Blue Skies From Rain Part 3 - Chapter 15
Sam realized he rather liked working outside, which was good, since the orderlies were always able to think of chores that involved them going into the yard, or along the drive. That day, they were stationed along the front drive, only a small group of patients, ones that Sam recognized as being the good kind. They never tried to eat anything they shouldn’t, they could listen to orders, and never had to be shouted at or dragged away screaming or crying.
They were paired up, as they always were, this time with a little bucket of white paint and a sponge brush. The sponge brush didn’t hold very much and tended to splatter, but since they were painting the round rocks that lined the gravel drive, the only thing that got messy was the grass. And them, actually, but their clothes and damp sneakers tended to hide the spots.
But it was being with Dean in the fresh air that Sam liked best. Partly because Dean made the sky seem not so big, and partly because of Dean himself.
Dean tended to chew his bottom lip as he crouched on his heels and painted each rock. He was frowning in concentration as he swiped the brush into the bucket and coated the rock with it. Sam struggled to concentrate himself and keep painting when Dean looked like that. Serious and happy, content in his task. Cheeks flushed, sparkles of moisture along his eyebrows as the overcast afternoon grew warm and humid. And when he looked up at Sam, his eyes were bright. This was probably because he liked working with his hands, or maybe because he liked being out of doors too. Maybe even because he liked being with Sam. Maybe all three. Sam didn’t care about sharing the spotlight with the work and the weather, as long as he did have a spot.
“Let’s take bets on what’s for supper tonight, okay, Sam?”
Sam made himself pay attention to what Dean was saying, rather than the curve of his mouth as he smiled. “We don’t have anything to bet with,” he said.
“It’s a who-knows-best-bet,” said Dean. “I vote beef stew. Your turn.”
Sam thought about this a while, understanding that type of bet, thinking he must have played it before. He remembered that they’d had been stew last week, and then the week before. It was too soon for beef stew again, so he said, “Fish sticks.”
“Fish sticks? Where’d you get that lame idea?”
Of course, Dean didn’t really think it was lame. Sam could tell by the quirking of the corner of his mouth that he was teasing, in that way he had, just wanting an excuse to laugh.
“I bribed the jailer and he told me,” said Sam. He dunked his brush and crouched down next to Dean and bumped him with his knee. “So I’m right and I win and you’ve already lost.”
“Huh,” said Dean, trying not to laugh. “Well, we’ll see.”
*
Supper turned out to be pizza rounds that Dean started eating as if they might be good, but Sam saw him start frowning after the second bite.
“Bad?” asked Sam. He already knew the answer.
“Just eat it, Sam, so we can keep up your strength so you can participate in more slave labor.”
Of course Dean didn’t mean that, it was another one of his jokes.
“And so we’ll have enough strength to break out of this joint,” Dean added.
More jokes, though Sam knew Dean was serious. He wanted to get out, he wanted to walk away from the hospital because he didn’t like it and didn’t think it could help him. Sam was starting to see why. He felt better off the meds, and even if his memory wasn’t really coming back, he was more alert and aware. And able to notice Dean’s tongue as it swiped a bit of cheese from his bottom lip. Or watch the way his throat worked as he downed a full carton of milk in several large swallows. Before, on the meds, Sam had never noticed anything. Now he noticed everything, and everything was Dean.
“What you lookin’ at, Sammy, I got something in my teeth?”
He had to struggle to focus, the way Dean’s lips moved when they said his name sent a nice, little shiver across the back of his neck and he thought about Dean kissing him there. He hadn’t yet, but he might, if when they were in bed, he could work it so-
“Sammy?”
“Nothing,” said Sam. “I don’t see anything. Just looking.”
Dean made a face and went back to eating his pizza rounds, and Sam did likewise because yes, you had to keep up your strength. Although maybe not for slave labor.
*
By the time they were getting ready for bed, Sam was almost shivering. He’d watched Dean all day, watched him paint and eat and work with the puzzles. A few times Dean had asked if he was alright, like he did, checking up on Sam, and Sam had said he was fine, maybe a little tired.
