World's Forgotten Boys, Chapter 25b/28 - (Sam/Dean, Sam/Ross, Ross/Dean, Sam/Ross/Dean) - NC-17
Fic title: World's Forgotten Boys (link to the full verse via tags)
Chapter 25b/28
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Dean/Ross, Sam/Ross, Dean/Ross
Rating: NC-17 for this one
Word Count: 7019 this part (13,904 for entire chapter)
Summary: SPN AU. Ross Christopher Winchester knows three things to be true: that his father, John, is a hero, that he's going to be the best hunter in the goddamn world, and that his two older brothers are in love with each other. An AU-version of Season 1 where The Winchester Boys mean Dean and Sam and Ross, where John is still missing, where Mary and Jess are still crispy-fried, and where Dean and Sam are still obsessed with one another...
Previous Chapters Link to the Masterpost
And here's the second part... And of course the awesome picture by violateraindrop to remind us of the ridiculous level of pretty we're dealing with here...
Chapter 25 - part II
Back to Chapter 25, part I
Dean only manages to make $250. It’s not too bad but it’s not exactly what he was hoping for either. The cards Sam took from Dad’s wallet are still holding out okay, but they need cash. It just means he’s going to have to head out again tomorrow, maybe hit some of those bars around the McNeese campuses, challenge some of the jock students and idiot frat boys to a game of pool, maybe hone in on a poker game. Anyway, it just means more fucking work for him.
He grits his teeth as he pulls into the motel parking lot. He hates to say it, but running the hustles was easier before when he and Sam were working together, Sammy playing the part of good boy to his bad boy. It was ridiculous how many people fell for that shit. But that’s not possible right now ‘cause there’s no freaking way either of them are leaving Ross on his own for any length of time, and truthfully, he’s not even sure Ross would even agree to being left alone; their youngest brother has gotten real clingy ever since - well, ever since.
Sam and Ross are standing over the shitty little stove in the kitchenette area of the room, shoulder to shoulder, their voices raised in that familiar bickering tone - nothing new there. What is new is the smell of roasting meat emanating from the stove and the saucepans bubbling away on top of it.
“What the fuck?” Dean says as he shuts the door behind him.
Sam and Ross spin around looking red-faced, sweaty and very pleased with themselves.
“Oh hey, man, we’re makin’ dinner,” Ross announces cheerfully.
“Uh, yeah, I can see that, but what the fuck’re you making?”
“Chicken,” says Sam. “It’s in the oven, roasting. We’re also doing mashed potatoes and carrots and beans and Ross is attempting to make gravy, ‘cept it looks more like beef stew.”
“Oh, fuck you, my gravy’s awesome!” protests Ross, turning back towards the stove top and stirring one of the pots - obviously the gravy.
“Oh right,” Dean says. “Well, I guess that’s good. Let me know when it’s done, I’m gonna shower.”
The food isn’t half bad, to Dean’s surprise, taking into consideration the fact this is possibly the first time the two of them have cooked anything on their own together ever. They both seem immensely pleased with themselves and spend the entire meal demanding praise and kudos for the way they’ve diced the freaking carrots to the amount of salt they put in the mashed potatoes, not to mention Ross’s precious gravy. Dean praises them because he’s totally whipped as a brother, though it’s kinda worth it to see the matching blinding smiles on their faces when he asks for second helpings.
“So what else did you two do today apart from make me dinner?” he asks after he’s eaten his fill.
He’s a little surprised to see the two of them exchange a quick glance, then Ross turns back to him with an evil grin. “Sammy jizzed in the pool.”
“Fuck you, so did you!” Sam retorts, eyes narrowing in on Ross’s gleeful expression.
Dean raises his eyebrows, looks between the two of them. “Uh? What?”
“We jerked each other off in the pool,” Ross explains, casting Dean a sly sideways look. “And made out a lot. It was hot.”
“Well ain’t that nice for the two of you,” Dean says.
He’s feeling unaccountably annoyed by this. He’s not jealous, of course he ain’t, it’s just that -
Fuck it; he spent the entire freaking day trying to earn them some goddamn money while they spent the entire day fucking around in the pool together. Must be nice.
He jerks his chair away from the table and heads outside for a smoke.
He stands on the porch smoking and wondering which of them is going to come outside to talk to him. Whoever it is, he just hopes the other one makes a start on the goddamn dishes, he’s so not in the mood for domestic chores.
The door opens behind him and he turns around. It’s Ross. Figures.
“Can I bum a cigarette?” asks Ross.
Dean lets out a long-suffering sigh, but he hands his pack over to his younger brother, along with his lighter. Ross lights up and leans against the side of the wall, legs crossed at the ankles, shoulder against the brickwork.
“Are you mad about me and Sam?” he asks. He’s giving Dean that same sly look out of the corner of his eye, like he’s trying to provoke Dean - which he is, he totally is. Dean supposes that it’s got to be a good sign, a sign that Ross is getting back to his normal bratty self, but it’s still fucking annoying and Dean is not gonna rise to it.
He gives a one-shouldered shrug, says, “Nah. Why would I be?”
“I know the two of you ain’t been fuckin’ around like normal,” Ross says. He curls his mouth up into a wicked smirk. “Sam went off like a freakin’ geyser; it was kinda funny, dude, like rivers of spunk.”
Dean rolls his eyes at him while Ross snickers to himself. He doesn’t bother replying.
“I’ve known about you and Sam for years, Dean. I can deal with it. You don’t need to, like, quit or whatever for my sake. I ain’t some delicate flower that’s gonna, like, fall apart just ‘cause you and Sammy are knockin’ boots all the freakin’ time. I’m used to it, man, and you know, seriously, blue balls ain’t funny.”
Dean takes a long toke on his cigarette. If he’s honest with himself then it has been hard - yeah, haha - to keep his hands off Sam for the past month. But Ross’s wellbeing is more important. Ross’s wellbeing is the most important thing in all their lives at the moment. Sam gets that, hell, Sam was the one who insisted that they go cold turkey for as long as necessary.
“You gotta quit worrying about me, Deano,” Ross continues. “I’ll be alright.”
Dean raises his head and actually looks at his brother. Ross is watching him intently, his dark eyes round and sincere. Dean blinks, his chest tightening, throat getting dry. He clears his throat and beckons Ross over. “Hey, c’mere.”
Ross takes the few steps towards him and Dean grabs onto him, drapes one arm around his shoulders, pulling him in.
“I ain’t never gonna quit worrying about you,” he says. “You know you’re my number one priority.”
“What about Sammy?”
“You and Sammy are my number one priority,” he corrects.
Ross snickers and leans his head so his forehead presses against the side of Dean’s face. “I know,” he says quietly.
********************************
They go for a five-mile run before breakfast the next day. It’s the fourth time that week and he can already feel his body getting back into the swing of it, feeling as if he could go another five miles no problem. He decides that tomorrow they’ll do six or seven miles, keep building up their strength and stamina; their endurance has taken a hit these past few months.
They have to go back to hunting at some point, it’s their job, it’s what the three of them do. There are people out there that count on people like them. Anyway, he misses it, he feels itchy and strange without it, like he’s missing something vital about himself - which he guesses he pretty much is.
He takes the first shower this time. Ross and Sam grumble but they give in for once. He’s got to head out anyway, got to earn them some more goddamn cash while Ross and Sam are probably gonna just spend the day making out and jerking each other off in the pool again.
“Hey, why don’t you do some fuckin’ laundry while I’m out?” he calls out as he picks up his keys and jacket.
Sam looks up from the laptop with a frown while Ross pokes his head out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his head and toothbrush dangling out one side of his mouth, foam painting his lips.
“Wha-?” he squawks.
Dean sighs, says, “You heard. You and Sam get your horny asses down the block and into the first freakin’ laundromat you find. I need some clean underwear.”
Ross removes the toothbrush from his mouth, speaks around the mouthful of foam, white drool rolling down his chin and onto his (Dean’s) grey Henley.
“Yeah, Jesus, don’t get your panties in a twist.”
Dean gives him the finger before he leaves.
Hitting the college bars turns out to be a genius idea. He wins another $250 at pool in the first place, pickings as easy as any he’s had before. In the second place, he gets chatting to a group of sorority girls who tell him all about this party over at the Phi-Beta-Alpha frat, how the guys there have these games of poker that are kinda notorious for their high stakes. He gives the girls a lift to the frat house and walks into what feels like a scene from Animal House, scanty-clad girls playing beer pong and hot shirtless dudes doing keg stands. Seriously, sometimes he wonders why the fuck he never rebelled and went to college instead of Sam. He’d’ve made a much more awesome college student than Sam ever did.
The poker game’s going down in one of the bedrooms upstairs and one of the chicks from the bar, Cindy, leads him to it, announcing to the assembled douchebags that he wants to join. They eye him warily at first but when he drops $400 onto the table in front of them, they let him buy his way in.
They’re the usual bunch of rich poser assholes and none of them can play for shit, though they’re all under the delusion that they can. He drops $100 in the first couple of games and he can see their faces light up, assuming they’ve got an easy mark here. He makes $200 on the third game, loses $50 in the fourth and then makes $800 on the last.
