Fic: That Was The Year (Sam/Dean, R) Part 5 of 5
Part 4
*****
Sam turns around, with one of Dean’s favorite smile/scowl bitch-faces.
“So I take it that Jack found you?” Dean asks, guessing that Jack raised some issues that Sam now needs to talk about…again.
“Yeah, he did, so did Cas,” Sam says.
“And?” Dean asks, making the c’mon tell me more hand circle.
Sam shrugs and grimaces. “You were right.”
“About what?” Dean asks.
“I didn’t need to leave it up to Jack, he was already on board with it. Cas had just talked him out of bringing it up with us last week.”
“How did that discussion go?” Dean asks, trying not to smile yet.
“It was awkward, well I was the only one who was weird about it, they were fine. They have the twenty-thousand foot view of things or whatever. Jack told me he could see it now, after he was brought back from the Empty,” Sam says.
“Could see what?” Dean asks, not really clear on what Sam is talking about.
“You know the whole thing about how angels can see our souls? Apparently our bond, the soulmate thing shows up too, and Jack can see us fighting against it, all the time. He told me he wondered how and why we were doing that, wasting all that energy when we could just be happy. Cas had tried to explain it to him,” Sam says.
“So I’m supposed to believe that just like that, after one conversation with Jack, you’re suddenly just okay with it?” Dean asks, refusing to even let himself start hoping.
“Dean, I said I was sorry last night, and I meant it. I shouldn’t have put you through that, but I had to be sure.”
“Sure of what? Because if you’re not sure of me, then I don’t think this can work,” Dean says.
“No, I’m sure of you, Dean. Sometimes you’re the only thing I know for sure. I wish I hadn’t put a stop to things last night. I’m sorry that I hurt you by doing that, I really am. I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise. Just…would you just come with me, you really have to see this for yourself,” Sam says. He stands up from the desk, and holds out a hand towards Dean.
Dean looks at him, right in the eyes, to see if he’s joking, and decides to take a chance. His heart is finely minced hamburger at this point, what else can Sam do to him. He reaches out, Sam’s warm hand envelops his completely (when had it gotten so damn big?) and Sam pulls him up. Dean’s in his space, they’re almost hip to hip with their clasped hands between them. Sam walks them out the door and down the hall to the great room.
Jack and Cas are nowhere to be seen, but there’s a big canvas propped up on two of the library chairs. It’s covered in swirls of painted symbols, there seem to be two distinct things that are joined in an intricate, almost incomprehensibly complicated pattern.
“What is this?” Dean asks, amazed to notice that Sam is still holding his hand. How long has it been since he’s held anyone’s hand?
“Jack says it’s us,” Sam says. “As well as he could represent how he sees us and our bond with paint on canvas.”
Dean’s eyes trace the layers of paint, how they intertwine and make such a beautiful whole. Just seeing it makes his heart sing with joy and recognition, that’s absolutely them, that’s how it feels loving Sam and being loved by him. God he wishes he could just come out and say that, but Sam doesn’t..he doesn’t want that from him. “It’s pretty amazing, where is he? I didn’t even know Jack knew how to paint.”
“He’s gone, they’re both gone, for at least a week,” Sam says.
“Where’s the hunt this time?” Dean asks, not really caring too much, but suddenly caring quite a lot that they’re gone and he has his brother all to himself again.
“They didn’t have a hunt in mind, but I think they’re heading for one of the coasts,” Sam says.
“Huh, a vacation will be good for both of them. I wonder if they know how to swim?”
“They left us alone on purpose, Dean,” Sam says, turning towards Dean, still holding Dean’s hand he brings their entwined hands up to rest on Sam’s chest, right over his heart. “So we can work this out.”
“Work what out?” Dean asks, like the ass he knows he is, playing dumb for the last time before it all changes.
