That Tonight’s Gonna Be A Good Good Night
Title: That Tonight’s Gonna Be A Good Good Night
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Wincest
Word Count: 4,650
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Sam's birthday tops off a really great week.
Author Notes: Second timestamp for my story Just Breathe, set 8 months after the boys flee North Carolina and 2 months after Sticks N Stones. Just a small peek into the boys' lives. Title from Black Eyed Peas song "I've Got a Feeling". As always unbeta-ed.
Dean’s arm shot out, blindly groping for the off switch to the radio alarm clock on the nightstand, as his dreams were infiltrated by 'Cherry Pie' which come to think of it kinda’ fit his dream if you changed a couple of pronouns. He finally found the correct button and the bedroom was bathed in blessed silence again.
Dean stretched his body against the plush mattress to the extent he could with a six foot four baby brother draped over most of his left half. Fingers threaded and combed through silky locks as he watched the white fan above the bed spin lazily and forcibly tried to blink the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. He rolled his head and buried his nose in brown tresses, smiling contentedly as the scent of Sam and baby shampoo overwhelmed his senses. He pressed his lips to Sam’s forehead and right on cue, his brother turned over freeing Dean to get up. Rising from the sleep warmed bed, he reveled in a full body stretch before heading into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, he leaned over his still sleeping brother to press a soft kiss to the thin skin covering the bony portion of Sam’s skull just behind his ear. Nose gently nuzzling the shell, Dean whispered promises to return shortly knowing that his words would penetrate the slumbering haze of Sam’s mind.
He quietly closed and locked the back door, padding down the stairs leading to the carport area beneath the house. He weaved between the load bearing stilts, running an affectionate hand over the Impala as he walked by, and stopped briefly to rest his foot against the bumper of the Jeep to tighten his shoelace. The Jeep had appeared out of the blue about three weeks after they’d settled in, keys taped to the front door in a sealed envelope embossed with the initials CAB in gold in the corner and addressed to The Remingtons.
He jogged down the road to the public access boardwalk that led to the beach. They had beach access from their home but two turtle nests had been discovered not far from their stairs and Sam insisted now that they give the area a wide berth. Dean couldn’t really complain. They were living in a beach front cottage nearly rent free so who was he to grumble that he had to jog a few extra yards to reach the sand.
When Dean told Sam to pick their home, his little brother had closed his eyes and pointed to a random place on the map. They arrived at the quaint sea-side town, the type of place that rich vacationers had summer homes and the locals made their living on the tourists, and Dean couldn’t help but be a little nervous. At a small diner, he flipped through the paper checking out housing opportunities and job prospects in the area for a high school dropout. He discovered a small ad offering reduced rent in lieu of repairs and maintenance needed on a recently purchased summer beach cottage. The new owners wanted the house in condition before the next summer which worked out perfectly since the boys only intended to be in town until Sam graduated. He called and arranged a meeting with the Hesters, who were staying with friends until suitable renters could be found. They were an older couple, maybe mid-50s, and all it took was a flash of Dean’s most charming smile and Sam’s sincerest eyes coupled with a vague story about their Dad being gone, which the couple interpreted as dead, for them to leave with the keys to the house.
Running down the beach, feet splashing in the frothy surf and sinking into the muddy sand, Dean found it hard to believe that it had been 8 months since he’d unlocked and opened the door, desperately in need of paint, to their temporary home. He’d spent most of the next few months split between working at the local auto shop and repairing the decrepit house, finishing the last brush stroke on the outside paint the day before Thanksgiving. In the end, his hard work had given them something nice to call theirs, even if it was for a short time.
He veered further up the beach into the soft sugary sand to avoid a group of fishermen near the water’s edge. When he came even with the back deck of Beach Bunnie’s Bar and Grill, he slowed and turned, heading back toward home and Sam.
God, Sam. The doubts and concerns he’d had in the beginning about his relationship with Sam - how were they going to work this, how would they make the transition from brothers to lovers, what if he couldn’t be faithful, what if Sam changed his mind - all seemed laughable now. It was so easy right from the start, natural in a way that Dean didn’t think was possible. They already knew the best and worst of each other, the shining moments and deep dark secrets, and accepted it. And above all that, they were good for each other. Because of Sam, Dean had finally gotten his GED and last night had graduated as a certified Firefighter and because of Dean, Sam had more confidence, walked taller, stood straighter and he knew true love and support. Sam still hid his scars from the world but he no longer hid himself.
Making his way back to the house, Dean stopped at the mailbox. They’d neglected to check it yesterday with all the commotion surrounding Dean’s graduation. Pulling down the thin aluminum door, his breath caught. A manila envelope had been curved, forming to the shell of the mailbox, to fit inside. It wasn’t the first he’d found, three others had arrived in the last few weeks, and he had a pretty good idea what it meant. Folding it over on itself, he pulled it out and smiled at the logo in the corner.
Yahtzee.
Purdue, Ball State and the University of Indiana were on the desk in their bedroom, all offering promises of fully paid tuitions and meal plans, but this one was the one Sam had been waiting on.
Grin growing, he hid it behind the front wheel of the Impala where it would be easy to find after Sam left for school. It had already been a good week and this, this just catapulted it to a fucking fantastic week. Dean had finished school, Sam had been named Valedictorian and, after months, Sam had finally reached his rehab goal and moved up to the 15 lb free weight for his curls. Dean climbed the stairs, raking his teeth over his bottom lip as he thought about the plans he’d made for this evening.
He stopped at the doorway to their bedroom, smiling at the sight. Sam was sprawled across the bed, arms cradled around Dean’s pillow and face buried in the goose feathered fluff. Dean moved quietly, settling on the side of the bed. He trailed his fingers up and down Sam’s sides and across his back before ghosting them over the scars on his left arm, light enough to soothe but firm enough not to tickle. He leaned over, kissing the bare patch of neck visible beneath Sam’s sleep-mussed hair then moved to nuzzle the shell of his ear.
