Reality is Relevant/ Wincest/ nc,17 PART 2

[j2_ficwhore]

~~~~~~~~~~

His head is pounding as the pool of water around him spills out into his room. He accidentally inhales some and starts to cough it up. He pushes himself off of the cold wet tile floor and looks around. He’s in his hospital room. Two orderlies come rushing in, “What’s going on,” they yell as they rush into the bathroom, the source of the water that’s flowing out into the hallway.

“I fell, after that I think I might have been unconscious, not really sure,” he says trying to get up on his own as the water is shut off. “Stay here,” One orderly says pushing him back to the floor and holding him there while the other goes out into the hallway again.

“I’m alright, I just need to get up,” Dean says trying to push up again so he can get on his knees.

“Stay the fuck down,” the orderly says with a gruff tone and then puts his foot on Dean’s back. Dean sees red, his body acting instinctively with all of his training. He grabs the man’s foot pulling him to the ground, his body falling with a mighty thud as the water splashes when he hits the floor. Dean quickly rolls over pinning the man to the floor with his body and puts his arm over the orderly’s throat, then, through gritted teeth and heavy breath, “Don’t ever fucking put your foot on me again,” he lets him know he’s not taking any more of his shit.

“Got it,” the orderly grunts out and Dean releases his throat.

“Glad to hear it,” he stands up, pajamas soaked and dripping wet. Two more orderlies come in the room, one with a mop and bucket; they see the orderly getting off of the floor and rush over. “What happened,” they say helping him up. He looks at Dean before answering. “Nothing, I just slipped,” he replies. Dean smirks as he heads back into his room.

“Clumsy,” he says quietly as he passes the orderly and bumps his shoulder with his own in a show of dominance.

Once they’re done cleaning up the water and leave Dean’s stripping off his wet clothes when the door opens and Sam walks in. Dean quickly covers his naked body. Sam laughs. “Not like I haven’t seen it before,” he walks over and gently brushes his hand over Dean’s. “Or touched it, or even kissed it,” he bites his lower lip as his eyes roam Dean’s well muscled body.

A shiver runs through Dean, his skin gets goose bumps with the touch and he swallows hard. His eyes roam Sam’s body, the tight muscle under snug fitting white scrubs. The feel of Sam’s fingers trailing up his arm as he steps behind him blowing hot breath on the back of his damp chilled neck sends a shiver down his spine.

“The shifts are changing, want to steal a few minutes in the bathroom?” he whispers, his tongue snaking out to run up the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean’s eyes close and his shoulders relax at the thought of letting Sam touch him, letting Sam’s hands roam his body. “Sure,” he leans back into Sam’s arms, his ass pressing into Sam’s crotch and feeling the bulge that’s formed there.

“Good, cause I’ve been wanting you now for awhile and I think this is just what we need to blow off some steam,” he’s leading him into the bathroom.

It’s only seconds before Dean’s rock hard, his cock standing at attention at the thought of letting Sam pleasure him, of pleasuring Sam. This is how it’s supposed to be, he thinks as he lets Sam kiss him, lets his hands roam his naked body. Not some sick fantasy where I fuck my brother. His hands work their way up under Sam’s shirt pushing it up under his armpits before he works them back down again over the thick hard muscles of his torso, feeling every ridge, every thick line on his way to Sam’s waist. Oh my God, your body is so fit,” he mumbles into Sam’s kisses.

“You tell me that every time,” Sam’s hands find Dean’s cock and stroke it lightly.

“That’s because it’s the truth,” his hands are pushing down Sam’s pants and shorts. Sam steps forward and pushes Dean against the wall, his body heavy against him to hold him there. Dean gasps at the feeling, hot flesh shoved against his naked body and it all feels so real and right. “Yeah, like that,” he says giving in and letting Sam have all of the control.

“You like giving it up to me,” Sam says as he takes both of their cocks in one large hand and presses them together so that he can stroke them both at once.

“Fuck yes,” Dean hisses breathlessly as the feeling of Sam’s hand slips over the head of his cock, the precome easing its way. His hips rock in time with Sam’s slow strokes, his hands are gripping Sam’s shoulders tightly. “You make it feel so right,” he’s getting lost in the ecstasy of it.

“You make it so easy,” Sam’s burying his face in Dean’s neck and peppering it with kisses. His hand is increasing the speed as their leaking cocks provide enough precome to lubricate them sufficiently. The heads rubbing against each other with each pass as Sam squeezes tighter and tighter while pulling just a little bit harder. Dean’s falling apart under his touch, he’s moaning and writhing, his hands have moved up to the nape of Sam’s neck and he’s running his fingers through the long locks of hair.

The tension is building with each stroke, their cocks are grinding off of each other, Dean can feel Sam’s pulsing and he snakes his hand under them to gently squeeze Sam’s balls. He’s letting them roll softly over his fingertips before tenderly pulling at the thick ridged seam.

Sam’s balls tighten completely as he throws his head back and moans. “Jesus, Dean you’re killing me,” his heart is thundering in his chest and his knees are weak, he slumps into Dean, his body heavy with the need to come. “I can’t,” he grunts into Dean’s neck, he’s stroking them off with both hands at a furious pace now.

