The Soldier, the Geek, and the Frickin' Weird-ass Time-Closet {FIC, Sam/Dean, NC-17)
"Hey."
Sam crowds awkwardly into the doorway of Dean's room, sheepish, lost-puppy look planted firmly on his gorgeous mug, and Dean knows he's in trouble. Dean's been fine, just listening to his music, losing himself in AC/DC, Bob Seeger, a little Aerosmith, maybe some Taylor Swift. Now what?
"What's up?" Dean's gotta ask, peeling his headphones off, laying them on the bed beside him.
Not getting up, that's for sure.
"Uh, yeah," Sam clears his throat, shuffles his feet. "We've got a visitor."
He moves aside, shooting a glance at somebody to his right, just out of sight. Dean's only got a moment to consider that whoever it is isn't a danger to them, or Sam wouldn't be so...whatever this is he's being. Shy? Apologetic? Embarrassed? Then the doorway is filled with a tall, gangly boy with floppy bangs and smooth mole-riddled skin and Dean's eyebrows go up, way up.
"Hey, Dean," the kid says, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, hunching over in his hoodie like he can somehow hide his six-foot-four frame inside it.
"Sam?" Dean stares, can't take his eyes away, just drinks in this younger, more innocent vision of his brother like a glass of cool water on a hot day. "What the hell?" He finally drags his eyes away, frowning at the older Sam, his Sam, demanding an explanation. "Where did he come from?"
"My closet," Sam shrugs, looking ridiculously contrite, as well he should. Conjuring younger versions of yourself is just plain rude. This young Sam is giving Dean all kinds of memories and feelings that are just wrong, and that's Sam's fault, damn it. "He's from the past."
"Yeah, I kinda figured that." Dean glares from one to the other, considers getting up and clocking them both, thinks better of it and waves them both in. "You better tell me what happened."
Sam gives a relieved sigh, nods to his younger self and crosses into the room to sit on the bed next to Dean. Young Sam takes a seat in the desk chair, hands in the pockets of his hoodie now.
"It's my fault," the younger Sam says. "I was just hanging out with some friends in the dorm, and this girl said she could do a little magic. She said she could give me my heart's desire. I thought it was a joke. I didn't believe her."
"So you're from Stanford," Dean clarifies. "You're from...what? Two-thousand one? Two-thousand two"
Young Sam nods.
"And of course you two have already figured out how to fix this, am I right?"
Sam takes a deep breath, nods. "There's a spell that should reverse the one that got him here. He just needs to hang out here for a while."
"Huh," Dean looks from one to the other Sam, crosses his arms and his ankles defensively. "How long?"
"Twenty-four hours," Sam answers. "We need to do the spell at the same time tomorrow, when the time-streams should be aligned again."
"And this kid goes back where he came from? No memories of all this?" Dean confirms.
"That's the idea," Sam nods. "He goes back to the point in time just before his little witch friend sent him here, only this time he'll be warded, so her spell won't work."
"Okay. Twenty-four hours, then." Dean's trying, really trying, not to freak out over this, not to be too overwhelmed by the sights and smells of two Sams in his bedroom at once, but of course his body has other ideas. He shoots another pointed glance at the younger Sam. "So where you come from, I'm not around."
Young Sam nods, swallows thickly, and Dean can see tears filming over his autumnal eyes. "It's good to see you, Dean. It's...it's been a while."
Dean glances at his Sam, whose face does that empathetic thing that makes Dean roll his eyes. Sam nods his permission, then lowers his chin to his chest and bites his lip. Dean sighs, throws his legs over the side of the bed and gets up, crossing the room in two easy strides as Young Sam rises to his feet, hesitant, pulling his stupid-huge hands out of his pockets hopefully, eyes never leaving Dean's face.
"Come on," Dean mumbles gruffly, reaching out with both hands to grab fistfuls of Young Sam's hoodie, yanking him in. It's damn heart-breaking how easily Young Sam collapses against him, buries his face in Dean's shoulder with a single choked sob. "You're all right. I got you."
"I didn't mean to - " Young Sam sniffles, kneading Dean's back through his shirt, folding his large body into Dean's in that awkward, coltish way Dean remembers from back when this was still so new, when Sam being taller than Dean was still so weird for them both. "I never meant to leave you, Dean. I swear."
"Yeah, I know," Dean's trying not to enjoy this too much, but of course his body responds because it's Sam, and it's familiar, and this whole thing is giving him all kinds of sad, shivery memories of those early years when they first discovered how deep their need for each other went. "It's okay. You're forgiven."
"I - I tried to call - " Young Sam babbles into Dean's shoulder. "I left messages. You disconnected your phone - "
"Shhh," Dean soothes, rubbing the kid's back, running a hand into his long, silky hair. "Yeah, I was pretty pissed at you. I'm over it now, though."
"Dean, I - " Young Sam starts to pull back, and Dean just knows he's not gonna stop going on and on about how sorry he is, how he's missed Dean, yada yada, so Dean does what he's always done to shut Sam up. He kisses him.
Young Sam's mouth is wet and salty with tears, and he gives a little start as their lips come together. His whole body tenses up and goes still, mouth slack with shock for just a moment before he melts into Dean with a low moan. Dean cups the kid's face, marveling at the fuzz on his jaw, the soft apple of his cheek as he kisses deeper into Young Sam's mouth, pushes his tongue between Young Sam's lips to explore the warm, wet interior. His tongue caresses Sam's with the confidence and familiarity of years and years of experience, of knowing how Sam likes it, how Sam needs it.
Young Sam responds eagerly, desperately, like a man who isn't sure he'd ever have this again, like a man who's been spending too much time thinking about how much he missed it, how badly he needed it. Young Sam kisses like a man who's been afraid he'd never kiss Dean again. His big hands slide down over Dean's back, over his ass, holding Dean tight so he can rut against Dean's body as Dean kisses him. Young Sam's tongue chases after Dean's into Dean's mouth, plunders and possesses like a starving man, sloppy and wet and demanding, claiming Dean's mouth with reckless abandon, making Dean's jaws ache. Dean feels consumed by Sam's need, dizzy with lack of air, and he worms his arms down between their bodies and pushes against Sam's unyielding chest, wrenching his mouth away.
"Whoa there, tiger," he gasps, gulping in lungfuls of air, tipping his head back, exposing his throat to Young Sam's hungry mouth, tolerates the kid's kisses for another minute because yeah, it feels damn good, who's he kidding? Being manhandled by this overgrown boy is kinda the hottest thing he can remember about their early years together, and part of him just wants to give in to it, to let Young Sam overpower him because he can, because Dean wants it, because it's such a phenomenal relief to surrender to someone he trusts this way.
Then he remembers his brother.
"Hey, okay, hold on a minute there, Sammy, hold on," he mutters, lips and tongue numb with abuse, so that the words come out slurred, like he's intoxicated, like he's drunk on Young Sam's body, on his mouth, on his breath on Dean's cheek, in his ear.
Which he kind of is. Dean's body is trembling, loose, hard and leaking and so ready for Sam it's embarrassing. He manages to turn his head, raises what must be lust-blown eyes to his brother, his Sam, still sitting on the bed, watching Dean with this younger version of himself. And damn it if Sam's not as turned on as Dean is. Sam's got his hand on his crotch, one leg bent open; he's rubbing his obvious erection, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and dark, cheeks flushed, his pink lips parted and soft.
"You okay with this?" Dean rasps, his voice a little shaky, definitely a little hoarse.