“Happy Birthday, Sammy.”
Dean had been planning this all week. When he asked Sam where he’d like to go for his birthday dinner, Sam had merely shrugged and said they could go to Bunnie’s like always. Sam cooked most nights, putting to good use a stack of recipes that Casey had stashed in his duffel bag, but on Friday nights they went to Bunnie’s. The burgers were good, possibly better than that shack in Delaware, and the waitresses were particularly susceptible to Dean’s charm. Dean only needed to flash his trademark grin and the brothers would leave haven eaten way more than they paid for. And Bunnie, she had a weak spot for Sam, loved him from the moment she laid eyes on him. She coddled him, lamented over how thin he was and forced extra portions or desserts on him.
Walking in was like entering an episode of Cheers with ‘Hey Dean’s and ‘Hi Sam’s called from every corner as the waitstaff acknowledged the presence of their favorite patrons. They found their normal table on the back deck and within five minutes their drinks and usual dinners appeared in front of them. They ate, trading their day’s stories between bites of burger and chicken salad sandwich. Just as Dean licked ketchup and fry salt from his fingers and Sam wiped his mouth with his napkin, Bunnie and the waitresses appeared from the Kitchen with a birthday cake singing a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday to Sam. With a look that was equal parts surprise and embarrassment, Sam blew out the candles and received a kiss on the lips from each waitress - Dean nearly had to say something when Amber looked a little too into hers - and one on the forehead from Bunnie.
They walked back along the beach toward home, shoulders brushing periodically in the only contact they dared while in public. They’d held it together this long, kept up appearances, and since they were only here for another few weeks, it would be a shame to be run out of town by a lynch mob complete with torches and pitch forks this close to the end. They made their way peacefully, guided by the near full moon light and carefully avoiding the high tide line where jellyfish tended to wash ashore.
Dean unlocked the door to the house and entered with Sam following closely. He stilled Sam’s hand before little brother could turn on the light and pulled him gently toward the bedroom. The beach facing side of the house, where their bedroom was located, was constructed with a mixture of large floor to ceiling windows and patio doors that allowed natural light to fill and illuminate the spaces. Dean and Sam stood near the bed facing each other in the pale blue-white light, Dean’s hand still holding Sam’s wrist loosely, thumb smoothing a stripe across the back. He reached over into the top drawer of the dresser and retrieved the folder he’d stashed there earlier and a small pouch.
He handed over the manila envelope with a large smile, Sam returning it when he noticed the logo in the corner.
“This came for you today.”
Sam ran his finger over the logo tracing the stylized N superimposed over the letter D.
“Notre Dame,” he whispered, unexpectedly nervous. Sam opened the flap and a stack of papers slid out into his waiting hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Remington...,” he mumbled trailing off, eyes flying over the words on the page. He skimmed over the next sheets and looked up at Dean with wide eyes. “I got in,” he murmured dazed, “Full ride. Holy shit!”
“Never a doubt in my mind.”
They continued to gaze at each other, matching goofy smiles on their faces when Dean remembered the pouch still clutched in his hand.
“Oh, here. It’s not a full ride to Notre Dame or anything, but…Happy Birthday, Sammy.”
Sam’s smile was blinding, working fingers into the cinched opening to loosen the drawstring. Up-ending the pouch, a small braided leather bracelet dropped into his open palm. Setting the pouch down on the dresser, he picked up the leather cord and ran his fingers over the edges to get a feel for the texture. The leather was soft and supple, not the cheap fare sold in the local tourist shops along the main strip. It was expensive and, from the intricacy of the braid, handmade. On the inside runes were pressed into the hide, the same shielding symbols on their skin and others: love, protection, brotherhood and strength. Sam looked up to see the anticipatory worry in Dean’s eyes.
“I love it.” He smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to Dean’s lips. Sam fumbled slightly trying to fasten the bracelet around his wrist before Dean’s fingers took hold of the ends and nimbly fastened the clasp.
Sam’s hands came to rest on Dean’s hips, pulling him in closer for another kiss, and Dean’s came up to cradle his face, controlling the pace and deepening the kiss. It was languid, a tender slide of lips interspersed with gasped sighs and the slow massage of tongues.
Dean slid his hands down Sam’s chest to begin work on the buttons of the overshirt Sam insisted on wearing even though the temperatures had been in the 80s for weeks. His hands slipped under the open flaps and circled the fleshy mounds of Sam’s shoulders pushing the shirt back and off in a fluid sweep.
Sam’s fingers threaded into the belt loops of Dean’s jeans and clutched tightly as Dean’s hands circled around his waist. Thumbs slipped under the fabric of his t-shirt and traced a line of fire above the waistband of his pants. Gripping the hem of the t-shirt, Dean broke their kiss to pull it up and over Sam’s head, lips latching onto Sam’s shoulder and mouthing along his collarbone. The cotton tee landed on top of the overshirt with a soft thud as Dean’s hands splayed across Sam’s back, one at the small and the other between his shoulder blades.
He maneuvered them around, lips, teeth and tongue constantly roving over neck and chest, until the back of Sam’s knees bumped their mattress. Twisting until he was able to lower them down, he braced himself with one arm while a supporting hand remained on Sam’s upper back. Dean delved back into the warm cavern of Sam’s mouth, tongue following the familiar landscape, before he pulled back to nibble and lave a path over his jaw to Sam’s ear. He settled his weight over Sam’s body, teeth scraping and tugging lightly on his earlobe. He traced the shell with the tip of his tongue.
“I love you.”
Sam arched up at the words whispered huskily in his ear, fingers digging into his brother’s muscled back. He opened his mouth to reply, but was silenced by another searing kiss. Dean moved down his body, lavishing attention on his neck with special devotion to the spots he knew made Sam squirm. His hands and mouth roamed over the sun kissed expanse of Sam’s chest, running over the scars that crossed his chest then flicking, licking and sucking on each nipple in turn making them peak and harden. His fingers ghosted down the scars on Sam’s arm, dotting the length of each one with wet open-mouthed kisses.