Dean’s keening, his knees are buckling under Sam’s weight but he loves it, loves the heat, Sam’s sweat glistened body with the clean smell of Old Spice and medicated hand sanitizer, pressed into his, he breathes in deep. “Let it out,” he moans as he arches his back and spills over Sam’s hands. Sam grunts and follows right behind him.

They’re panting; Dean’s holding Sam’s huge body up with just his will and the grasp on the nape of his neck. Sam slouches into Dean’s body, face pressed into his neck, his knee pressed into the wall between Dean’s legs to steady himself so he doesn’t collapse from the aftermath of his powerful orgasm. “You are amazing,” his breath is hot on Dean’s neck. Dean smiles, his head lolled back against the wall and eyes closed as he recovers. “You say that every time,” he chuckles.

“That’s because it’s true,” Sam kisses his neck before straightening up. “I want to take you in bed some time,” he leans in and claims Dean’s slack mouth.

“Then we’ll have to make it happen,” he says as he returns the tender kiss.

Later in the morning the routine begins, its one Dean has to get used to because he can’t remember it at all. First, its medications, then shower and then breakfast.

The hot water feels amazing beating down on his back. He wants to stand under it forever, let it wash everything right down the drain. He tilts his head back and lets the water hit his face, he opens his eyes a little, and the bright bulb above the shower fractures through the water and his brain goes into overdrive. Thoughts start flickering in his mind like a fast moving slideshow. Clips of things he thinks he’s done, he’s cutting someone, there is blood everywhere, Sam’s face, blood on his shoes, and Sam cutting off a head as blood spatters everywhere. His knees feel weak and he clutches the side of the stall. He’s panting like he just ran a mile uphill in hundred degree heat. The flashes keep coming at him like a barrage of feelings, smells and images all rolled into one. He’s rubbing his temples willing them to go away, to stop bombarding him but they won’t, it’s relentless to the point he’s gritting his teeth and moaning.

The water stops beating down on his back and he’s barely aware of it as warm hands pull him from the shower and wrap him in a towel. Then a whisper in his ear brings him back, centers him. “Shhhh it’s alright, just relax.” The warmth of arms holding him tight, it’s Sam; he’s the only one who can center him like this. He smiles and opens his eyes to see the concerned look on Sam’s face. “Thank you,” Dean says weakly as he tries to regain his own balance.

At breakfast he feels somewhat better and Sam didn’t have to give him extra meds once he calmed down so things seem to be more normal. Dean’s watching the other patients as he eats his dry scrambled eggs, toast and sausage patty. He pays particular attention to a man in the corner having quite the conversation with the wall. He hopes he doesn’t look like that or that no one looks at him like he’s looking at that man.

There is free time in the afternoon. They are offered crafts and or games to occupy their time; Dean chooses neither and opts to just people watch. The solarium is nice; there is plenty of sun that comes in through the heavily barred windows.

There is a sofa in the middle of the room; he figures it has the best vantage point to keep an eye on everything going on. He sits down on the sofa that’s directly across from the television set, he’s not interested in watching the soap opera but it’s a comfortable place to veg out and think about things.

He’s thinking about the phrase that keeps going around in his head, Saving people, hunting things, the family business. He knows he’s said it to Sam, told him this very thing while asking his brother to hunt with him again and it makes no sense. He has memories of digging up graves, of pouring salt and gasoline over the remains and then setting it on fire. He knows all of these things yet he can’t remember anything before a day ago in the insane asylum. Sam’s told him they have been intimate that they care for each other but he only sees a brother’s face when he looks at him. He sees his brother Sammy and has very inappropriate feelings about him. He feels torn, taken apart and poorly sewn back together.

His dreams are irrational; his sleep is interrupted by the dreams of this brother, Sammy, who has Sam Wesson’s face, it’s all very confusing but the dreams feel more like reality than reality does. Is it the insanity, the schizophrenia that Doctor Cartwright told him he has, he’s not sure how to tell if what he’s seeing is real and what is a dream. He holds his temples and squeezes his eyes shut when he feels a warm body sit down next to him. He’s afraid to open his eyes to see who is beside him when he hears Sam’s soft voice.

“Noon meds time,” he touches Dean’s shoulder and softly squeezes.

Dean’s eyes open and he sees Sam sitting there holding a Dixie cup of water and two pills, he’s never been so happy to see those damned pills as he is right now. “Oh lunch time snacks,” he quips as he takes them and puts them on his tongue then quickly swallows them with the tiny cup of water.

“Glad to see you’re on board again,” he winks at him as he rubs Dean’s arm gently massaging the muscle.

“Always eager to please,” he gives Sam his patent wink and toothy grin, like he’s happy to be here, but where else could he be with these insane delusions of being a hunter of Supernatural things.

