. Wisteria and lilacs were in bloom; the fragrance heady and intoxicating. He looked at Sam over the top of the car. "I am in way over my head here."
Sam strode around the front of the car and took Dean's arm. "Will you come in?"
Dean flashed a wry grin. "Your car, your place. I sort of already committed."
Sam laughed, uncomfortably. "I've never brought anyone here. No one. Ever." He punches in an alarm code and looks at Dean. "The code is her birthday. 1013."
"Sam..."
Sam shrugged. There was nothing he wouldn't share with Dean. "In case."
He opened the door, and motioned Dean inside. The hall was painted white, with a hall rack for coats and family photos on the walls. Sam pulled open the top drawer of an antique chest and pushed a button. The lid of a small gun safe popped open, and Sam placed his service weapon inside. He looked at Dean. "Could lock yours up, if you wanted?"
Dean handed over his gun, and Sam motioned him closer. He closed the safe. "Put your finger here, he pointed. Dean did, and Sam punched in a combination. "Biometric. It knows you now. I'll show you how to get at the ones upstairs. I put them in when mom's dementia made it dangerous to leave my weapon unsecured."
He watched Dean look around. Framed family photos showed his family over the stages of his life. School and sport photos, a formal pose with his mother.
Sam ducked his head. "Mom likes annual photos." He touched the family of four. "This was the last one with Jess."
Dean stepped forward. Jess had been beautiful. Blonde, full of life, her Smurfs shirt a bright contrast to her brother's Ninja Turtles. "I always favored Michelangelo."
"Nah, Raphael was my guy." said Sam. He looked at Dean, Knowing his eyes were dark with desire. "I can give you more of the family history, or I can give you a beer. Then we can decide what you want to see next." He led Dean into the kitchen at the end of the hall, and opened the refrigerator. “I have a fantastic entertainment center."
Dean stood in the middle of the kitchen, and Sam handed him a beer, closing the refrigerator. He leaned his head against it and turned to Dean. "Dean, I don't know--"
Dean stepped forward, and took Sam's beer out of his hand, putting them both on the nearby counter. He stepped into Sam's space, and looked him in the eye. "I didn't come for beer, Sam." His hands went to Sam's waist. Sam looked into green, green eyes, and was lost.
"Dean..."
"Shhh....," Dean said, and kissed him.
He stepped back, shaking his head with a smile. "Something about you Sam, it draws me like a moth to flame. From the first time I saw you."
Sam led Dean upstairs. The doors to the upstairs rooms were open, one bedroom set up with a hospital bed.
"Mom stayed here at first, but I couldn't really take care of her properly. EAP helped me find the place she's being cared for now," said Sam, noticing Dean's look.
He continued on to the Master suite, furnished simply. A king bed sat by the windows, its dark wood gleaming against the neutral beige wall. It was custom made to match the rest of the furniture which was old, antique, made before the notion of a king bed existed. Dean wanted to take time to appreciate the cabinet work, but not now. "The furniture was my grandmother's. Well, except the bed. The double just didn't work for me," Sam explained.
Dean nodded, and considered his partner. Sam wasn't his usual decisive self. "What's wrong?"
"I'm out of my element, here Dean." Sam ran a hand through his hair. How do I ask you to stay?"
Dean took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. "Just use your words, Sam." He loosened his belt and stepped out of the pool of his trousers.
Sam stared at him. For a moment, Dean thought he'd misjudged, but Sam inhaled sharply and walked toward him. His fingertips brushed aside Dean's starched shirt to stroke his ribs, hesitated at his waist, and then warm palms grasped his hips. Sam's eyes asked permission, and at Dean's barely perceptible nod, he sank to his knees, and took Dean into his mouth.
Sam's mouth was magic. The wet heat Dean craved welcomed him, and he tilted his head downward to look. Sam was still completely dressed, strong hands holding Dean right where he wanted him, and Dean felt his cock throbbing in appreciation. He liked it, he wanted more, and he wanted it often.
Sam's tongue swirled as he sucked, head bobbing until Dean staggered from the overwhelming sensation. Sam pulled off with a pop and looked up through the too long hair that had flopped out of the careful, professional style he forced it into. Dean wondered what else he forced into professional style. Sam's eyes were much darker than Dean was used to, and that, too, was hot as hell. Sam grinned, and buried his nose in the vee of Dean's legs, scenting him, giving his balls the same attention as his cock.