By that point the smiles have completely worn off their faces and he ends up having to make a strategic and very fast exit, only accomplished with Cindy’s help. He kisses her up against the side of the car by way of thanks and she slips him her number on a cocktail napkin. He feels bad for using her in this way, but he still lets the cocktail napkin flutter from his fingers and out the rolled down driver’s window as he drives back to the motel. He hasn’t screwed around with anyone who wasn’t related to him in almost a year, he’s not gonna change things now when it’s more important than ever for them to stick together.
Besides, Sam would know if he did do something, Sam always knows.
It’s after 3am by the time he makes it back. It’s not late for them, but he’s still expecting to see Sam and Ross in bed asleep. So he’s surprised when he pushes open the motel room door to the lingering scent of pot, the sounds of lip-smacking and moaning, and the image of a topless Sam sprawled back in one of the straight-backed chairs, a topless Ross straddling him, and the two of them macking on each other like they’re auditioning for soft-core porn.
Dean pauses in the doorway, blinks once, then twice, and stares. Ross and Sam haven’t noticed that they’ve got company; still making out, eating each other’s faces like - like - like sex-starved teenagers in the backseat, parked up on lovers’ lane. Sam’s got one enormous hand on Ross’s waist, spanning his back, fingers digging into his spine, his other hand at the back of Ross’s neck, long fingers disappearing into Ross’s hair. Ross is rocking into him, grinding his erection down into - Jesus - Sam’s own erection, a fucking tent pole in his partially unbuttoned jeans, Ross’s hands cradling Sam’s face, forcing his head back to get better access to Sam’s mouth.
Dean clears his throat and slams the door.
Ross and Sam pull apart with comical swiftness, Ross swaying and clutching onto Sam’s bare shoulder to stop himself from falling. Together, the two of them turn their heads, and gaze back at him with identical red-rimmed, pot-swollen eyes.
“I see the two of you found something better to do than the fuckin’ laundry,” Dean says.
Slowly Ross and Sam turn their heads to look at each other again, then as if on cue, they both burst into peels of annoying, pot-addled snickering. “Oh man, quit it with the fuckin’ laundry!” Sam breathes between giggles.
Dean rolls his eyes hard and strides into the room, peeling off his jacket and dropping it on one of the beds, the roll of bills next to it. He forgets how fucking infuriating dealing with stoned people can be.
“Where’d you get the weed?” he asks.
“The Laundromat,” says Ross, and that’s it - another freaking laughing fit. Obviously Dean just isn’t in on the fucking joke, and Jesus, Ross and Sam are baked.
“You save some for me?” he snaps.
“Course we did,” says Sam, sounding hurt by the accusation. “Didn’t we, Ross?”
Ross nods eagerly, turning to look at Dean with overly wide, overly earnest, unfocussed eyes. “Course we did, Deano. You know we’d never hold out on you, man, can’t believe you think we would.”
Dean swallows and nods at him, a little mollified by Ross’s (albeit wasted) sincerity, and okay, also maybe a little mollified by how fucking hot the two of them look together. Half naked, bare chests and bare feet, the buttons of their jeans popped, chests and faces flushed pink with arousal and pot, hair tousled, mouths bruised and slick with each other’s saliva. He watches Sam lick his lips, skim one hand down Ross’s bare back until it’s hovering over the gaping back of Ross’s jeans; Sam holds out his other hand towards Dean, fingers twitching.
“Hey, c’mere,” he says.
Dean swallows, takes a couple of hesitant steps towards them. Ross is reaching for the half-smoked joint lying discarded in the ashtray on the table, picking up the lighter (Dean’s favorite Zippo, goddamnit) with his other hand.
“Dean…” Sam says, all soft and low and teasing. His eyes gleam when they meet Dean’s, hot and hungry; he slides his hand into the back of Ross's jeans, spreading his fingers under the worn denim, cupping his ass. Ross groans and writhes on Sam’s lap, grinding down into Sam’s hard muscled thighs, eyes momentarily fluttering closed as he fumbles to spark up the jay in his fingers.
Sam smirks and flexes the fingers of his outstretched hand again, fingertips brushing against the edge of Dean’s flannel. Dean’s eyes are still focused on Sam’s other hand, the one lodged down Ross’s pants. He’s transfixed by the way the denim of Ross’s jeans mould around it, the way Sam’s gorgeous long fingers seem to fold around the globes of Ross’s ass.
“Dean…” Sam repeats.
Dean drags his gaze away from Ross’s ass, looks down into Sam’s upturned face, the glittering slant of his eyes. He watches Sam lick his lips, tongue coming out to slick at the already bruised and fleshy pink. Jesus, he’s hard already, feeling himself draw inexorably closer, letting Sam pull him in.
“Come join us, Dean. We were having so much fun,” Sam adds with a sly sideways look at Ross.
Ross exhales a long stream of smoke and giggles, more smoke seeping through his nostrils. “So much fun,” he repeats breathily, turning his face to stare up at Dean.
“Give me some of that,” Dean tells him.
Ross shakes his head, then grins, loose and sloppy. “Nah, you have to do it another way,” he says.
He sucks on the jay again, looking straight at Dean - a challenge in his eyes - and Dean knows exactly what his little brother has in mind. His mouth twitches and he leans in closer, bending down, letting Ross grab onto his collar and pull him in. Ross puts his mouth on Dean’s, humming, murmuring something, and Dean opens up, lets Ross in - along with a lungful of pungent smoke - he sucks it down, taking in the blow-back, feeling his throat sting and his eyes water. Ross pulls away, and Dean breathes in and out again, his lips hot and tingling where his brother’s mouth has been. He shakes his head, feeling suddenly fuzzy, and reaches to take the joint from Ross’s hand.
He takes a couple more tokes. For some reason, pot always has a strong effect on him, getting into his limbs and his brain, making him loose and easy and foggy. It’s a good sensation and he wonders why the hell they haven’t done this before. This is exactly what they need; this is exactly what Ross needs. Today is turning out to be a good day; he’s made enough money to last them for a couple of weeks, Sam’s already half-naked, and Ross is here. Ross is back with them where he belongs, where Dean can keep an eye on him and look out for him and make sure that nothing crappy ever happens to him ever again.
He places a hand on the top of Ross’s head, smoothes his fingers through his shaggy hair. Ross makes a purring sound and tilts his head back to blink up at him, the angle making him look younger, dark eyes boring into Dean’s face. Dean swallows to force away the niggle of guilt, and smiles down at his brother, the heavy burn of overwhelming affection and protection in his gut pouring out of him along with the tangy smoke.
God, he loves his brothers so much, it’s crazy how much he loves them. He’d do anything to make them happy.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says.
Ross smiles back at him, slack and lazy and totally fucking baked. “Hey, Deano,” he says.
“Let’s take this to the bed,” Sam says.
Dean takes a step back, the joint smoldering between two fingers. He watches Sam tip Ross off his lap, the two of them collapsing into more giggles as Ross grabs onto Sam to steady himself, fingers curled around Sam’s bicep. Sam grabs him back, manhandling and forcing him around until he’s holding Ross from behind, long Sammy arms wrapped around Ross’s chest, pulling him back into his body.
Dean holds his breath, feels his cock throb as he watches Sam slide his hand into Ross’s hair and force his head to one side, exposing a long gleaming line of neck. Sam lowers his head and licks Ross’s throat, tongue pink and slippery as it slides along Ross’s glistening skin. Ross groans and grinds his ass back against Sam’s body. Sam looks up, meeting Dean’s eyes as he slowly drags his other hand down Ross’s chest and belly, caressing and smoothing and tracing the defined lines of Ross’s muscles, his ribs and abs, down to splay his enormous fingers over the blatant line of Ross’s cock in his faded jeans.
Ross shudders back against Sam, voice gone low and begging, “Sam, c’mon, man, please, quit bein’ such a tease.”
Sam chuckles, he clicks his tongue, looking straight at Dean. “So impatient, littlest bro, always so fuckin’ impatient. Right, Dean?”
Dean exhales a stream of smoke, stares back into Sam’s dark lidded eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Right, Sammy.”
He moves to stub out the remains of the joint in the ashtray. He can feel their eyes tracking him, and he rolls his shoulders, enjoying it, loving the attention, both his little brothers watching him. They might’ve been fooling around while he was out, making out and getting high and touching each other like a pair of horny teenagers blowing off steam, but he knows that they were both just waiting for him - waiting for their big brother to come home and tell them what to do - and he’s gonna do just that. He’s gonna give the two of them what they want.
Though, maybe, perhaps he shouldn’t…
Perhaps they shouldn’t be doing this, the three of them. After all, he had had a plan before - before Dad and Sarah and Angela and demon blood - he was going to keep away from Ross, give Ross a chance at happiness and a real decent life that wasn’t part of the incestuous Winchester freak-show.
But that was before, and before didn’t work, before made Ross unhappy. He saw it with his own eyes; Ross tangled up in that fancy double bed under that expensive duvet, Ross with the tears rolling unchecked down his checks, Ross refusing to eat, Sarah helpless in the face of Ross’s grief and loss.