Dean's Sam swallows as his eyes meet Dean's. He gives a brief nod, squeezes his dick through his jeans and closes his eyes, obviously fighting to get himself under control.
"I think we all need to get naked," Dean suggests, clearing his throat as Young Sam's hand closes around it, restricting his airflow, choking off his words.
Young Sam lifts his mouth from Dean's neck, blinks as his forehead furrows into a tiny frown. "Wait, what? Him, too?" He glances over at his doppelgänger, who's already getting up to unbutton his shirt.
"Hell yeah, Sammy," Dean cocks an eyebrow. "You know how much I love twins."
"But him and me are..."
"Better than twins," Dean finishes, feeling his face splitting open in a grin that he just knows Young Sam won't be able to resist. "He knows you better than you know yourself."
"Oh my god," Young Sam moans as Dean unzips his hoodie, pushes it off his broad shoulders, then reaches for the hem of his tee-shirt.
Dean's only got a tee-shirt and jeans on to start with, so stripping is easiest for him, but Young Sam insists on doing it himself, running his hands over Dean's chest with a studied reverence that Dean finds vaguely disconcerting. Dean's Sam has crossed the room to stand behind him, laying his big, warm hands on Dean's shoulders as he leans down to kiss the sensitive spot behind Dean's ear. Dean's eyes close on a shivery sigh and he leans back against his brother's chest on instinct, tipping his head back onto Sam's shoulder as Sam's hands slide down Dean's arms and settle on his hips, pulling Dean's body back to fit snugly against his brother's.
Dean opens his eyes a slit to see Young Sam's reaction. They're all naked as jaybirds, hard and leaking, and Young Sam is still staring at Dean's chest, little frown tugging the corner of his mouth down. He touches the skin below Dean's left nipple with the barest tips of his fingers, caressing the skin lightly before lifting his puzzled gaze to Dean's.
"Your scar's gone," Young Sam notes. "All the scars. How is that possible?"
Dean takes Young Sam's hand in both of his, presses the palm against Dean's chest, over his heart. He reaches up to cup Young Sam's cheek, meeting his gaze with all the big brotherly reassurance he can muster.
"There's a lot you don't want to know about, Sam," he says gently. "You may think your life has been weird so far, but you gotta trust me; it gets weirder."
Young Sam's eyes meet Dean's, then he glances up at his older self, who nods sagely. Young Sam swallows, his eyes going all puppy-dog wide and worried, and Dean shakes his head.
"Sometimes it's just better to let it go, Sam," Dean says, recognizing that familiar dog-with-a-bone stubbornness in his little brother, that obstinacy that Sam's had since he was two-years-old and got into his head that he really wanted something. "You and me have learned to let a lot of stuff go, over the years. Learned to live in the moment. Really live those good moments when we get them." He strokes Young Sam's downy cheek with his thumb, drops his gaze to Young Sam's soft, wet mouth. "This is a good moment, Sammy. A really good one."
Young Sam's anguished gaze holds Dean's until Dean relents, rolling his eyes as he drops his hand to Young Sam's bare shoulder.
"All right, Sam," Dean sighs. "I promise I'll answer all your questions. You're not gonna remember anyway, right? We'll tell you whatever you want to know. Promise. Just - can we do this now?"
Young Sam relaxes then, nodding subtly, lips turning up into a dimpled grin as he gets what he wants.
"Sex first, ask questions later, isn't that always the way?" he teases, and Dean tips his head as Young Sam moves in, pressing his body into Dean's, huge hands cradling Dean's face as he leans down to kiss him.
"Always," Dean agrees as their lips meet.
Dean decides this is just about the hottest thing ever, being sandwiched between two naked Sams, kissing one while being caressed and felt up by the other one. Then the older Sam takes a turn at his mouth while the younger one drops to his knees to take Dean's cock into his mouth and Dean decides that is the hottest thing ever. Until both Sams start feeling up his crack and balls and Dean needs to see their huge hands on each other because that thought is positively frying his brain.
"On your back. On the bed. Now," Dean orders, yanking on a fistful of Young Sam's hair to get his attention. He knows his Sam will follow his lead on this, but this younger Sam is volatile and unpredictable, still spoiled and self-involved and used to getting his own way on everything. Hasn't yet been beaten down by life and...other things. He's still full of all the energy and rebelliousness of youth.
Still young and impressionable and so in love with his brother he can barely contain himself.
But he listens. Dean's impressed, actually, at how well Young Sam follows directions, lets Dean's cock go with a wet pop, scrambles onto the bed and lays himself out like he's the main coarse at a fancy dinner. Exactly like that, in fact. Young Sam is long and lean and still so smooth and unscarred, so tan and perfect and untouched, he takes Dean's breath away so that all he can do is stare, mouth hanging open, probably drooling a little.
"Jesus," Dean breathes, and Young Sam's hips cant up in invitation.
"Come on," he murmurs, huge, heavy cock jerking against his flat belly. "Come on, Dean." He spreads his legs, and Dean almost comes untouched, remembering with a sudden wave of lust exactly how it felt to bury himself in that smooth, tight ass for the first time. Young Sam reaches down and grabs his cock, giving it a few slow pulls as he runs his tongue over his lips, caresses his chest with his long fingers, putting on an obscene little show. "Fuck me, Dean. Come on!"
"Yeah, okay," Dean murmurs, unable to tear his eyes away from the feast spread out before him. "Always such a little tease. Fuck."
Young Sam watches as Dean crawls onto the bed, between his legs, keeping his eyes on Young Sam's as he bends down and licks a swath up the velvety surface of his angry red cock. The kid sucks in a breath, bucks up to keep contact as Dean's tongue curls around the underside of the head, eyes squeezed tight against the surge of sensation. Young Sam tastes just like Dean remembers; sweaty and vaguely bitter, but with that lingering yeasty flavor like fresh milk that Dean always loved. Young Sam still tastes like the baby Dean cared for, the little boy with bloody knees and tear-stained cheeks who needed Dean's reassurance even more than a kiss or a bandaid, although Dean provided those too. Young Sam is a living memory of Dean's childhood, an immediate reminder of frozen dinners and Froot Loops and waiting up for Dad to come home from the bar or return from a hunt, of lying in bed with the baby, the toddler, the little boy who needed Dean's constant presence in order to fall asleep. He's the fierce, temperamental pre-teen, the horny, doe-eyed teenager who wouldn't keep his hands to himself, whose whining and begging kept Dean awake at night, hot and hard in his own bed, so desperate for Sam he couldn't remember why he was supposed to push him away.
Dean buries his nose in the juncture of Young Sam's hip and groin; he kisses the inside of Young Sam's soft, sweaty thigh, sucks in a mouthful of tender skin and worries it with his teeth. Young Sam moans, bucks up against Dean's mouth, curses and grabs behind his knee, pulls his leg back, exposing his tight, dark hole.
Dean's Sam has his warm hands on Dean's back, gently messaging his shoulders, sweeping over the sensitive skin of Dean's sides to reach his dripping cock. Sam grips Dean's dick with one hand and spreads his ass with the other, long middle finger brushing down between his ass cheeks as Dean gets his mouth on Young Sam's hole. Young Sam cries out as Dean's tongue pushes against his rim, sucking and licking at the puckered skin, loosening the tight muscle. He feels his Sam's mouth on his back now, kissing up his spine, and he remembers his earlier need to watch the two Sams kissing.