They'd done this dance before, but everything was different now. "Sam," he gasped.
Sam rocked back on his heels. "Yes?" He dropped his hands, and stared up at Dean who registered the uncertainty in Sam's eyes, as well as his wet, red lips.
"Were you planning on stopping now?" Asked Dean, hearing the whining tone in his voice.
"No, I was planning on getting naked." His hands went to his tie.
"Leave it. Your shirt and tie. The rest can go." Dean commanded. The uncertain look went away, replaced by curiosity and desire.
Sam shivered, slipping out of his shoes, while he reached for the buckle of his belt. As he stood, he shrugged off his jacket and skinned out of his trousers, catching his socks as he stepped out of them.
The head of his cock peeked out from between Sam's shirt tails, and Dean swallowed hard, as his own cock twitched in response.
"Is this how you want me?" asked Sam, simply.
For now," answered Dean.
Sam reached for him with one hand, the other catching Dean's cock up with his own, tangled in the starched cotton of Dean's shirt. His eyes widened as their pulses matched, and Dean shivered from the sensation.
Sam licked his lips, and asked, "Mind if I go back to what I was doing?"
Dean rubbed his nipples on Sam's shirt front and Sam gasped, the shirt rubbing his own into prominent nubs.
Dean's mouth latched onto the soft silk covering Sam's chest and sucked a moist circle into it. Sam's hand jerked at their cocks, and Dean sucked in time with his rhythm, Sam's strokes becoming frantic.
"Easy, Sam, there's no hurry, we have all the time in the world," Dean murmured before adding, “Or all the time in the weekend, at least.”
"I'm making up for all the years I didn't have you, Dean. I can hardly believe you're here now."
"I'm here Sam, and the only place I'm going is that bed."
Samulet
Sam leaned over, pulling the sheets off the bed. He bundled them up and then grinned, breathing in the smell of sex, when something fell on the floor. He looked and bent over to retrieve the necklace that Dean always wore.
The charm was an ugly thing really, cheap, made of brass, a face with horns and Sam wondered why Dean wore it
.
He shrugged, put it in his pocket, finished putting fresh sheets on the bed.
In the kitchen, Dean greeted him with coffee and a kiss. Sam held him close, planting a gentle kiss on Dean's neck, behind his ear, just to feel him quiver.
"Dean," he said softly. "This is not once. I want this, want you in my life." He looked Dean in the eye to be sure he understood.
Dean nodded. "Same." He licked his lips, and Sam fought the urge to take him back to bed.
"I found this in the bed -- our bed -- looks like the clasp came open." Sam said, and pulled the jewelry from his pocket
.
Dean took it from his fingers with a tsk. "Thanks. It keeps coming loose." He refastened the clasp and slipped the chain over his head. "Our bed?"
"If you want. There isn't anyone else for me."
Sam waited, sitting down at the counter, sure that Dean could hear the question in his silence. He didn't need the answer, it was enough to let Dean know that he wouldn't ask for something Dean might not want.
"I .." Dean began, and sat next to Sam at the counter, looking at the floor. "Let me tell you about the necklace. When I was going through my folks' stuff, when they were killed, this was in the safe deposit box. It was in an envelope with my name on it. I'm pretty sure it was my mom's."
"Your mom's?" asked Sam, quietly. This story was a lot more than he'd expected.
Dean nods. "I'm pretty sure I was adopted."
"Oh?" What else could he say, Sam wondered, and let his thigh press against Dean's in a kind of reassurance.
"Yeah. There aren't any pictures of me before I was almost five. You'd think I'd remember if I had another family, but I don't." His eyes lift. "All I have left is Sarah."
"Your sister."
"Probably not, but, she says she doesn't care if we share DNA or not, I'm stuck with her." Dean patted Sam's knee, and smiled, a little wobbly, but it was a definite smile. "I'll probably never know, but I wear it to remind myself I still have questions."
"I have questions."
Dean looked at him, certainty in his gaze "Me too, but not about our bed."
Sam covered Dean's hand with his own, and didn't say any more, sipping his coffee. Dean's fingers curled to hold his hand. It made Sam smile.
"Move in with me."
Dean's look was full of promise. "My lease is up next month."
Sam took the statement for what it was. "Come on, G-Man. We've got work to do."
Master Post One Two Three Four Five