“Dean. Don’t please.” Sam tried to pull his arm away. Dean had always made a conscious effort to avoid Sam’s arm, understanding his brother was sensitive about its marred appearance, but tonight he held firm.
“I love you,” he repeated. “All of you.”
Tears leaked from the corners of Sam’s clenched eyes and Dean moved in for another kiss, wiping the wetness away. “Shhh. It’s alright, Sammy.”
Dean smoothed his fingers down Sam’s torso where they deftly unfastened Sam’s belt and fly. He slithered down his brother’s long frame, removing his jeans and boxer-briefs in the process. Standing at the foot of the bed, Dean removed his own clothes with quiet efficiency and crawled back up and over Sam’s body, licking a stripe up his cock along the way. Sam gasped at the contact and Dean snickered, nuzzling the hair at the base of Sam’s erection. He reached over, pulling open the nightstand drawer, and, to his brother’s wide-eyed astonishment, removed a bottle of lube.
“Oh God, Dean,” Sam breathed, excitement and nerves evident in his voice.
Yeah, this was new. Sam’s injuries had limited them to kissing and heavy make out sessions for the first couple of weeks and Dean’s commitment to his promise of taking it slow had limited them to hand and blowjobs since. They had talked about it, but more in the conversational way lovers discussed things right before they fell asleep, trading secrets and truths. Dean knew that Sam wasn’t a virgin, at least in the traditional sense, but didn’t know the name of the lucky girl - girl singular since Sam admitted it had only been one time - because Sam wouldn’t tell and Dean didn’t pry since he realized Sam’s silence on the matter probably meant he’d known her. He also knew that Sam was willing to let Dean set the pace, voluntarily giving control of their sexual relationship over to Dean. On the same note, Sam knew that Dean had gone to a clinic in Jacksonville not long after they moved here and was tested - 'clean bill of health, thank you very much' - and that Dean’s reluctance to take things faster had more to do with giving Sam time to change his mind than anything else.
Dean set the bottle of lube on the bed next to Sam’s hip and wiggled his way between his brother’s spread legs. He licked the head of Sam’s cock, tonguing the slit and collecting the bead of precome there, and wrapped his hand around the base. He stroked slowly up once and on the downstroke he took the tip in and sucked gently. Sam’s hips bucked up off the bed and Dean cupped a restraining hand over his hip. He opened his mouth wider and slid down until lips met knuckles, pressing the flat of his tongue to the vein underneath. Sam moaned, head thrashing on the pillow. Dean removed the hand circling Sam girth and reached out for the bottle of lube.
He lifted off Sam until just the bulbous head was between his lips, he swirled his tongue around and bobbed back down until his nose nestled in the coarse, dark hair at the base and the tip of Sam nudged the back of his throat. A groan started somewhere around Sam’s abdomen and rumbled up his throat and out his mouth, masking the sound of Dean flicking open the lube. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard up the length of flesh as he rubbed the palm, holding Sam to the bed, over the bone and muscle of his hip before removing it. Hips, sensing their freedom, lifted and fell fucking Dean’s mouth in small, weak thrusts, Sam’s mind barely containing the motion.
“Do it, Sammy.” He lifted off long enough to say the words and then took him back in as deep as he could go, swallowing when the head entered his throat again. Sam’s tremulous restraint snapped and he began to thrust in earnest, hands cupping the back of Dean’s skull and dick sliding hard and deep on each movement.
Monopolizing on Sam’s focus elsewhere, Dean coated his fingers and reached down between Sam’s legs. He traced the edge of Sam’s entrance with the pad of his finger and returned his other hand to Sam’s hip to control the rise and fall again, slowing everything down. Sucking hard and deep, he inserted his finger in to the first knuckle. Sam reacted immediately to the intrusion, his entire body tensing at the foreign feeling.
“Sammy, you have to relax. I won’t hurt you, but you have to help me out here.” Dean licked and nuzzled Sam’s erection, thumb tracing a soothing pattern over the jut of hipbone, until he felt Sam go lax. He pressed further until his finger was completely seated. “That’s good, baby boy. Just like that.”
Dean used slow strokes and when he felt Sam push back, he curled his finger and began his search.
“Oh fuck, Dean.” Sam’s back arched completely off the bed, fingers twining painfully in Dean’s short locks.
Bingo! Dean stretched his lips around Sam’s cock, a mock version of the trademark smug grin he spared the waitresses earlier. Sinking down to the hilt, he hummed ‘Happy Birthday’ around his mouthful and added another finger. Sam gasped writhing on the bed and when Dean felt he was ready for another finger, he touched nose to pubes and with a humming version of ‘Happy Happy Birthday Baby’ added a third.
Sam jolted and he cried out when Dean found that spot again, rubbing and pressing until Sam lost conscious control of his body and allowed it to move on instinct. Dean pulled off with a slurpy ‘pop’ so he could watch as Sam started to come undone. His own neglected erection throbbed painfully, demanding attention. He ground down into the mattress looking for some sort of relief while simultaneously afraid he’d come before he got them where they were going.
Dean’s hand on his hip wound a path to Sam’s cock, circled it and began an up and down rhythm that Sam’s brain couldn’t distinguish as a separate pleasure than the already existing one, only an enhancement. His body undulated between Dean’s hand around his cock and Dean’s fingers in his ass, a slave to the sensations coursing through his veins.
“Dean, I’m gonna…I can’t” Sam panted then growled, “Fuck!” as he came.
Dean carefully slid his fingers out and peppered kisses up Sam’s torso, wiping his hand on the sheets as he went. He kissed his lips briefly then nibbled along his jaw, whispering “Roll on your side” as he rounded his ear and began licking down the long expanse of neck Sam bared easily to him.