Sam pulls him up onto his toes and leans down to brush their lips together. Dean loses his balance and rests his body against Sam’s, pressing up into his lips, already desperate for more. For whatever his brother will give him, it’s embarrassing as hell, but he doesn’t care, not after this many years of denying it. Dean gets his other hand clasped around the back of Sam’s neck, steadying himself, pressing himself against Sam so he can feel Dean harden as their kiss deepens.
Gasping for breath, Sam pulls away, his face gives the truth to the lie.
Dean wants to scream, the goddamned hesitation in every line of his brother’s body is so obvious and heart-breaking-Sam doesn’t want this.
“You don’t really want this, do you? You don’t want me, why would you make me think you did?” Dean asks, his voice sounding as dead as he feels inside.
“I do, oh god I do want you, Dean, so much that it almost hurts, but…” Sam says, stopping himself from finishing the sentence.
Dean steps away, his hands and heart suddenly empty. He hadn’t thought Sam could do anything else to his heart at this point, but that ‘but’ might as well have been the final sword cutting it out of him. He’s about to turn away and run for it when his brother’s hesitant voice stops him.
“Let me try to explain, please, Dean. I know it sounds dumb, but it’s not you it’s me. It’s been a really long time since I’ve done anything sexual with anyone. And the last time, which wasn’t even real, and it wasn’t my choice, was when Lady Bevell…”
Dean can barely believe it, Sam’s hesitation is now adorably vulnerable instead of a cutting final thing. It’s precious and sad and of course he’d need to go slow. Dean is an idiot and an ass, but he already knew that. Dean gathers him up into his arms. “Sammy, it’s okay, we’ll go as slow as you need to. I’m kinda out of practice too.”
“You mean it?” Sam asks, broken and hesitant.
“Yes, I do, we have the whole rest of our lives to figure this out, right? There’s no rush or anything,” Dean says. “Come on, let me see them, please?” Dean strokes Sam’s cheeks where the dimples should be.
Sam smiles, slow and wide. “You really have a thing for my dimples, huh?”
“You have no idea,” Dean says, waggling his eyebrows.
Sam laughs and pulls Dean up off his feet, setting him down on the table next to Jack’s painting. He steps between Dean’s legs and leans down to kiss him, slow and thorough. Dean aches with Sam’s tenderness that has this force of strength barely contained behind it. All he wants to do is make Sam give it up, give it over to him, he needs him to get over that hesitation. “Sammy, c’mon don’t you hold back, I want it.”
Sam groans at Dean’s words and grips him so tightly Dean knows there will be bruises. The most welcome sort of bruises he can possibly imagine. He gasps with the feeling of Sam’s strength slowly unwinding. He leans back, going flat on the big table, pulling Sam down on top of him. Feeling the weight of him, the sheer strength that he’s using just holding himself back. “I mean it, Sammy, I want it all, I need it.”
Sam presses down briefly, then raises himself back up, his arms gone stiff and taut with the strain of holding himself up off of Dean.
“What do you want, Dean? Be specific.” Sam lowers himself down, slowly pressing most of his weight into Dean.
Dean gasps when he can feel Sam pulse and harden the more he grinds against him. “Just…fuck, anything…please,” Dean says, knowing that he’s pretty much begging, and not caring one fucking bit, which is the most wonderful, freeing thing in that moment.
Sam looks down at him, and Dean realizes that Sam is unlike any other lover he’s ever had, because he’s actually being seen. He feels warm from his head down to his toes and he doesn’t care how corny it sounds, he feels filled up just by the loving way Sam is looking at him.
“I love you so much, Dean. Do you have any idea?” Sam says, slow and careful, his words matching what his eyes are communicating.
“Yes, I do, it’s the same for me,” Dean answers, his hands cupping Sam’s face, willing himself to say the words-the actual goddamned words. Sam needs to hear them, and Dean knows he needs to say them-out loud and here and now. “Love you so much, Sammy, always have.”
“Always, yeah always, Dean,” Sam says, gasping out his name as they grind together.