Dean gives Young Sam's hole another deep-tongued kiss, then lets it go, pushing back against his Sam and turning his head so he can find Sam's mouth, kissing him wet and sloppy, feeding him the taste of his younger self. Sam's a trooper; he takes it like he loves it, moaning into Dean's mouth.
"Need to see you and him together," Dean gasps as he comes up for air, cradling Sam's face in his hands as he sits back on his heels, still kneeling between Young Sam's wide-spread legs.
Sam licks his lips, raises lust-blown eyes to Dean, and nods. "Okay," he agrees hoarsely. He looks down at his younger self, winces a little, like it hurts to see himself so young and untouched by the future Sam knows is coming, like the memories are painful. He stretches out on the bed alongside Young Sam, whose eyes are mere slits, his body open and loose and trembling with need. Sam slides his hand along Young Sam's jaw, turning his head so their eyes meet, so Sam has his attention. "I'm gonna kiss you now, if that's okay."
Young Sam looks blankly at Sam for a moment, then shoots a questioning glance at Dean.
"He wants to watch," Sam explains softly.
Young Sam blinks, licks his lips, then lifts his eyes to Sam's again and nods as his lust-clouded brain gets with the program.
Dean almost comes untouched again. Something about the way Young Sam just trusts him, trusts them, almost ends it for Dean right then and there. He grabs his dick as Sam touches his mouth to Young Sam's soft lips, unable to control the moan that escapes his throat, fighting to keep himself from going over the edge right the hell now.
"Fuck," he gasps as Sam and Young Sam get right down to it with their familiar impatience, just tearing into each other's mouths with tongues and teeth. They struggle for a rhythm, both used to dominating, to taking what they need from a partner, except when it's Dean. They paw at each other's faces, pull each other's hair, but the older Sam gets the upper hand when he presses his thumb against the pulse point below Young Sam's ear, making him gasp and arch his body gorgeously. Dean's got his hands on Young Sam's hips, just holding on as the older Sam nips a trail along Young Sam's long, exposed throat. When Sam takes his younger self's earlobe between his teeth, Young Sam lets out a strangled moan that's almost a whine. No, it's definitely a whine.
Dean chuckles as Young Sam comes apart, bats his hand away when Young Sam tries to grab his own dick, trying to stave off his orgasm.
"That's all right, sweetheart," Dean rumbles as he grabs Young Sam's dick, thumbs the wet slit. "You can come for me if you want to. I got you."
"God, Dean," Young Sam chokes out, reaching down to touch Dean's face, sliding his hand into Dean's hair as Dean lowers his mouth to the head of Young Sam's dick. He licks the slit, then sucks the head into his mouth, keeping his eyes on Young Sam's as he does it, holding the base of Young Sam's dick firmly in his fist.
"Fuck!" The kid's eyes slide closed, his body arches up off the bed and Dean's mouth is flooded with warm, wet Sam-juice as Young Sam's body goes rigid. Dean slips his index finger down behind Young Sam's balls, into his tight little hole, still wet with Dean's spit, and Young Sam lets out a choked sob, dick twitching in Dean's mouth as he comes and comes and comes.
Dean concentrates on swallowing, his own dick painfully hard, and as soon as he's sure he's got it all he pulls off, heads for the bedside table to get the lube.
Sam sits up as Dean kneels between Young Sam's splayed knees again, watches as Dean lubes his fingers and Young Sam's already-loosened hole.
"Your mouth, Dean," Sam breathes, leaning in to cup Dean's chin, tip it up so Sam can reach his lips. Sam's lips are kiss-swollen and bruised, his cheeks flushed, and Dean feels a low moan escape his chest as Sam kisses him, tasting his younger self again.
"Need you to fuck me," Dean murmurs against Sam's lips. "Soon as I'm fucking him. Can you do that?"
"Yeah," Sam pants, pupils blown so dark there's no other color left. He kisses deep and sloppy, tangling his tongue with Dean's until they're both gasping and desperate. He's got his big hand on his own dick, and Dean reaches down and grabs Sam's hand, curls it around Dean's dick instead.
"Come on," Dean growls. "You can help me put it in."
"Oh God," Sam practically chokes as Dean slides his hands under Young Sam's thighs and kneels up, letting Sam get into position behind him before he raises his eyes to Young Sam's. Young Sam's looking down the length of his body, watching them with heavy-lidded eyes, mere dark slits under his eyelashes. His cheeks, nose, and chest are flushed, and he looks the perfect picture of blissed-out depravity.
"Pull your legs back, Sammy," Dean instructs, pushing on the backs of Young Sam's knees so that he's bent almost in half, exposing his lube-slick hole as Young Sam obeys. "Now hold 'em there." Dean grabs a pillow, shoves it up under Young Sam's hips to give him the leverage he needs, waits for Sam to line his dick up. Seeing Sam's big arm around him, his long fingers wrapped around Dean's dick, Dean almost loses it again. He can feel Sam's broad chest pushed up against his back, furnace hot and sweating as usual, and he knows Sam's watching over Dean's shoulder as he helps Dean fuck his younger self because he can feel his breath against Dean's cheek, and it's almost too much.
Dean closes his eyes to shut out the visual over-stimulation. He covers the hand that's holding his dick and squeezes, letting Sam know he's struggling for control. Of course Sam chooses that moment to push against Dean from behind, his engorged mammoth cock slotting against Dean's ass. The pressure forces the head of Dean's dick right past the tight rim of Young Sam's hole, causing Young Sam to give a cry that's something between a non-verbal groan of surprised ecstasy and a verbal exhalation that sounds vaguely like Dean's name, or maybe "Damn!" Either way, Dean's in, sliding home with a long, uncontrolled thrust that makes Young Sam whine and pant, makes him sweat and squirm and throw his head back, eyes squeezed shut, neck muscles strained tight.
"Jesus, Sam, hold up," Dean gasps, blinking away tears that suddenly smart his eyes as the pleasure of being buried deep in his baby brother's ass practically undoes any shred of self-control he might have had. He grasps Young Sam's thigh with one hand, reaches around behind him to grab for Sam's ass, meaning to give it a swat or a pinch. But Sam's already sitting back, slicking himself up so he can get this show on the road, although as far as Dean's concerned it's already on a crash course straight off the edge of a cliff, destined to explode on impact.
"You okay, Sammy?" Dean rubs Young Sam's thigh and the kid nods.
"Yeah," he gasps. "It's good. I'm good."
To prove it, Young Sam rocks a little on Dean's dick, giving him some friction, and Holy Shit that's something that he really didn't need to do. Dean can feel himself spurting precome into Young Sam's hole, and he can tell Young Sam feels it because he moans and does it again, the fucker.
"Gotta hold off there, cowboy," Dean gasps. "Just give me a minute, will ya?"
Young Sam smirks then, looks down at Dean, which is when Dean notices the kid's dick is hard and leaking again.
Teenagers. Jesus.
"Need a little time to adjust, old man?" Young Sam teases, and oh no. This kid did not just do that.
"I'll show you old, sonny," Dean growls, pulling his dick back just enough to pound back in, doing it again and again till he hits that place that makes Young Sam see stars, makes him throw back his head and keen like a girl, the gorgeous little bastard. "That's it. That's it, Sam." He slams again and again into that sweet spot, till Young Sam's a quivering mess of over-stimulated nerve-endings, till there are tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes, rolling down the sides of his face and into his ears, his oversensitive dick leaking a steady pool onto his stomach.