“No, I want to see you. Please,” Sam protested.
“Next time.” Dean kissed him softly, pressing gently on Sam’s hip to encourage him to move. “Trust me, Sammy.”
As Sam turned, Dean knelt behind him, tearing open the condom wrapper and unrolling it down his length.
“Dean?”
“Trust me. Less mess for your first time.” He grabbed the bottle of lube, squirted some in his palm and slicked himself up.
Dean stretched out, body flush against Sam’s back. He slipped his left arm under Sam’s neck and laced his fingers in Sam’s lying in the pillow. His other hand petted down Sam’s side from shoulder to hip, soothing the tension that had crept back into Sam while they changed position. He kissed across Sam’s shoulder to the bend of his neck, knowing he reached that one spot when Sam moaned and tilted his head giving Dean more access. He scraped his teeth over it and Sam groaned, his hand reaching back and grabbing ahold of Dean’s thigh.
Dean moved his mouth to Sam’s ear, whispering. “Take a deep breath and let it out.”
Inhale, exhale.
“Again.”
Inhale, exhale.
Dean canted his hips back and lined up, the head snug against Sam’s entrance. “One more.”
Inhale. Dean pressed forward as the air left Sam’s lungs. Blunt nails pressed gently into the soft skin of his leg, enough to still but not hurt, and the muscles around Dean’s cock clamped down.
“Sam,” Dean gasped questioningly. The overwhelming constriction and heat forced his eyes to clench shut and his jaw to tighten to keep from thrusting in all the way.
“I’m okay. Feels…weird.” Sam’s breaths were coming in pants and he willed them to slow and lengthen, knowing his brother would stop if he thought Sam was in pain. He rolled the fingers on Dean’s thigh so soft pads gripped instead of nails. Dean’s hand continued its ministrations up and down his side, waiting for Sam to adjust, and when the vise on him lessened, he pushed forward a little more.
Dean went slowly, a repeated pattern of incremental movement - push, wait, adjust - until he was fully seated, body completely molded to Sam’s. Dean’s muscles shook with the effort it took to remain still, keep the connection. He bent the arm under Sam’s head down so their clasped hands rested over Sam’s heart and laved open-mouthed kisses to the tattoo on Sam’s shoulder blade.
“Dean, please,” Sam begged.
“Yeah, Sam. I got you.” The hand on Sam’s hip slid forward, fingers splaying below his navel. Dean moved, pelvis rolling backward and forward in a wavelike motion to match the sounds of the surf filtering through the windows.
His stomach clenched. Dean’s sexual history was vast and varied, a trail of women and a few men scattered across the country that would make almost any man envious, but he’d never had this. This wasn’t just sex, two bodies fitting together with only one goal in mind, though they would definitely get there; this was making love, slow and sacred, intimacy beyond physical gratification.
Making love…Dean almost snorted at himself, but refrained at the last minute fairly certain that might ruin the mood. A year ago, he’d have told you that ‘making love’ was a myth, like vampires and Bigfoot, just something overly sensitive and romantic that guys said to girls to get in their pants. But now, unhurriedly rolling his hips into Sam with varying depths and strengths and soaking up every moan and gasp Sam graced him with, he was a firm believer.
They maintained the languid pace for what seemed like an eternity. Dean lifted their clasped hand to rest on the pillow above Sam’s head, his free hand coming around between Sam’s shoulder blades and gently pushing his upper body forward to change the angle of the thrusts. Dean swiveled his hips, seeking. Sam cried out and his body clenched down.
“Dean! Oh Fuck!”
Dean's breath left him in a punch and the warmth that had been lazily pooling low in his belly intensified, tingling up his spine. He sped up his motions, hitting that spot on every few passes, Sam’s moans morphing into guttural groans of Dean’s name alternated with curses and blasphemies. Without conscious thought, Dean's hand came around Sam and took him in a firm grasp. He synched his strokes to his thrusts, twisting his wrist when he came to the head. Sam’s back arched away from his chest and he turned his face into the pillow to bite the pillowcase. Dean’s movements became increasingly erratic and with a grunt and a deep thrust, he came. Just as the intense spasms quelled, giving way to shuddering aftershocks, Dean felt warmth on his hand.
Sam’s body melted back into him, hips jerking slightly in the aftermath of his orgasm.
Tears sprang to the corners of his eyes and hysterical laughter bubbled up from his throat, his confused body unable to process the extreme emotions Dean had caused.
“Sammy? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Dean’s worried voice cut through Sam’s euphoric haze. He pulled his hips back, sliding free of Sam’s body, and propped his head on his elbow to get a better view of Sam’s face, rubbing calming circles across Sam’s chest.
“Too good. Fuck! Too good. I don’t …I’ve never…I think you broke me.” Sam’s stilted words burst through his attempts to quiet his giggling.
Dean smirked in understanding and claimed Sam in a slow, passionate kiss to help silence the laughter. Breaking apart, Dean tightened his arms around Sam’s waist, the inked pattern on his chest lining up with the complimenting one on Sam’s back. With a kiss to Sam’s shoulder, he untangled his heavy limbs and stumbled to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. He came back and tenderly wiped Sam clean before turning his attention to himself. He tossed the washcloth in the direction of the bathroom, hearing it thwap against the tile floor, and laid down next to his drowsy-lidded brother.
Sam rolled and curled around Dean’s side, head on his chest and hand over his heart. He tipped his face upward and pressed small kisses into Dean’s neck. Dean ghosted his fingers over the bracelet encircling Sam’s wrist, a small smile playing across his lips, then reached up to curl around Sam’s jaw. He tilted his brother’s face up and kissed him softly then let go so Sam could fit his face into the curve of his neck.
“Best birthday ever,” Sam murmured, lips moving against Dean’s skin.
Dean trailed his hand down Sam’s arm, fingers caressing up and down the scars in his nightly routine.
“I love you, Dean,” Sam slurred sleepily.