Sam’s hips have started a rhythm, almost a dance, pressing in close and hard, a dirty grind in a slow circle, and it’s driving Dean wild for more, for anything. They move into a space where they’re more in sync than usual, each anticipating the other’s moves before he makes them. Pitch, catch, thrust, retreat, on and on in a sea of movement and desire that’s powerful and he never wants it to stop. And then it changes, goes up to another level where Dean could swear he can feel his own desires being anticipated, and fulfilled in unexpected ways by of all people, Sam. How is his brother this good at this? Is it just them? Is it as good for Sam as it is for him?
“Yeah, it is, Dean, ’s fucking perfect,” Sam says in a beautiful slur that lights Dean up on the inside, he’s done that, he’s made Sam lose it so much that he’s swearing and slurring his words in that husky, fucked-out voice. Sam’s hand grazes against him where he’s hard and wanting, and just that extra pressure is enough to send Dean spiraling off into the bliss he never thought he’d get to experience with Sam.
Dean recovers enough to wrap his arms around Sam, pulling him down so he can get his teeth into the softness of Sam’s neck. “Want to feel you come on me, Sammy,” Dean growls, letting go of the skin he’s made his mark on. He pulls his shirts up, exposing his bare stomach, his sweatpants very low on his hips, he can feel the wetness spreading from where he’d let loose.
Sam groans at his words and increases the speed of his thrusts, the friction is perfect and divine even though Dean’s sensitive after coming so hard. He grips the swell of his brother’s ass and pulls him in even harder, and Sam loses it then, the tip of his cock presses into Dean’s belly and he can feel the come pulsing out all over his skin, hot and sticky. His stomach flips over deep inside with the feeling of it, of Sam pressing it into him, with his fingers, drawing designs and symbols that’ll mark him forever.
“See, just like riding a bicycle, right?” Dean says, pulling Sam into a long slow kiss that makes his toes curl up in his slippers.
“Oh it was a hell of a lot better than that,” Sam says, smiling down at him, wide and sated.
Dean reaches up and holds his brother’s face in his hands, his thumbs fitting into Sam’s dimples, he just looks his fill as his brother looks back. This is what Jack’s painting meant. “That painting, it’s how I see us, and now it’s somehow even more.”
“More what?” Sam asks, a quizzical pul to his eyebrows.
“More us, because we’re not fighting against this anymore,” Dean says.
“It’s all different now, it’s all colored differently, and the shapes, look,” Sam says, eyes searching Jack’s painting.
“It’s like a fucking mood ring or something,” Dean says.
“We’re hanging this up over our bed,” Sam says. “It’s us, it’s always been us.”
“Our bed?”
Sam presses himself up off of Dean’s body. He starts to stand up, like he’s going to walk away. “Sorry, just assumed.”
“Hey…hold up, Sammy. I’m just surprised, it’s gonna take me a while to get used to this.”
“Get used to what?”
“Getting every damn thing I ever wanted,” Dean admits.
Sam smiles at him and holds out a hand to help Dean up. “Yeah you better, and we’re keeping that silver picture frame too.”
“Whatever you want, Sammy,” Dean says.
“Careful what you’re offering there, Dean,” Sam says, picking up Jack’s painting.
“I live a life of danger, bring it on,” Dean says, laughing as they walk towards his room together.
Dean takes down some of the weapons over his bed to make room for the painting. Sam gets it centered and hung. “It’s okay if we use your bed, right?”
“Yeah, it’s always been too big for just me,” Dean says.
“It’s a lot cushier than mine,” Sam says.
“It’ll remember you too,” Dean says.
“I only care about you remembering me,” Sam says.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Dean says. “You’re the only one that’s ever been worth remembering.”
Sam’s arms tighten around him, almost making it hard to draw a breath.
“Dean, I’m really glad you found that camera.”
“Me too, Sammy, me too,” Dean says. He flicks off the bedside light and snuggles down next to his brother, his partner, his everything. How’s he ever going to let himself sleep now that he has this?
“Sleep, I’ll still be here in the morning, I promise,” Sam mumbles, sounding at least halfway to sleep himself.