And as he watched Dean brush his teeth and wash his face, he couldn’t stop thinking about Dean’s mouth. Couldn’t think about kissing him. Dean’s mouth tasted nice, and Dean’s arms were warm and solid, Dean’s hands on him made him shiver. Any of those would be the perfect ending to a pretty nice day. He’d gotten to go outside with Dean, hadn’t seen Dr. Logan or Dr. Baylor or even Randy all day. There’d been no art therapy, no group therapy. Just lots of Dean, lots of images of Dean, bending and moving, walking into the Day room like he owned it, all flushed and healthy compared to everyone else. Looking at Sam, sometimes. Smiling at Sam, eyes sparkling.
Finally, as they were getting on their p.j.’s and the chime sounded for lights out, Dean gave Sam a nudge. Sam had to sit down on the bed to remove his socks, and looked up at Dean.
“What?” he asked.
“You been looking at me funny, Sam. All day. What’s up?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just was thinking about you.”
“All day?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sam.”
The lights clicked off and Sam heard Dean’s huff deep in his throat as he pulled back the covers and the sheet and got into the bed. Sam scrambled after him, folding himself close, sighing from deep in his chest, the whole of his skin sighing along with him at the pleasure of contact with Dean’s skin.
“Hey, there,” said Dean, his hands pushing a little at Sam as if in protest. “That’s your half, and this is my half.”
But Dean didn’t really mean that, the bed was too small to narrow for them to put a lot of space between their bodies. And besides, Sam’s body didn’t want space. He shifted close, feeling brave and alive, sparking from within, this unnamable thing, an urging in his head to push and to hold. He closed his eyes to the half-darkness and concentrated on the feel of Dean’s stomach under his arm, the pause and rise and pause and fall of Dean’s chest. How warm he was, how close and still.
The thumping in Sam’s chest felt loud, and his stomach started squirreling around as he moved his arm back so his palm rested on the flat of Dean’s stomach. He felt the muscles beneath his hand dip concave and then the circle of Dean’s fingers tightening on his wrist.
“Sam,” said Dean. His voice was low as if someone might overhear them. “C’mon now.”
“But I want to, Dean,” said Sam.
He pulled his wrist out of Dean’s grasp and nudged his knee against Dean’s thigh and shifted his weight so that in a second, he could be on Dean, pressing him back into the mattress. Dean seemed to like that when they’d done it before, and it felt right, to be this close, the blood starting to hum through his cock, the muscles along the backs of his legs tightening with pleasant, jerky twitches. He could feel Dean’s breath across his forehead, and dipped his chin lower so that his mouth could feel the heat of Dean’s skin just above the neckline of Dean’s cotton pajama top.
Feeling like he was leaping into nothing, feeling brave, Sam spread his fingers and moved his hand down before Dean could say anything else and stop him. Sam didn’t understand where the hesitation came from, they’d done this before. Sam had been on the receiving end, true, but it was Dean’s turn now. And Sam wanted to touch him. Like this, just as his hand moved across Dean’s groin, his fingers brushed the edges of Dean’s cock. It was like a band of iron, hot and pushing up the front of Dean’s pajama bottoms. Sam knew Dean was wearing his white boxers, the ones issued by the hospital, and he found that his mouth was open, moist like it was ready for a kiss.
“Hey,” said Dean, but his voice sounded like it didn’t quite know whether it wanted Sam to stop or to go. So Sam did what he wanted to do. He went. Not too fast, taking note of the pounding of Dean’s heart through his ear, of the slightly high pitched sound Dean’s breath made as Sam slipped his fingers up Dean’s stomach, and then dipped them down beneath the elastic waistband of Dean’s boxers beneath his pajamas. Dean was shivering as Sam circled his fingers around Dean’s cock, the heat surprising him, the pounding of blood echoing each thump of Dean’s heart.
“S-Sam,” said Dean, catching itself on Sam’s name, tongue too tight in his mouth to be more clear. Well, Sam could fix that.