“I love you too, Sammy. Always,” Dean responded.
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Wincest
Word Count: 4,650
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Sam's birthday tops off a really great week.
Author Notes: Second timestamp for my story Just Breathe, set 8 months after the boys flee North Carolina and 2 months after Sticks N Stones. Just a small peek into the boys' lives. Title from Black Eyed Peas song "I've Got a Feeling". As always unbeta-ed.
Dean’s arm shot out, blindly groping for the off switch to the radio alarm clock on the nightstand, as his dreams were infiltrated by 'Cherry Pie' which come to think of it kinda’ fit his dream if you changed a couple of pronouns. He finally found the correct button and the bedroom was bathed in blessed silence again.
Dean stretched his body against the plush mattress to the extent he could with a six foot four baby brother draped over most of his left half. Fingers threaded and combed through silky locks as he watched the white fan above the bed spin lazily and forcibly tried to blink the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. He rolled his head and buried his nose in brown tresses, smiling contentedly as the scent of Sam and baby shampoo overwhelmed his senses. He pressed his lips to Sam’s forehead and right on cue, his brother turned over freeing Dean to get up. Rising from the sleep warmed bed, he reveled in a full body stretch before heading into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, he leaned over his still sleeping brother to press a soft kiss to the thin skin covering the bony portion of Sam’s skull just behind his ear. Nose gently nuzzling the shell, Dean whispered promises to return shortly knowing that his words would penetrate the slumbering haze of Sam’s mind.
He quietly closed and locked the back door, padding down the stairs leading to the carport area beneath the house. He weaved between the load bearing stilts, running an affectionate hand over the Impala as he walked by, and stopped briefly to rest his foot against the bumper of the Jeep to tighten his shoelace. The Jeep had appeared out of the blue about three weeks after they’d settled in, keys taped to the front door in a sealed envelope embossed with the initials CAB in gold in the corner and addressed to The Remingtons.
He jogged down the road to the public access boardwalk that led to the beach. They had beach access from their home but two turtle nests had been discovered not far from their stairs and Sam insisted now that they give the area a wide berth. Dean couldn’t really complain. They were living in a beach front cottage nearly rent free so who was he to grumble that he had to jog a few extra yards to reach the sand.
When Dean told Sam to pick their home, his little brother had closed his eyes and pointed to a random place on the map. They arrived at the quaint sea-side town, the type of place that rich vacationers had summer homes and the locals made their living on the tourists, and Dean couldn’t help but be a little nervous. At a small diner, he flipped through the paper checking out housing opportunities and job prospects in the area for a high school dropout. He discovered a small ad offering reduced rent in lieu of repairs and maintenance needed on a recently purchased summer beach cottage. The new owners wanted the house in condition before the next summer which worked out perfectly since the boys only intended to be in town until Sam graduated. He called and arranged a meeting with the Hesters, who were staying with friends until suitable renters could be found. They were an older couple, maybe mid-50s, and all it took was a flash of Dean’s most charming smile and Sam’s sincerest eyes coupled with a vague story about their Dad being gone, which the couple interpreted as dead, for them to leave with the keys to the house.
Running down the beach, feet splashing in the frothy surf and sinking into the muddy sand, Dean found it hard to believe that it had been 8 months since he’d unlocked and opened the door, desperately in need of paint, to their temporary home. He’d spent most of the next few months split between working at the local auto shop and repairing the decrepit house, finishing the last brush stroke on the outside paint the day before Thanksgiving. In the end, his hard work had given them something nice to call theirs, even if it was for a short time.
He veered further up the beach into the soft sugary sand to avoid a group of fishermen near the water’s edge. When he came even with the back deck of Beach Bunnie’s Bar and Grill, he slowed and turned, heading back toward home and Sam.
God, Sam. The doubts and concerns he’d had in the beginning about his relationship with Sam - how were they going to work this, how would they make the transition from brothers to lovers, what if he couldn’t be faithful, what if Sam changed his mind - all seemed laughable now. It was so easy right from the start, natural in a way that Dean didn’t think was possible. They already knew the best and worst of each other, the shining moments and deep dark secrets, and accepted it. And above all that, they were good for each other. Because of Sam, Dean had finally gotten his GED and last night had graduated as a certified Firefighter and because of Dean, Sam had more confidence, walked taller, stood straighter and he knew true love and support. Sam still hid his scars from the world but he no longer hid himself.
Making his way back to the house, Dean stopped at the mailbox. They’d neglected to check it yesterday with all the commotion surrounding Dean’s graduation. Pulling down the thin aluminum door, his breath caught. A manila envelope had been curved, forming to the shell of the mailbox, to fit inside. It wasn’t the first he’d found, three others had arrived in the last few weeks, and he had a pretty good idea what it meant. Folding it over on itself, he pulled it out and smiled at the logo in the corner.
Yahtzee.
Purdue, Ball State and the University of Indiana were on the desk in their bedroom, all offering promises of fully paid tuitions and meal plans, but this one was the one Sam had been waiting on.
Grin growing, he hid it behind the front wheel of the Impala where it would be easy to find after Sam left for school. It had already been a good week and this, this just catapulted it to a fucking fantastic week. Dean had finished school, Sam had been named Valedictorian and, after months, Sam had finally reached his rehab goal and moved up to the 15 lb free weight for his curls. Dean climbed the stairs, raking his teeth over his bottom lip as he thought about the plans he’d made for this evening.
He stopped at the doorway to their bedroom, smiling at the sight. Sam was sprawled across the bed, arms cradled around Dean’s pillow and face buried in the goose feathered fluff. Dean moved quietly, settling on the side of the bed. He trailed his fingers up and down Sam’s sides and across his back before ghosting them over the scars on his left arm, light enough to soothe but firm enough not to tickle. He leaned over, kissing the bare patch of neck visible beneath Sam’s sleep-mussed hair then moved to nuzzle the shell of his ear.