Ross has been getting better since he got back with them; Ross is eating normally again, slowly regaining the weight he lost, they’re getting back into a proper training regime. Ross is almost back to his old cocky self, which all goes to show that what Ross really needs is family - him and Sam. The three of them belong together. They understand each other; they know how each one works and they know how to put each other back together. Hell, Sam obviously saw that way before him, ‘cause Sam’s been giving Ross what he needs. Who knows how many times Ross and Sammy have made out or fucked around when he’s not been around?
Still, he’s around now, and he’s not missing out this time.
He peels off his flannel, tossing it to the floor. His boots are next, then his socks, ‘cause he always feels stupid having sex with his socks on. He removes his t-shirt more slowly, making a show of it, feeling their eyes rake over his naked chest and back, seeing Sam lick his lips, involuntary and lascivious, Ross’s eyes wide and feverish as they drink him in.
Finally, he tugs down his jeans and his boxers. He sits on the edge of the bed, pats the mattress beside him. “Come here, kiddo,” he says.
Sam chuckles and releases his hold on Ross. Ross slinks away from him and stumbles towards the bed. He sinks to the mattress beside Dean. Dean gives him a reassuring smile and Ross shifts even closer, leaning in and opening his mouth against the muscle of Dean’s shoulder, his mouth wet and warm, tongue coming out to lap at Dean’s skin, taste him. Dean shivers and feels the mattress dip again as Sam slides in on Ross’s other side, completely naked, big gorgeous cock bobbing against his belly.
Together they push Ross backwards onto the bed, tugging off his jeans and boxers, while Ross lies there, docile and compliant, looking up at them with wild flushed eyes, fingers outstretched to grab onto Dean when he rears back into view. Dean lets Ross pull him in, kisses him hungrily when their mouths meet. He tries to put everything he’s feeling - the guilt and love and unbearable affection into the kiss - tries to make Ross see that he loves him, that every mistake he’s made (and he’s made a helluva lot) has been for Ross’s good, that he’s sorry for pushing him away, so sorry for all the hurt he’s caused him.
He pulls away, panting, cradles Ross’s face, smoothing his fingers over every inch of his brother’s face. He can’t help but see the resemblance now, not just the resemblance to Dad, to Sammy, that reassuring Winchester resemblance that’s always been there, but the new one: the one that’s Angela and George and reminders of everything Ross has been denied, everything Dean’s still keeping from him. Ross has been denied so much over the years, Dean is not going to deny him this - deny him himself - anymore. If Ross wants his big brother to love him or make out with him or even fuck him then Dean will give him that. He owes it to Ross.
Ross smiles and opens his eyes, stares up at Dean. “It’s about time. Took you long enough to get over yourself.”
“Little punk,” he says fondly.
Ross makes a face at him, then turns his head to look at Sam who’s been hovering next to them, watching the two of them with this expression on his face that could be described as benevolent, if it wasn’t for the way he’s touching himself, hand stroking up and down his cock, fondling his balls.
“Sammy, how about you get over here and suck me off,” Ross says.
Dean laughs out loud, Ross turns to grin at him, like they’re sharing a joke; he looks pleased with himself, propping himself up on one elbow to beckon Sam over. Dean shifts to one side, making room for Sam who slots in between Ross’s legs, enormous hands on Ross’s thighs, parting them, face hovering over Ross’s engorged dick.
Dean licks his lips, shuffles backwards until he’s against the headboard, puts one hand on his own throbbing dick. He has a feeling he’s going to enjoy this.
“Whatcha waitin’ for?” says Ross, a hint of antagonism and challenge and little-brother teasing in his voice.
Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat and leans down to suck the head of Ross’s cock into his mouth.
“Oh man, oh God, fuck…” Ross curses. “Oh Christ, so good, Sam…”
Dean stifles a groan and jerks his fist up and down his cock. Jesus, they look good together, Sam gliding his lips up and down his younger brother’s dick, Ross arching up into it, more and more gone with each thrust into Sam’s mouth. Ross is whimpering and writhing under Sam, babbling away, and that’s one thing Dean remembers from all those months before - just how goddamn noisy their youngest brother is when he’s having sex, just how fucking into it he gets, how he just can’t fucking shut up. But Ross has always been incapable of being quiet. Ross could never have survived all those years of keeping quiet and hiding from Dad and sneaking around. Ross would’ve given the game away straight off. Ross has sex just as he does everything else in his life - noisy and needy and look-at-me.
Sam pulls off, lets Ross’s cock slide out his mouth and slap back against his flat hard belly, glistening and painfully red and swollen.
Ross looks up, scowls at him, red-faced and panting. “You ain’t finished,” he tells him. “Sam, c’mon, you can’t leave me hangin’, man. Quit teasin’.”
But Sam’s on a roll, smiling smugly and evilly down at his little brother, and then he’s surging up Ross’s body, fisting his hand in Ross’s hair and yanking him into a kiss, heavy and bruising and dominating. Ross protests, but gets with the program immediately, grabs onto Sam with equal ruthlessness, fingers digging into Sam’s back, scratching and leaving marks as he tries to get purchase against Sam’s bigger body, any chance to tussle with Sammy.
The two of them are half-way between fighting and fucking, snarling and growling and grinding their cocks into each other’s stomachs, spitting and cursing at each other between kisses and bites, and seriously, if it didn’t look so fucking hot and if Dean wasn’t so damn turned on right now then he’d be screaming at them, pulling them apart and yelling at them to quit it already. But he’s so damn close to blowing his load. He jerks his fist up and down his cock, fingers cupping his balls, dragging light fingernails over his sac.
Ross growls and pushes his feet down into the mattress, getting purchase and rolling the two of them, sheets and pillows sliding and catching around them, until Ross is on top, Sam below him. Ross grinds his hips down into Sam, grabs onto one of Sam’s flailing arms by the wrist and pins it down. Dean gets a flash of his little brother’s mouth, his teeth sinking into the meat of Sam’s shoulder, seeing Sam buck up into it, his dark eyes wild, one foot hooked around Ross’s body, heel drumming into Ross’s ass as he arches up.
“Jesus Christ,” Dean groans. They should be filming this; they’d make a fucking fortune from it. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, watches the two of them come, watches Ross squirm his free hand between their two bodies, jerk at his own cock until he’s painting Sam’s body with his release, watches Sam go deadly still, familiar tremors snaking through his muscles, familiar gasping sounds falling from his lips as he follows, Ross’s fingers now around Sam’s dick, helping him to pump out his own release.
Done and spent, Ross sits back on his haunches, ass on Sam’s thighs. His chest is heaving, pupils so wide his eyes look black, hair a crazy tangle sticking to his forehead and temples and neck with sweat. He swings his gaze to Dean, lips parting in a breathless moan when his eyes fall on Dean’s hand, still working his own cock, but getting so close.
“Dean…” he murmurs.
Sam jerks his head Dean’s way at Ross’s words, gaze narrowing in laser-focused on Dean’s cock, tongue slicking hungrily over his lips. “Jesus, so fuckin’ hot, Dean.”
That’s it, he’s done. He can’t take the two of them watching him, the matching appreciation and lust in their eyes, the smell of their combined come and sweat filling his nostrils. He cries out and comes, pumping his fist and striping his belly with his release.
Afterwards they clean themselves up, half-hearted and half-assed, using one of Ross’s discarded t-shirts, though littlest bro pitches a mini fit about it.
“Why’s it always my stuff that gets used for the shitty jobs? Ain’t fuckin’ fair.”
“Shut up, you’re the youngest,” Sam says as if it’s a good enough reason, and fuck it, it is a good enough reason, and Ross should know that by now.
“Yep, suck it up, dude, older brothers’ privilege,” Dean adds.
“Fuck you both,” Ross retorts automatically, giving him the finger. He slides off the bed, buck naked, and saunters over to the table to fetch the remains of the bag of weed and the rolling papers, dumping the lotl onto the mattress in front of Dean and instructing him to roll another one.
Dean does what Ross asks because he’s by far the best of them at rolling joints that will actually stay together. Sam and Ross can’t roll for shit; in fact, he’s kinda impressed that they even managed it without him. They pass it around and it’s good, it’s really good. It’s the three of them hanging out together and getting wasted and just - just - enjoying each other’s company in a way that Dean’s almost forgotten, it’s been so damn long.
He pulls Ross to him, and Ross goes eagerly, climbs into the v of his thighs and nestles back against his chest, head under Dean’s chin and hair in Dean’s mouth. It’s the same position he used to take when he was a kid, when he’d climb into Dad’s lap, or when Dad wasn’t around, Dean’s lap, nuzzle into him and demand attention and affection with that pure-hearted, little kid need. It’s reassuring to know that despite everything that has happened to him, despite everything he’s lost and what a shit-heap his life’s been these past few months, there are certain parts of Ross that will never change. Ross will always need Dean to love him.
