Fic: Home At Last (Dean/Sam)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU (my first real AU - not brothers, college roommates), frottage
Notes: Just kind of a long drabble I wrote out of the plot bunny that wouldn't die
Summary - Sam and Dean are college roommates - and maybe a little more.
There's the clatter of key against lock for too long - fumbling, drunk - then the scrape of the cheap weather-proofing on the bottom of the front door and finally the shout of 'Sammy!' as the door bangs shut.
"Back here," he yells back, listening for the sound of the lock sliding home again - sometimes Dean forgets, especially after a party.
Heavy boot-treads in the hallway, softening partway down, which means Dean must have kicked the shoes off as he walked - even though he knows it will piss Sam off later if trips over them heading to the bathroom - and then Dean there’s, in all his drunken, radiant glory.
Sam's roommate is one of those people who just kind of glows - maybe it's what they call the 'it' factor, but Sam always thinks of it as a glow - and it shows up even more after he's got a few in him; grin cropping up even easier than usual, quicker laugh, shiny green eyes that look at you like you're the most important thing in the whole world. And yes, Sam's thought about this way too much.
Dean looks Sam over; sitting at his desk, pouring over a paper, just as Dean left him hours ago. He spares approximately two seconds for leaning on the doorframe like he just walked out of a catalogue before he takes three running steps and jumps onto Sam's bed, burrowing into the pillows immediately. They are so far beyond personal space. In fact, unless Dean has somebody waiting on him upstairs in what is technically known as Dean's room, Dean almost always sleeps in Sam's bed.
Sam has this theory that Dean wasn't hugged enough as a child.
"Should have come tonight, man," Dean muffles into the pillows, doing that deep breathing thing he does whenever he first lays down like he's scenting the sheets or something. "Good party."
Sam grunts in return - they don't need to rehash his distaste for parties, they've both got the argument memorized by now.
For a while when they first ended up sharing a dorm room Sam's sophomore year Dean had tried to get him to go out some. Sam hadn't really understood why his roommate bothered at the time - Dean was a year older, good looking, popular; the kind of guy Sam was obligated to hate on principal. Except, it turned out that hating Dean broke some kind of irrefutable law of physics - it just couldn't be done. The guy was like a virus or something - albeit a really hot, funny, surprisingly smart virus - once he was in your system he just bred there until you had no choice but to crumble under its power.
Sam had always turned Dean down on the many - MANY - party invites, but Dean never stopped asking; not even now that they had moved out of the dorm and into a little house off campus. It was Dean's senior year, so he'd been going out a lot since school started, but that hadn't really changed their routine much.
Back in the dorm, it had freaked Sam right the fuck out the first time Dean decided to set up camp in Sam's bed. Didn't ask permission, didn't even bat an eye, like it was perfectly normal to just snuggle into your roommate's bed and watch them do homework. Which it really wasn't, as far as Sam knew.
Sam hadn't said anything, though - still a little intimidated by the general confusingness of Dean at the time - and when Dean hadn't moved by the time Sam was ready for bed, he'd just taken Dean's bunk instead. It took four days of that before Sam gave up with a frustrated sigh and asked if Dean wanted to trade beds. Dean looked at him like Sam had just proposed they go up on the roof and see if they could fly and then went right on laying in Sam's bunk. By the sixth night Sam had just decided, fuck it - he really liked his pillow, damnit - and shoved Dean over enough climb into bed too.
He'd pretty much expected Dean to lose his shit at that point and maybe call him fag - not unprecedented by any means, nor entirely untrue - but instead, the big blonde jerk had just grinned at Sam like he'd finally solved some really obvious puzzle and wrapped his arm over Sam's hip. Which was the point that Sam's brain pretty much stopped functioning.
It had been that way between them ever since - sleeping spooned around each other like it was something all kinda-sorta-maybe-bi-curious roommates did. It was also why Dean was staring a hole in the back of Sam's head right then - apparently being big man on campus didn't stop you from being a needy, attention-crazed little bitch - and pointedly began shimmying out of his shirt and jeans.
Sam wasn't really sure that was supposed to be an enticement - even though it utterly and completely was - as much as a signal that Dean was ready to go to bed and wanted his personal body warmer.
Sometimes it annoyed Sam, this weird limbo thing in their relationship, but it wasn't like he was inclined to give it up either way, so he shut his laptop - Dean grumbling something about eyestrain - and crawled under the sheets next to his totally platonic, mostly-straight roommate. Yeah, his life was so fucked up.
Dean 'mmm'ed happily and nuzzled against the back of Sam's neck - and Dean called HIM a big girl! - as Sam flicked off the light. One big, warm arm wrapped around Sam and pulled him in snug, letting Dean's hand roam freely over the bare expanse of Sam's chest.