“Happy Birthday, Sammy.”
Dean had been planning this all week. When he asked Sam where he’d like to go for his birthday dinner, Sam had merely shrugged and said they could go to Bunnie’s like always. Sam cooked most nights, putting to good use a stack of recipes that Casey had stashed in his duffel bag, but on Friday nights they went to Bunnie’s. The burgers were good, possibly better than that shack in Delaware, and the waitresses were particularly susceptible to Dean’s charm. Dean only needed to flash his trademark grin and the brothers would leave haven eaten way more than they paid for. And Bunnie, she had a weak spot for Sam, loved him from the moment she laid eyes on him. She coddled him, lamented over how thin he was and forced extra portions or desserts on him.
Walking in was like entering an episode of Cheers with ‘Hey Dean’s and ‘Hi Sam’s called from every corner as the waitstaff acknowledged the presence of their favorite patrons. They found their normal table on the back deck and within five minutes their drinks and usual dinners appeared in front of them. They ate, trading their day’s stories between bites of burger and chicken salad sandwich. Just as Dean licked ketchup and fry salt from his fingers and Sam wiped his mouth with his napkin, Bunnie and the waitresses appeared from the Kitchen with a birthday cake singing a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday to Sam. With a look that was equal parts surprise and embarrassment, Sam blew out the candles and received a kiss on the lips from each waitress - Dean nearly had to say something when Amber looked a little too into hers - and one on the forehead from Bunnie.
They walked back along the beach toward home, shoulders brushing periodically in the only contact they dared while in public. They’d held it together this long, kept up appearances, and since they were only here for another few weeks, it would be a shame to be run out of town by a lynch mob complete with torches and pitch forks this close to the end. They made their way peacefully, guided by the near full moon light and carefully avoiding the high tide line where jellyfish tended to wash ashore.
Dean unlocked the door to the house and entered with Sam following closely. He stilled Sam’s hand before little brother could turn on the light and pulled him gently toward the bedroom. The beach facing side of the house, where their bedroom was located, was constructed with a mixture of large floor to ceiling windows and patio doors that allowed natural light to fill and illuminate the spaces. Dean and Sam stood near the bed facing each other in the pale blue-white light, Dean’s hand still holding Sam’s wrist loosely, thumb smoothing a stripe across the back. He reached over into the top drawer of the dresser and retrieved the folder he’d stashed there earlier and a small pouch.
He handed over the manila envelope with a large smile, Sam returning it when he noticed the logo in the corner.
“This came for you today.”
Sam ran his finger over the logo tracing the stylized N superimposed over the letter D.
“Notre Dame,” he whispered, unexpectedly nervous. Sam opened the flap and a stack of papers slid out into his waiting hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Remington...,” he mumbled trailing off, eyes flying over the words on the page. He skimmed over the next sheets and looked up at Dean with wide eyes. “I got in,” he murmured dazed, “Full ride. Holy shit!”
“Never a doubt in my mind.”
They continued to gaze at each other, matching goofy smiles on their faces when Dean remembered the pouch still clutched in his hand.
“Oh, here. It’s not a full ride to Notre Dame or anything, but…Happy Birthday, Sammy.”
Sam’s smile was blinding, working fingers into the cinched opening to loosen the drawstring. Up-ending the pouch, a small braided leather bracelet dropped into his open palm. Setting the pouch down on the dresser, he picked up the leather cord and ran his fingers over the edges to get a feel for the texture. The leather was soft and supple, not the cheap fare sold in the local tourist shops along the main strip. It was expensive and, from the intricacy of the braid, handmade. On the inside runes were pressed into the hide, the same shielding symbols on their skin and others: love, protection, brotherhood and strength. Sam looked up to see the anticipatory worry in Dean’s eyes.
“I love it.” He smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to Dean’s lips. Sam fumbled slightly trying to fasten the bracelet around his wrist before Dean’s fingers took hold of the ends and nimbly fastened the clasp.
Sam’s hands came to rest on Dean’s hips, pulling him in closer for another kiss, and Dean’s came up to cradle his face, controlling the pace and deepening the kiss. It was languid, a tender slide of lips interspersed with gasped sighs and the slow massage of tongues.
Dean slid his hands down Sam’s chest to begin work on the buttons of the overshirt Sam insisted on wearing even though the temperatures had been in the 80s for weeks. His hands slipped under the open flaps and circled the fleshy mounds of Sam’s shoulders pushing the shirt back and off in a fluid sweep.
Sam’s fingers threaded into the belt loops of Dean’s jeans and clutched tightly as Dean’s hands circled around his waist. Thumbs slipped under the fabric of his t-shirt and traced a line of fire above the waistband of his pants. Gripping the hem of the t-shirt, Dean broke their kiss to pull it up and over Sam’s head, lips latching onto Sam’s shoulder and mouthing along his collarbone. The cotton tee landed on top of the overshirt with a soft thud as Dean’s hands splayed across Sam’s back, one at the small and the other between his shoulder blades.
He maneuvered them around, lips, teeth and tongue constantly roving over neck and chest, until the back of Sam’s knees bumped their mattress. Twisting until he was able to lower them down, he braced himself with one arm while a supporting hand remained on Sam’s upper back. Dean delved back into the warm cavern of Sam’s mouth, tongue following the familiar landscape, before he pulled back to nibble and lave a path over his jaw to Sam’s ear. He settled his weight over Sam’s body, teeth scraping and tugging lightly on his earlobe. He traced the shell with the tip of his tongue.
“I love you.”
Sam arched up at the words whispered huskily in his ear, fingers digging into his brother’s muscled back. He opened his mouth to reply, but was silenced by another searing kiss. Dean moved down his body, lavishing attention on his neck with special devotion to the spots he knew made Sam squirm. His hands and mouth roamed over the sun kissed expanse of Sam’s chest, running over the scars that crossed his chest then flicking, licking and sucking on each nipple in turn making them peak and harden. His fingers ghosted down the scars on Sam’s arm, dotting the length of each one with wet open-mouthed kisses.