Sam's got the slicked up fingers of one hand in Dean's ass, the other hand spread flat between Dean's shoulder blades, pushing his upper body down, the better to display his backside as Sam loosens him up. Dean mouths along Young Sam's smooth jaw till he finds his mouth. They kiss long and deep and filthy, Dean's head swimming with memories of his beautiful brother's sweet little mouth even while he's kissing it, part of him unable to believe this is real. His thrusts slow down, become less frantic, more undulating as he loses himself in Young Sam's warm mouth, his pliant young body. He reaches up to push the hair back from Young Sam's sweaty forehead, pulls back enough to look, to take in every flutter of the boy's eyelashes, every almost-forgotten inch of smooth baby skin.
Dean's still gazing, reverent and worshipful, as Sam pushes his gigantic tree-trunk of a cock up his ass.
"Jesus Fucking Christ!" Dean cries out, more from the shock than any real pain, since Sam's done his usual excellent job prepping him. Sam lean down over him to kiss the back of his neck.
"Nope," Sam's mouth smiles against his skin. "Just me. Sam Fucking Winchester."
It's awkward, not exactly comfortable, and now Dean's pretty damn sure he won't last, but there's something to it. There's definitely something to be said for being balls deep in his brother while his brother is balls deep in him at the same time. Kinda gives a whole new meaning to the idea of double-dipping. Or double-stuffing.
This thought makes him laugh out loud, which earns him a serious pounding from his older little brother, who apparently doesn't like being laughed at when he's performing.
"You think this is funny?" Sam pants as he pounds into Dean, making Dean pound harder into Young Sam.
"N -- no, not exactly," Dean huffs as he takes it like a man, biting back a choked sob as Sam hits his sweet spot. "Damn it, Sam. I'm gonna -- I can't -- :
"Go 'head, Dean," Sam growls. "Come for me, big brother. Come on."
"Only if you come first!" Dean grits out, which is when Young Sam cants his hips up and goes rigid.
"Oh my God!" he gasps, long neck tipped back, body strung tight like a bow, so beautiful beneath Dean that it's like his sexiest porno come to life.
Oh right. Sam is his sexiest porno. In all his incarnations.
Although Dean would have to admit this nineteen-year-old version is just about the hottest thing ever. He doesn't remember Sammy being so hot at this age. Maybe it's something about being twice the age of this young buck, which he wasn't the first time around, and how perverted and dirty is that?
"Oh shit, Dean," Sam cries, going rigid behind him less than half a minute after his younger self, and that's it. Dean's totally done now because Sam's cock is pulsing in his ass and Sam's got his mouth on the juncture of Dean's neck and shoulder and he's biting, the asshole, and suddenly Dean's body just lets go, flooding Young Sam with warm, wet jizz that eases his way so he can pump a few more times, whiting out with the sheer force of his orgasm, bending down to mouth blindly at Young Sam's beautiful face as the kid keeps coming all over himself and Dean.
Dean's vaguely aware of Sam rolling off him, of Sam having at least the presence of mind not to crush him, although he collapses for a solid minute and Dean can feel his heart pounding against his back as he's pressed between the two Sams like some kind of human Samwich. Har, har, his blissed-out brain supplies helpfully, although he's too relaxed to so much as chuckle.
He can feel it when his dick slips free of Young Sam's warm body. "Grgludub," he protests articulately as his wet dick hits cold air. But it's warm here on top of Young Sam's humungous body, and Dean's asleep before he has another coherent thought, which is a good thing because his brain has gone sorta loopy anyway.
**//**
Later, after they wake up and clean up and fuck some more and take a shower together and go back to bed for more sex and more sleep, Sam goes off to the kitchen to make them some food. Dean lets Young Sam curl up against him like a puppy because Dean's older and wiser now and he can't remember for the life of him why he used to pretend he didn't like to cuddle. Not that Sam ever paid any attention when he said things like that anyway, but he knows now he probably managed to hurt the kid's feelings, which is just not okay. This younger version of Sam is so vulnerable, so open, and it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch to know what's lying ahead of him in his horrible, violent life, and Dean would do anything -- anything -- to protect him from that. Cuddling is the least he can do.
"So, you've done this before," Young Sam suggests.
Dean raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't even try to deny it. This is Sam, and Sam knows him, knows his tells. It'd be easier lying to a psychic.
"Yeah," he admits, running his hand up Young Sam's smooth, warm torso, letting his thumb flick over the kid's sensitive, reddened nipple. "Twice."
"But why? Why bring younger versions of me from the past? Do you ever get visits from future me?"
"Nope," Dean shakes his head, answering the last question first, ignoring the others.
"Have you ever seen me younger?" Young Sam's voice drops, whispers, the tip of his pink tongue flicking out to swipe across his bottom lip as his cheeks flush. "You know, like before last summer?"
Dean lets a lazy grin curl up the corners of his mouth as he remembers the summer in question. "You mean, have I ever fucked you before the first time I fucked you?" he drawls.
Young Sam's eyes fly open wide and his lips part, bottom one slick with spit. "Have you?" he presses, hips grinding almost imperceptively against Dean's body.
Dean slides his hand up Young Sam's neck, cups his jaw. "Wanted to. You were always such an eager little tease," Dean murmurs, letting his thumb catch on the corner of Young Sam's mouth, rub at the damp skin. The kid's tongue flicks out, curls around Dean's thumb, sucks it into his mouth. He gazes up at Dean as he sucks his thumb and Dean chuckles low in his throat. "You're so good with part of me in your mouth," he purrs, and Young Sam moans, arches up and closes his eyes, sucking harder. "Almost makes me forget what a little pain the ass you were."
"So, why?" Young Sam asks again when he finally lets Dean's thumb go, and Dean sighs. There's no shaking loose this stubborn puppy when he's got a bone in his mouth, that's for sure. "Why am I here?"
"It was Sam's idea," Dean sighs. "He thinks it's a good way for me to deal with the past, I guess. Beats therapy, which he knows I won't do."
"Huh," Young Sam swallows. "It's that bad, in the future? I mean, you and me are together, right? Obviously, we work it out."
Dean's got one arm around the kid already, so he just pulls him in a little closer, hugging him against Dean's chest. "Yeah," he breathes. "We work it out. It ain't always easy, but it's us, right?"
"So bad stuff happens, but we face it together," Young Sam suggests.
"Mostly," Dean agrees.
Young Sam takes a deep breath, lets it out slow. "I guess that's all I really want to know," he nods. "None of the details matter anyway, since I won't remember them."
Dean seriously doubts the kid will really let it go; he probably figures he can get Sam to answer his questions later anyway. For now, Young Sam snuggles down against Dean's chest, tangles his legs with Dean's, and lies still while Dean cards his fingers through the kid's silky hair. Dean knows they only have a minute or two until Sam comes in to get them for whatever meal he's scrounged up in the kitchen, then the tour of the bunker that Young Sam wants and Sam promised to give him, along with more nerdy Sam-time doing nerdy Sam-stuff that Dean will probably bow out of entirely. Dean's just hoping they have time for a couple more rounds of this incredible best-fantasy-ever-come-to-life sex they've been having before it's time to send Young Sam back where (and when) he came from.
But for now, time feels suspended, like maybe it's not going anywhere for a while, like it's just leaving them be. Dean's fine with that. He's just made peace with another part of his past, and now it's lying here in his arms and they're both at rest.
It's good. For now, right this minute, it's good. And if that's all he gets out of this life, these moments when it's good like this, then Dean's okay with that. Really, he is.