Dean puts his mouth to Ross’s head, presses his lips to his hair and kisses him softly, feeling the tears well up in his eyes. This would be the time to tell him everything he and Sam have learned since Dad’s death - right now - while he’s happy and relaxed and they’re together. Dean could tell him now and Ross might take it okay, enclosed in his brother’s arms and coming down from his orgasm, from the weed. Ross might understand, he might forgive them - forgive Dad - for keeping him in the dark.
Then again, to ruin this moment would be cruel, and Dean’s content, he’s happy; he’s got his two brothers close, within touching distance. He can’t bring himself to ruin it.
Ross passes the jay back to Sam and twists in Dean’s lap, turns to face Dean, reaching up with both hands to cradle Dean’s face. He slides his legs around Dean, curling them around Dean’s hips, slotting their bodies together, then he leans in and kisses him. Dean kisses him back, lazy and affectionate kisses, long slow swoops of tongue and the soft murmured hums of Ross whispering his name into his mouth until it’s just a meaningless reverberation: “Dean, Dean, Dean…”
From the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam stub out the remains of the joint, shuffle across the mattress towards them until he’s slotting in behind Ross, winding his arms around Ross’s chest from the back until Ross pulls away from Dean and sighs out, angling his head to meet Sam’s mouth. Dean watches the two of them make out, he watches Sam’s hand skim downwards until he’s cupping Ross’s cock, fingering his balls.
This time is slow and languorous and it’s all three of them. It’s Ross caught between him and Sam, held carefully between the two of them like something precious. Sam cradles Ross when Dean finishes him off, when he kisses down his youngest brother’s chest and stomach, when he sucks his cock into his mouth. Sam holds Ross in his arms and Dean sucks his dick. Ross comes in Dean’s mouth and Dean sloshes Ross’s jizz around his mouth for a couple of seconds before he spits it out into his hand, using it to coat his fingers, instructing Sam to roll over so he can open him up. Ross watches wide-eyed, lip caught between his teeth, as Dean works his come-coated fingers in and out of Sam’s hole, until Sam’s ready and begging for it, desperate for Dean to fuck him, lubed up with their little brother’s spunk.
Sam’s on all fours, ass in the air and Dean’s pushing into him, eyes fluttering closed as he slides inside his brother’s body. He opens them again and sees Ross sprawled back against the headboard, still staring at them, lip still caught between his teeth, expression mesmerized.
Dean fucks into Sam, a steady inexorable pace, one hand braced on the wrecked bed, the other on the back of Sam’s neck, fingers tangled in his hair. Sam meets every thrust, pushes back onto Dean’s cock, bottoming him out, and it’s glorious, it’s so fucking good. God, he loves fucking Sam. Sure, he loves getting fucked by Sam - he ain’t picky about which way round they do it - but, Christ, he really does love fucking Sam.
Sam makes a noise and Dean doesn’t quite figure out what he’s saying, too gone in his haze of lust and nearly there, nearly there, Jesus Christ, you feel good, until he watches Ross slide forward, grab onto Sam’s outstretched hand, Sam’s enormous fingers curling around Ross’s, and then he recognizes the word as Ross’s name, Sam moaning Ross’s name under his breath.
Dean pauses, leans forward over Sam’s body, presses his lips to the nape of Sam’s neck, licks at the top ridge of his spine.
“Sammy,” he whispers, “taste so good, feel so good.” He feels Sam shiver beneath him and he raises his eyes, meets Ross’s gaze. “You with us, littlest bro?”
Ross gives a quick jerk of his head, swallowing hard, breath catching as he mutters: “Yeah, Dean, yeah. With you.”
“Good boy,” Dean says; he smiles at Ross. “Stay with us.”
He speeds up, snapping his hips faster, pulse racing, blood beating so hard in his head he can’t hear himself breathe. Underneath him Sam is panting for breath, and he blinks, hips stuttering when he sees Ross’s hand disappear beneath Sam’s body - Ross’s hand jacking Sam’s cock, Ross’s hand pulling Sam’s orgasm from him, Ross’s eyes locked on Sam’s face. He feels Sam’s orgasm hit him, Sam’s ass clenching around him, Sam shaking beneath him.
Sam groans and grabs onto the back of Ross’s neck, wrenching him forward into a kiss which Ross meets hungrily, murmuring Sam’s name into Sam’s mouth, and that’s it - it’s all over for Dean, he’s shooting his load up Sam’s ass, filling Sam’s hole with his own spunk - Sam’s hole that’s now leaking both his brothers’ spunk.
He slides away when he’s done, falls backwards into the tangle of sheets and blankets, chest heaving up and down.
It’s a couple of minutes before one of them speaks, and then Ross says: “Okay, so next time, I’m doin’ that too.”
Dean looks up at the sound of his brother’s voice. He rolls onto his front, props his chin up on his hands, raises an eyebrow at his youngest brother.
“You want in on the ass stuff? Thought you hated all that.”
“Not if it’s that damn hot,” Ross says. He prods Sam in the side with his foot. “Hey, Sammy, how about next time, I fuck Dean and Dean fucks you? It’ll be awesome - like a Dean sandwich.”
Dean gulps, ‘cause Jesus, okay, yeah, that could work. He could definitely get with that program.
Sam chuckles. “I think we could work with that.”
Ross beams. “Man, I totally always have the best ideas.”
***********************************
The sun starts to rise but they’re all still awake. They’re still on the bed - the debauched, ransacked, fucking destroyed bed - and Dean’s smoking a cigarette while Sam lies on his front at the foot of the bed, legs dangling off the side, feet brushing the carpet, laptop in front of him. He’s probably surfing porn, but Dean’s too lazy to even ask, and Ross is running his mouth, telling them all about that fucked-up hunt he and Sarah went on a few weeks back, the one responsible for his melt-down, the one with the vegetarian vampires and deranged hunter who supposedly knew Dad.
“You know that guy will probably come after us?” Sam says, speaking into one of Ross’s long rambling pauses.
“Huh?” Ross reaches to pry the half-smoked cigarette from Dean’s fingers as he looks at Sam.
“That hunter guy - Gordon Walker - I asked Bobby about him and he said he’s a hard-ass. He has a rep for being dangerous, and for holding a grudge. There’s not many other hunters who’ll work with him. I think it’s safe to say that he’s gonna come after us at some point. You humiliated him.”
Ross shrugs defensively. “Yeah, so? He deserved it. Anyway, I totally iced him last time. So even if he, like, tries to come after me this time, he’ll be even more SOL, ‘cause it’ll be the three of us, right?”
“Damn straight,” Dean agrees, because there’s no fucking way any hunter, no matter how bad-ass or how good at holding grudges he is, is getting close to his brother.
Ross nods forcefully. “Yeah, so don’t worry, Sammy, me and Deano’ll protect you.”
Sam makes a face at him. “Never said I was worried. Just making a point.”
They go quiet for a while; Ross finishes the rest of Dean’s cigarette, leans over him to stub it out in the ashtray on Dean’s nightstand. Ross settles back down into the bed, hunkering down as if he’s finally thinking about going to sleep. Dean slides down next to him, prodding Sam with his foot at the end of the bed. Sam grabs onto his foot, curls his fingers around Dean’s ankle and brings it to his lips, nips gently at Dean’s instep, at his ankle, looking at Dean through his eyelashes. Dean shivers at the sensation, seeing Sam smile at him and press one last kiss to the arch of his foot before he drops it, leans over the bed to close the computer and place it carefully on the floor.
Sam crawls up the bed towards them, slides under the covers - what’s left of the covers - on Ross’s other side. Dean watches him with heavy eyes, feeling the exhaustion finally seep into him. Sam stretches to fumble off the light, though it’s pretty pointless since dawn is creeping under the curtains.
Sam’s breathing heavy and even on the other side of the bed, a sure sign that he’s asleep, and Dean is almost there, so close to drifting off when Ross’s voice disturbs him, pulling him half awake.
“Dean?” Ross whispers.
He blinks his eyes open. Ross is sharing his pillow, his face only inches from Dean’s, eyes shiny in the dawn-light.
“What?” Dean whispers back.
He sees his brother swallow, the look on his face troubled, guilty even. “Do you think - this counts? Like, with Sarah? Do you think us - what we just did counts? Like as cheating? Or, like, me and Sam?”
“No,” says Dean truthfully.
He sees Ross blink, the relief on his face. “Oh, good, that’s what I thought, but I, like, I wasn’t sure.”
“This is us - you and me and Sam,” Dean tells him. “It’s different. Don’t feel bad ‘cause of it.”
Ross licks his lips, says quietly, “Okay.” There’s a pause, though Dean can tell that Ross isn’t done yet, that he has something else to say. He lifts up a hand, brushes Ross’s hair gently back from his face. “What is it?” he says.
Ross blinks again, says, “I don’t think I’m gonna go back to her.”
“Do you want to go back to her?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I really like her still. I like being her boyfriend.”
His eyes are wide, expression so forlorn that it’s painful; the ache in Dean’s chest is painful. He leans in, presses a kiss to his forehead. “Just go to sleep now, we can talk about it tomorrow. We’ll figure it out then, okay?”
Ross nods, murmurs, “Okay, okay, Dean.”
