The Psychology of Genetic Sexual Attraction - Chapter 7/7
Sam got his promotion a couple of months later, and like he’d predicted, his workload eased up a little. Dean’s workload, however, was getting bigger and bigger. The garage was always busy, their reputation spreading. They were now turning away business, getting inquiries from classic car owners as far away as Sacramento who’d heard of them by word of mouth. He expanded into the lot next door, buying out the bathroom fittings supply firm that’d gone out of business at a knock-down rate, thanks to Sam and some aggressive sounding legalese. He took on another couple of kids, letting Rafael and the other guys manage the day to day jobs while he trained the kids and managed the business. Sure, he missed working on the cars, but he was the owner, the manager, and he could hardly complain that his business - his and Sam’s business - was doing so well.
It was Sam’s mother, Celeste, who suggested that Dean buy an old classic to rebuild in his spare time, Sam chipping in to comment that if Dean did decide to take up restoring classic cars as a new hobby, then his father had always wanted a 1960’s Cadillac Coupe de Ville, and it would make an awesome present for his upcoming sixty-fifth birthday. Dean put some feelers out the next day, spreading the word around the classic car dealers and parts suppliers he knew. In the end, he found the car from a dealer in the Napa Valley, a 1962 silver four door model. It needed some serious work doing, but checking it over, he was confident that it was nothing that some major TLC, mechanical expertise and lots and lots of spare time wouldn’t fix.
He had it towed to the garage and almost every Sunday over the next four months (during the baseball off-season), he worked on it. Sam would come by the garage to keep him company, set his laptop up at the reception desk, just like he used to do back in the old days when he was still in school and Dean still worked for Brad.
They did give the car to Rishi as a birthday present, a gift that had the old guy breaking down in tears and declaring never-ending devotion to Dean for the rest of his life, and that Dean truly was “the second son I never had.” Dean cleared his throat and nodded stiffly, accepting the effusive thanks with a forced smile. Even after ten years, he’d never gotten used to how freaking emotional Sam’s parents (and, hell, Sam too) could get.
Rishi drove the four of them to some super-swanky restaurant with its own private beach for dinner later that day, handing off the keys to the parking valet with a proud flick of his wrist. He kept Dean occupied for almost the entire meal, talking about the car, asking what Dean had done to get it working again, suggesting other makes and models Dean should work on, a possible side business venture rebuilding old classic cars just between the two of them - Rishi supplying the capital to buy up the wrecks and the parts required, and Dean the mechanical expertise. Dean just grinned and played along, happy to be talking about something he understood, something he loved, aware of Sam on the other side of the table, watching him with this fond, proud smile on his face.
“So, what we really want to know, Dean,” Celeste said as the waiters cleared their second courses, “is when you’re going to make an honest man of our Sam? Rishi and I are not getting any younger.”
Dean gaped for a second, then stammered coherently, “Uh, what?”
Rishi laughed and patted his wife’s hand affectionately. “She just wants the opportunity to plan a big gay wedding, be the mother of the bride, you know how it is.”
Sam snorted, while Dean grinned gleefully, nudging Sam’s foot under the table. “Man, I knew it; even your folks think you’re the girl in this relationship.”
Celeste narrowed her eyes slightly, but didn’t say anything out loud, giving Dean this tolerant strained sort of a smile. Sam just ignored him, saying to his mother, “In case you haven’t noticed, Mom, gay marriage isn’t legal in this state.”
“So we’ll fly to Canada, or Massachusetts or Vermont, hold the ceremony there, then come back here for the reception,” Celeste replied easily. “The Yacht Club would make a wonderful venue, and I know they have openings next summer.”
“Oh my God,” Sam groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “You’ve already got this planned out, haven’t you?”
“You know your Mom,” Rishi put in.
Dean looked between all of them with a bemused expression. “Are we still talking about our big fat gay wedding?”
“Seems like,” Sam said.
Dean nodded. His brain was working furiously, scenarios floating through it. They couldn’t get married, he thought, because when you get married you have blood tests and birth certificates. He didn’t have a fucking clue if he even had a birth certificate, though there was probably a copy somewhere, maybe at the records office in Lawrence, which of course would also be where Sam’s original birth certificate would be. Though, maybe blood tests weren’t necessary for a gay marriage license in Massachusetts or Vermont or even fucking Canada? They were both dudes and they weren’t ever going to procreate. But the birth certificates: they might totally be needed, and there was no fucking way he was prepared to take any sort of risk finding out.