“I know,” Sam grins slyly before looking around to make sure the coast is clear and then rubbing the nape of Dean’s neck seductively. Dean smiles and leans into the warm tickling sensation, like a cat being petted. It’s short lived though when the other nurses come in to pass out the medications.

The calming effect of the medications is taking over Dean’s senses. He’s mellow and feeling a bit stoned. He watches the light tracing halos around patients walking in front of the windows. The thought of Castiel makes a fleeting appearance in his drug addled brain, he licks his lips and gives a smirk before letting it slip through the loop of thoughts and disappear again.

Everything feels surreal, but it’s felt surreal since he woke up a day ago strapped to a gurney. He’s been questioning everything since that moment; confused by his own thoughts and this strange slip of reality he keeps taking to a place where he’s an injured hunter recovering in a hotel room with his brother. He feels himself sink deeper into the drug enveloping sedation, just on the verge of sleep but still functionally active.

He’s watching the people milling around, watching them, studying their behavior until his eyes stop on a young woman standing in the corner. She has long black hair and full lips, her thin build is leaning against the wall as she stares at him with black eyes. He’s not sure if he’s seeing things right or if the shadows are playing tricks with his eyes.

He leans up and stares directly at her, he tilts his head and she smiles at him mimicking the tilt of his head. He sees her eyes perfectly now as the sun catches her face, they are black, completely black with no whites at all and he recognizes her, its Ruby.

Panic sets in, his heart is racing a mile a minute and he quickly stands up. He’s not sure what he’s going to do, he doesn’t have any weapons, no salt or holy water, and definitely no silver blade to strike her down with either.

He doesn’t know how to handle this, how to do this quietly so that he’s not noticed. He knows she’s seen him, probably even knows that he’s defenseless or at least weaponless. His brain knows the exorcism spell, he remembers it word for Latin word he’s said it a million times. He starts to mumble it quietly to himself just to make sure he hasn’t forgotten any of it.

He’s forming a plan as he studies her staring back at him, her eyes are still completely black and he wonders if anyone else has noticed them too. He looks around to make sure he’s not being watched and decides to approach her, let her know he’s on to her tricks while trying to verbally exorcise her.

Halfway across the room he stops, looks around, takes a deep breath and ponders the sanity of his actions. He wonders how this can be a sane reaction to a woman who he thinks looks like a figment of his imagination. Why would a demon be coming after me? He closes his eyes, centers himself and takes another deep breath before opening his eyes again.

When he looks over at her he sees the same image, black eyes staring at him with a devious smirk and he knows this can’t be a figment of his imagination. How can this be real, he thinks as he formulates the exorcism spell in his head again and starts towards her, this time with even more determination.

He’s on top of her now; she doesn’t say a word just keeps staring at him with her head cocked like a dog trying to figure out what you want from him. He presses against her body trapping her against the wall.

“What do you want?” he’s taking through clenched teeth, giving her the full on, you better be scared of me bitch attitude. She starts to laugh, its more of a giggle, he puts his arm over her throat so she’s in a semi choke hold while he starts to chant the exorcism.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio
infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,” he’s pushing harder on her throat; he can tell she’s having trouble breathing but it doesn’t stop him, he just keeps going.

“Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te,” he’s watching her black eyes flutter closed and he waits for the screaming, the retching and the black smoke to come pouring out as he continues with the spell.

“Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare. Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei,” he’s stopped mid sentence as her body goes limp. A strong hand clutches his shoulder and rips him away from the girl. He tries to stand his ground, tries to keep reciting the exorcism but its useless. As he’s ripped away and pulled down the hall, the orderlies gather around to help Ruby. “No!” he shouts as the man behind him shakes him and tells him to shut up and continues to pulls him away from the scene. “She’s a demon,” he insists. His words are going unheeded as he’s yanked around the corner and forcibly strapped down onto a gurney. He fights relentlessly, two orderlies hold him down, digging their nails into his exposed flesh as they do. “Stay the fuck down,” one barks at him.

“You don’t know, you don’t know,” he keeps screaming as he tries to get up. The feeling of a needle pinches his neck and he kicks forcefully contacting with the man holding his ankles, he hits his jaw. “I’m going to break your fucking leg,” the orderly cries out as he starts to twist Dean’s leg. The pain is almost unbearable when the feeling of sinking into a dark pit hits his senses. His eyes are heavy and the fight goes out of him. His body relaxes but his brain is trying so hard to fight it.

“No…” his words are faint and trail off, sleep overwhelms him. The last thing he can understand that he hears them say is. “Better get Sam down here,” then it all fades away into emptiness.