He turns his face into Young Sam's soft hair and closes his eyes.
Sam crowds awkwardly into the doorway of Dean's room, sheepish, lost-puppy look planted firmly on his gorgeous mug, and Dean knows he's in trouble. Dean's been fine, just listening to his music, losing himself in AC/DC, Bob Seeger, a little Aerosmith, maybe some Taylor Swift. Now what?
"What's up?" Dean's gotta ask, peeling his headphones off, laying them on the bed beside him.
Not getting up, that's for sure.
"Uh, yeah," Sam clears his throat, shuffles his feet. "We've got a visitor."
He moves aside, shooting a glance at somebody to his right, just out of sight. Dean's only got a moment to consider that whoever it is isn't a danger to them, or Sam wouldn't be so...whatever this is he's being. Shy? Apologetic? Embarrassed? Then the doorway is filled with a tall, gangly boy with floppy bangs and smooth mole-riddled skin and Dean's eyebrows go up, way up.
"Hey, Dean," the kid says, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, hunching over in his hoodie like he can somehow hide his six-foot-four frame inside it.
"Sam?" Dean stares, can't take his eyes away, just drinks in this younger, more innocent vision of his brother like a glass of cool water on a hot day. "What the hell?" He finally drags his eyes away, frowning at the older Sam, his Sam, demanding an explanation. "Where did he come from?"
"My closet," Sam shrugs, looking ridiculously contrite, as well he should. Conjuring younger versions of yourself is just plain rude. This young Sam is giving Dean all kinds of memories and feelings that are just wrong, and that's Sam's fault, damn it. "He's from the past."
"Yeah, I kinda figured that." Dean glares from one to the other, considers getting up and clocking them both, thinks better of it and waves them both in. "You better tell me what happened."
Sam gives a relieved sigh, nods to his younger self and crosses into the room to sit on the bed next to Dean. Young Sam takes a seat in the desk chair, hands in the pockets of his hoodie now.
"It's my fault," the younger Sam says. "I was just hanging out with some friends in the dorm, and this girl said she could do a little magic. She said she could give me my heart's desire. I thought it was a joke. I didn't believe her."
"So you're from Stanford," Dean clarifies. "You're from...what? Two-thousand one? Two-thousand two"
Young Sam nods.
"And of course you two have already figured out how to fix this, am I right?"
Sam takes a deep breath, nods. "There's a spell that should reverse the one that got him here. He just needs to hang out here for a while."
"Huh," Dean looks from one to the other Sam, crosses his arms and his ankles defensively. "How long?"
"Twenty-four hours," Sam answers. "We need to do the spell at the same time tomorrow, when the time-streams should be aligned again."
"And this kid goes back where he came from? No memories of all this?" Dean confirms.
"That's the idea," Sam nods. "He goes back to the point in time just before his little witch friend sent him here, only this time he'll be warded, so her spell won't work."
"Okay. Twenty-four hours, then." Dean's trying, really trying, not to freak out over this, not to be too overwhelmed by the sights and smells of two Sams in his bedroom at once, but of course his body has other ideas. He shoots another pointed glance at the younger Sam. "So where you come from, I'm not around."
Young Sam nods, swallows thickly, and Dean can see tears filming over his autumnal eyes. "It's good to see you, Dean. It's...it's been a while."
Dean glances at his Sam, whose face does that empathetic thing that makes Dean roll his eyes. Sam nods his permission, then lowers his chin to his chest and bites his lip. Dean sighs, throws his legs over the side of the bed and gets up, crossing the room in two easy strides as Young Sam rises to his feet, hesitant, pulling his stupid-huge hands out of his pockets hopefully, eyes never leaving Dean's face.
"Come on," Dean mumbles gruffly, reaching out with both hands to grab fistfuls of Young Sam's hoodie, yanking him in. It's damn heart-breaking how easily Young Sam collapses against him, buries his face in Dean's shoulder with a single choked sob. "You're all right. I got you."
"I didn't mean to - " Young Sam sniffles, kneading Dean's back through his shirt, folding his large body into Dean's in that awkward, coltish way Dean remembers from back when this was still so new, when Sam being taller than Dean was still so weird for them both. "I never meant to leave you, Dean. I swear."
"Yeah, I know," Dean's trying not to enjoy this too much, but of course his body responds because it's Sam, and it's familiar, and this whole thing is giving him all kinds of sad, shivery memories of those early years when they first discovered how deep their need for each other went. "It's okay. You're forgiven."
"I - I tried to call - " Young Sam babbles into Dean's shoulder. "I left messages. You disconnected your phone - "
"Shhh," Dean soothes, rubbing the kid's back, running a hand into his long, silky hair. "Yeah, I was pretty pissed at you. I'm over it now, though."
"Dean, I - " Young Sam starts to pull back, and Dean just knows he's not gonna stop going on and on about how sorry he is, how he's missed Dean, yada yada, so Dean does what he's always done to shut Sam up. He kisses him.
Young Sam's mouth is wet and salty with tears, and he gives a little start as their lips come together. His whole body tenses up and goes still, mouth slack with shock for just a moment before he melts into Dean with a low moan. Dean cups the kid's face, marveling at the fuzz on his jaw, the soft apple of his cheek as he kisses deeper into Young Sam's mouth, pushes his tongue between Young Sam's lips to explore the warm, wet interior. His tongue caresses Sam's with the confidence and familiarity of years and years of experience, of knowing how Sam likes it, how Sam needs it.
Young Sam responds eagerly, desperately, like a man who isn't sure he'd ever have this again, like a man who's been spending too much time thinking about how much he missed it, how badly he needed it. Young Sam kisses like a man who's been afraid he'd never kiss Dean again. His big hands slide down over Dean's back, over his ass, holding Dean tight so he can rut against Dean's body as Dean kisses him. Young Sam's tongue chases after Dean's into Dean's mouth, plunders and possesses like a starving man, sloppy and wet and demanding, claiming Dean's mouth with reckless abandon, making Dean's jaws ache. Dean feels consumed by Sam's need, dizzy with lack of air, and he worms his arms down between their bodies and pushes against Sam's unyielding chest, wrenching his mouth away.
"Whoa there, tiger," he gasps, gulping in lungfuls of air, tipping his head back, exposing his throat to Young Sam's hungry mouth, tolerates the kid's kisses for another minute because yeah, it feels damn good, who's he kidding? Being manhandled by this overgrown boy is kinda the hottest thing he can remember about their early years together, and part of him just wants to give in to it, to let Young Sam overpower him because he can, because Dean wants it, because it's such a phenomenal relief to surrender to someone he trusts this way.
Then he remembers his brother.
"Hey, okay, hold on a minute there, Sammy, hold on," he mutters, lips and tongue numb with abuse, so that the words come out slurred, like he's intoxicated, like he's drunk on Young Sam's body, on his mouth, on his breath on Dean's cheek, in his ear.
Which he kind of is. Dean's body is trembling, loose, hard and leaking and so ready for Sam it's embarrassing. He manages to turn his head, raises what must be lust-blown eyes to his brother, his Sam, still sitting on the bed, watching Dean with this younger version of himself. And damn it if Sam's not as turned on as Dean is. Sam's got his hand on his crotch, one leg bent open; he's rubbing his obvious erection, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and dark, cheeks flushed, his pink lips parted and soft.
"You okay with this?" Dean rasps, his voice a little shaky, definitely a little hoarse.
