Ever After
Name: toeveryenemy
Gift is for: muffinchops
Title: Ever After
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R-ish
Warnings: chubby!Dean, mild stuffing, belly kink
Summary: Post S6-AU in which the boys settle down to deal with Sam's broken wall. Dean puts on a little weight, the belly drives Sam crazy (in a good way) and maybe - just maybe - they can find their happily ever after.
Note: I’ve had an idea for a domestic fic floating around my brain for years now, and it played quiet well into your first prompt. I also took bits and pieces of your other prompts and tried to touch on as many of your kinks as possible. I had a lot of fun writing this and I really hope you enjoy it! ♥
Ever After
“Home sweet home,” Dean says.
He tosses their bags onto the floor and Sam walks in behind him.
The apartment is on the main drag through town, directly above a bike shop. It’s got two bedrooms and a bunch of other features the landlord tried to wow Dean with. He tried his best to look impressed when she showed him the generous closet space, laughing a little inside because they’ve each got a duffle to their name. They could probably fill a quarter of the closet with their entire wardrobes combined.
Now, Sam explores the space. Looks around the living area and kitchen, and Dean tells him, “Bedrooms are down the hall. Bathroom is across from ‘em.” Sam nods his head. He thinks he hears him say Ok, but it might have been his imagination. Sam doesn’t say much these days.
Dean lets him look around. Watches him disappear down the hall and only then does he emit a small sigh. A world of horror is rattling around Sam’s brain, and Dean can only begin to imagine what he’s going through.
He’s quiet, for the most part. Occasionally he’ll mutter to himself or wince as if he’s pain.
The blackouts come far less frequently, but one was more than enough when it happened in the middle of a hunt. They were about to gank a spirit when Sam collapsed. Fell to the floor in a heap, like some sort of gigantic rag doll, and Dean couldn’t even get to him. The spirit threw him into two separate walls before he was able to burn the damn diary it was attached to at that point it was more out of irritation than anything else. He’d rushed to Sam’s side. Fell to his knees and checked for a pulse. He’d found one, and five minutes later Sam had come to. He was a little dazed and wondered how long he’d been out.
Dean didn’t say anything, just patted him on the cheek and had helped him up, but he had seen enough. He started looking for apartments soon after that.
Nothing permanent, just a little place where Sam could rest and get a little… less broken.
Dean clenches his fists at the thought. Sometimes he wishes Cas were still around. Maybe he could heal Sam. Give him a shiny, new, reinforced wall or something. But Cas is gone. Regained his right mind long enough to hurl himself into purgatory along with whatever monsters resided inside him.
Sometimes Dean thinks about him, but more often than not, he thinks about what he did to Sam.
Speaking of whom…
He walks down the hall to finds Sam in the bedroom. He stands in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back. They’ve got a nice view of the bike trail that runs down below, and a gentle slope leads to the river bank. The river itself is just visible through a line of trees.
“Nice, huh?” Dean asks.
“Not bad,” Sam answers. He even smiles a little and Dean can feel himself grinning. Things are looking up already.
He wrestles Sam into a one-armed hug and asks what he wants for dinner.
::
A month passes.
Sam looks a little better each day. A little more alert, a little more present.
He starts to talk again.
He starts to laugh again.
He starts to call Dean an idiot whenever he cracks a stupid joke again.
At two months, they even have sex again. Sam initiates it and Dean takes things slow. It’s almost like their first time, every motion tinged with uncertainty and whispers of You ok? and I’ve got you. Afterward, Dean lets Sam hold him. Throws the no cuddling rule out the window and almost enjoys the feel of Sam’s arms wrapped around him.
Two months dissolve into three.
By the time four rolls around, Dean has a part-time job at a garage and his boss-Jack-is hassling him to start full-time. Calls Dean a natural and loves the Impala almost as much as Dean. Almost.
On the days that he works, he deposits Sam at the library. He’d take him anywhere he wants, really, but the library is where the giant nerd wants to go more than anything. At the end of the day he comes out with a fresh book in hand occasionally has an anecdote to share. Most of the time they’re about this one librarian who’s about ninety years old and apparently BFFs with Sam, but Dean really can’t complain because he’s proud to see him socializing. It’s good for him.
Things are going pretty good, and then-one day-he drops the bomb that Dean should have seen coming, but somehow didn’t.
“I got a job,” Sam says over dinner. Casually, as if he’s asking Dean to pass the salt and not altering the outlook on their entire future.
Dean freezes mid-bite. He arches a brow and sets his fork down.
“What? Where?”
“At the library. It’s only a volunteer position, but I’ll shelve books and stuff like that…”
“You got a job,” Dean repeats.
“A volunteer position.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He waves a hand through the air. “I guess I sort of thought we were going to start hunting again. As soon as you were better.”
“Well, I did too but… I don’t know. I’m doing good. I feel good. I haven’t had a flashback in over a month and even the headaches are better. I think it’s this lifestyle, man. Easy. Relaxed. It’s helping.” He shrugs his shoulders and Dean nods his head slowly.
“Ok,” He says. “So… what’re you saying? You want to take a little more time off? Maybe a year? Two?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of… forever.”
The word is like a punch to the gut. Dean winces and stammers a little when he asks, “What?”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought and… I’m out. I mean, I’m not saying you have to quit but me? I’m done, man. I’ve got a hell-sized crater in my head and I’m just… done.”
“You can’t just be done.”
“Uh, I think I can.”
He shrugs a little, and Dean feels like he’s twenty-one again. Like he’s sitting in that shitty motel room again and listening to Sam reveal that he’d been accepted to Stanford.
Dean rubs at his temple and opens his mouth to say something-anything-but nothing comes out. Instead, he pushes his chair back and throws his hands up in the air. “Awesome,” He barks. “I’m so glad you consulted with me.”
“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, after you already went and got a job.”
“Dean…”
“Whatever, man. Whatever.”
He isn’t sure what he’s angry about.
If he’s honest with himself, he’s been enjoying the slower lifestyle just as much as Sam. The chronic ache in his back and joints has eased, and he’s up to a full seven hours of sleep most nights. He feels better than he has in years.
He’s been waiting for that drive-for that itch-to start up. To nag at the back of his mind until he’s tearing at his hair, needing to hunt. It hasn’t come, though. Once or twice he’s considered scanning the headlines for hunts-even went as far as opening his web browser-but instead he checked the sports scores from the night before and then went to badger Sam about something or another.
Maybe they’ve been headed toward this for years now. Torn down by one too many things and finally having reached their (sort of) happily ever after.
Except hunters don’t get happily ever afters. He tried once, and failed miserably. He can’t go through that again, to watch the person he’s sharing a bed with force a smile and act like they believe him when he says he’s happy. It wasn’t even that he didn’t love Lisa, because he did. He really did. But there was always that ache in the back of his heart. A Sam-sized hole she could never fill.
Now, he rakes his hands through his hair and closes his eyes. He wonders if maybe, just maybe… with Sam, that is…
He mutters one last feeble, “Whatever,” and then draws in a slow breath.
When Sam speaks again, his voice is soft. “It’s my life, Dean, and I know I’m a liability. I know you don’t want to say it, but I am.”