Besides, Sam was his goddamn brother, being in a long-term gay relationship with him was one thing, but being married to him… that was something else entirely.
He exchanged a quick look with Sam, could see even in that quick flash of eye contact, that Sam was going through the exact same thought process he was.
He swallowed back his anxiety, pasted on a lazy fake grin and reached out to give Sam’s arm a conciliatory pat. “Dude, I don’t know about you, but I have no intention of marrying your ass. No offence.”
Sam let out a breathy sort of a laugh that only Dean could tell was mostly relief. “None taken.” Dean felt Sam’s foot jog against his own under the table, his calf rub against Dean’s. “Look, marriage isn’t for us, Mom. Maybe when Congress passes gay marriage for the entire country, maybe then.”
Celeste snorted this time. “That’ll be when hell freezes over then.”
“Don’t worry,” Sam said with his own lazy smile. “You can throw us a big party anyway. Maybe for my birthday, invite all the senior partners. I’m sure they’d show up if you and Dad hosted, and it wouldn’t hurt my chances of making partner.”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Rishi said in a musing tone of voice.
“Oh yeah, I’m totally devious and awesome like that,” Sam said. “We gotta leverage our assets, right, Dad?”
“Exactly, son.”
Dean laughed, and he returned the pressure on Sam’s leg under the table.
***
Celeste did throw a party, and most of the senior partners did come. It was one of those charity events that only seriously rich people attend. Well, seriously rich people and Dean, and about half of Dean’s clientele, most of them hanging around him all night, asking questions about what this or that little noise coming from the engine of their Porsche/Jaguar/Mazarati could be. Still, he couldn’t complain when he booked no less than eight big jobs from it. And none of them could complain when only two months later, Sam made junior partner, at twenty nine, the youngest partner in the firm’s history.
It seemed to Dean that everyone they knew was getting married that year; old college friends of Sam’s, co-workers and even Rafael who was finally making an honest woman of the long-suffering Maricruz. Half of Sam’s old college buddies turned up at each other’s weddings with spouses and kids in tow, and Dean spent most Jess’s wedding in New York entertaining Rebecca’s four year old daughter, Isabelle, who’d developed an enormous crush on him.
“You’re a natural with kids,” Rebecca observed after Dean headed back from the dance floor, having finally managed to hand Isabelle back to her harassed looking father. “Have you guys ever thought about adopting? There’s a gay couple in my Pilates class who adopted. There are probably lots of agencies in the Bay Area who specialize in gay couples.”
Dean hesitated, licking his lips awkwardly, and casting a quick glance at Sam who shrugged disinterestedly and said, “Nah, Bex, not for us. We’re not interested in kids. I know I’d be a terrible parent.”
Becky laughed and said he was putting himself down, that you never really knew until you tried it yourself, while Dean smiled half-heartedly and turned his attention back to the dance floor.
Rebecca got up a few minutes later to retrieve her daughter, holding her in her arms as she told the little girl to say goodnight to Sam and Dean. Isabelle beamed at Dean and climbed onto his lap to wrap her small arms around his neck and plant a smacking kiss on the side of his cheek. He pulled away and smiled at her, feeling a lurch in his gut, a prickling resentment as he watched them leave.
“Hey, you alright, man?” Sam asked a while later.
Dean nodded, not looking at him. “Yeah, fine.”
“No you’re not, don’t bullshit me, Dean. What is it?”
This time Dean hesitated. He couldn’t say exactly what it was, just that -
He’d never even thought about having a family and children and being a father before. He’d pretty much assumed that it was something that he would never have. At least, not while he was in a relationship with a guy, though, yeah, people did do that. But to completely close that possibility off, to have Sam come out and say categorically that it wasn’t something for them.
He shrugged, said, “I just - I never knew you felt that way about having a family, about us adopting?”
“What? You want to adopt? You’ve never said anything.” Sam’s tone was careful, but there was definitely an accusatory edge to it. “We’ve been together eleven years, Dean.”