Dean's Sam swallows as his eyes meet Dean's. He gives a brief nod, squeezes his dick through his jeans and closes his eyes, obviously fighting to get himself under control.
"I think we all need to get naked," Dean suggests, clearing his throat as Young Sam's hand closes around it, restricting his airflow, choking off his words.
Young Sam lifts his mouth from Dean's neck, blinks as his forehead furrows into a tiny frown. "Wait, what? Him, too?" He glances over at his doppelgänger, who's already getting up to unbutton his shirt.
"Hell yeah, Sammy," Dean cocks an eyebrow. "You know how much I love twins."
"But him and me are..."
"Better than twins," Dean finishes, feeling his face splitting open in a grin that he just knows Young Sam won't be able to resist. "He knows you better than you know yourself."
"Oh my god," Young Sam moans as Dean unzips his hoodie, pushes it off his broad shoulders, then reaches for the hem of his tee-shirt.
Dean's only got a tee-shirt and jeans on to start with, so stripping is easiest for him, but Young Sam insists on doing it himself, running his hands over Dean's chest with a studied reverence that Dean finds vaguely disconcerting. Dean's Sam has crossed the room to stand behind him, laying his big, warm hands on Dean's shoulders as he leans down to kiss the sensitive spot behind Dean's ear. Dean's eyes close on a shivery sigh and he leans back against his brother's chest on instinct, tipping his head back onto Sam's shoulder as Sam's hands slide down Dean's arms and settle on his hips, pulling Dean's body back to fit snugly against his brother's.
Dean opens his eyes a slit to see Young Sam's reaction. They're all naked as jaybirds, hard and leaking, and Young Sam is still staring at Dean's chest, little frown tugging the corner of his mouth down. He touches the skin below Dean's left nipple with the barest tips of his fingers, caressing the skin lightly before lifting his puzzled gaze to Dean's.
"Your scar's gone," Young Sam notes. "All the scars. How is that possible?"
Dean takes Young Sam's hand in both of his, presses the palm against Dean's chest, over his heart. He reaches up to cup Young Sam's cheek, meeting his gaze with all the big brotherly reassurance he can muster.
"There's a lot you don't want to know about, Sam," he says gently. "You may think your life has been weird so far, but you gotta trust me; it gets weirder."
Young Sam's eyes meet Dean's, then he glances up at his older self, who nods sagely. Young Sam swallows, his eyes going all puppy-dog wide and worried, and Dean shakes his head.
"Sometimes it's just better to let it go, Sam," Dean says, recognizing that familiar dog-with-a-bone stubbornness in his little brother, that obstinacy that Sam's had since he was two-years-old and got into his head that he really wanted something. "You and me have learned to let a lot of stuff go, over the years. Learned to live in the moment. Really live those good moments when we get them." He strokes Young Sam's downy cheek with his thumb, drops his gaze to Young Sam's soft, wet mouth. "This is a good moment, Sammy. A really good one."
Young Sam's anguished gaze holds Dean's until Dean relents, rolling his eyes as he drops his hand to Young Sam's bare shoulder.
"All right, Sam," Dean sighs. "I promise I'll answer all your questions. You're not gonna remember anyway, right? We'll tell you whatever you want to know. Promise. Just - can we do this now?"
Young Sam relaxes then, nodding subtly, lips turning up into a dimpled grin as he gets what he wants.
"Sex first, ask questions later, isn't that always the way?" he teases, and Dean tips his head as Young Sam moves in, pressing his body into Dean's, huge hands cradling Dean's face as he leans down to kiss him.
"Always," Dean agrees as their lips meet.
Dean decides this is just about the hottest thing ever, being sandwiched between two naked Sams, kissing one while being caressed and felt up by the other one. Then the older Sam takes a turn at his mouth while the younger one drops to his knees to take Dean's cock into his mouth and Dean decides that is the hottest thing ever. Until both Sams start feeling up his crack and balls and Dean needs to see their huge hands on each other because that thought is positively frying his brain.
"On your back. On the bed. Now," Dean orders, yanking on a fistful of Young Sam's hair to get his attention. He knows his Sam will follow his lead on this, but this younger Sam is volatile and unpredictable, still spoiled and self-involved and used to getting his own way on everything. Hasn't yet been beaten down by life and...other things. He's still full of all the energy and rebelliousness of youth.
Still young and impressionable and so in love with his brother he can barely contain himself.
But he listens. Dean's impressed, actually, at how well Young Sam follows directions, lets Dean's cock go with a wet pop, scrambles onto the bed and lays himself out like he's the main coarse at a fancy dinner. Exactly like that, in fact. Young Sam is long and lean and still so smooth and unscarred, so tan and perfect and untouched, he takes Dean's breath away so that all he can do is stare, mouth hanging open, probably drooling a little.
"Jesus," Dean breathes, and Young Sam's hips cant up in invitation.
"Come on," he murmurs, huge, heavy cock jerking against his flat belly. "Come on, Dean." He spreads his legs, and Dean almost comes untouched, remembering with a sudden wave of lust exactly how it felt to bury himself in that smooth, tight ass for the first time. Young Sam reaches down and grabs his cock, giving it a few slow pulls as he runs his tongue over his lips, caresses his chest with his long fingers, putting on an obscene little show. "Fuck me, Dean. Come on!"
"Yeah, okay," Dean murmurs, unable to tear his eyes away from the feast spread out before him. "Always such a little tease. Fuck."
Young Sam watches as Dean crawls onto the bed, between his legs, keeping his eyes on Young Sam's as he bends down and licks a swath up the velvety surface of his angry red cock. The kid sucks in a breath, bucks up to keep contact as Dean's tongue curls around the underside of the head, eyes squeezed tight against the surge of sensation. Young Sam tastes just like Dean remembers; sweaty and vaguely bitter, but with that lingering yeasty flavor like fresh milk that Dean always loved. Young Sam still tastes like the baby Dean cared for, the little boy with bloody knees and tear-stained cheeks who needed Dean's reassurance even more than a kiss or a bandaid, although Dean provided those too. Young Sam is a living memory of Dean's childhood, an immediate reminder of frozen dinners and Froot Loops and waiting up for Dad to come home from the bar or return from a hunt, of lying in bed with the baby, the toddler, the little boy who needed Dean's constant presence in order to fall asleep. He's the fierce, temperamental pre-teen, the horny, doe-eyed teenager who wouldn't keep his hands to himself, whose whining and begging kept Dean awake at night, hot and hard in his own bed, so desperate for Sam he couldn't remember why he was supposed to push him away.
Dean buries his nose in the juncture of Young Sam's hip and groin; he kisses the inside of Young Sam's soft, sweaty thigh, sucks in a mouthful of tender skin and worries it with his teeth. Young Sam moans, bucks up against Dean's mouth, curses and grabs behind his knee, pulls his leg back, exposing his tight, dark hole.
Dean's Sam has his warm hands on Dean's back, gently messaging his shoulders, sweeping over the sensitive skin of Dean's sides to reach his dripping cock. Sam grips Dean's dick with one hand and spreads his ass with the other, long middle finger brushing down between his ass cheeks as Dean gets his mouth on Young Sam's hole. Young Sam cries out as Dean's tongue pushes against his rim, sucking and licking at the puckered skin, loosening the tight muscle. He feels his Sam's mouth on his back now, kissing up his spine, and he remembers his earlier need to watch the two Sams kissing.