“You aren’t…” Dean starts to say, but Sam cuts him off.
“I am. I almost got you killed and I just… I can’t do it. I can’t.”
Silence settles between them. A whir of thoughts race through Dean’s mind, and after several long seconds he says, “Jack’s wanted me to start full-time, anyway.” He isn’t sure where it comes from. It wasn’t what he planned on saying, but now it’s out there.
When he looks up, Sam is grinning. It tugs at his heart a little and somehow that smile lets him now that he’ll make it work.
If it means Sam looking that happy, he has to.
::
Sometimes they talk about a house, but for now settle on fixing the apartment up.
Dean sweet-talks their landlord into letting him paint the walls, and Sam tries his hand at horticulture. He manages to fill each window with a plant and is a little surprised when Dean brings a small cactus home.
“Tough lookin’ fella, ain’t he?” He asks. “Figured your girly houseplants could use a little testosterone.”
“Fine,” Sam says. He goes back to trimming the bromeliad. “But you’re taking care of it.”
This causes Dean to pause. He looks down at the cactus and back up at Sam.
“How much work’s that?” He asks.
“Next to none,” Sam replies.
Dean nods.
“I think I can handle that,” He says.
And he does, for the most part.
In addition to his volunteer work at the library, Sam gets a job with the historical society. He’s in charge of digitalizing their archives and spends most of his time in a musty back room, hunched in front of an aging computer and scanner.
“Thought I smelled a huge geek,” Dean comments when he walks in one afternoon.
Sam looks up from the computer and rolls his eyes. "Ready for lunch?" He asks.
"You know it," Dean replies, giving his stomach a small pat.
Sam’s right down the street from the garage, so on the days he works they try to get lunch together. There’s a café across the street, owned by a silver-haired woman in her sixties who coos over what an adorable couple they make and gives Dean free slices of pie.
“Best place ever,” Dean says. He takes a bite of his burger and then his eyes light up. “Hey,” He says. “Think if I kiss you I could get free ice cream too?”
“Dude,” Sam groans. He takes a bite of his salad and glances toward the counter. He sees the woman watching them and he murmurs a quiet, “Ok, but make it quick. No tongue and you better swallow whatever’s in your mouth first.”
It’s a quick peck on the lips and Dean gets the biggest slice of apple pie Sam has ever seen with a hearty dollop of whipped cream. There’s also a bowl of ice cream on the side, and as Dean wraps his mouth around the spoon he moans a euphoric, “Fuck yes,” that makes Sam roll his eyes fondly.
Dean has always been a big eater. Maybe it’s because they never had enough growing up and he tended to give what they did have to Sam, or maybe it’s because he just loves food. Either way, he continues to pack it away. More so than ever now that they have the time and the means to cook their own food.
That’s another thing: Dean loves to cook. He watches the Food Network when he thinks Sam isn’t looking and can make one hell of a steak and a mighty fine burger. Sam in turn plays sous-chef, chopping vegetables and reminding Dean not to burn himself when he pulls the garlic bread from the oven. Again.
The meals are usually rich and caloric and while Sam eats smaller portions Dean has a tendency to overindulge, eating until his jeans are digging painfully into his bloated stomach. Straining to the point where one day they might burst right off of him, and Sam feels a little guilty whenever he uses that image to get off. Nothing gets him harder than the idea of Dean stuffing himself so thoroughly his pants literally can't hold him in any longer. Sam palms shamefully at his cock in the shower, imagining how the rivet would pop and his stomach would surge forward to fill the gap.
Later that night, he gives Dean a belly rub. A small thank you for the hell of an orgasm his hypothetical self provided.
::
By the time they reach a year, it’s begun to catch up with him. Or already has caught up with him and only now does Dean begin to actually notice.
“Man, I’m getting kind of fat.”
Sam walks into the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, and finds Dean in front of the mirror. His shirt is off and his jeans are slung low on his hips. He pinches absently at the excess flab on his stomach and Sam gives him a once over.
“Nah,” He says as he spits a frothy mouthful of toothpaste into the sink.
Dean makes a noise in the back of his throat. The sound of disbelief. Sam wipes his mouth and then snags him around the waist. “I think you look grrr-eat,” He says as he hands out his best Tony the Tiger impression. He then presses a kiss against the side of his cheek and Dean grimaces.
“Slobbery bastard,” He mutters and drags a palm across the slick, minty trail Sam leaves on his skin.
Sam’s palm lingers over the curve of Dean’s stomach a second or two longer than necessary, and then he pulls away. Beneath his customary three or four layers it isn’t that noticeable, but moments like now-stripped down and exposed-the gentle padding that’s formed across his body is evident. A couple of inches here and there, a slightly more cherubic face, but mostly the weight has rounded out his belly and his ass.
It doesn’t come as that much of a surprise, honestly. Dean’s never had a rock hard body, and without the intense physical exertion that came with hunting he was bound to gain a little weight. But he isn’t fat by any means. A little chubby, maybe. Plump. But not fat.
Truth be told, Sam’s kind of into it. He finds himself brushing his fingers across his belly every chance he gets. Sinking his fingers into the padding on his hips whenever they fuck and shamelessly watching as Dean sucks his stomach in to button his pants.
It’s kind of weird and a lot wrong, but he can’t help it. The happy and settled look suits Dean, and as far as Sam’s concerned he could gain another hundred pounds or lose another fifty, and he’d love him either way.
Always and forever.
::
The garage plays on a baseball league with a few other local businesses.
“It’s stupid,” Dean insists, but Sam can tell he secretly loves it. He never got a chance to play sports while they were growing up-unless you count sparring in the backyard (you don’t, by the way)-and now that he has the chance he makes the most of it. He hits the ball harder than anyone else and when he runs it’s like he’s running for his life.
Sam had to help close at the library and missed their first game, but he’s there for the second. He’s only been watching for ten minutes and it’s already clear Dean is the star of the team. The other men whoop and cheer as he slides into home, and he’s grinning as they slap him on the back. Sam can feel himself smiling, too.
“Your man’s good,” The woman next to him says.
“He’s not bad,” Sam replies as the corner of his mouth tugs into a smile.
“Lydia,” She says, extending a hand. “Jack’s wife. I assume you’re Sam?” He nods his head and she smiles. “I hear about you whenever I stop by the shop. You two should come over for dinner sometime.”
“We’d like that,” He says and he can imagine the way Dean will roll his eyes when he tells him. It’s sickeningly normal, isn’t it? Going over to the boss’s house for dinner?
At first, they waited for something to go wrong. Expected it to. He’d wake up and find Dean sitting up in bed, eyes trained on the blank space at the foot of their bed. Probably waiting for something to appear, which is the exact same thing Sam did on occasion. Imagined a demon or some other thing waiting for them, shrouded by darkness.
It’s been over a year and a half now and nothing has happened. They still keep a gun in their nightstand and a flask of holy water in the kitchen, naturally, but at this point they’re fairly confident nothing will happen.
And yeah, sometimes he still sees Lucifer. Closes his eyes and sees Hellfire. But it’s better. Much better.
So he settles back on the bleacher seat and claps as Dean’s team scores another point.