“I know, man, I know.”
“So? You want us to adopt now?”
“No, I just -“ he trailed off, reached for his beer. “Why you being so damn defensive?”
“I’m not being defensive. I’m just surprised by your sudden change of heart.”
“S’not a change of heart, Sam.”
“So you’ve always wanted to be a father?”
“I dunno, I guess so. Haven’t you?”
“No,” Sam said shortly. “Why the fuck would you think that?”
Dean exhaled heavily and sat back in his chair, pulling away from Sam. He raised one hand to his face, scrubbing it over his jaw, wiping the back of his mouth. He gazed over the almost deserted dance floor; people were getting tired; only the really hardened partiers left, everyone else retreating to their tables or up to their rooms, calling it a night.
“Just ‘cause I was adopted, I’m supposed to want to do it, too? Is that it?”
This really wasn’t going well. Sam was really pissed, that was definitely his pissed tone of voice. Hell, maybe they were having a fight? At someone else’s wedding. Pretty classy of them. And okay, so it probably had a lot to do with the large quantities of wine and champagne and beer the two of them had drunk, but still.
He was too fucking tired for this shit.
“Dean, are you gonna fucking say something?” Sam demanded.
Dean sighed and turned his gaze back to his boyfriend; Sam was openly glaring at him now. This was definitely a fight.
“What d’you want me to say? I think you’ve been very clear.”
Sam barked out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, whatever. You know the question’s moot anyway. No fucking way we could adopt. You know the kinda background checks any reputable agency would run? We’d be asking to be found out.”
Right, yeah, of course. He should’ve thought of that. He blinked, feeling his mouth twitch into a wry little smile.
They sat in mute, uncomfortable silence for a while, music switching to the standard slow songs, Time After Time then fucking Lady in Red. Dean drained his beer, slammed his bottle back onto the table with a solid thunk, turned to Sam and said, “I think that’s our cue to leave. You ready to haul ass?”
They fucked as soon as they got to the room, Sam pulling him down onto the bed, insistent hands in his dress shirt, pulling and tearing at the fine cotton fabric, kicking at his own dress pants and wrestling with Dean’s belt. Fight, argument, disagreement, whatever, completely shoved aside in their physical need for each other. Sam pressed his face into Dean’s neck, inhaling greedily at his skin, sucking bruises and marks along his collarbone.
Dean forced him to the bed, wrestled him down face first, and climbed onto Sam’s back, straddling his thighs, grabbing onto his wrists with each hand and pinning him to the mattress, Sam canting up his hips, presenting his ass for Dean’s eager fingers. He took Sam with barely any prep, just Sam’s hoarse sigh as he pushed his lube coated fingers inside, followed immediately by his cock. Sam’s fingers scrabbling at the tangled sheets, his mouth open and panting into the pillow, lips shaping Dean’s name. They fucked, brutal and basic, no finesse, as Dean drove in and out of Sam - out of his brother - the thought springing unbidden into his head as he reached to tangle one hand in Sam’s hair, yanking his head back to bare that long gleaming line of throat.
He hesitated, caught for a moment - his brother - he was having sex with his brother - until he pushed it away, vanquished it in the same way he always vanquished these thoughts, Sam’s breathless impatient groan bringing him back, forcing his hips into the last few thrusts, towards the finish line. He dropped his hand from Sam’s hair, fumbled for Sam’s cock, feeling it twitch and throb in his lube-sticky hand as he brought Sam off, Sam’s orgasm rippling throughout his body until Dean was following, coming, jagged and spent, in Sam’s ass.
He pulled out and collapsed beside Sam, huffing out a long breath and reaching down to snap off the condom. Sam rolled onto his side and placed one huge palm on Dean’s chest, his chin propped on Dean’s shoulder. Dean could feel his heart beating, loud thump, thump, thump under the burning brand of Sam’s enormous palm; Sam’s eyes boring into the side of his face.