~~~~~~~~~~

He can hear Sam’s voice, hear him talking but can’t make out much of what he’s saying. His eyes flutter open to see a room, not the hospital room but a motel room. He searches for Sam, he sees him pacing the floor, a phone to his ear. He sees how he’s dressed and knows that it’s not Sam Wesson it’s his hallucination, Sam Winchester, his brother and he knows something is horribly wrong again.

“Yeah, yeah, I gave him the shot Bobby, now all I can do is wait to see if it works,” Sam’s anxious. He turns around to see that Dean is awake. “I have to go,” he hang up and goes to Dean’s side. “Hey sleepyhead,” he leans down and brushes his hand through Dean’s hair.

Dean mumbles, still groggy and dazed, “Just leave me alone,” “This will all be over soon,” he closes his eyes.

Sam sits on the edge of the bed. “I hope not, I gave you an antidote that Bobby sent over, you should be coming out of it very soon.”

“What?” Dean’s eyes open wide; they’re still not focusing very well and won’t stay in one place very long. “What did you give me?” he’s panicking.

“Just an antidote that should counteract the djinn poison,” he rubs Dean’s forehead soothingly.

“This isn’t real, I can’t stay here,” he’s fighting the doped up feeling.

“Shhhh, it’s okay Dean, this is reality,” Sam’s eyes are tearing up, he feels so bad for Dean, doesn’t know how to make him realize that he is his reality and whatever else has been going on is just a hallucination.

“No, it can’t be,” his eyes are going closed as he can’t seem to keep them open.

“Relax,” Sam says as he softly strokes Dean’s hair in a soothing manner.

Dean can’t stay awake, it’s like he’s never been more exhausted in his life and he drifts off to sleep again.