His team wins, 6 to 4, and afterward everyone goes to dinner. They hit a bar downtown and push a couple of tables together. Pitchers of beer and plates of nachos coat the surface and Dean eats and drinks with his usual vigor.
“Y’know, I can’t actually remember the last time we won a game. Not before Dean came along, at least,” Jack says as he passes a plate of hot wings. Dean grabs a few and smiles his way.
“Pure luck, man,” He says.
“Not true. You are incredible, man,” Another guy shouts. Sam thinks his name might be Chris.
“Our little star, right there.”
“I don’t know about little,” Another guy chides. He leans over and gives Dean’s stomach a pat. Dean’s cheeks flush a little and Sam’s eyes travel downward. Settle on Dean’s stomach, which now pushes a couple of inches over his waistband. At this rate, if continues to gain, it’ll be sitting on his lap in a few months’ time.
Or at least Sam can hope.
Now it’s his turn to blush as the thought crosses his mind.
He tries to push it away, but it’s still there when they leave the bar an hour later. As they walk across the parking lot, he takes a moment to admire Dean. Admire the way his hair has grown out a little and the stubble along his jaw. More than anything, he admires how his stomach fills out the fabric of his jersey. It’s especially noticeable now, tucked into his jeans and tugging taut across his paunch.
“I like it,” He says, completing his thought out loud. Dean looks up at him as he fumbles with the keys.
“What?” He asks.
“You know,” Sam says. He feels drunk and a little flirty. Up until this point he’s kept quiet about how much he appreciates the weight, but now he finds himself blatantly brushing his palm over the swell of Dean’s stomach. He crowds him against the car, aligning his hips with the softer planes of Dean’s body.
“I like you all pudgy,” He says.
“Excuse you.” Dean pushes him back and bats his hand away. Sam smiles.
“Like the Pillsbury doughboy-”
“S’a few pounds,” Dean mutters and Sam laughs. “Or fifteen,” He corrects.
“Or twenty,” Sam guesses and Dean rolls his eyes.
“Maybe,” He says.
Sam reaches down again-tries to grab another feel of that soft belly-but Dean intercepts his hand. Yanks it forward so Sam falls and he finds himself inches away from Dean’s face. He chooses to kiss him and smile against the side of his mouth. “I like it,” He murmurs again.
“Good,” Dean says. “Cause I ain’t doin’ drills out back.”
“Wouldn’t hear of it,” Sam affirms.
::
The weight continues to creep on. A pound here and a pound there, and over time they add up.
By the time they reach three years, Dean has a legitimate belly that rolls out in front of him in a soft mound. It settles heavily on his thighs when he sits and as far as Sam’s concerned, he’s never looked better.
Dean has learned to embrace it. Jokes about it and even amuses Sam’s fascination with it. Maybe a couple months after Sam admitted he liked the weight, Dean stopped shying away from his touches. Let him feel him up a little more and explore just how big he was getting.
And it isn’t like it’s out of control. He’s still strong and he still plays on that baseball team-is even their best player, still. The only difference is that there’s just a little bit more of him.
Now, Sam sits at the table-pen and paper resting on his lap-while Dean moves around the kitchen. He’s dressed in a pair of boxers that have seen better days and a t-shirt that hugs his stomach. Shows off his ample gut, and Sam leans back in his chair to appreciate the view.
Dean leans down to slide what’s left of the bacon into the refrigerator. When he stands back up his shirt lifts just enough to show the lower part of his belly the start of his navel. He tugs it back down, but it was enough for Sam to see how his boxers are beginning to cut into his sides. He adds boxers to his shopping list and makes a mental note to buy them a size up.
“We should get new curtains,” He says aloud, tearing his gaze from Dean to look around the kitchen. “Maybe a new comforter, too.”
“Dude,” Dean says. “People ‘round here already think we’re gay. You want some doilies, too? Maybe some nice china?”
“We actually could use some new dishes,” Sam muses, adding that to the list. “You broke one of our last good plates last night.”
“Hey, you snuck up and helped yourself to a handful of the ol’ behind. That’s dirty pool and I can’t be blamed for what I may or may not break as a result.”
Sam chuckles a little and continues, “Well, I’m going to head to the store. If you come with you can pick out something to make for dinner tonight.” The promise of food, he’s learned, is the best way to get Dean to do things.
He stands up from the table and begins to leave the room. He pauses in the doorway however and looks back over his shoulder. “By the way,” He adds. “People think we’re gay because we kind of are, not because we want our home to look nice. And anyway, shoving your tongue down my throat at the bar the other night doesn’t exactly defend your heterosexual honor.”
He smirks a little and dodges the balled up napkin Dean chucks at his head.
“That was the whiskey’s fault,” He calls, but Sam is already gone.
::
Sam loses Dean at the word ‘thread count’ and, seeing the glazed look in his eyes, waves him off. Tells him to come back in twenty minutes, and that’s an order he’s more than happy to follow.
He wanders out of the linens aisle and makes his way through the store. Passes the automotive section and eventually finds himself by the grills. Not like they can have one quite yet, what with their lack of a backyard, but eventually. If they ever get a house he’d like a nice one to go with it. They could have cookouts like the other guys at the garage do-drink a few beers and toss the football around. It’d be awesome.
Christ, occasionally he can’t believe the thoughts he has. Cookouts and houses? He never thought he’d reach a point where that was something he could have.
He shakes his head and moves on to the thought of dinner. They’ll have to stop at the grocery store after this and he can pick up a couple steaks. Maybe some potatoes to go on the side-those garlic ones he made last week were incredible-and some honey-glazed carrots too because Sam loves them.
Yeah, that sounds real good.
His stomach rumbles lightly at the thought. He runs his hand over it and gives it a light pat. God, he’s gotten big. He’s grown to love it, though. And the fact that it drives Sam nuts (in a good way, for once) makes it a win-win.
Speaking of whom…
He checks his watch and figures he’s given him enough time to pick out whatever frilly things he wanted for their bedroom. He walks back in the direction of the linens and slows when he reaches the aisle he left him in.
Sam isn’t alone.
He’s got his body angled toward a woman. Her back is toward Dean, but Sam chats amicably with her. Like they’re old friends or something. Dean’s gaze narrows and Sam catches his eyes. Waves him over and when the woman turns, Dean instantly recognizes Jody.
He feels an odd tug at his heart. A weird pang of nostalgia because it isn’t often they encounter people from their past. Bobby is the only person they really keep in touch with. The only person who has their number and address. And while he doesn’t necessarily miss who they used to be, it still doesn’t hurt to occasionally revisit it in glimpses. Preferably like this, with the appearance of an old friend. The less claws, the better.
“Hey,” He calls. Grins a little as he closes the space between them and she smiles back.
“Hey, stranger,” She says.
“Jody’s just passing through,” Sam says over her shoulder. “Thinks she’s got a lead on a werewolf a few towns over.”
“You’re hunting?” He asks. She rolls her shoulders in a slow shrug.
“Well, not full-time. Still Sheriff,” She says. “But if something catches my eye and I’ve got the time… yeah, I check it out.”