The End
*****
*****
Sam turns around, with one of Dean’s favorite smile/scowl bitch-faces.
“So I take it that Jack found you?” Dean asks, guessing that Jack raised some issues that Sam now needs to talk about…again.
“Yeah, he did, so did Cas,” Sam says.
“And?” Dean asks, making the c’mon tell me more hand circle.
Sam shrugs and grimaces. “You were right.”
“About what?” Dean asks.
“I didn’t need to leave it up to Jack, he was already on board with it. Cas had just talked him out of bringing it up with us last week.”
“How did that discussion go?” Dean asks, trying not to smile yet.
“It was awkward, well I was the only one who was weird about it, they were fine. They have the twenty-thousand foot view of things or whatever. Jack told me he could see it now, after he was brought back from the Empty,” Sam says.
“Could see what?” Dean asks, not really clear on what Sam is talking about.
“You know the whole thing about how angels can see our souls? Apparently our bond, the soulmate thing shows up too, and Jack can see us fighting against it, all the time. He told me he wondered how and why we were doing that, wasting all that energy when we could just be happy. Cas had tried to explain it to him,” Sam says.
“So I’m supposed to believe that just like that, after one conversation with Jack, you’re suddenly just okay with it?” Dean asks, refusing to even let himself start hoping.
“Dean, I said I was sorry last night, and I meant it. I shouldn’t have put you through that, but I had to be sure.”
“Sure of what? Because if you’re not sure of me, then I don’t think this can work,” Dean says.
“No, I’m sure of you, Dean. Sometimes you’re the only thing I know for sure. I wish I hadn’t put a stop to things last night. I’m sorry that I hurt you by doing that, I really am. I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise. Just…would you just come with me, you really have to see this for yourself,” Sam says. He stands up from the desk, and holds out a hand towards Dean.
Dean looks at him, right in the eyes, to see if he’s joking, and decides to take a chance. His heart is finely minced hamburger at this point, what else can Sam do to him. He reaches out, Sam’s warm hand envelops his completely (when had it gotten so damn big?) and Sam pulls him up. Dean’s in his space, they’re almost hip to hip with their clasped hands between them. Sam walks them out the door and down the hall to the great room.
Jack and Cas are nowhere to be seen, but there’s a big canvas propped up on two of the library chairs. It’s covered in swirls of painted symbols, there seem to be two distinct things that are joined in an intricate, almost incomprehensibly complicated pattern.
“What is this?” Dean asks, amazed to notice that Sam is still holding his hand. How long has it been since he’s held anyone’s hand?
“Jack says it’s us,” Sam says. “As well as he could represent how he sees us and our bond with paint on canvas.”
Dean’s eyes trace the layers of paint, how they intertwine and make such a beautiful whole. Just seeing it makes his heart sing with joy and recognition, that’s absolutely them, that’s how it feels loving Sam and being loved by him. God he wishes he could just come out and say that, but Sam doesn’t..he doesn’t want that from him. “It’s pretty amazing, where is he? I didn’t even know Jack knew how to paint.”
“He’s gone, they’re both gone, for at least a week,” Sam says.
“Where’s the hunt this time?” Dean asks, not really caring too much, but suddenly caring quite a lot that they’re gone and he has his brother all to himself again.
“They didn’t have a hunt in mind, but I think they’re heading for one of the coasts,” Sam says.
“Huh, a vacation will be good for both of them. I wonder if they know how to swim?”
“They left us alone on purpose, Dean,” Sam says, turning towards Dean, still holding Dean’s hand he brings their entwined hands up to rest on Sam’s chest, right over his heart. “So we can work this out.”
“Work what out?” Dean asks, like the ass he knows he is, playing dumb for the last time before it all changes.
Sam pulls him up onto his toes and leans down to brush their lips together. Dean loses his balance and rests his body against Sam’s, pressing up into his lips, already desperate for more. For whatever his brother will give him, it’s embarrassing as hell, but he doesn’t care, not after this many years of denying it. Dean gets his other hand clasped around the back of Sam’s neck, steadying himself, pressing himself against Sam so he can feel Dean harden as their kiss deepens.