His eyes close and he nuzzles his face back into the pillow. Dean stays awake and watches him fall asleep.
Next Chapter
Chapter 25b/28
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Sam/Dean/Ross, Sam/Ross, Dean/Ross
Rating: NC-17 for this one
Word Count: 7019 this part (13,904 for entire chapter)
Summary: SPN AU. Ross Christopher Winchester knows three things to be true: that his father, John, is a hero, that he's going to be the best hunter in the goddamn world, and that his two older brothers are in love with each other. An AU-version of Season 1 where The Winchester Boys mean Dean and Sam and Ross, where John is still missing, where Mary and Jess are still crispy-fried, and where Dean and Sam are still obsessed with one another...
Previous Chapters Link to the Masterpost
And here's the second part... And of course the awesome picture by violateraindrop to remind us of the ridiculous level of pretty we're dealing with here...
Chapter 25 - part II
Back to Chapter 25, part I
Dean only manages to make $250. It’s not too bad but it’s not exactly what he was hoping for either. The cards Sam took from Dad’s wallet are still holding out okay, but they need cash. It just means he’s going to have to head out again tomorrow, maybe hit some of those bars around the McNeese campuses, challenge some of the jock students and idiot frat boys to a game of pool, maybe hone in on a poker game. Anyway, it just means more fucking work for him.
He grits his teeth as he pulls into the motel parking lot. He hates to say it, but running the hustles was easier before when he and Sam were working together, Sammy playing the part of good boy to his bad boy. It was ridiculous how many people fell for that shit. But that’s not possible right now ‘cause there’s no freaking way either of them are leaving Ross on his own for any length of time, and truthfully, he’s not even sure Ross would even agree to being left alone; their youngest brother has gotten real clingy ever since - well, ever since.
Sam and Ross are standing over the shitty little stove in the kitchenette area of the room, shoulder to shoulder, their voices raised in that familiar bickering tone - nothing new there. What is new is the smell of roasting meat emanating from the stove and the saucepans bubbling away on top of it.
“What the fuck?” Dean says as he shuts the door behind him.
Sam and Ross spin around looking red-faced, sweaty and very pleased with themselves.
“Oh hey, man, we’re makin’ dinner,” Ross announces cheerfully.
“Uh, yeah, I can see that, but what the fuck’re you making?”
“Chicken,” says Sam. “It’s in the oven, roasting. We’re also doing mashed potatoes and carrots and beans and Ross is attempting to make gravy, ‘cept it looks more like beef stew.”
“Oh, fuck you, my gravy’s awesome!” protests Ross, turning back towards the stove top and stirring one of the pots - obviously the gravy.
“Oh right,” Dean says. “Well, I guess that’s good. Let me know when it’s done, I’m gonna shower.”
The food isn’t half bad, to Dean’s surprise, taking into consideration the fact this is possibly the first time the two of them have cooked anything on their own together ever. They both seem immensely pleased with themselves and spend the entire meal demanding praise and kudos for the way they’ve diced the freaking carrots to the amount of salt they put in the mashed potatoes, not to mention Ross’s precious gravy. Dean praises them because he’s totally whipped as a brother, though it’s kinda worth it to see the matching blinding smiles on their faces when he asks for second helpings.
“So what else did you two do today apart from make me dinner?” he asks after he’s eaten his fill.
He’s a little surprised to see the two of them exchange a quick glance, then Ross turns back to him with an evil grin. “Sammy jizzed in the pool.”
“Fuck you, so did you!” Sam retorts, eyes narrowing in on Ross’s gleeful expression.
Dean raises his eyebrows, looks between the two of them. “Uh? What?”
“We jerked each other off in the pool,” Ross explains, casting Dean a sly sideways look. “And made out a lot. It was hot.”
“Well ain’t that nice for the two of you,” Dean says.
He’s feeling unaccountably annoyed by this. He’s not jealous, of course he ain’t, it’s just that -
Fuck it; he spent the entire freaking day trying to earn them some goddamn money while they spent the entire day fucking around in the pool together. Must be nice.
He jerks his chair away from the table and heads outside for a smoke.
He stands on the porch smoking and wondering which of them is going to come outside to talk to him. Whoever it is, he just hopes the other one makes a start on the goddamn dishes, he’s so not in the mood for domestic chores.
The door opens behind him and he turns around. It’s Ross. Figures.
“Can I bum a cigarette?” asks Ross.
Dean lets out a long-suffering sigh, but he hands his pack over to his younger brother, along with his lighter. Ross lights up and leans against the side of the wall, legs crossed at the ankles, shoulder against the brickwork.
“Are you mad about me and Sam?” he asks. He’s giving Dean that same sly look out of the corner of his eye, like he’s trying to provoke Dean - which he is, he totally is. Dean supposes that it’s got to be a good sign, a sign that Ross is getting back to his normal bratty self, but it’s still fucking annoying and Dean is not gonna rise to it.
He gives a one-shouldered shrug, says, “Nah. Why would I be?”
“I know the two of you ain’t been fuckin’ around like normal,” Ross says. He curls his mouth up into a wicked smirk. “Sam went off like a freakin’ geyser; it was kinda funny, dude, like rivers of spunk.”
Dean rolls his eyes at him while Ross snickers to himself. He doesn’t bother replying.
“I’ve known about you and Sam for years, Dean. I can deal with it. You don’t need to, like, quit or whatever for my sake. I ain’t some delicate flower that’s gonna, like, fall apart just ‘cause you and Sammy are knockin’ boots all the freakin’ time. I’m used to it, man, and you know, seriously, blue balls ain’t funny.”
Dean takes a long toke on his cigarette. If he’s honest with himself then it has been hard - yeah, haha - to keep his hands off Sam for the past month. But Ross’s wellbeing is more important. Ross’s wellbeing is the most important thing in all their lives at the moment. Sam gets that, hell, Sam was the one who insisted that they go cold turkey for as long as necessary.
“You gotta quit worrying about me, Deano,” Ross continues. “I’ll be alright.”
Dean raises his head and actually looks at his brother. Ross is watching him intently, his dark eyes round and sincere. Dean blinks, his chest tightening, throat getting dry. He clears his throat and beckons Ross over. “Hey, c’mere.”
Ross takes the few steps towards him and Dean grabs onto him, drapes one arm around his shoulders, pulling him in.
“I ain’t never gonna quit worrying about you,” he says. “You know you’re my number one priority.”
“What about Sammy?”
“You and Sammy are my number one priority,” he corrects.
Ross snickers and leans his head so his forehead presses against the side of Dean’s face. “I know,” he says quietly.
********************************
They go for a five-mile run before breakfast the next day. It’s the fourth time that week and he can already feel his body getting back into the swing of it, feeling as if he could go another five miles no problem. He decides that tomorrow they’ll do six or seven miles, keep building up their strength and stamina; their endurance has taken a hit these past few months.
They have to go back to hunting at some point, it’s their job, it’s what the three of them do. There are people out there that count on people like them. Anyway, he misses it, he feels itchy and strange without it, like he’s missing something vital about himself - which he guesses he pretty much is.
He takes the first shower this time. Ross and Sam grumble but they give in for once. He’s got to head out anyway, got to earn them some more goddamn cash while Ross and Sam are probably gonna just spend the day making out and jerking each other off in the pool again.
“Hey, why don’t you do some fuckin’ laundry while I’m out?” he calls out as he picks up his keys and jacket.
Sam looks up from the laptop with a frown while Ross pokes his head out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his head and toothbrush dangling out one side of his mouth, foam painting his lips.
“Wha-?” he squawks.
Dean sighs, says, “You heard. You and Sam get your horny asses down the block and into the first freakin’ laundromat you find. I need some clean underwear.”
Ross removes the toothbrush from his mouth, speaks around the mouthful of foam, white drool rolling down his chin and onto his (Dean’s) grey Henley.
“Yeah, Jesus, don’t get your panties in a twist.”
Dean gives him the finger before he leaves.
Hitting the college bars turns out to be a genius idea. He wins another $250 at pool in the first place, pickings as easy as any he’s had before. In the second place, he gets chatting to a group of sorority girls who tell him all about this party over at the Phi-Beta-Alpha frat, how the guys there have these games of poker that are kinda notorious for their high stakes. He gives the girls a lift to the frat house and walks into what feels like a scene from Animal House, scanty-clad girls playing beer pong and hot shirtless dudes doing keg stands. Seriously, sometimes he wonders why the fuck he never rebelled and went to college instead of Sam. He’d’ve made a much more awesome college student than Sam ever did.
The poker game’s going down in one of the bedrooms upstairs and one of the chicks from the bar, Cindy, leads him to it, announcing to the assembled douchebags that he wants to join. They eye him warily at first but when he drops $400 onto the table in front of them, they let him buy his way in.
They’re the usual bunch of rich poser assholes and none of them can play for shit, though they’re all under the delusion that they can. He drops $100 in the first couple of games and he can see their faces light up, assuming they’ve got an easy mark here. He makes $200 on the third game, loses $50 in the fourth and then makes $800 on the last.