Sam’s worried; he hopes that he was able to get the antidote quick enough. It’s been seventy two hours and he’s worried Dean has been too poisoned to save. He snuggles into Dean’s sleeping body and holds him close.

~~~~~~~~~~

Soft pillows surround his body, its cool and soft, his bare feet smooth across the silky cotton sheet beneath him and he thinks this is the softest bed he’s ever slept in. He opens his eyes to a harsh white room, bright lights on the ceiling are almost blinding as he tries to focus on his surroundings. He scrambles to get up and when his eyes finally focus in on everything he sees padded walls, a steel door painted white with a window at the top.

He panics, rushes to the door and looks out, his breath making steam on the glass as he stands on his tiptoes to see out. His eyes dart from side to side looking for someone but all he sees is the stark white walls of the hallway. He cries out. “Help, someone, help me,” he pounds on the door, the metal making a hollow thudding sound as he calls out again. “Help me!”

The room is deafeningly quiet; the walls absorb all of the outside sounds. He’s still staring out of the small window, still searching for someone to walk by, to help him. He’s never felt so alone, never felt so trapped, and never been so scared for his life before.

He’s not sure how long he’s been in the room, he stood on his toes looking out the window until his feet cramped and he was sweating from the pain. It makes him think about the torture rack in hell, how it kept him on his toes for days until they bled from the swollen cracked skin and he never wanted to feel that again.

He’s slumped down against the door rubbing his feet, thinking about how insane the thought of surviving hell is, how that couldn’t be real but the memory is so vivid, he can smell the sulfur, feel the pain, taste the bloody sweat in the back of his throat so how could something that tangible not have happened.

The sound of the latch turning makes him jump forward, he stands up on his wobbly feet as the door swings open and Doctor Cartwright walks in with two orderlies.

She’s reading a chart on her black clipboard, she raises her glasses up and sets them on top of her head, and her red fingernails tap the clipboard. “So Dean, seems like you’ve been a very bad boy,” her red lips turn up into a devious smile. “I’m not sure what to do with you, your medications don’t seem to be helping the reality slips that keep happening and they are steadily getting worse. I was thinking about more electrotherapy but I’m not sure if it’s helping or hindering.” She walks towards Dean who is just standing tall not saying a word. Her ankle turns a little from the uneven floor. “Maybe a straightjacket,” she’s right in front of him now, her eyes locked on his, gauging his reaction to the words.

“Whatever you think will work,” he says coldly. His eyes never leaving her gaze, staring her down Cool hand Luke style.

“My, aren’t we cooperative,” she nods her head and one of the orderlies steps forward with the jacket. “Are you going to protest?” she asks dryly.

“Strapping me down has worked so far,” he says sarcastically. He looks over at the orderly holding the restraining jacket. “You love holding me down, got some kind of control fetish and bondage issues don’t you,” he makes a self satisfied grin as he watches the orderly who takes such joy in strapping him down turn red with rage.

“That’s enough,” Dr. Cartwright snaps. “You need to learn the rules here,” she waves her hand at the orderlies and they back away. “Maybe just some alone time will do you some good,” she turns on her heels and heads out of the room, before leaving she looks back at Dean from the hallway, staring him down. “Lock it up boys,” she commands.

The sound of the latch clicking as the lock is tumbled into place resonates in Dean’s ears. He actually breathes a sigh of relief and leans back against the wall.

There’s nothing to do inside of this small padded room, no sounds to take your mind off of any thoughts that are running rampant through it and no windows to look out of. It’s your basic solitary confinement but with comfy walls.

It seems like days but since he hasn’t passed out with the need for sleep he figures its only been hours of silent torture. He stands up on his tiptoes again to peek out the window, his stomach is growling and he just wonders if he gets a food tray or if starvation is a new tactic of treatment.

His stomach has been relentlessly growling as it threatens to cave in on itself, he’s not entirely sure when he last ate but he figures it’s been at least a day. He’s drifting off to sleep, his eyes are heavy and he can’t hold his head up much longer as he surrenders just to forget about the fact that he’s starving.

Wake up, Dean come one man, wake up. the words are echoing in his head as he groggily opens his eyes. It’s Sam and he’s leaning over him. Come on Dean, I need you, wake up. “I’m awake,” he says with slurred speech.

He focuses on Sam, He’s not in his white scrubs, he’s in a flannel shirt and his hair looks uncombed. “Are you off duty?” he asks.

“No Dean, it’s me, Sam,” Sam’s holding a glass of water trying to get Dean to take a drink.

“I know it’s you,” he blinks against the bright lights of the room. “Why are you dressed like that,” he grabs Sam’s shirt collar.