“Werewolf, huh,” He says. “Sure you can take one out on your own?” He doesn’t mean to sound so concerned-as if she couldn’t handle it-but she doesn’t seem to mind. Just smiles fondly at him and nods.
“I took one out a little over a year ago. Got a case of silver bullets out in the car and couple of knives for good measure; I just stopped here for a couple new flashlights and some batteries.”
He should have figured. The last time they saw her, she’d watched her son eat her husband and then helped them take out a mob of zombies. You don’t walk away from something like that unchanged.
“Sounds like you’ve got it covered, then,” He says. Another thought crosses his mind and he quickly adds, “Y’know, we’ve still got plenty of supplies. If you ever need anything.”
“Yeah,” Sam chimes in.
“I might have to take you up on that,” She says.
She pauses to take a breath and looks between them. She shakes her head a little and her voice is a little softer when she says, “God, it’s real good to see you two. I’ve wondered how you were doing. Heard from Bobby you were out of the game, but it’s nice to see with my own eyes that you’re doing ok.”
She reaches up and pats Sam on the arm, then turns to Dean. She looks him up and down and her eyes linger over his stomach. He must make quite the sight. Last time they saw each other he was in top fighting shape; now, he wears a t-shirt that’s a little on the snug side. It emphasizes how much he’s gained-hugs each curve and dips a little across his deep navel.
He catches Sam’s eye, smirking a little. Sam smiles back and reaches down to give his stomach a quick rub.
“Least you don’t have to worry about us not eating well,” Sam says. Dean can feel his stomach jiggle a little beneath Sam’s palm and she looks away. Blushes a little, realizing she’d been caught staring, and then she smiles.
“You both look great,” She says quickly. “Really.”
“You do too,” Dean replies. “And like I said, anything you need. We’re here.”
“Really,” Sam adds. He reaches out to give her shoulder a squeeze and she smiles up at them.
“Thanks, guys.”
They share another hug, exchange phone numbers, and then go their separate ways.
::
“Did you see her face?” Sam asks that evening, a hint of awe in his voice.
They finished washing the dishes and Dean has just settled down onto the couch.
“Must’ve been impressed by my muscular physique,” He jokes. He runs a hand over his stomach and gives it a small pat as Sam walks into the room. Sam rolls his eyes and falls onto the couch next to him.
“Sure,” He says. Leans in a little and lays his palm over his stomach. “Or maybe she was impressed by this.” He pinches a doughy couples of inches, and smiles at Dean. His eyes are bright and Dean plays into it. He snakes a hand down to pop the button on his jeans and lets his stomach relax and expand to its full size.
“Possibly,” He says.
He didn’t quite get it at first-the kink that Sam has developed for his stomach, that is. He’d feel oddly embarrassed whenever Sam tried to grope or fondle his chub, and couldn’t wrap his mind around why Sam would get so riled up whenever he found he’d outgrown another pair of pants. But over time he’s started to find it strangely arousing as well. Feels his own dick twitch a little when he has to let his belt out another notch or has to pop his jeans open after a big meal.
Like now. It feels good to free his stomach from the tight confines of his jeans. Looking down at himself, he marvels a little at how huge he looks. Probably because he’s pretty full from dinner. He’d put away a 24oz steak and more scoops of mashed potatoes than he could count-it’s a wonder he kept the jeans buttoned that long.
Sam’s hand begins to caress his stomach. Works its way over the taut skin and it feels really good. Sam gives one hell of a belly rub, that’s for sure.
“How much do you think you’ve gained since she last saw you?” Sam asks.
“Hell, how should I know,” He says.
“Guess,” Sam urges. He sits up a little and pulls his hands back. Dean instantly misses the contact.
“Hmm,” He hums lightly. Runs a hand down his stomach and jostles it a little beneath his palm. It’s still got a surprisingly amount of jiggle to it despite him being so full. He might even have room for dessert, once he can be bothered to get up off the couch. First though, he finishes his thought. “I was probably in the ballpark of one-ninety the last time I saw her,” He says. “Haven’t weighed myself recently but…” He grabs a handful of flab and then reaches down to lift his belly, as if assessing its weight. “I was two-thirty eight maybe a month ago. Remember, when we were curious?”
“You might have to remind me,” Sam says. It’s complete bullshit and they both know it. Sam’s got this little smirk on his lips and a glance down reveals his dick at full attention, the bulge straining against his jeans. Dean sits up on the couch. He throws a leg over Sam and settles on his lap, straddling his thighs. Sam lets out a quiet oof as Dean lets his weight settle on him. He lets his fleshy stomach press against Sam’s leaner frame and savors the feel of the contrast.
“We both weighed ourselves,” He says as he leans in and kisses Sam’s jaw. Silently he snags Sam’s hand and guides it to his side. Rests it on one of his thick love-handles and groans a little as Sam’s fingers give it a light squeeze. “Remember?” He asks, trying to keep focused. “You clocked in at two eighteen and you were pretty damn giddy, knowing I weigh twenty pounds more than you.”
“Think you’re a little more than twenty pounds now,” Sam says. He brings his other hand up and cradles Dean’s stomach between both hands. “So damn much of you now,” He groans.
Dean grinds his hips into Sam’s and says, “Yeah, definitely’ve put on a little since. Maybe two-forty five?”
“Sounds about right,” Sam agrees. His voice is strained and Dean smirks a little.
“So…” He does the math in his head and says, “Fifty-five pounds since I last saw her.”
“That’s a lot, man,” Sam murmurs.
“I don’t hear you complaining.”
“Like that’ll ever happen.”
“God, you’re a freak.”
“And you’re not? Sitting on me and encouraging me to fondle your pudge.”
“Touché.”
Sam grins and gives his hip another squeeze. “Want to try out those new sheets?” He asks.
“Hell yeah,” Dean says. Slides off his lap and begins to walk away. “Think I could go for some dessert first, though.”
And Sam doesn’t complain, just hurriedly follows him into the kitchen.
::
Dean gets on the scale two days later and they’re both a little surprised when the needle settles on two fifty-one.
“That’s over ten pounds in a little over a month,” Sam says. He rubs at the back of his neck, unable to hide the astonishment on his face. It’s a lot, considering it took Dean three years to gain more than fifty pounds. A little over fifteen pounds a year, and now he’s put on ten in a month.
“Too much?” Dean asks. Brushes a hand over his stomach and Sam is quick to shake his head.
“No, dude. Just… wow.”
“Yeah." Dean chews at his lower lip. After a long pause he says, "It is kind of a lot, though. I don’t wanna be huge or anything. Still need to get under the cars comfortably and I kind of do like playing ball.” His hand continues to hover over his rather impressive gut and Sam guides it away. He threads their fingers together and tugs Dean off the scale.
“Whatever you want, man,” He says.
As much as he loves the weight and as much as he loves encouraging the weight, the last thing he wants is for Dean to be uncomfortable.
Maybe he'll gain a little more weight, or maybe he’ll drop some. It’s entirely up to him and no matter what he chooses, Sam doesn’t mind. Because at the end of the day they’re both alive, they’re both healthy, and most importantly they’re both happy.
And maybe hunters can have a happily ever after, because all this adds up to be a hell of a lot more than they ever thought they’d have.