They cleaned up perfunctorily, both of them squashed together so they didn’t have to sleep in the gross patch. Dean lay awake for a while after he felt Sam drift off. He shifted carefully onto his side, and stared at Sam’s face, at his parted lips, the tangle of hair against the pillowcase, the creases against his cheek, the lines spidering out from the corner of his eyes. Sam was twenty nine, and he was thirty three, next year Sam would be thirty, they’d been together since Sam was eighteen.
My brother, he said to himself, feeling the answering clench in his chest, roll in his gut. My brother, my boyfriend, my Sam. No one else had the kind of relationship they did, no one else had this kind of closeness.
But there were consequences. Not just everything that’d come up today, not just that they were never going to get married or have kids - all that Dean had pretty much already come to terms with - but there was Sam’s dead dreams of a political career. And then there was what Dean privately thought of as the Sam-needs-a-kidney-scenario where Sam got terribly sick and needed a new kidney, so Dean offered up his own kidney, and the doctors were astounded by the genetic match. Yeah, so maybe Dean’s brain worked along the same lines as freaking soap opera, but it could happen, they could be exposed in a thousand fucking ways.
There were consequences; they would have to live with those consequences for the rest of their lives.
Sam shifted in his arms, yanking Dean out of his mangled thoughts. He blinked, watching Sam open his eyes and stare at him, their faces only inches apart on the same pillow. Sam looked at him for a long moment, then his mouth twitched and he rolled onto his back.
“You okay?” Dean murmured.
Sam huffed out a breath, said, “Yeah, I guess.” He hesitated and Dean could hear the sound of him swallowing. “Look, Dean, before, what I said about us not adopting any kids, I need you to know that it’s - it’s a deal-breaker for me. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t be a parent.”
Dean’s swallowed hard and he took a breath, said, “Well, we can’t anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
“No, you need to know. I couldn’t do it. I’m too selfish to be a parent, kids deserve better than that.”
“Yeah, you said that, but c’mon, man, you’re not that bad.” He sighed and shifted upwards, moving into a sitting position, his back against the headboard. It was obvious that this was going to be one of those “serious conversations” that Sam occasionally sprung on him. Still lying on the pillow, Sam tilted his head back, blinked at him, his face looking younger and more vulnerable from this angle.
“I couldn’t share you,” Sam burst out suddenly. “If we adopted a kid then that kid would be the most important person in your world, Dean, and you’d want to spend all your spare time with it - and well, that’s good, that’s normal, that’s the way it should be. But it wouldn’t be the most important person to me, and at some point down the line, I’d start resenting it for taking you away from me. I could never love anyone the way I love you - even a kid - our kid - and that’s wrong. It’s not fair on the kid or on you; it wouldn’t work for any of us. Like I said, I’m too selfish, too possessive.” He broke off, a self-deprecating curl to his lip, eyes flicking away from Dean’s.
“Oh, well I guess that is kinda selfish,” Dean said finally.
Sam huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.” He paused, then said, “I’m sorry, Dean. You know, if you want to - I mean, if everything I’ve just said is a deal-breaker for you, then I’d get it - if you want to leave I mean. Bex’s right, you would be a great dad and I’m selfish and I know I don’t deserve you most of the time -“
“Sam, Sam,” Dean interrupted him, “Sammy, c’mon, man, quit it.” He leaned down to cup Sam’s chin, tilt his head back so their eyes met.
Sam’s eyes were wide open, hiding nothing. Dean stared back at him, feeling as if Sam was looking into him, boring right inside him, rummaging around in his insides, seeing what was written on his heart, though there was nothing new there, only Sam’s name replicated over and over again.
“You know it’s you, man,” Sam said. “Never been anyone else. Never will be. I don’t know if it’s because - because of the brother stuff, or if it’s just because you and me…” he trailed off, swallowing hard. “But I want you to be happy, Dean. I’d do anything to make you happy. I don’t want you to feel obligated to stick with me.”
Dean shook his head slowly, smiling faintly at Sam. “For such a smart dude, you can be a real fuckin’ idiot sometimes,” he said. “Jesus, Sammy, as if I’d ever want anyone else. It’s you and me, man, always gonna be you and me.”
***
A couple of weeks after they got back from New York, they made an offer for the beautiful four-bedroom colonial that’d come available down Myers Avenue in the north part of the city. The asking price was well into seven figures and made Dean break out into a cold sweat when he thought about it, so he tried not to think about it. He definitely didn’t think about how for the same price as they’d just paid out on one single (albeit really nice) house they could buy up Aunt Marion and Uncle Jim’s entire street.