“I always dress like this, you know that,” he chuckles with a tinge of worry.

“No you don’t, where is your nurse’s uniform?” he sits up and looks at Sam. “Wait, you’re,” he blinks again and sees he’s still in the padded room. “You can’t be here,” he says pushing into the wall.

“Dean no, wait,” Sam’s scooting across the bed, his hand is on Dean’s wrist and he squeezes just a little bit. “It’s me, it’s Sam, your brother,” he says it softly, very calmly.

“No, no, no, not my brother,” he’s shaking his head. “You’re not here,” he’s rubs his eyes. When he opens them the room seems to shift, the white walls turn into dark paneled wood with pictures hanging on them. “I’m awake, this can’t be,” he scoots across the bed some more.

“Calm down, it’s alright,” Sam pulls him back. “Feel this,” he runs his fingers over Dean’s wrist. “It’s real, I’m real, this, is real.”

Dean looks around, his head is spinning but he feels some kind of peace in Sam’s touch, in his tenderness, it’s familiar and loving. “But, Sammy,” he says it questioningly. “How can this be?” Memories start flooding back, Sam’s touch opens doors in his mind and he feels like he’s seeing things more clearly now than he has in days. “I don’t know what’s happening,” his voice is cracking.

“Shhh it’s alright Dean,” he pulls him close and soothes his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “I’m always here for you,” Sam’s not completely sure what he’s working Dean through but he knows it has to be traumatic for him.

Dean closes his eyes; he’s feeling dizzy and sort of sick in the stomach. He swears he can feel the padding under him, smell the sanitary hospital odor and it feels like he’s wavering on the edge of a fence, waiting to see which side he falls into.

Sam’s still holding him, it’s been awhile, he’s cramping from being rolled in the fetal position for so long. His brain is clearing the cobwebs out and he’s not feeling quite as woozy as he had at first. Sam’s face is buried in his hair as he holds him tight in the tiny spoon position. He stretches out, his muscles stiff and sore. His head is foggy like he’s trying to come out of a coma or what he thinks it might feel like to come out of one. He rubs his temples and sits up, there is a glass of water on the nightstand and two aspirin, and he looks at them before pushing them off to the side to take a drink of the water.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asks warily. Dean looks at him and smiles but never says a word just takes another long drink of his water. Sam sits up and slides in next to Dean. “You look better, a little pinker in your cheeks,” he runs the back of his fingers over Dean’s cheeks. Dean smiles at the warm touch.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Dean says quietly.

“What wasn’t all bad?” Sam’s confused.

“Where I was, you were there with me,” he looks over at Sam with a longing look.

“Where were you?”

Dean sighs deep, doesn’t want to go into the whole story but he gives Sam the basic idea. “In a mental hospital, you were my personal nurse, called yourself Sam Wesson but you weren’t my brother. We were kind of a couple. A lot of rough shit went down, bad nightmarish treatments to cure my insanity but you kept me sane, kept me hoping for better things,” he puts his hand on Sam’s thigh. “You were always right here, weren’t you, trying to save me, trying to bring me back to you.”

“Yes,” a tear wells up in Sam’s eye. He doesn’t want to think about Dean being hurt or scared even if it was all a hallucination. “I’m just glad you’re back here with me now,” he leans in and kisses Dean softly on the cheek.

“So that bastard was a djinn,” he’s nervously fumbling with the water glass.

“Yeah, he must have touched you during the struggle. Thank God for Bobby and his books or you may not have made it,” Sam’s running his hand over Dean’s thigh smoothing over his bare skin. “He found this concoction that counteracts the venom,” he slides in closer, their bodies are touching now, their heat exchanging between them and Dean doesn’t know if he wants to fight it anymore.

Dean’s skin feels prickly; he’s getting the tingling sensations in his belly and he wants to grab hold of Sam and hang on for dear life. He wants to feel safe and warm again, let his need for Sam wash over him like warm water and to have everything be back to normal. He looks in Sam’s eyes, those hazel eyes that capture his soul every time he stares into them. He swallows hard, takes notice of Sam’s hand moving up his thigh to the edge of his boxers and creeping underneath them.

Sam leans in and kisses his mouth, gently moves his tongue over Dean’s lips feeling the crease but not forcing his way inside. “I’m so happy you’re here with me,” he whispers against Dean’s lips.

Dean returns the kiss, puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders and holds him closer as he devours his mouth. His heart is racing and he feels more alive now than he has in months. Sam’s hands roam under his t-shirt, the feeling of warm fingertips dancing over his skin sets him on fire. “I probably need a shower,” Dean chuckles as Sam moves his mouth down his neck and licks a stripe across his throat.