Gift is for: muffinchops
Title: Ever After
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R-ish
Warnings: chubby!Dean, mild stuffing, belly kink
Summary: Post S6-AU in which the boys settle down to deal with Sam's broken wall. Dean puts on a little weight, the belly drives Sam crazy (in a good way) and maybe - just maybe - they can find their happily ever after.
Note: I’ve had an idea for a domestic fic floating around my brain for years now, and it played quiet well into your first prompt. I also took bits and pieces of your other prompts and tried to touch on as many of your kinks as possible. I had a lot of fun writing this and I really hope you enjoy it! ♥
Ever After
“Home sweet home,” Dean says.
He tosses their bags onto the floor and Sam walks in behind him.
The apartment is on the main drag through town, directly above a bike shop. It’s got two bedrooms and a bunch of other features the landlord tried to wow Dean with. He tried his best to look impressed when she showed him the generous closet space, laughing a little inside because they’ve each got a duffle to their name. They could probably fill a quarter of the closet with their entire wardrobes combined.
Now, Sam explores the space. Looks around the living area and kitchen, and Dean tells him, “Bedrooms are down the hall. Bathroom is across from ‘em.” Sam nods his head. He thinks he hears him say Ok, but it might have been his imagination. Sam doesn’t say much these days.
Dean lets him look around. Watches him disappear down the hall and only then does he emit a small sigh. A world of horror is rattling around Sam’s brain, and Dean can only begin to imagine what he’s going through.
He’s quiet, for the most part. Occasionally he’ll mutter to himself or wince as if he’s pain.
The blackouts come far less frequently, but one was more than enough when it happened in the middle of a hunt. They were about to gank a spirit when Sam collapsed. Fell to the floor in a heap, like some sort of gigantic rag doll, and Dean couldn’t even get to him. The spirit threw him into two separate walls before he was able to burn the damn diary it was attached to at that point it was more out of irritation than anything else. He’d rushed to Sam’s side. Fell to his knees and checked for a pulse. He’d found one, and five minutes later Sam had come to. He was a little dazed and wondered how long he’d been out.
Dean didn’t say anything, just patted him on the cheek and had helped him up, but he had seen enough. He started looking for apartments soon after that.
Nothing permanent, just a little place where Sam could rest and get a little… less broken.
Dean clenches his fists at the thought. Sometimes he wishes Cas were still around. Maybe he could heal Sam. Give him a shiny, new, reinforced wall or something. But Cas is gone. Regained his right mind long enough to hurl himself into purgatory along with whatever monsters resided inside him.
Sometimes Dean thinks about him, but more often than not, he thinks about what he did to Sam.
Speaking of whom…
He walks down the hall to finds Sam in the bedroom. He stands in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back. They’ve got a nice view of the bike trail that runs down below, and a gentle slope leads to the river bank. The river itself is just visible through a line of trees.
“Nice, huh?” Dean asks.
“Not bad,” Sam answers. He even smiles a little and Dean can feel himself grinning. Things are looking up already.
He wrestles Sam into a one-armed hug and asks what he wants for dinner.
::
A month passes.
Sam looks a little better each day. A little more alert, a little more present.
He starts to talk again.
He starts to laugh again.
He starts to call Dean an idiot whenever he cracks a stupid joke again.
At two months, they even have sex again. Sam initiates it and Dean takes things slow. It’s almost like their first time, every motion tinged with uncertainty and whispers of You ok? and I’ve got you. Afterward, Dean lets Sam hold him. Throws the no cuddling rule out the window and almost enjoys the feel of Sam’s arms wrapped around him.
Two months dissolve into three.
By the time four rolls around, Dean has a part-time job at a garage and his boss-Jack-is hassling him to start full-time. Calls Dean a natural and loves the Impala almost as much as Dean. Almost.
On the days that he works, he deposits Sam at the library. He’d take him anywhere he wants, really, but the library is where the giant nerd wants to go more than anything. At the end of the day he comes out with a fresh book in hand occasionally has an anecdote to share. Most of the time they’re about this one librarian who’s about ninety years old and apparently BFFs with Sam, but Dean really can’t complain because he’s proud to see him socializing. It’s good for him.
Things are going pretty good, and then-one day-he drops the bomb that Dean should have seen coming, but somehow didn’t.
“I got a job,” Sam says over dinner. Casually, as if he’s asking Dean to pass the salt and not altering the outlook on their entire future.
Dean freezes mid-bite. He arches a brow and sets his fork down.
“What? Where?”
“At the library. It’s only a volunteer position, but I’ll shelve books and stuff like that…”
“You got a job,” Dean repeats.
“A volunteer position.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He waves a hand through the air. “I guess I sort of thought we were going to start hunting again. As soon as you were better.”
“Well, I did too but… I don’t know. I’m doing good. I feel good. I haven’t had a flashback in over a month and even the headaches are better. I think it’s this lifestyle, man. Easy. Relaxed. It’s helping.” He shrugs his shoulders and Dean nods his head slowly.
“Ok,” He says. “So… what’re you saying? You want to take a little more time off? Maybe a year? Two?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of… forever.”
The word is like a punch to the gut. Dean winces and stammers a little when he asks, “What?”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought and… I’m out. I mean, I’m not saying you have to quit but me? I’m done, man. I’ve got a hell-sized crater in my head and I’m just… done.”
“You can’t just be done.”
“Uh, I think I can.”
He shrugs a little, and Dean feels like he’s twenty-one again. Like he’s sitting in that shitty motel room again and listening to Sam reveal that he’d been accepted to Stanford.
Dean rubs at his temple and opens his mouth to say something-anything-but nothing comes out. Instead, he pushes his chair back and throws his hands up in the air. “Awesome,” He barks. “I’m so glad you consulted with me.”
“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, after you already went and got a job.”
“Dean…”
“Whatever, man. Whatever.”
He isn’t sure what he’s angry about.
If he’s honest with himself, he’s been enjoying the slower lifestyle just as much as Sam. The chronic ache in his back and joints has eased, and he’s up to a full seven hours of sleep most nights. He feels better than he has in years.
He’s been waiting for that drive-for that itch-to start up. To nag at the back of his mind until he’s tearing at his hair, needing to hunt. It hasn’t come, though. Once or twice he’s considered scanning the headlines for hunts-even went as far as opening his web browser-but instead he checked the sports scores from the night before and then went to badger Sam about something or another.
Maybe they’ve been headed toward this for years now. Torn down by one too many things and finally having reached their (sort of) happily ever after.
Except hunters don’t get happily ever afters. He tried once, and failed miserably. He can’t go through that again, to watch the person he’s sharing a bed with force a smile and act like they believe him when he says he’s happy. It wasn’t even that he didn’t love Lisa, because he did. He really did. But there was always that ache in the back of his heart. A Sam-sized hole she could never fill.
Now, he rakes his hands through his hair and closes his eyes. He wonders if maybe, just maybe… with Sam, that is…
He mutters one last feeble, “Whatever,” and then draws in a slow breath.
When Sam speaks again, his voice is soft. “It’s my life, Dean, and I know I’m a liability. I know you don’t want to say it, but I am.”