Sam, though, Sam was in his element, cool as a fucking icicle, haggling with the realtors over every damn line in the contract, getting the seller to drop his price by an additional 5% after viewing the survey, and getting him to take care of some additional repair work that needed doing to the gables on the east side of the house. Dean just stood back and watched Sam at work, seeing the expressions of anger and inevitable triumph flitting over Sam’s face as he argued over the phone, hearing the lawyerly realtor jargon spill from his mouth like it really was another fucking language. He decided that Sam in lawyer mode was fucking scary, and really fucking hot.
They moved in a couple of months later, using a moving company this time. After the truck had been loaded up and the backseat of the car stacked with all the stuff they didn’t trust in the truck, they went back inside the building to say goodbye to the apartment.
Dean wandered from room to room, his boots clicking out against the empty echoing hardwood floors. He stood in the middle of the empty bedroom and thrust his hands in his pockets, staring at the grooves in the floor where their bed had been, the chips and dents in the wall where the head-board had thumped and banged. He smirked to himself and tried to figure out exactly how many time they must’ve had sex in this room.
“The answer is a lot. Possibly thousands of times.”
He spun around to see Sam leaning against the doorjamb, watching him with a fond look on his face.
Dean made a face at him. “Dude, stop reading my mind, it’s creepy.”
Sam laughed, pushed up off the doorjamb to join him, sliding his arms around Dean from behind, pulling him in tight, tree-trunk arms wrapped around Dean completely. Dean raised one hand, patted Sam’s forearm affectionately. Sam nuzzled into his neck, breathed out: “You smell so good, why’d you always smell so good?”
“I’ve been shifting furniture all morning, man, I don’t smell good, I fuckin’ reek.”
“Mmm, even better,” murmured Sam. “More you, more musky.”
Dean huffed out a laugh, shivering at the sensation of Sam’s lips on his neck, brushing over his jaw. He twisted in Sam’s arms, meeting him in a kiss.
They made out for a while, standing in the deserted empty bedroom of their old apartment - the place they’d both spent ten years of their lives - ten fucking years living together, eleven fucking years dating. This place had seen everything; this place had seen them turn from lovers to brothers then back to lovers again, until they were wherever they were now: brothers-lovers-partners, all three at once. This place had seen it all.
Dean pulled away, raised an eyebrow. “We got time for a quickie? Seems fitting that we say goodbye to this place properly.”
Sam laughed, shook his head. “Man, I ever tell you that you’re sex-obsessed?”
“All the damn time.”
“Yeah.” Sam leaned in, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “How about we save it for the new place? Christen it right?”
“I guess that’d work too.” Dean shrugged, pulled away from Sam. He walked towards the window; it looked naked without the curtains and blinds they’d had up so long, the ones that’d been embarrassingly dusty and dirty when they’d taken them down hours earlier. He pressed one hand against the glass, peered outside, blinking at the thin afternoon light.
“It’s all gonna be okay, Dean, we’re gonna be okay,” Sam said.
Dean turned his head, peered over his shoulder at Sam. Sam looked so hopeful, and yet, so sure, so certain of what he was saying.
This was the next stage in their lives. They were going to move into the house, Sam was going to make senior partner and Dean was going to keep expanding the garage, maybe open up a new one; he’d already seen a primo spot in Mountain View. They’d see their families at holiday times and they’d hold barbecues and pool parties in the back yard of their new place for their friends. They’d go out occasionally, not clubbing ‘cause they were both getting too old for that, but the fancy restaurants Sam loved and the divey bars with the right sort of beer he loved. They’d get older and heavier and greyer, but that wouldn’t matter because they’d still want to fuck each other as much as ever. They’d never get married nor have kids like other couples, but that wouldn’t matter either because they weren’t like other couples.
Dean smiled at Sam, said, “Yeah. I know.”
He locked the apartment door behind them for the last time, and handed the keys to Sam who sealed them into an envelope and shoved them into his pocket, then together they left the building, and headed for the Impala.
THE END