“Dean. Don’t please.” Sam tried to pull his arm away. Dean had always made a conscious effort to avoid Sam’s arm, understanding his brother was sensitive about its marred appearance, but tonight he held firm.
“I love you,” he repeated. “All of you.”
Tears leaked from the corners of Sam’s clenched eyes and Dean moved in for another kiss, wiping the wetness away. “Shhh. It’s alright, Sammy.”
Dean smoothed his fingers down Sam’s torso where they deftly unfastened Sam’s belt and fly. He slithered down his brother’s long frame, removing his jeans and boxer-briefs in the process. Standing at the foot of the bed, Dean removed his own clothes with quiet efficiency and crawled back up and over Sam’s body, licking a stripe up his cock along the way. Sam gasped at the contact and Dean snickered, nuzzling the hair at the base of Sam’s erection. He reached over, pulling open the nightstand drawer, and, to his brother’s wide-eyed astonishment, removed a bottle of lube.
“Oh God, Dean,” Sam breathed, excitement and nerves evident in his voice.
Yeah, this was new. Sam’s injuries had limited them to kissing and heavy make out sessions for the first couple of weeks and Dean’s commitment to his promise of taking it slow had limited them to hand and blowjobs since. They had talked about it, but more in the conversational way lovers discussed things right before they fell asleep, trading secrets and truths. Dean knew that Sam wasn’t a virgin, at least in the traditional sense, but didn’t know the name of the lucky girl - girl singular since Sam admitted it had only been one time - because Sam wouldn’t tell and Dean didn’t pry since he realized Sam’s silence on the matter probably meant he’d known her. He also knew that Sam was willing to let Dean set the pace, voluntarily giving control of their sexual relationship over to Dean. On the same note, Sam knew that Dean had gone to a clinic in Jacksonville not long after they moved here and was tested - 'clean bill of health, thank you very much' - and that Dean’s reluctance to take things faster had more to do with giving Sam time to change his mind than anything else.
Dean set the bottle of lube on the bed next to Sam’s hip and wiggled his way between his brother’s spread legs. He licked the head of Sam’s cock, tonguing the slit and collecting the bead of precome there, and wrapped his hand around the base. He stroked slowly up once and on the downstroke he took the tip in and sucked gently. Sam’s hips bucked up off the bed and Dean cupped a restraining hand over his hip. He opened his mouth wider and slid down until lips met knuckles, pressing the flat of his tongue to the vein underneath. Sam moaned, head thrashing on the pillow. Dean removed the hand circling Sam girth and reached out for the bottle of lube.
He lifted off Sam until just the bulbous head was between his lips, he swirled his tongue around and bobbed back down until his nose nestled in the coarse, dark hair at the base and the tip of Sam nudged the back of his throat. A groan started somewhere around Sam’s abdomen and rumbled up his throat and out his mouth, masking the sound of Dean flicking open the lube. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard up the length of flesh as he rubbed the palm, holding Sam to the bed, over the bone and muscle of his hip before removing it. Hips, sensing their freedom, lifted and fell fucking Dean’s mouth in small, weak thrusts, Sam’s mind barely containing the motion.
“Do it, Sammy.” He lifted off long enough to say the words and then took him back in as deep as he could go, swallowing when the head entered his throat again. Sam’s tremulous restraint snapped and he began to thrust in earnest, hands cupping the back of Dean’s skull and dick sliding hard and deep on each movement.
Monopolizing on Sam’s focus elsewhere, Dean coated his fingers and reached down between Sam’s legs. He traced the edge of Sam’s entrance with the pad of his finger and returned his other hand to Sam’s hip to control the rise and fall again, slowing everything down. Sucking hard and deep, he inserted his finger in to the first knuckle. Sam reacted immediately to the intrusion, his entire body tensing at the foreign feeling.
“Sammy, you have to relax. I won’t hurt you, but you have to help me out here.” Dean licked and nuzzled Sam’s erection, thumb tracing a soothing pattern over the jut of hipbone, until he felt Sam go lax. He pressed further until his finger was completely seated. “That’s good, baby boy. Just like that.”
Dean used slow strokes and when he felt Sam push back, he curled his finger and began his search.
“Oh fuck, Dean.” Sam’s back arched completely off the bed, fingers twining painfully in Dean’s short locks.
Bingo! Dean stretched his lips around Sam’s cock, a mock version of the trademark smug grin he spared the waitresses earlier. Sinking down to the hilt, he hummed ‘Happy Birthday’ around his mouthful and added another finger. Sam gasped writhing on the bed and when Dean felt he was ready for another finger, he touched nose to pubes and with a humming version of ‘Happy Happy Birthday Baby’ added a third.
Sam jolted and he cried out when Dean found that spot again, rubbing and pressing until Sam lost conscious control of his body and allowed it to move on instinct. Dean pulled off with a slurpy ‘pop’ so he could watch as Sam started to come undone. His own neglected erection throbbed painfully, demanding attention. He ground down into the mattress looking for some sort of relief while simultaneously afraid he’d come before he got them where they were going.
Dean’s hand on his hip wound a path to Sam’s cock, circled it and began an up and down rhythm that Sam’s brain couldn’t distinguish as a separate pleasure than the already existing one, only an enhancement. His body undulated between Dean’s hand around his cock and Dean’s fingers in his ass, a slave to the sensations coursing through his veins.
“Dean, I’m gonna…I can’t” Sam panted then growled, “Fuck!” as he came.
Dean carefully slid his fingers out and peppered kisses up Sam’s torso, wiping his hand on the sheets as he went. He kissed his lips briefly then nibbled along his jaw, whispering “Roll on your side” as he rounded his ear and began licking down the long expanse of neck Sam bared easily to him.
“No, I want to see you. Please,” Sam protested.