“You aren’t…” Dean starts to say, but Sam cuts him off.
“I am. I almost got you killed and I just… I can’t do it. I can’t.”
Silence settles between them. A whir of thoughts race through Dean’s mind, and after several long seconds he says, “Jack’s wanted me to start full-time, anyway.” He isn’t sure where it comes from. It wasn’t what he planned on saying, but now it’s out there.
When he looks up, Sam is grinning. It tugs at his heart a little and somehow that smile lets him now that he’ll make it work.
If it means Sam looking that happy, he has to.
::
Sometimes they talk about a house, but for now settle on fixing the apartment up.
Dean sweet-talks their landlord into letting him paint the walls, and Sam tries his hand at horticulture. He manages to fill each window with a plant and is a little surprised when Dean brings a small cactus home.
“Tough lookin’ fella, ain’t he?” He asks. “Figured your girly houseplants could use a little testosterone.”
“Fine,” Sam says. He goes back to trimming the bromeliad. “But you’re taking care of it.”
This causes Dean to pause. He looks down at the cactus and back up at Sam.
“How much work’s that?” He asks.
“Next to none,” Sam replies.
Dean nods.
“I think I can handle that,” He says.
And he does, for the most part.
In addition to his volunteer work at the library, Sam gets a job with the historical society. He’s in charge of digitalizing their archives and spends most of his time in a musty back room, hunched in front of an aging computer and scanner.
“Thought I smelled a huge geek,” Dean comments when he walks in one afternoon.
Sam looks up from the computer and rolls his eyes. "Ready for lunch?" He asks.
"You know it," Dean replies, giving his stomach a small pat.
Sam’s right down the street from the garage, so on the days he works they try to get lunch together. There’s a café across the street, owned by a silver-haired woman in her sixties who coos over what an adorable couple they make and gives Dean free slices of pie.
“Best place ever,” Dean says. He takes a bite of his burger and then his eyes light up. “Hey,” He says. “Think if I kiss you I could get free ice cream too?”
“Dude,” Sam groans. He takes a bite of his salad and glances toward the counter. He sees the woman watching them and he murmurs a quiet, “Ok, but make it quick. No tongue and you better swallow whatever’s in your mouth first.”
It’s a quick peck on the lips and Dean gets the biggest slice of apple pie Sam has ever seen with a hearty dollop of whipped cream. There’s also a bowl of ice cream on the side, and as Dean wraps his mouth around the spoon he moans a euphoric, “Fuck yes,” that makes Sam roll his eyes fondly.
Dean has always been a big eater. Maybe it’s because they never had enough growing up and he tended to give what they did have to Sam, or maybe it’s because he just loves food. Either way, he continues to pack it away. More so than ever now that they have the time and the means to cook their own food.
That’s another thing: Dean loves to cook. He watches the Food Network when he thinks Sam isn’t looking and can make one hell of a steak and a mighty fine burger. Sam in turn plays sous-chef, chopping vegetables and reminding Dean not to burn himself when he pulls the garlic bread from the oven. Again.
The meals are usually rich and caloric and while Sam eats smaller portions Dean has a tendency to overindulge, eating until his jeans are digging painfully into his bloated stomach. Straining to the point where one day they might burst right off of him, and Sam feels a little guilty whenever he uses that image to get off. Nothing gets him harder than the idea of Dean stuffing himself so thoroughly his pants literally can't hold him in any longer. Sam palms shamefully at his cock in the shower, imagining how the rivet would pop and his stomach would surge forward to fill the gap.
Later that night, he gives Dean a belly rub. A small thank you for the hell of an orgasm his hypothetical self provided.
::
By the time they reach a year, it’s begun to catch up with him. Or already has caught up with him and only now does Dean begin to actually notice.
“Man, I’m getting kind of fat.”
Sam walks into the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, and finds Dean in front of the mirror. His shirt is off and his jeans are slung low on his hips. He pinches absently at the excess flab on his stomach and Sam gives him a once over.
“Nah,” He says as he spits a frothy mouthful of toothpaste into the sink.
Dean makes a noise in the back of his throat. The sound of disbelief. Sam wipes his mouth and then snags him around the waist. “I think you look grrr-eat,” He says as he hands out his best Tony the Tiger impression. He then presses a kiss against the side of his cheek and Dean grimaces.
“Slobbery bastard,” He mutters and drags a palm across the slick, minty trail Sam leaves on his skin.
Sam’s palm lingers over the curve of Dean’s stomach a second or two longer than necessary, and then he pulls away. Beneath his customary three or four layers it isn’t that noticeable, but moments like now-stripped down and exposed-the gentle padding that’s formed across his body is evident. A couple of inches here and there, a slightly more cherubic face, but mostly the weight has rounded out his belly and his ass.
It doesn’t come as that much of a surprise, honestly. Dean’s never had a rock hard body, and without the intense physical exertion that came with hunting he was bound to gain a little weight. But he isn’t fat by any means. A little chubby, maybe. Plump. But not fat.
Truth be told, Sam’s kind of into it. He finds himself brushing his fingers across his belly every chance he gets. Sinking his fingers into the padding on his hips whenever they fuck and shamelessly watching as Dean sucks his stomach in to button his pants.
It’s kind of weird and a lot wrong, but he can’t help it. The happy and settled look suits Dean, and as far as Sam’s concerned he could gain another hundred pounds or lose another fifty, and he’d love him either way.
Always and forever.
::
The garage plays on a baseball league with a few other local businesses.
“It’s stupid,” Dean insists, but Sam can tell he secretly loves it. He never got a chance to play sports while they were growing up-unless you count sparring in the backyard (you don’t, by the way)-and now that he has the chance he makes the most of it. He hits the ball harder than anyone else and when he runs it’s like he’s running for his life.
Sam had to help close at the library and missed their first game, but he’s there for the second. He’s only been watching for ten minutes and it’s already clear Dean is the star of the team. The other men whoop and cheer as he slides into home, and he’s grinning as they slap him on the back. Sam can feel himself smiling, too.
“Your man’s good,” The woman next to him says.
“He’s not bad,” Sam replies as the corner of his mouth tugs into a smile.
“Lydia,” She says, extending a hand. “Jack’s wife. I assume you’re Sam?” He nods his head and she smiles. “I hear about you whenever I stop by the shop. You two should come over for dinner sometime.”
“We’d like that,” He says and he can imagine the way Dean will roll his eyes when he tells him. It’s sickeningly normal, isn’t it? Going over to the boss’s house for dinner?
At first, they waited for something to go wrong. Expected it to. He’d wake up and find Dean sitting up in bed, eyes trained on the blank space at the foot of their bed. Probably waiting for something to appear, which is the exact same thing Sam did on occasion. Imagined a demon or some other thing waiting for them, shrouded by darkness.
It’s been over a year and a half now and nothing has happened. They still keep a gun in their nightstand and a flask of holy water in the kitchen, naturally, but at this point they’re fairly confident nothing will happen.
And yeah, sometimes he still sees Lucifer. Closes his eyes and sees Hellfire. But it’s better. Much better.
So he settles back on the bleacher seat and claps as Dean’s team scores another point.