Gasping for breath, Sam pulls away, his face gives the truth to the lie.
Dean wants to scream, the goddamned hesitation in every line of his brother’s body is so obvious and heart-breaking-Sam doesn’t want this.
“You don’t really want this, do you? You don’t want me, why would you make me think you did?” Dean asks, his voice sounding as dead as he feels inside.
“I do, oh god I do want you, Dean, so much that it almost hurts, but…” Sam says, stopping himself from finishing the sentence.
Dean steps away, his hands and heart suddenly empty. He hadn’t thought Sam could do anything else to his heart at this point, but that ‘but’ might as well have been the final sword cutting it out of him. He’s about to turn away and run for it when his brother’s hesitant voice stops him.
“Let me try to explain, please, Dean. I know it sounds dumb, but it’s not you it’s me. It’s been a really long time since I’ve done anything sexual with anyone. And the last time, which wasn’t even real, and it wasn’t my choice, was when Lady Bevell…”
Dean can barely believe it, Sam’s hesitation is now adorably vulnerable instead of a cutting final thing. It’s precious and sad and of course he’d need to go slow. Dean is an idiot and an ass, but he already knew that. Dean gathers him up into his arms. “Sammy, it’s okay, we’ll go as slow as you need to. I’m kinda out of practice too.”
“You mean it?” Sam asks, broken and hesitant.
“Yes, I do, we have the whole rest of our lives to figure this out, right? There’s no rush or anything,” Dean says. “Come on, let me see them, please?” Dean strokes Sam’s cheeks where the dimples should be.
Sam smiles, slow and wide. “You really have a thing for my dimples, huh?”
“You have no idea,” Dean says, waggling his eyebrows.
Sam laughs and pulls Dean up off his feet, setting him down on the table next to Jack’s painting. He steps between Dean’s legs and leans down to kiss him, slow and thorough. Dean aches with Sam’s tenderness that has this force of strength barely contained behind it. All he wants to do is make Sam give it up, give it over to him, he needs him to get over that hesitation. “Sammy, c’mon don’t you hold back, I want it.”
Sam groans at Dean’s words and grips him so tightly Dean knows there will be bruises. The most welcome sort of bruises he can possibly imagine. He gasps with the feeling of Sam’s strength slowly unwinding. He leans back, going flat on the big table, pulling Sam down on top of him. Feeling the weight of him, the sheer strength that he’s using just holding himself back. “I mean it, Sammy, I want it all, I need it.”
Sam presses down briefly, then raises himself back up, his arms gone stiff and taut with the strain of holding himself up off of Dean.
“What do you want, Dean? Be specific.” Sam lowers himself down, slowly pressing most of his weight into Dean.
Dean gasps when he can feel Sam pulse and harden the more he grinds against him. “Just…fuck, anything…please,” Dean says, knowing that he’s pretty much begging, and not caring one fucking bit, which is the most wonderful, freeing thing in that moment.
Sam looks down at him, and Dean realizes that Sam is unlike any other lover he’s ever had, because he’s actually being seen. He feels warm from his head down to his toes and he doesn’t care how corny it sounds, he feels filled up just by the loving way Sam is looking at him.
“I love you so much, Dean. Do you have any idea?” Sam says, slow and careful, his words matching what his eyes are communicating.
“Yes, I do, it’s the same for me,” Dean answers, his hands cupping Sam’s face, willing himself to say the words-the actual goddamned words. Sam needs to hear them, and Dean knows he needs to say them-out loud and here and now. “Love you so much, Sammy, always have.”
“Always, yeah always, Dean,” Sam says, gasping out his name as they grind together.