“Next time.” Dean kissed him softly, pressing gently on Sam’s hip to encourage him to move. “Trust me, Sammy.”
As Sam turned, Dean knelt behind him, tearing open the condom wrapper and unrolling it down his length.
“Dean?”
“Trust me. Less mess for your first time.” He grabbed the bottle of lube, squirted some in his palm and slicked himself up.
Dean stretched out, body flush against Sam’s back. He slipped his left arm under Sam’s neck and laced his fingers in Sam’s lying in the pillow. His other hand petted down Sam’s side from shoulder to hip, soothing the tension that had crept back into Sam while they changed position. He kissed across Sam’s shoulder to the bend of his neck, knowing he reached that one spot when Sam moaned and tilted his head giving Dean more access. He scraped his teeth over it and Sam groaned, his hand reaching back and grabbing ahold of Dean’s thigh.
Dean moved his mouth to Sam’s ear, whispering. “Take a deep breath and let it out.”
Inhale, exhale.
“Again.”
Inhale, exhale.
Dean canted his hips back and lined up, the head snug against Sam’s entrance. “One more.”
Inhale. Dean pressed forward as the air left Sam’s lungs. Blunt nails pressed gently into the soft skin of his leg, enough to still but not hurt, and the muscles around Dean’s cock clamped down.
“Sam,” Dean gasped questioningly. The overwhelming constriction and heat forced his eyes to clench shut and his jaw to tighten to keep from thrusting in all the way.
“I’m okay. Feels…weird.” Sam’s breaths were coming in pants and he willed them to slow and lengthen, knowing his brother would stop if he thought Sam was in pain. He rolled the fingers on Dean’s thigh so soft pads gripped instead of nails. Dean’s hand continued its ministrations up and down his side, waiting for Sam to adjust, and when the vise on him lessened, he pushed forward a little more.
Dean went slowly, a repeated pattern of incremental movement - push, wait, adjust - until he was fully seated, body completely molded to Sam’s. Dean’s muscles shook with the effort it took to remain still, keep the connection. He bent the arm under Sam’s head down so their clasped hands rested over Sam’s heart and laved open-mouthed kisses to the tattoo on Sam’s shoulder blade.
“Dean, please,” Sam begged.
“Yeah, Sam. I got you.” The hand on Sam’s hip slid forward, fingers splaying below his navel. Dean moved, pelvis rolling backward and forward in a wavelike motion to match the sounds of the surf filtering through the windows.
His stomach clenched. Dean’s sexual history was vast and varied, a trail of women and a few men scattered across the country that would make almost any man envious, but he’d never had this. This wasn’t just sex, two bodies fitting together with only one goal in mind, though they would definitely get there; this was making love, slow and sacred, intimacy beyond physical gratification.
Making love…Dean almost snorted at himself, but refrained at the last minute fairly certain that might ruin the mood. A year ago, he’d have told you that ‘making love’ was a myth, like vampires and Bigfoot, just something overly sensitive and romantic that guys said to girls to get in their pants. But now, unhurriedly rolling his hips into Sam with varying depths and strengths and soaking up every moan and gasp Sam graced him with, he was a firm believer.
They maintained the languid pace for what seemed like an eternity. Dean lifted their clasped hand to rest on the pillow above Sam’s head, his free hand coming around between Sam’s shoulder blades and gently pushing his upper body forward to change the angle of the thrusts. Dean swiveled his hips, seeking. Sam cried out and his body clenched down.
“Dean! Oh Fuck!”
Dean's breath left him in a punch and the warmth that had been lazily pooling low in his belly intensified, tingling up his spine. He sped up his motions, hitting that spot on every few passes, Sam’s moans morphing into guttural groans of Dean’s name alternated with curses and blasphemies. Without conscious thought, Dean's hand came around Sam and took him in a firm grasp. He synched his strokes to his thrusts, twisting his wrist when he came to the head. Sam’s back arched away from his chest and he turned his face into the pillow to bite the pillowcase. Dean’s movements became increasingly erratic and with a grunt and a deep thrust, he came. Just as the intense spasms quelled, giving way to shuddering aftershocks, Dean felt warmth on his hand.
Sam’s body melted back into him, hips jerking slightly in the aftermath of his orgasm.
Tears sprang to the corners of his eyes and hysterical laughter bubbled up from his throat, his confused body unable to process the extreme emotions Dean had caused.
“Sammy? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Dean’s worried voice cut through Sam’s euphoric haze. He pulled his hips back, sliding free of Sam’s body, and propped his head on his elbow to get a better view of Sam’s face, rubbing calming circles across Sam’s chest.
“Too good. Fuck! Too good. I don’t …I’ve never…I think you broke me.” Sam’s stilted words burst through his attempts to quiet his giggling.
Dean smirked in understanding and claimed Sam in a slow, passionate kiss to help silence the laughter. Breaking apart, Dean tightened his arms around Sam’s waist, the inked pattern on his chest lining up with the complimenting one on Sam’s back. With a kiss to Sam’s shoulder, he untangled his heavy limbs and stumbled to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. He came back and tenderly wiped Sam clean before turning his attention to himself. He tossed the washcloth in the direction of the bathroom, hearing it thwap against the tile floor, and laid down next to his drowsy-lidded brother.
Sam rolled and curled around Dean’s side, head on his chest and hand over his heart. He tipped his face upward and pressed small kisses into Dean’s neck. Dean ghosted his fingers over the bracelet encircling Sam’s wrist, a small smile playing across his lips, then reached up to curl around Sam’s jaw. He tilted his brother’s face up and kissed him softly then let go so Sam could fit his face into the curve of his neck.
“Best birthday ever,” Sam murmured, lips moving against Dean’s skin.
Dean trailed his hand down Sam’s arm, fingers caressing up and down the scars in his nightly routine.
“I love you, Dean,” Sam slurred sleepily.
“I love you too, Sammy. Always,” Dean responded.