“Mmmm, salty,” Sam mumbles into his skin. “I love it, but if you want to shower, we can move this into the bathroom,” he never stops fondling Dean’s skin with his fingers and mouth.

Dean’s lost in the feeling of Sam, he wants to keep going, wants to let Sam just swallow him up whole but shower sex also seems like a fantastic idea. “Shower.”

“Shower it is then,” he stands up and pulls Dean with him, he leads him into the bathroom and shoves him against the wall, Dean makes a grunting noise when he hits. “I’m not too rough am I,” he asks with concern.

“No, tile’s just cold,” he doesn’t want to admit he’s still weak, he pulls Sam close. “Where were we?” he nips at Sam’s chin before moving down his long exposed neck. Sam’s moans tell him he’s hitting all the right spots.

Sam’s hands pull at Dean’s t-shirt, his desire gets the best of him and he rips it, tears it down the middle exposing Dean’s chest. Dean pulls back stunned. “Can’t wait,” he smirks pulling the remains of the t-shirt off and shoving his boxers down past his knees. “I think I’ll save these, you savage,” he winks before kicking them to the side. He’s naked, bare skin against Sam’s pajamas. “Gonna stay in those all night?”

“Maybe,” he reaches over and turns on the shower. “But maybe not,” he quickly disrobes.

“Mmmm, now why would I want to miss this,” he’s savoring every last inch of tanned skin and thick muscle. His brain has gone south and so have his eyes. Sam’s raging hard on has his full attention. He reaches out and touches it, the feeling is exciting and surreal, this is what he’s wanted all along, this connection they’ve always had.

Sam steps into the shower, the water beating down on his back as he pulls Dean in with him. The steam envelopes them as they tangle their bodies together. Their long muscular arms are holding each other so tight, hands stroking over skin, mouths passionately sucking and kissing. The passion is that of two lovers who haven’t seen each other in ages. Sam shoves Dean against the wall, his body pinning him there. Dean pushes into Sam’s heavy weight, their cocks grinding over one another and the heat is already building in Dean’s belly.

“Oh God,” Dean’s panting, his skin is over sensitized and prickly from the hot water and surging sexual desire. He can’t get close enough to Sam, can’t get enough friction, can’t get enough of anything from Sam, he wants it all, all of him and all of what he can give him.

Sam’s hands are tangled in Dean’s hair; he’s rubbing against him, pulling him closer and closer until they are completely sharing the same exact space. His mouth is next to Dean’s ear and he begins to whisper to him. “I thought I had lost you, thought you were gone forever,” his emotions are getting tangled up in each other. “Can’t lose you Dean, can’t ever fucking lose my Dean,” he grips tighter, his other hand snakes down and grabs their cocks and begins to stroke them. “You feel so good, never thought we’d have this again,” he buries his face in Dean’s shoulder; the hot water is pounding down on his back. “Need you, always fucking need you,” his heart is racing, his balls are tight but he fights the urge to come, slows his strokes down to a slow meaningful pumping.

“Want you so much,” Dean’s says. His body is grinding into Sam’s touches. “Missed you, don’t want to ever live without you. You, my Sammy, you’re the only one I need,” his hands grip Sam tight, his fingers digging into his back so hard he’s sure there will be red marks and possibly bruises. His legs feel weak, his belly is fluttering with the swirling pool of heat building in it and he’s afraid his resolve is virtually nil. “Don’t think I can hold back,” he moans and throws his head back against the tile.

“Let it out, let it go, be with me completely,” Sam says squeezing a bit harder, pulling a bit faster. He can feel his orgasm on the verge, he’s on the edge and he can’t hold back much longer but he wants to come with Dean. He can tell he’s about to let loose, about to spill out. He can feel his body tensing up, his back gets hard as he contracts the muscles and makes tiny grunting noises.

“I…” his words are broken, his breathing is heavy as his orgasm rips through him like a bolt of lightening. “..love you,” he spills out over Sam’s hand and at that instant Sam comes too, their fluids mixing as he strokes them both to completion.

They’re slumped into each other, Sam’s body holding Dean up by pinning him to the wall. They’re kissing lazily, Sam’s hands on Dean’s face as he strokes his cheeks with his thumbs. “Thank you,” he whispers into Dean’s mouth.

“What?” Dean asks not hearing over the water.

“Thank you for loving me enough to come back to me,” he says again.

“I should be thanking you for saving me,” Dean kisses him again, this time with more passion. “I’m lost without you, you are my guiding light no matter what or where and I know that now, will always know that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes, even though it’s months later, Dean wakes up at night in a cold sweat dreaming about what was and wasn’t. He looks over at Sam sleeping next to him in some crappy motel, somewhere in America and knows that it’s all going to be alright, that he’s safe now and where he was can never touch him again as long as he has his Sammy to keep him here.

The End