His team wins, 6 to 4, and afterward everyone goes to dinner. They hit a bar downtown and push a couple of tables together. Pitchers of beer and plates of nachos coat the surface and Dean eats and drinks with his usual vigor.
“Y’know, I can’t actually remember the last time we won a game. Not before Dean came along, at least,” Jack says as he passes a plate of hot wings. Dean grabs a few and smiles his way.
“Pure luck, man,” He says.
“Not true. You are incredible, man,” Another guy shouts. Sam thinks his name might be Chris.
“Our little star, right there.”
“I don’t know about little,” Another guy chides. He leans over and gives Dean’s stomach a pat. Dean’s cheeks flush a little and Sam’s eyes travel downward. Settle on Dean’s stomach, which now pushes a couple of inches over his waistband. At this rate, if continues to gain, it’ll be sitting on his lap in a few months’ time.
Or at least Sam can hope.
Now it’s his turn to blush as the thought crosses his mind.
He tries to push it away, but it’s still there when they leave the bar an hour later. As they walk across the parking lot, he takes a moment to admire Dean. Admire the way his hair has grown out a little and the stubble along his jaw. More than anything, he admires how his stomach fills out the fabric of his jersey. It’s especially noticeable now, tucked into his jeans and tugging taut across his paunch.
“I like it,” He says, completing his thought out loud. Dean looks up at him as he fumbles with the keys.
“What?” He asks.
“You know,” Sam says. He feels drunk and a little flirty. Up until this point he’s kept quiet about how much he appreciates the weight, but now he finds himself blatantly brushing his palm over the swell of Dean’s stomach. He crowds him against the car, aligning his hips with the softer planes of Dean’s body.
“I like you all pudgy,” He says.
“Excuse you.” Dean pushes him back and bats his hand away. Sam smiles.
“Like the Pillsbury doughboy-”
“S’a few pounds,” Dean mutters and Sam laughs. “Or fifteen,” He corrects.
“Or twenty,” Sam guesses and Dean rolls his eyes.
“Maybe,” He says.
Sam reaches down again-tries to grab another feel of that soft belly-but Dean intercepts his hand. Yanks it forward so Sam falls and he finds himself inches away from Dean’s face. He chooses to kiss him and smile against the side of his mouth. “I like it,” He murmurs again.
“Good,” Dean says. “Cause I ain’t doin’ drills out back.”
“Wouldn’t hear of it,” Sam affirms.
::
The weight continues to creep on. A pound here and a pound there, and over time they add up.
By the time they reach three years, Dean has a legitimate belly that rolls out in front of him in a soft mound. It settles heavily on his thighs when he sits and as far as Sam’s concerned, he’s never looked better.
Dean has learned to embrace it. Jokes about it and even amuses Sam’s fascination with it. Maybe a couple months after Sam admitted he liked the weight, Dean stopped shying away from his touches. Let him feel him up a little more and explore just how big he was getting.
And it isn’t like it’s out of control. He’s still strong and he still plays on that baseball team-is even their best player, still. The only difference is that there’s just a little bit more of him.
Now, Sam sits at the table-pen and paper resting on his lap-while Dean moves around the kitchen. He’s dressed in a pair of boxers that have seen better days and a t-shirt that hugs his stomach. Shows off his ample gut, and Sam leans back in his chair to appreciate the view.
Dean leans down to slide what’s left of the bacon into the refrigerator. When he stands back up his shirt lifts just enough to show the lower part of his belly the start of his navel. He tugs it back down, but it was enough for Sam to see how his boxers are beginning to cut into his sides. He adds boxers to his shopping list and makes a mental note to buy them a size up.
“We should get new curtains,” He says aloud, tearing his gaze from Dean to look around the kitchen. “Maybe a new comforter, too.”
“Dude,” Dean says. “People ‘round here already think we’re gay. You want some doilies, too? Maybe some nice china?”
“We actually could use some new dishes,” Sam muses, adding that to the list. “You broke one of our last good plates last night.”
“Hey, you snuck up and helped yourself to a handful of the ol’ behind. That’s dirty pool and I can’t be blamed for what I may or may not break as a result.”
Sam chuckles a little and continues, “Well, I’m going to head to the store. If you come with you can pick out something to make for dinner tonight.” The promise of food, he’s learned, is the best way to get Dean to do things.
He stands up from the table and begins to leave the room. He pauses in the doorway however and looks back over his shoulder. “By the way,” He adds. “People think we’re gay because we kind of are, not because we want our home to look nice. And anyway, shoving your tongue down my throat at the bar the other night doesn’t exactly defend your heterosexual honor.”
He smirks a little and dodges the balled up napkin Dean chucks at his head.
“That was the whiskey’s fault,” He calls, but Sam is already gone.
::
Sam loses Dean at the word ‘thread count’ and, seeing the glazed look in his eyes, waves him off. Tells him to come back in twenty minutes, and that’s an order he’s more than happy to follow.
He wanders out of the linens aisle and makes his way through the store. Passes the automotive section and eventually finds himself by the grills. Not like they can have one quite yet, what with their lack of a backyard, but eventually. If they ever get a house he’d like a nice one to go with it. They could have cookouts like the other guys at the garage do-drink a few beers and toss the football around. It’d be awesome.
Christ, occasionally he can’t believe the thoughts he has. Cookouts and houses? He never thought he’d reach a point where that was something he could have.
He shakes his head and moves on to the thought of dinner. They’ll have to stop at the grocery store after this and he can pick up a couple steaks. Maybe some potatoes to go on the side-those garlic ones he made last week were incredible-and some honey-glazed carrots too because Sam loves them.
Yeah, that sounds real good.
His stomach rumbles lightly at the thought. He runs his hand over it and gives it a light pat. God, he’s gotten big. He’s grown to love it, though. And the fact that it drives Sam nuts (in a good way, for once) makes it a win-win.
Speaking of whom…
He checks his watch and figures he’s given him enough time to pick out whatever frilly things he wanted for their bedroom. He walks back in the direction of the linens and slows when he reaches the aisle he left him in.
Sam isn’t alone.
He’s got his body angled toward a woman. Her back is toward Dean, but Sam chats amicably with her. Like they’re old friends or something. Dean’s gaze narrows and Sam catches his eyes. Waves him over and when the woman turns, Dean instantly recognizes Jody.
He feels an odd tug at his heart. A weird pang of nostalgia because it isn’t often they encounter people from their past. Bobby is the only person they really keep in touch with. The only person who has their number and address. And while he doesn’t necessarily miss who they used to be, it still doesn’t hurt to occasionally revisit it in glimpses. Preferably like this, with the appearance of an old friend. The less claws, the better.
“Hey,” He calls. Grins a little as he closes the space between them and she smiles back.
“Hey, stranger,” She says.
“Jody’s just passing through,” Sam says over her shoulder. “Thinks she’s got a lead on a werewolf a few towns over.”
“You’re hunting?” He asks. She rolls her shoulders in a slow shrug.
“Well, not full-time. Still Sheriff,” She says. “But if something catches my eye and I’ve got the time… yeah, I check it out.”