He hadn't spent a lot of time hanging around shirtless before he knew Dean, but his roommate had developed a habit of 'accidentally' spilling things on Sam whenever he wore a shirt just lounging around or getting ready for bed and Sam, being the clever guy he was, took the hint. Now it just felt normal.
The same way it felt normal when Dean's thick fingers found his nipples and teased them to points before systematically pinching and rubbing them red and achy. Sam wasn't actually sure he'd be able to sleep with them any other way anymore.
The soft, open kisses to the hollow behind Sam's ear were reasonably new to the repertoire - Dean had always been a little more affectionate when he was drunk, but the neck kissing had become kind of a regular thing in the last four months or so.
The hand gently pulling down the waistband of Sam's pajama pants though, was very new - had started the first night they'd moved into the house last month, when they spent the night on a bare mattress in the middle of the living room floor.
Dean's dick - hard and fever hot as it slipped through the hole in Dean's boxers - slid over the curve of Sam's newly bared ass until it settled in the cleft. Sam could feel a little slick of wet at the base of his spine from Dean's precome and let out an involuntary moan. Dean echoed it, pulling Sam in impossibly tighter, hips rocking in slow circles.
They never talked about this - as soon as they touched, a wall went up, as if they talked then it stopped being something they could just play off as accidental or screwing around - but they both tended to make little sounds, spurred on by the other.
Dean's hand was teeth-grindingly close to Sam's now aching dick - the second Dean touched him, he was always, instantly hard - fingernails scritching through the mess of curls around Sam's root. The feeling was tantalizing, made the muscles in his thigh twitch spastically. Sam couldn't take it, had to get a hand on his cock, and the sweet electric bliss pinging up his nerves from the pressure of his fist was matched by the warm, wet spiral of Dean's tongue down the curve of his neck.
He always felt hot and stuffy when they did this, like there was too much of him for his body to contain; everything pulled taut just to try and hold him together while Dean was busy making him come apart at the seams.
Dean's full cock was sliding smoothly along the crease of his ass, movement slicked by sweat and precome. Every few thrusts Dean would pull back far enough for the head to scrape across Sam's hole, sending an icy hot jolt of adrenaline through his system every time as he felt exactly how little it would take for Dean to change the angle, to forget about his cheeks and push right on inside. Sam pushed his face into the pillow to swallow up a whine when he got caught in that place where he couldn't decide whether to shrink away or beg for it.
A part of him was scared to death of Dean actually making that move because - pain aside - doing it would actually be DOING IT and then they couldn't just wake up tomorrow and pretend to be normal roomies. The other part of him wanted it to happen for exactly that reason. But Sam wouldn't push, had never pushed actually - every move in their whole damn relationship had been Dean pushing and Sam letting him. He wondered if Dean knew exactly how much he'd be willing to let him get away with.
His hand was a flurry over his own throbbing dick while Dean twisted up a lock of wiry curls and pulled gently; the pain only adding to the molten coil of heat building low in Sam's body. He worked his hips back harder against Dean's, tried to tighten up his muscles to make the movement that much more powerful and Dean gasped hot and wet against the back of Sam's neck like he'd been punched in the gut.
Sam could feel the flutter of tight stomach muscles against his back, the ball of hot pressure forcing itself at the base of his shaft urgently all going to his head until he was buzzing with it.
All at once he broke precedent. A year of tacit agreement down the drain in the sudden turn of Sam's shoulders, the force of his lips pressing roughly against Dean's as the rush of want finally overwhelmed them both.
Sticky heat splattered over his hip and ass - the move making Dean lose the tightness of the crease, but his roommate didn't seem to mind, shivering and shaking like he was having a seizure - another mess of it coating Sam's fingers. He was lost in the pulse and eddy of heat running through him, the puff of Dean's breath into his mouth as neither one of them could quite complete the kiss in the middle of coming.
Dean got it back together first, mouth sinking soft into Sam's, wringing one last spurt of fluid out over Sam's fingers with the way those plush lips made him tingle all over. Sam kissed back loosely, again content to let Dean take the lead as lax pleasure spread over him like a warm blanket.
Dean was a damn good kisser - not that Sam had expected any less from the amount of practice Dean got - and it was so easy just to roll all the way over until they were chest to chest and really let his roommate have his way with his mouth.
"Sammy," Dean whisper-moaned, tongue flickering at Sam's in the heat of their shared breath. Sam grinned into it, tongue sliding gently into the mouth of the only person he'd ever let use The Hated Nickname with impunity.
They wound down slowly, kisses lingering softly as their eyelids went heavy.
"Should have done this," Dean 'mmm'ed on another kiss, "long time ago."
Sam grunted his approval, knowing Dean would understand. His roommate always did.