By that point the smiles have completely worn off their faces and he ends up having to make a strategic and very fast exit, only accomplished with Cindy’s help. He kisses her up against the side of the car by way of thanks and she slips him her number on a cocktail napkin. He feels bad for using her in this way, but he still lets the cocktail napkin flutter from his fingers and out the rolled down driver’s window as he drives back to the motel. He hasn’t screwed around with anyone who wasn’t related to him in almost a year, he’s not gonna change things now when it’s more important than ever for them to stick together.
Besides, Sam would know if he did do something, Sam always knows.
It’s after 3am by the time he makes it back. It’s not late for them, but he’s still expecting to see Sam and Ross in bed asleep. So he’s surprised when he pushes open the motel room door to the lingering scent of pot, the sounds of lip-smacking and moaning, and the image of a topless Sam sprawled back in one of the straight-backed chairs, a topless Ross straddling him, and the two of them macking on each other like they’re auditioning for soft-core porn.
Dean pauses in the doorway, blinks once, then twice, and stares. Ross and Sam haven’t noticed that they’ve got company; still making out, eating each other’s faces like - like - like sex-starved teenagers in the backseat, parked up on lovers’ lane. Sam’s got one enormous hand on Ross’s waist, spanning his back, fingers digging into his spine, his other hand at the back of Ross’s neck, long fingers disappearing into Ross’s hair. Ross is rocking into him, grinding his erection down into - Jesus - Sam’s own erection, a fucking tent pole in his partially unbuttoned jeans, Ross’s hands cradling Sam’s face, forcing his head back to get better access to Sam’s mouth.
Dean clears his throat and slams the door.
Ross and Sam pull apart with comical swiftness, Ross swaying and clutching onto Sam’s bare shoulder to stop himself from falling. Together, the two of them turn their heads, and gaze back at him with identical red-rimmed, pot-swollen eyes.
“I see the two of you found something better to do than the fuckin’ laundry,” Dean says.
Slowly Ross and Sam turn their heads to look at each other again, then as if on cue, they both burst into peels of annoying, pot-addled snickering. “Oh man, quit it with the fuckin’ laundry!” Sam breathes between giggles.
Dean rolls his eyes hard and strides into the room, peeling off his jacket and dropping it on one of the beds, the roll of bills next to it. He forgets how fucking infuriating dealing with stoned people can be.
“Where’d you get the weed?” he asks.
“The Laundromat,” says Ross, and that’s it - another freaking laughing fit. Obviously Dean just isn’t in on the fucking joke, and Jesus, Ross and Sam are baked.
“You save some for me?” he snaps.
“Course we did,” says Sam, sounding hurt by the accusation. “Didn’t we, Ross?”
Ross nods eagerly, turning to look at Dean with overly wide, overly earnest, unfocussed eyes. “Course we did, Deano. You know we’d never hold out on you, man, can’t believe you think we would.”
Dean swallows and nods at him, a little mollified by Ross’s (albeit wasted) sincerity, and okay, also maybe a little mollified by how fucking hot the two of them look together. Half naked, bare chests and bare feet, the buttons of their jeans popped, chests and faces flushed pink with arousal and pot, hair tousled, mouths bruised and slick with each other’s saliva. He watches Sam lick his lips, skim one hand down Ross’s bare back until it’s hovering over the gaping back of Ross’s jeans; Sam holds out his other hand towards Dean, fingers twitching.
“Hey, c’mere,” he says.
Dean swallows, takes a couple of hesitant steps towards them. Ross is reaching for the half-smoked joint lying discarded in the ashtray on the table, picking up the lighter (Dean’s favorite Zippo, goddamnit) with his other hand.
“Dean…” Sam says, all soft and low and teasing. His eyes gleam when they meet Dean’s, hot and hungry; he slides his hand into the back of Ross's jeans, spreading his fingers under the worn denim, cupping his ass. Ross groans and writhes on Sam’s lap, grinding down into Sam’s hard muscled thighs, eyes momentarily fluttering closed as he fumbles to spark up the jay in his fingers.
Sam smirks and flexes the fingers of his outstretched hand again, fingertips brushing against the edge of Dean’s flannel. Dean’s eyes are still focused on Sam’s other hand, the one lodged down Ross’s pants. He’s transfixed by the way the denim of Ross’s jeans mould around it, the way Sam’s gorgeous long fingers seem to fold around the globes of Ross’s ass.
“Dean…” Sam repeats.
Dean drags his gaze away from Ross’s ass, looks down into Sam’s upturned face, the glittering slant of his eyes. He watches Sam lick his lips, tongue coming out to slick at the already bruised and fleshy pink. Jesus, he’s hard already, feeling himself draw inexorably closer, letting Sam pull him in.
“Come join us, Dean. We were having so much fun,” Sam adds with a sly sideways look at Ross.
Ross exhales a long stream of smoke and giggles, more smoke seeping through his nostrils. “So much fun,” he repeats breathily, turning his face to stare up at Dean.
“Give me some of that,” Dean tells him.
Ross shakes his head, then grins, loose and sloppy. “Nah, you have to do it another way,” he says.
He sucks on the jay again, looking straight at Dean - a challenge in his eyes - and Dean knows exactly what his little brother has in mind. His mouth twitches and he leans in closer, bending down, letting Ross grab onto his collar and pull him in. Ross puts his mouth on Dean’s, humming, murmuring something, and Dean opens up, lets Ross in - along with a lungful of pungent smoke - he sucks it down, taking in the blow-back, feeling his throat sting and his eyes water. Ross pulls away, and Dean breathes in and out again, his lips hot and tingling where his brother’s mouth has been. He shakes his head, feeling suddenly fuzzy, and reaches to take the joint from Ross’s hand.
He takes a couple more tokes. For some reason, pot always has a strong effect on him, getting into his limbs and his brain, making him loose and easy and foggy. It’s a good sensation and he wonders why the hell they haven’t done this before. This is exactly what they need; this is exactly what Ross needs. Today is turning out to be a good day; he’s made enough money to last them for a couple of weeks, Sam’s already half-naked, and Ross is here. Ross is back with them where he belongs, where Dean can keep an eye on him and look out for him and make sure that nothing crappy ever happens to him ever again.
He places a hand on the top of Ross’s head, smoothes his fingers through his shaggy hair. Ross makes a purring sound and tilts his head back to blink up at him, the angle making him look younger, dark eyes boring into Dean’s face. Dean swallows to force away the niggle of guilt, and smiles down at his brother, the heavy burn of overwhelming affection and protection in his gut pouring out of him along with the tangy smoke.
God, he loves his brothers so much, it’s crazy how much he loves them. He’d do anything to make them happy.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says.
Ross smiles back at him, slack and lazy and totally fucking baked. “Hey, Deano,” he says.
“Let’s take this to the bed,” Sam says.
Dean takes a step back, the joint smoldering between two fingers. He watches Sam tip Ross off his lap, the two of them collapsing into more giggles as Ross grabs onto Sam to steady himself, fingers curled around Sam’s bicep. Sam grabs him back, manhandling and forcing him around until he’s holding Ross from behind, long Sammy arms wrapped around Ross’s chest, pulling him back into his body.
Dean holds his breath, feels his cock throb as he watches Sam slide his hand into Ross’s hair and force his head to one side, exposing a long gleaming line of neck. Sam lowers his head and licks Ross’s throat, tongue pink and slippery as it slides along Ross’s glistening skin. Ross groans and grinds his ass back against Sam’s body. Sam looks up, meeting Dean’s eyes as he slowly drags his other hand down Ross’s chest and belly, caressing and smoothing and tracing the defined lines of Ross’s muscles, his ribs and abs, down to splay his enormous fingers over the blatant line of Ross’s cock in his faded jeans.
Ross shudders back against Sam, voice gone low and begging, “Sam, c’mon, man, please, quit bein’ such a tease.”
Sam chuckles, he clicks his tongue, looking straight at Dean. “So impatient, littlest bro, always so fuckin’ impatient. Right, Dean?”
Dean exhales a stream of smoke, stares back into Sam’s dark lidded eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Right, Sammy.”
He moves to stub out the remains of the joint in the ashtray. He can feel their eyes tracking him, and he rolls his shoulders, enjoying it, loving the attention, both his little brothers watching him. They might’ve been fooling around while he was out, making out and getting high and touching each other like a pair of horny teenagers blowing off steam, but he knows that they were both just waiting for him - waiting for their big brother to come home and tell them what to do - and he’s gonna do just that. He’s gonna give the two of them what they want.
Though, maybe, perhaps he shouldn’t…
Perhaps they shouldn’t be doing this, the three of them. After all, he had had a plan before - before Dad and Sarah and Angela and demon blood - he was going to keep away from Ross, give Ross a chance at happiness and a real decent life that wasn’t part of the incestuous Winchester freak-show.
But that was before, and before didn’t work, before made Ross unhappy. He saw it with his own eyes; Ross tangled up in that fancy double bed under that expensive duvet, Ross with the tears rolling unchecked down his checks, Ross refusing to eat, Sarah helpless in the face of Ross’s grief and loss.