Dean gives Young Sam's hole another deep-tongued kiss, then lets it go, pushing back against his Sam and turning his head so he can find Sam's mouth, kissing him wet and sloppy, feeding him the taste of his younger self. Sam's a trooper; he takes it like he loves it, moaning into Dean's mouth.
"Need to see you and him together," Dean gasps as he comes up for air, cradling Sam's face in his hands as he sits back on his heels, still kneeling between Young Sam's wide-spread legs.
Sam licks his lips, raises lust-blown eyes to Dean, and nods. "Okay," he agrees hoarsely. He looks down at his younger self, winces a little, like it hurts to see himself so young and untouched by the future Sam knows is coming, like the memories are painful. He stretches out on the bed alongside Young Sam, whose eyes are mere slits, his body open and loose and trembling with need. Sam slides his hand along Young Sam's jaw, turning his head so their eyes meet, so Sam has his attention. "I'm gonna kiss you now, if that's okay."
Young Sam looks blankly at Sam for a moment, then shoots a questioning glance at Dean.
"He wants to watch," Sam explains softly.
Young Sam blinks, licks his lips, then lifts his eyes to Sam's again and nods as his lust-clouded brain gets with the program.
Dean almost comes untouched again. Something about the way Young Sam just trusts him, trusts them, almost ends it for Dean right then and there. He grabs his dick as Sam touches his mouth to Young Sam's soft lips, unable to control the moan that escapes his throat, fighting to keep himself from going over the edge right the hell now.
"Fuck," he gasps as Sam and Young Sam get right down to it with their familiar impatience, just tearing into each other's mouths with tongues and teeth. They struggle for a rhythm, both used to dominating, to taking what they need from a partner, except when it's Dean. They paw at each other's faces, pull each other's hair, but the older Sam gets the upper hand when he presses his thumb against the pulse point below Young Sam's ear, making him gasp and arch his body gorgeously. Dean's got his hands on Young Sam's hips, just holding on as the older Sam nips a trail along Young Sam's long, exposed throat. When Sam takes his younger self's earlobe between his teeth, Young Sam lets out a strangled moan that's almost a whine. No, it's definitely a whine.
Dean chuckles as Young Sam comes apart, bats his hand away when Young Sam tries to grab his own dick, trying to stave off his orgasm.
"That's all right, sweetheart," Dean rumbles as he grabs Young Sam's dick, thumbs the wet slit. "You can come for me if you want to. I got you."
"God, Dean," Young Sam chokes out, reaching down to touch Dean's face, sliding his hand into Dean's hair as Dean lowers his mouth to the head of Young Sam's dick. He licks the slit, then sucks the head into his mouth, keeping his eyes on Young Sam's as he does it, holding the base of Young Sam's dick firmly in his fist.
"Fuck!" The kid's eyes slide closed, his body arches up off the bed and Dean's mouth is flooded with warm, wet Sam-juice as Young Sam's body goes rigid. Dean slips his index finger down behind Young Sam's balls, into his tight little hole, still wet with Dean's spit, and Young Sam lets out a choked sob, dick twitching in Dean's mouth as he comes and comes and comes.
Dean concentrates on swallowing, his own dick painfully hard, and as soon as he's sure he's got it all he pulls off, heads for the bedside table to get the lube.
Sam sits up as Dean kneels between Young Sam's splayed knees again, watches as Dean lubes his fingers and Young Sam's already-loosened hole.
"Your mouth, Dean," Sam breathes, leaning in to cup Dean's chin, tip it up so Sam can reach his lips. Sam's lips are kiss-swollen and bruised, his cheeks flushed, and Dean feels a low moan escape his chest as Sam kisses him, tasting his younger self again.
"Need you to fuck me," Dean murmurs against Sam's lips. "Soon as I'm fucking him. Can you do that?"
"Yeah," Sam pants, pupils blown so dark there's no other color left. He kisses deep and sloppy, tangling his tongue with Dean's until they're both gasping and desperate. He's got his big hand on his own dick, and Dean reaches down and grabs Sam's hand, curls it around Dean's dick instead.
"Come on," Dean growls. "You can help me put it in."
"Oh God," Sam practically chokes as Dean slides his hands under Young Sam's thighs and kneels up, letting Sam get into position behind him before he raises his eyes to Young Sam's. Young Sam's looking down the length of his body, watching them with heavy-lidded eyes, mere dark slits under his eyelashes. His cheeks, nose, and chest are flushed, and he looks the perfect picture of blissed-out depravity.
"Pull your legs back, Sammy," Dean instructs, pushing on the backs of Young Sam's knees so that he's bent almost in half, exposing his lube-slick hole as Young Sam obeys. "Now hold 'em there." Dean grabs a pillow, shoves it up under Young Sam's hips to give him the leverage he needs, waits for Sam to line his dick up. Seeing Sam's big arm around him, his long fingers wrapped around Dean's dick, Dean almost loses it again. He can feel Sam's broad chest pushed up against his back, furnace hot and sweating as usual, and he knows Sam's watching over Dean's shoulder as he helps Dean fuck his younger self because he can feel his breath against Dean's cheek, and it's almost too much.
Dean closes his eyes to shut out the visual over-stimulation. He covers the hand that's holding his dick and squeezes, letting Sam know he's struggling for control. Of course Sam chooses that moment to push against Dean from behind, his engorged mammoth cock slotting against Dean's ass. The pressure forces the head of Dean's dick right past the tight rim of Young Sam's hole, causing Young Sam to give a cry that's something between a non-verbal groan of surprised ecstasy and a verbal exhalation that sounds vaguely like Dean's name, or maybe "Damn!" Either way, Dean's in, sliding home with a long, uncontrolled thrust that makes Young Sam whine and pant, makes him sweat and squirm and throw his head back, eyes squeezed shut, neck muscles strained tight.
"Jesus, Sam, hold up," Dean gasps, blinking away tears that suddenly smart his eyes as the pleasure of being buried deep in his baby brother's ass practically undoes any shred of self-control he might have had. He grasps Young Sam's thigh with one hand, reaches around behind him to grab for Sam's ass, meaning to give it a swat or a pinch. But Sam's already sitting back, slicking himself up so he can get this show on the road, although as far as Dean's concerned it's already on a crash course straight off the edge of a cliff, destined to explode on impact.
"You okay, Sammy?" Dean rubs Young Sam's thigh and the kid nods.
"Yeah," he gasps. "It's good. I'm good."
To prove it, Young Sam rocks a little on Dean's dick, giving him some friction, and Holy Shit that's something that he really didn't need to do. Dean can feel himself spurting precome into Young Sam's hole, and he can tell Young Sam feels it because he moans and does it again, the fucker.
"Gotta hold off there, cowboy," Dean gasps. "Just give me a minute, will ya?"
Young Sam smirks then, looks down at Dean, which is when Dean notices the kid's dick is hard and leaking again.
Teenagers. Jesus.
"Need a little time to adjust, old man?" Young Sam teases, and oh no. This kid did not just do that.
"I'll show you old, sonny," Dean growls, pulling his dick back just enough to pound back in, doing it again and again till he hits that place that makes Young Sam see stars, makes him throw back his head and keen like a girl, the gorgeous little bastard. "That's it. That's it, Sam." He slams again and again into that sweet spot, till Young Sam's a quivering mess of over-stimulated nerve-endings, till there are tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes, rolling down the sides of his face and into his ears, his oversensitive dick leaking a steady pool onto his stomach.