“Werewolf, huh,” He says. “Sure you can take one out on your own?” He doesn’t mean to sound so concerned-as if she couldn’t handle it-but she doesn’t seem to mind. Just smiles fondly at him and nods.
“I took one out a little over a year ago. Got a case of silver bullets out in the car and couple of knives for good measure; I just stopped here for a couple new flashlights and some batteries.”
He should have figured. The last time they saw her, she’d watched her son eat her husband and then helped them take out a mob of zombies. You don’t walk away from something like that unchanged.
“Sounds like you’ve got it covered, then,” He says. Another thought crosses his mind and he quickly adds, “Y’know, we’ve still got plenty of supplies. If you ever need anything.”
“Yeah,” Sam chimes in.
“I might have to take you up on that,” She says.
She pauses to take a breath and looks between them. She shakes her head a little and her voice is a little softer when she says, “God, it’s real good to see you two. I’ve wondered how you were doing. Heard from Bobby you were out of the game, but it’s nice to see with my own eyes that you’re doing ok.”
She reaches up and pats Sam on the arm, then turns to Dean. She looks him up and down and her eyes linger over his stomach. He must make quite the sight. Last time they saw each other he was in top fighting shape; now, he wears a t-shirt that’s a little on the snug side. It emphasizes how much he’s gained-hugs each curve and dips a little across his deep navel.
He catches Sam’s eye, smirking a little. Sam smiles back and reaches down to give his stomach a quick rub.
“Least you don’t have to worry about us not eating well,” Sam says. Dean can feel his stomach jiggle a little beneath Sam’s palm and she looks away. Blushes a little, realizing she’d been caught staring, and then she smiles.
“You both look great,” She says quickly. “Really.”
“You do too,” Dean replies. “And like I said, anything you need. We’re here.”
“Really,” Sam adds. He reaches out to give her shoulder a squeeze and she smiles up at them.
“Thanks, guys.”
They share another hug, exchange phone numbers, and then go their separate ways.
::
“Did you see her face?” Sam asks that evening, a hint of awe in his voice.
They finished washing the dishes and Dean has just settled down onto the couch.
“Must’ve been impressed by my muscular physique,” He jokes. He runs a hand over his stomach and gives it a small pat as Sam walks into the room. Sam rolls his eyes and falls onto the couch next to him.
“Sure,” He says. Leans in a little and lays his palm over his stomach. “Or maybe she was impressed by this.” He pinches a doughy couples of inches, and smiles at Dean. His eyes are bright and Dean plays into it. He snakes a hand down to pop the button on his jeans and lets his stomach relax and expand to its full size.
“Possibly,” He says.
He didn’t quite get it at first-the kink that Sam has developed for his stomach, that is. He’d feel oddly embarrassed whenever Sam tried to grope or fondle his chub, and couldn’t wrap his mind around why Sam would get so riled up whenever he found he’d outgrown another pair of pants. But over time he’s started to find it strangely arousing as well. Feels his own dick twitch a little when he has to let his belt out another notch or has to pop his jeans open after a big meal.
Like now. It feels good to free his stomach from the tight confines of his jeans. Looking down at himself, he marvels a little at how huge he looks. Probably because he’s pretty full from dinner. He’d put away a 24oz steak and more scoops of mashed potatoes than he could count-it’s a wonder he kept the jeans buttoned that long.
Sam’s hand begins to caress his stomach. Works its way over the taut skin and it feels really good. Sam gives one hell of a belly rub, that’s for sure.
“How much do you think you’ve gained since she last saw you?” Sam asks.
“Hell, how should I know,” He says.
“Guess,” Sam urges. He sits up a little and pulls his hands back. Dean instantly misses the contact.
“Hmm,” He hums lightly. Runs a hand down his stomach and jostles it a little beneath his palm. It’s still got a surprisingly amount of jiggle to it despite him being so full. He might even have room for dessert, once he can be bothered to get up off the couch. First though, he finishes his thought. “I was probably in the ballpark of one-ninety the last time I saw her,” He says. “Haven’t weighed myself recently but…” He grabs a handful of flab and then reaches down to lift his belly, as if assessing its weight. “I was two-thirty eight maybe a month ago. Remember, when we were curious?”
“You might have to remind me,” Sam says. It’s complete bullshit and they both know it. Sam’s got this little smirk on his lips and a glance down reveals his dick at full attention, the bulge straining against his jeans. Dean sits up on the couch. He throws a leg over Sam and settles on his lap, straddling his thighs. Sam lets out a quiet oof as Dean lets his weight settle on him. He lets his fleshy stomach press against Sam’s leaner frame and savors the feel of the contrast.
“We both weighed ourselves,” He says as he leans in and kisses Sam’s jaw. Silently he snags Sam’s hand and guides it to his side. Rests it on one of his thick love-handles and groans a little as Sam’s fingers give it a light squeeze. “Remember?” He asks, trying to keep focused. “You clocked in at two eighteen and you were pretty damn giddy, knowing I weigh twenty pounds more than you.”
“Think you’re a little more than twenty pounds now,” Sam says. He brings his other hand up and cradles Dean’s stomach between both hands. “So damn much of you now,” He groans.
Dean grinds his hips into Sam’s and says, “Yeah, definitely’ve put on a little since. Maybe two-forty five?”
“Sounds about right,” Sam agrees. His voice is strained and Dean smirks a little.
“So…” He does the math in his head and says, “Fifty-five pounds since I last saw her.”
“That’s a lot, man,” Sam murmurs.
“I don’t hear you complaining.”
“Like that’ll ever happen.”
“God, you’re a freak.”
“And you’re not? Sitting on me and encouraging me to fondle your pudge.”
“Touché.”
Sam grins and gives his hip another squeeze. “Want to try out those new sheets?” He asks.
“Hell yeah,” Dean says. Slides off his lap and begins to walk away. “Think I could go for some dessert first, though.”
And Sam doesn’t complain, just hurriedly follows him into the kitchen.
::
Dean gets on the scale two days later and they’re both a little surprised when the needle settles on two fifty-one.
“That’s over ten pounds in a little over a month,” Sam says. He rubs at the back of his neck, unable to hide the astonishment on his face. It’s a lot, considering it took Dean three years to gain more than fifty pounds. A little over fifteen pounds a year, and now he’s put on ten in a month.
“Too much?” Dean asks. Brushes a hand over his stomach and Sam is quick to shake his head.
“No, dude. Just… wow.”
“Yeah." Dean chews at his lower lip. After a long pause he says, "It is kind of a lot, though. I don’t wanna be huge or anything. Still need to get under the cars comfortably and I kind of do like playing ball.” His hand continues to hover over his rather impressive gut and Sam guides it away. He threads their fingers together and tugs Dean off the scale.
“Whatever you want, man,” He says.
As much as he loves the weight and as much as he loves encouraging the weight, the last thing he wants is for Dean to be uncomfortable.
Maybe he'll gain a little more weight, or maybe he’ll drop some. It’s entirely up to him and no matter what he chooses, Sam doesn’t mind. Because at the end of the day they’re both alive, they’re both healthy, and most importantly they’re both happy.
And maybe hunters can have a happily ever after, because all this adds up to be a hell of a lot more than they ever thought they’d have.