Ross has been getting better since he got back with them; Ross is eating normally again, slowly regaining the weight he lost, they’re getting back into a proper training regime. Ross is almost back to his old cocky self, which all goes to show that what Ross really needs is family - him and Sam. The three of them belong together. They understand each other; they know how each one works and they know how to put each other back together. Hell, Sam obviously saw that way before him, ‘cause Sam’s been giving Ross what he needs. Who knows how many times Ross and Sammy have made out or fucked around when he’s not been around?
Still, he’s around now, and he’s not missing out this time.
He peels off his flannel, tossing it to the floor. His boots are next, then his socks, ‘cause he always feels stupid having sex with his socks on. He removes his t-shirt more slowly, making a show of it, feeling their eyes rake over his naked chest and back, seeing Sam lick his lips, involuntary and lascivious, Ross’s eyes wide and feverish as they drink him in.
Finally, he tugs down his jeans and his boxers. He sits on the edge of the bed, pats the mattress beside him. “Come here, kiddo,” he says.
Sam chuckles and releases his hold on Ross. Ross slinks away from him and stumbles towards the bed. He sinks to the mattress beside Dean. Dean gives him a reassuring smile and Ross shifts even closer, leaning in and opening his mouth against the muscle of Dean’s shoulder, his mouth wet and warm, tongue coming out to lap at Dean’s skin, taste him. Dean shivers and feels the mattress dip again as Sam slides in on Ross’s other side, completely naked, big gorgeous cock bobbing against his belly.
Together they push Ross backwards onto the bed, tugging off his jeans and boxers, while Ross lies there, docile and compliant, looking up at them with wild flushed eyes, fingers outstretched to grab onto Dean when he rears back into view. Dean lets Ross pull him in, kisses him hungrily when their mouths meet. He tries to put everything he’s feeling - the guilt and love and unbearable affection into the kiss - tries to make Ross see that he loves him, that every mistake he’s made (and he’s made a helluva lot) has been for Ross’s good, that he’s sorry for pushing him away, so sorry for all the hurt he’s caused him.
He pulls away, panting, cradles Ross’s face, smoothing his fingers over every inch of his brother’s face. He can’t help but see the resemblance now, not just the resemblance to Dad, to Sammy, that reassuring Winchester resemblance that’s always been there, but the new one: the one that’s Angela and George and reminders of everything Ross has been denied, everything Dean’s still keeping from him. Ross has been denied so much over the years, Dean is not going to deny him this - deny him himself - anymore. If Ross wants his big brother to love him or make out with him or even fuck him then Dean will give him that. He owes it to Ross.
Ross smiles and opens his eyes, stares up at Dean. “It’s about time. Took you long enough to get over yourself.”
“Little punk,” he says fondly.
Ross makes a face at him, then turns his head to look at Sam who’s been hovering next to them, watching the two of them with this expression on his face that could be described as benevolent, if it wasn’t for the way he’s touching himself, hand stroking up and down his cock, fondling his balls.
“Sammy, how about you get over here and suck me off,” Ross says.
Dean laughs out loud, Ross turns to grin at him, like they’re sharing a joke; he looks pleased with himself, propping himself up on one elbow to beckon Sam over. Dean shifts to one side, making room for Sam who slots in between Ross’s legs, enormous hands on Ross’s thighs, parting them, face hovering over Ross’s engorged dick.
Dean licks his lips, shuffles backwards until he’s against the headboard, puts one hand on his own throbbing dick. He has a feeling he’s going to enjoy this.
“Whatcha waitin’ for?” says Ross, a hint of antagonism and challenge and little-brother teasing in his voice.
Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat and leans down to suck the head of Ross’s cock into his mouth.
“Oh man, oh God, fuck…” Ross curses. “Oh Christ, so good, Sam…”
Dean stifles a groan and jerks his fist up and down his cock. Jesus, they look good together, Sam gliding his lips up and down his younger brother’s dick, Ross arching up into it, more and more gone with each thrust into Sam’s mouth. Ross is whimpering and writhing under Sam, babbling away, and that’s one thing Dean remembers from all those months before - just how goddamn noisy their youngest brother is when he’s having sex, just how fucking into it he gets, how he just can’t fucking shut up. But Ross has always been incapable of being quiet. Ross could never have survived all those years of keeping quiet and hiding from Dad and sneaking around. Ross would’ve given the game away straight off. Ross has sex just as he does everything else in his life - noisy and needy and look-at-me.
Sam pulls off, lets Ross’s cock slide out his mouth and slap back against his flat hard belly, glistening and painfully red and swollen.
Ross looks up, scowls at him, red-faced and panting. “You ain’t finished,” he tells him. “Sam, c’mon, you can’t leave me hangin’, man. Quit teasin’.”
But Sam’s on a roll, smiling smugly and evilly down at his little brother, and then he’s surging up Ross’s body, fisting his hand in Ross’s hair and yanking him into a kiss, heavy and bruising and dominating. Ross protests, but gets with the program immediately, grabs onto Sam with equal ruthlessness, fingers digging into Sam’s back, scratching and leaving marks as he tries to get purchase against Sam’s bigger body, any chance to tussle with Sammy.
The two of them are half-way between fighting and fucking, snarling and growling and grinding their cocks into each other’s stomachs, spitting and cursing at each other between kisses and bites, and seriously, if it didn’t look so fucking hot and if Dean wasn’t so damn turned on right now then he’d be screaming at them, pulling them apart and yelling at them to quit it already. But he’s so damn close to blowing his load. He jerks his fist up and down his cock, fingers cupping his balls, dragging light fingernails over his sac.
Ross growls and pushes his feet down into the mattress, getting purchase and rolling the two of them, sheets and pillows sliding and catching around them, until Ross is on top, Sam below him. Ross grinds his hips down into Sam, grabs onto one of Sam’s flailing arms by the wrist and pins it down. Dean gets a flash of his little brother’s mouth, his teeth sinking into the meat of Sam’s shoulder, seeing Sam buck up into it, his dark eyes wild, one foot hooked around Ross’s body, heel drumming into Ross’s ass as he arches up.
“Jesus Christ,” Dean groans. They should be filming this; they’d make a fucking fortune from it. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, watches the two of them come, watches Ross squirm his free hand between their two bodies, jerk at his own cock until he’s painting Sam’s body with his release, watches Sam go deadly still, familiar tremors snaking through his muscles, familiar gasping sounds falling from his lips as he follows, Ross’s fingers now around Sam’s dick, helping him to pump out his own release.
Done and spent, Ross sits back on his haunches, ass on Sam’s thighs. His chest is heaving, pupils so wide his eyes look black, hair a crazy tangle sticking to his forehead and temples and neck with sweat. He swings his gaze to Dean, lips parting in a breathless moan when his eyes fall on Dean’s hand, still working his own cock, but getting so close.
“Dean…” he murmurs.
Sam jerks his head Dean’s way at Ross’s words, gaze narrowing in laser-focused on Dean’s cock, tongue slicking hungrily over his lips. “Jesus, so fuckin’ hot, Dean.”
That’s it, he’s done. He can’t take the two of them watching him, the matching appreciation and lust in their eyes, the smell of their combined come and sweat filling his nostrils. He cries out and comes, pumping his fist and striping his belly with his release.
Afterwards they clean themselves up, half-hearted and half-assed, using one of Ross’s discarded t-shirts, though littlest bro pitches a mini fit about it.
“Why’s it always my stuff that gets used for the shitty jobs? Ain’t fuckin’ fair.”
“Shut up, you’re the youngest,” Sam says as if it’s a good enough reason, and fuck it, it is a good enough reason, and Ross should know that by now.
“Yep, suck it up, dude, older brothers’ privilege,” Dean adds.
“Fuck you both,” Ross retorts automatically, giving him the finger. He slides off the bed, buck naked, and saunters over to the table to fetch the remains of the bag of weed and the rolling papers, dumping the lotl onto the mattress in front of Dean and instructing him to roll another one.
Dean does what Ross asks because he’s by far the best of them at rolling joints that will actually stay together. Sam and Ross can’t roll for shit; in fact, he’s kinda impressed that they even managed it without him. They pass it around and it’s good, it’s really good. It’s the three of them hanging out together and getting wasted and just - just - enjoying each other’s company in a way that Dean’s almost forgotten, it’s been so damn long.
He pulls Ross to him, and Ross goes eagerly, climbs into the v of his thighs and nestles back against his chest, head under Dean’s chin and hair in Dean’s mouth. It’s the same position he used to take when he was a kid, when he’d climb into Dad’s lap, or when Dad wasn’t around, Dean’s lap, nuzzle into him and demand attention and affection with that pure-hearted, little kid need. It’s reassuring to know that despite everything that has happened to him, despite everything he’s lost and what a shit-heap his life’s been these past few months, there are certain parts of Ross that will never change. Ross will always need Dean to love him.
Dean puts his mouth to Ross’s head, presses his lips to his hair and kisses him softly, feeling the tears well up in his eyes. This would be the time to tell him everything he and Sam have learned since Dad’s death - right now - while he’s happy and relaxed and they’re together. Dean could tell him now and Ross might take it okay, enclosed in his brother’s arms and coming down from his orgasm, from the weed. Ross might understand, he might forgive them - forgive Dad - for keeping him in the dark.