Sam's got the slicked up fingers of one hand in Dean's ass, the other hand spread flat between Dean's shoulder blades, pushing his upper body down, the better to display his backside as Sam loosens him up. Dean mouths along Young Sam's smooth jaw till he finds his mouth. They kiss long and deep and filthy, Dean's head swimming with memories of his beautiful brother's sweet little mouth even while he's kissing it, part of him unable to believe this is real. His thrusts slow down, become less frantic, more undulating as he loses himself in Young Sam's warm mouth, his pliant young body. He reaches up to push the hair back from Young Sam's sweaty forehead, pulls back enough to look, to take in every flutter of the boy's eyelashes, every almost-forgotten inch of smooth baby skin.
Dean's still gazing, reverent and worshipful, as Sam pushes his gigantic tree-trunk of a cock up his ass.
"Jesus Fucking Christ!" Dean cries out, more from the shock than any real pain, since Sam's done his usual excellent job prepping him. Sam lean down over him to kiss the back of his neck.
"Nope," Sam's mouth smiles against his skin. "Just me. Sam Fucking Winchester."
It's awkward, not exactly comfortable, and now Dean's pretty damn sure he won't last, but there's something to it. There's definitely something to be said for being balls deep in his brother while his brother is balls deep in him at the same time. Kinda gives a whole new meaning to the idea of double-dipping. Or double-stuffing.
This thought makes him laugh out loud, which earns him a serious pounding from his older little brother, who apparently doesn't like being laughed at when he's performing.
"You think this is funny?" Sam pants as he pounds into Dean, making Dean pound harder into Young Sam.
"N -- no, not exactly," Dean huffs as he takes it like a man, biting back a choked sob as Sam hits his sweet spot. "Damn it, Sam. I'm gonna -- I can't -- :
"Go 'head, Dean," Sam growls. "Come for me, big brother. Come on."
"Only if you come first!" Dean grits out, which is when Young Sam cants his hips up and goes rigid.
"Oh my God!" he gasps, long neck tipped back, body strung tight like a bow, so beautiful beneath Dean that it's like his sexiest porno come to life.
Oh right. Sam is his sexiest porno. In all his incarnations.
Although Dean would have to admit this nineteen-year-old version is just about the hottest thing ever. He doesn't remember Sammy being so hot at this age. Maybe it's something about being twice the age of this young buck, which he wasn't the first time around, and how perverted and dirty is that?
"Oh shit, Dean," Sam cries, going rigid behind him less than half a minute after his younger self, and that's it. Dean's totally done now because Sam's cock is pulsing in his ass and Sam's got his mouth on the juncture of Dean's neck and shoulder and he's biting, the asshole, and suddenly Dean's body just lets go, flooding Young Sam with warm, wet jizz that eases his way so he can pump a few more times, whiting out with the sheer force of his orgasm, bending down to mouth blindly at Young Sam's beautiful face as the kid keeps coming all over himself and Dean.
Dean's vaguely aware of Sam rolling off him, of Sam having at least the presence of mind not to crush him, although he collapses for a solid minute and Dean can feel his heart pounding against his back as he's pressed between the two Sams like some kind of human Samwich. Har, har, his blissed-out brain supplies helpfully, although he's too relaxed to so much as chuckle.
He can feel it when his dick slips free of Young Sam's warm body. "Grgludub," he protests articulately as his wet dick hits cold air. But it's warm here on top of Young Sam's humungous body, and Dean's asleep before he has another coherent thought, which is a good thing because his brain has gone sorta loopy anyway.
**//**
Later, after they wake up and clean up and fuck some more and take a shower together and go back to bed for more sex and more sleep, Sam goes off to the kitchen to make them some food. Dean lets Young Sam curl up against him like a puppy because Dean's older and wiser now and he can't remember for the life of him why he used to pretend he didn't like to cuddle. Not that Sam ever paid any attention when he said things like that anyway, but he knows now he probably managed to hurt the kid's feelings, which is just not okay. This younger version of Sam is so vulnerable, so open, and it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch to know what's lying ahead of him in his horrible, violent life, and Dean would do anything -- anything -- to protect him from that. Cuddling is the least he can do.
"So, you've done this before," Young Sam suggests.
Dean raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't even try to deny it. This is Sam, and Sam knows him, knows his tells. It'd be easier lying to a psychic.
"Yeah," he admits, running his hand up Young Sam's smooth, warm torso, letting his thumb flick over the kid's sensitive, reddened nipple. "Twice."
"But why? Why bring younger versions of me from the past? Do you ever get visits from future me?"
"Nope," Dean shakes his head, answering the last question first, ignoring the others.
"Have you ever seen me younger?" Young Sam's voice drops, whispers, the tip of his pink tongue flicking out to swipe across his bottom lip as his cheeks flush. "You know, like before last summer?"
Dean lets a lazy grin curl up the corners of his mouth as he remembers the summer in question. "You mean, have I ever fucked you before the first time I fucked you?" he drawls.
Young Sam's eyes fly open wide and his lips part, bottom one slick with spit. "Have you?" he presses, hips grinding almost imperceptively against Dean's body.
Dean slides his hand up Young Sam's neck, cups his jaw. "Wanted to. You were always such an eager little tease," Dean murmurs, letting his thumb catch on the corner of Young Sam's mouth, rub at the damp skin. The kid's tongue flicks out, curls around Dean's thumb, sucks it into his mouth. He gazes up at Dean as he sucks his thumb and Dean chuckles low in his throat. "You're so good with part of me in your mouth," he purrs, and Young Sam moans, arches up and closes his eyes, sucking harder. "Almost makes me forget what a little pain the ass you were."
"So, why?" Young Sam asks again when he finally lets Dean's thumb go, and Dean sighs. There's no shaking loose this stubborn puppy when he's got a bone in his mouth, that's for sure. "Why am I here?"
"It was Sam's idea," Dean sighs. "He thinks it's a good way for me to deal with the past, I guess. Beats therapy, which he knows I won't do."
"Huh," Young Sam swallows. "It's that bad, in the future? I mean, you and me are together, right? Obviously, we work it out."
Dean's got one arm around the kid already, so he just pulls him in a little closer, hugging him against Dean's chest. "Yeah," he breathes. "We work it out. It ain't always easy, but it's us, right?"
"So bad stuff happens, but we face it together," Young Sam suggests.
"Mostly," Dean agrees.
Young Sam takes a deep breath, lets it out slow. "I guess that's all I really want to know," he nods. "None of the details matter anyway, since I won't remember them."
Dean seriously doubts the kid will really let it go; he probably figures he can get Sam to answer his questions later anyway. For now, Young Sam snuggles down against Dean's chest, tangles his legs with Dean's, and lies still while Dean cards his fingers through the kid's silky hair. Dean knows they only have a minute or two until Sam comes in to get them for whatever meal he's scrounged up in the kitchen, then the tour of the bunker that Young Sam wants and Sam promised to give him, along with more nerdy Sam-time doing nerdy Sam-stuff that Dean will probably bow out of entirely. Dean's just hoping they have time for a couple more rounds of this incredible best-fantasy-ever-come-to-life sex they've been having before it's time to send Young Sam back where (and when) he came from.
But for now, time feels suspended, like maybe it's not going anywhere for a while, like it's just leaving them be. Dean's fine with that. He's just made peace with another part of his past, and now it's lying here in his arms and they're both at rest.
It's good. For now, right this minute, it's good. And if that's all he gets out of this life, these moments when it's good like this, then Dean's okay with that. Really, he is.
He turns his face into Young Sam's soft hair and closes his eyes.