Sam’s hips have started a rhythm, almost a dance, pressing in close and hard, a dirty grind in a slow circle, and it’s driving Dean wild for more, for anything. They move into a space where they’re more in sync than usual, each anticipating the other’s moves before he makes them. Pitch, catch, thrust, retreat, on and on in a sea of movement and desire that’s powerful and he never wants it to stop. And then it changes, goes up to another level where Dean could swear he can feel his own desires being anticipated, and fulfilled in unexpected ways by of all people, Sam. How is his brother this good at this? Is it just them? Is it as good for Sam as it is for him?
“Yeah, it is, Dean, ’s fucking perfect,” Sam says in a beautiful slur that lights Dean up on the inside, he’s done that, he’s made Sam lose it so much that he’s swearing and slurring his words in that husky, fucked-out voice. Sam’s hand grazes against him where he’s hard and wanting, and just that extra pressure is enough to send Dean spiraling off into the bliss he never thought he’d get to experience with Sam.
Dean recovers enough to wrap his arms around Sam, pulling him down so he can get his teeth into the softness of Sam’s neck. “Want to feel you come on me, Sammy,” Dean growls, letting go of the skin he’s made his mark on. He pulls his shirts up, exposing his bare stomach, his sweatpants very low on his hips, he can feel the wetness spreading from where he’d let loose.
Sam groans at his words and increases the speed of his thrusts, the friction is perfect and divine even though Dean’s sensitive after coming so hard. He grips the swell of his brother’s ass and pulls him in even harder, and Sam loses it then, the tip of his cock presses into Dean’s belly and he can feel the come pulsing out all over his skin, hot and sticky. His stomach flips over deep inside with the feeling of it, of Sam pressing it into him, with his fingers, drawing designs and symbols that’ll mark him forever.
“See, just like riding a bicycle, right?” Dean says, pulling Sam into a long slow kiss that makes his toes curl up in his slippers.
“Oh it was a hell of a lot better than that,” Sam says, smiling down at him, wide and sated.
Dean reaches up and holds his brother’s face in his hands, his thumbs fitting into Sam’s dimples, he just looks his fill as his brother looks back. This is what Jack’s painting meant. “That painting, it’s how I see us, and now it’s somehow even more.”
“More what?” Sam asks, a quizzical pul to his eyebrows.
“More us, because we’re not fighting against this anymore,” Dean says.
“It’s all different now, it’s all colored differently, and the shapes, look,” Sam says, eyes searching Jack’s painting.
“It’s like a fucking mood ring or something,” Dean says.
“We’re hanging this up over our bed,” Sam says. “It’s us, it’s always been us.”
“Our bed?”
Sam presses himself up off of Dean’s body. He starts to stand up, like he’s going to walk away. “Sorry, just assumed.”
“Hey…hold up, Sammy. I’m just surprised, it’s gonna take me a while to get used to this.”
“Get used to what?”
“Getting every damn thing I ever wanted,” Dean admits.
Sam smiles at him and holds out a hand to help Dean up. “Yeah you better, and we’re keeping that silver picture frame too.”
“Whatever you want, Sammy,” Dean says.
“Careful what you’re offering there, Dean,” Sam says, picking up Jack’s painting.
“I live a life of danger, bring it on,” Dean says, laughing as they walk towards his room together.
Dean takes down some of the weapons over his bed to make room for the painting. Sam gets it centered and hung. “It’s okay if we use your bed, right?”
“Yeah, it’s always been too big for just me,” Dean says.
“It’s a lot cushier than mine,” Sam says.
“It’ll remember you too,” Dean says.
“I only care about you remembering me,” Sam says.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Dean says. “You’re the only one that’s ever been worth remembering.”
Sam’s arms tighten around him, almost making it hard to draw a breath.
“Dean, I’m really glad you found that camera.”
“Me too, Sammy, me too,” Dean says. He flicks off the bedside light and snuggles down next to his brother, his partner, his everything. How’s he ever going to let himself sleep now that he has this?
“Sleep, I’ll still be here in the morning, I promise,” Sam mumbles, sounding at least halfway to sleep himself.
The End
*****