Then again, to ruin this moment would be cruel, and Dean’s content, he’s happy; he’s got his two brothers close, within touching distance. He can’t bring himself to ruin it.
Ross passes the jay back to Sam and twists in Dean’s lap, turns to face Dean, reaching up with both hands to cradle Dean’s face. He slides his legs around Dean, curling them around Dean’s hips, slotting their bodies together, then he leans in and kisses him. Dean kisses him back, lazy and affectionate kisses, long slow swoops of tongue and the soft murmured hums of Ross whispering his name into his mouth until it’s just a meaningless reverberation: “Dean, Dean, Dean…”
From the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam stub out the remains of the joint, shuffle across the mattress towards them until he’s slotting in behind Ross, winding his arms around Ross’s chest from the back until Ross pulls away from Dean and sighs out, angling his head to meet Sam’s mouth. Dean watches the two of them make out, he watches Sam’s hand skim downwards until he’s cupping Ross’s cock, fingering his balls.
This time is slow and languorous and it’s all three of them. It’s Ross caught between him and Sam, held carefully between the two of them like something precious. Sam cradles Ross when Dean finishes him off, when he kisses down his youngest brother’s chest and stomach, when he sucks his cock into his mouth. Sam holds Ross in his arms and Dean sucks his dick. Ross comes in Dean’s mouth and Dean sloshes Ross’s jizz around his mouth for a couple of seconds before he spits it out into his hand, using it to coat his fingers, instructing Sam to roll over so he can open him up. Ross watches wide-eyed, lip caught between his teeth, as Dean works his come-coated fingers in and out of Sam’s hole, until Sam’s ready and begging for it, desperate for Dean to fuck him, lubed up with their little brother’s spunk.
Sam’s on all fours, ass in the air and Dean’s pushing into him, eyes fluttering closed as he slides inside his brother’s body. He opens them again and sees Ross sprawled back against the headboard, still staring at them, lip still caught between his teeth, expression mesmerized.
Dean fucks into Sam, a steady inexorable pace, one hand braced on the wrecked bed, the other on the back of Sam’s neck, fingers tangled in his hair. Sam meets every thrust, pushes back onto Dean’s cock, bottoming him out, and it’s glorious, it’s so fucking good. God, he loves fucking Sam. Sure, he loves getting fucked by Sam - he ain’t picky about which way round they do it - but, Christ, he really does love fucking Sam.
Sam makes a noise and Dean doesn’t quite figure out what he’s saying, too gone in his haze of lust and nearly there, nearly there, Jesus Christ, you feel good, until he watches Ross slide forward, grab onto Sam’s outstretched hand, Sam’s enormous fingers curling around Ross’s, and then he recognizes the word as Ross’s name, Sam moaning Ross’s name under his breath.
Dean pauses, leans forward over Sam’s body, presses his lips to the nape of Sam’s neck, licks at the top ridge of his spine.
“Sammy,” he whispers, “taste so good, feel so good.” He feels Sam shiver beneath him and he raises his eyes, meets Ross’s gaze. “You with us, littlest bro?”
Ross gives a quick jerk of his head, swallowing hard, breath catching as he mutters: “Yeah, Dean, yeah. With you.”
“Good boy,” Dean says; he smiles at Ross. “Stay with us.”
He speeds up, snapping his hips faster, pulse racing, blood beating so hard in his head he can’t hear himself breathe. Underneath him Sam is panting for breath, and he blinks, hips stuttering when he sees Ross’s hand disappear beneath Sam’s body - Ross’s hand jacking Sam’s cock, Ross’s hand pulling Sam’s orgasm from him, Ross’s eyes locked on Sam’s face. He feels Sam’s orgasm hit him, Sam’s ass clenching around him, Sam shaking beneath him.
Sam groans and grabs onto the back of Ross’s neck, wrenching him forward into a kiss which Ross meets hungrily, murmuring Sam’s name into Sam’s mouth, and that’s it - it’s all over for Dean, he’s shooting his load up Sam’s ass, filling Sam’s hole with his own spunk - Sam’s hole that’s now leaking both his brothers’ spunk.
He slides away when he’s done, falls backwards into the tangle of sheets and blankets, chest heaving up and down.
It’s a couple of minutes before one of them speaks, and then Ross says: “Okay, so next time, I’m doin’ that too.”
Dean looks up at the sound of his brother’s voice. He rolls onto his front, props his chin up on his hands, raises an eyebrow at his youngest brother.
“You want in on the ass stuff? Thought you hated all that.”
“Not if it’s that damn hot,” Ross says. He prods Sam in the side with his foot. “Hey, Sammy, how about next time, I fuck Dean and Dean fucks you? It’ll be awesome - like a Dean sandwich.”
Dean gulps, ‘cause Jesus, okay, yeah, that could work. He could definitely get with that program.
Sam chuckles. “I think we could work with that.”
Ross beams. “Man, I totally always have the best ideas.”
***********************************
The sun starts to rise but they’re all still awake. They’re still on the bed - the debauched, ransacked, fucking destroyed bed - and Dean’s smoking a cigarette while Sam lies on his front at the foot of the bed, legs dangling off the side, feet brushing the carpet, laptop in front of him. He’s probably surfing porn, but Dean’s too lazy to even ask, and Ross is running his mouth, telling them all about that fucked-up hunt he and Sarah went on a few weeks back, the one responsible for his melt-down, the one with the vegetarian vampires and deranged hunter who supposedly knew Dad.
“You know that guy will probably come after us?” Sam says, speaking into one of Ross’s long rambling pauses.
“Huh?” Ross reaches to pry the half-smoked cigarette from Dean’s fingers as he looks at Sam.
“That hunter guy - Gordon Walker - I asked Bobby about him and he said he’s a hard-ass. He has a rep for being dangerous, and for holding a grudge. There’s not many other hunters who’ll work with him. I think it’s safe to say that he’s gonna come after us at some point. You humiliated him.”
Ross shrugs defensively. “Yeah, so? He deserved it. Anyway, I totally iced him last time. So even if he, like, tries to come after me this time, he’ll be even more SOL, ‘cause it’ll be the three of us, right?”
“Damn straight,” Dean agrees, because there’s no fucking way any hunter, no matter how bad-ass or how good at holding grudges he is, is getting close to his brother.
Ross nods forcefully. “Yeah, so don’t worry, Sammy, me and Deano’ll protect you.”
Sam makes a face at him. “Never said I was worried. Just making a point.”
They go quiet for a while; Ross finishes the rest of Dean’s cigarette, leans over him to stub it out in the ashtray on Dean’s nightstand. Ross settles back down into the bed, hunkering down as if he’s finally thinking about going to sleep. Dean slides down next to him, prodding Sam with his foot at the end of the bed. Sam grabs onto his foot, curls his fingers around Dean’s ankle and brings it to his lips, nips gently at Dean’s instep, at his ankle, looking at Dean through his eyelashes. Dean shivers at the sensation, seeing Sam smile at him and press one last kiss to the arch of his foot before he drops it, leans over the bed to close the computer and place it carefully on the floor.
Sam crawls up the bed towards them, slides under the covers - what’s left of the covers - on Ross’s other side. Dean watches him with heavy eyes, feeling the exhaustion finally seep into him. Sam stretches to fumble off the light, though it’s pretty pointless since dawn is creeping under the curtains.
Sam’s breathing heavy and even on the other side of the bed, a sure sign that he’s asleep, and Dean is almost there, so close to drifting off when Ross’s voice disturbs him, pulling him half awake.
“Dean?” Ross whispers.
He blinks his eyes open. Ross is sharing his pillow, his face only inches from Dean’s, eyes shiny in the dawn-light.
“What?” Dean whispers back.
He sees his brother swallow, the look on his face troubled, guilty even. “Do you think - this counts? Like, with Sarah? Do you think us - what we just did counts? Like as cheating? Or, like, me and Sam?”
“No,” says Dean truthfully.
He sees Ross blink, the relief on his face. “Oh, good, that’s what I thought, but I, like, I wasn’t sure.”
“This is us - you and me and Sam,” Dean tells him. “It’s different. Don’t feel bad ‘cause of it.”
Ross licks his lips, says quietly, “Okay.” There’s a pause, though Dean can tell that Ross isn’t done yet, that he has something else to say. He lifts up a hand, brushes Ross’s hair gently back from his face. “What is it?” he says.
Ross blinks again, says, “I don’t think I’m gonna go back to her.”
“Do you want to go back to her?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I really like her still. I like being her boyfriend.”
His eyes are wide, expression so forlorn that it’s painful; the ache in Dean’s chest is painful. He leans in, presses a kiss to his forehead. “Just go to sleep now, we can talk about it tomorrow. We’ll figure it out then, okay?”
Ross nods, murmurs, “Okay, okay, Dean.”
His eyes close and he nuzzles his face back into the pillow. Dean stays awake and watches him fall asleep.
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