He couldn’t quite be on Dean, and touch him like this and kiss him at the same time. So he reached up and lined himself up along Dean’s side, kissing him on the side of his face, tongue licking out at the little dimple at the corner of Dean’s mouth, his hand making long, soft smooth strokes on Dean’s cock, building up warmth. Liking the ease of it, even as his wristbones seemed to catch on the elastic and tug it irritatingly up and down, not letting him get a good, solid stroke in. When all at once, Dean made a low, grunting noise in his throat. He turned into the kiss, his mouth opening for Sam’s, all heat and salt and movement. Then he reached down with both hands, knocking Sam’s hand out of the way and off his cock, and with one, hard shove, took down his boxers and his pajama bottoms.
Sam slipped into Dean’s mouth, and when he reached down, his hand told him that Dean was bare to mid thigh, the hairs on his thighs pricking up, tender shivers moving across Dean’s skin. Sam moved to cover him with his body, reaching between them as he half lay on Dean, cupping Dean’s head close, licking at Dean’s lips, kissing, taking huge swallows. And all the while stroking Dean’s dick, the blood pounding under his fingers, moisture growing, building around the head. He pulled that moisture down, and pulled and stroked, kissing Dean, inhaling him, his own heart pounding, Dean’s arms coming up to pull him even closer, down against Dean.
They rocked together like this, Sam pushing against Dean into the mattress, Dean rising up, almost forcefully, only to have Sam push him down again. But Dean seemed to like that, reached for it again and again.. His hands on Sam were gripping tight, fingers digging in as Dean arched against him, throat bare. Sam felt himself growling, deep in his stomach, as he wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulder, and held Dean to him, stroking and heat beneath his hand.
Dean was his, and this moment was his, and Dean liked it, Dean was pushing into him like he wanted to get inside of him, and then he felt all of Dean’s body, the long, hot length of his cock, bundle up like a fierce, building storm, and then Dean made a high lost sound in his throat. His cock jerked hard in Sam’s hand, pumping upwards, the streams of come spilling between Sam’s fingers. He kissed Dean, kept kissing him, till Dean’s body relaxed against him, till Dean sighed and pulled his mouth away, his hands on Sam’s shoulders.
“Uh,” Dean said, inarticulate. Which was fine with Sam. It meant he’d done it right, taken the acidy feeling straight out of Dean.. Not easy to do when the only way he’d learned was by watching what Dean had done to him, and that had only happened once. “Uh, Sam.”
“Yeah,” said Sam. He whispered, and bent to kiss Dean’s forehead. He could taste the speckles of sweat and salt, and he drew his tongue lightly across the length of Dean’s eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“Uh,” said Dean again. “I had something in my brain, but now it’s all gone.”
“Something like don’t, stop, don’t?” asked Sam, joking, remembering the line from somewhere.
“Yeah,” said Dean. “Something like that. How’d you know what to do?”
“Watching you,” said Sam. “Feeling your hands on me, thinking how that’d feel for you.”
“Mmmmm.” The noise was noncommittal, but that was okay. Dean hadn’t pulled away, or pushed Sam away. Instead he seemed content to lay where he was, with Sam’s arms wrapped around him, with Sam pressing him into the mattress, looming over him, their bodies sticky with heat and semen, the sheets rucked beneath them.
Sam reached down to pull up Dean’s boxers and pajama bottoms, tugging the cloth across Dean’s bottom, trying not to tug on leg hairs or any hairs. He knew that he was smiling but that Dean had his eyes closed and wouldn’t see. So when he’d finished arranging Dean’s clothes, he patted Dean’s chest softly and bent close to flick his eyelashes along Dean’s eyelashes, and press his smile to Dean’s lips.
“You liked that, huh?” asked Sam,
Dean nodded. “Yeah.” His voice was sleepy as he curved his arm behind Sam’s back to pet him.
Sam moved his face against Dean. His throat felt too full and content to speak, and besides he didn’t want any more words now. He wanted to feel Dean against him, so he tucked his head into the hollow of Dean’s throat and inhaled the warmth and Dean and the bite of salt, the dusty cotton of worn sheets.
“G’night, Sammy,” said Dean.
Sam pressed his head down for a minute and then let it up, tucking his knee across Dean’s, pulling the sheet up.
Yes, that was good. That was what he’d wanted all day. And how nice Dean had been to let him give it. How nice Dean was. Always.
Chapter 16
Blue Skies From Rain Master Fic Post