Episode 0.5x01 - How To Ask Your Brother Out Who: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester When: After Folsom Prison Blues What:Sam and Dean both want the same thing. Where: On The Road
Dean kicks back on his bed, taking a deep swig of beer. He had already had a couple while cleaning the guns and the happy feeling of being tipsy was fogging his brain. He grins at Sam, stretching out. "That was some damn good hunting," he announces to the room in general, pleased. Sam sprawls in a chair, gangly legs stretched out in front of him, feeling much more relaxed after his second beer. "Mm," he says in agreement, closing his eyes and tilting his head back with a sigh. He's sore, like he always is, but it's a good kind of sore. The kind of sore that comes from a job well done. "Pity this town is such a rat hole, or we could go have some real fun." He is running his mouth just to finish off the excess energy that comes after the crazed adrenaline rush after a hunt. He gets to his feet after a moment, pacing in front of Sam's chair. "Get you a busty blonde, me a petite brunette- we'd have some times." He snorts and opens an eye to glare mildly at his brother, though his heart isn't quite in it. After a few moments of Dean's pacing, Sam's hand shoots out to grab Dean's arm. "Dude. Seriously. What's gotten into you tonight?" Dean halts, surprised. "What?" he asks, stopping in mid-schpeel about exactly what kind of brunette he would be looking for. Sam gives him an odd, and mildly concerned look, not letting go just yet. "You're bouncing off the walls, almost. What's got you so worked up?" Usually after a hunt, all he wants to do is have a drink and relax. But tonight, Dean's -- antsy. Dean knows he is antsy, and what he is antsy for, but he tries not to think about that too much. "Just- was exciting, you know?" No, he does not really expect Sam to have a clue, but it seems like a good thing to say. He is hyper-aware of Sam's hand on his arm, but he pushes that thought away too, hard and fast. God, he just needs a bar. "... sure." His eyebrows go up a little and he relaxes his grip on Dean's arm. "You're kind of giving /me/ the jitters, is all. Do you -- need to go out and drive for a while, or something?" He figures it's because there's no bar and no hot chicks in the nearest five mile radius. That's all. That's all he wants it to be, anyway, and not some -- dreadful thing taking over his brother. "We could drive around until we found a bar, if you wanted." He should not let this get to him so much, he should be stronger than this. So what if he has to hold out this time, it is messed up to want it anyhow. "No, I'm okay." He deflates slightly, saying it, before focusing on taking a deep swig of beer. "Are you sure...?" The Worried Look deepens and Sam stands, touching Dean's shoulder. "Tell me what's up. This isn't like you -- you're acting kind of weird." Not to mention how much Dean's had to drink so early in the evening, which always bothers Sam a little. "Dude, don't give me that look," he chastises, looking up at him. "I'm fine, okay? Just got a little excess energy." He wishes Sam would keep his paws off, because it keeps making Dean's pulse jump, and if that is not messed up he does not know what is. "I'm not giving you any look, Dean. I was just asking if you were alright." He sighs and goes to stretch out on his bed, tossing his empty bottle in the trash and snagging a fresh one on the way there. His brother confuses and frustrates him more than he should, Sam knows that. It gets down under his skin and itches at him like a scratch he can't quite reach; just a strange feeling lingering in the back of his mind. One that makes his breath catch a little when Dean looks at him a certain way. One that he tries his best to ignore. Dean bites back a sigh, starting to pace again and then forcing himself to stop, taking a seat on the edge of Sam's bed, because it is the closest place to do so. He takes another drink, only slightly more reserved, and glances back at Sam. "What's got you so worried, anyway?" he asks. It is easier to deal with Sam's issues than his own, mainly because his little brother is so much more normal, despite the freaky psychic thing. "I need a reason to be worried about you?" he half teases, nudging at Dean's thigh with his foot. "You just seem -- weird, I dunno. Something's got you all jumpy. We finished the hunt, everything's settled. You can relax, now." He worries that some day, Dean's going to get himself into real trouble. Trouble Sam can't help him with. Until then, he's going to try and help keep his brother safe as well as he can. "You're weird," Dean shoots back, at a loss for what to say. He finally lets the sigh go, flopping onto his back. "There. I'm relaxing," he announces, as if his words will make it so. He briefly toys with the idea of going to take a shower, solving his problem that way, but he dismisses it after a moment; he knows the things that he thinks about, while he is in this sort of mood, and it is the sort of thing he does not want to think about around Sammy, especially in those brief, tense moments where he stops thinking about John. "You know, considering all the stuff we see? I'd say I'm pretty vanilla, by comparison." He opens his third beer and sips at it, trying not to think about how close Dean is to him on the bed, and how that stirs up fillings in the pit of his stomach that he doesn't want to try and explain right now. He admires and looks up to Dean, that's all. Because he's his big brother. Dean looks over at him and cannot help but smile. "Dude, you just admitted to being vanilla." He prods Sam in the side playfully. "Not that it's not obvious," he teases. "Girls can do more than lie on their backs, you know." Sam realizes what exactly he said and, his brother being the way he is, took it exactly the wrong way. "Dude -- shut up." He shoves at Dean's shoulder, looking offended. "I'm not going to justify my -- my sex life to you." Dean holds his hands up in defense, one still clutching his beer bottle. "Hey, hey, dude, just joking, calm down." They should probably get off this subject, fast. Sam's twitchy tonight, and Dean's - well, Dean knows what he is. He sits up, thinking that he might get another beer, before realizing there is still some left in his bottle, so he cannot even use that as an excuse to get up. "Alright, sorry," he sighs, resting his head against the headboard and closing his eyes. He hates this -- feeling. This feeling of restlessness he can't even put a name to. He feels just as jumpy as Dean looks, but he tries to control it and force it down. Which isn't working so well. He pushes a hand through his hair and sets his beer on the nightstand. "I think I need a shower. I feel grimy." "If you want." Dean shrugs his shoulders, moving back to lean his back against the headboard. "I'll man the fort." He looks down at Sam, his own expression worried. "You okay, man?" he asks, resisting the urge to flatten Sam's hair with his own hand. "Yeah, I'm fine. I guess I just feel a little jumpy, too." Sam flashes Dean a quick smile and hands over the remains of his beer. "Have at it. I won't be too long." He stands and stretches, trying to work out a kink in his shoulder as he ambles towards the bathroom. Dean takes a swig of Sam's beer, frowning as he watches him go. "What's wrong with your shoulder?" he calls, sitting up straighter as the mother hen in him kicks in. "Eh, I dunno. I guess I pulled it funny during the hunt. It'll be fine. We've both had worse." He laughs and shifts his shoulder until he feels it click into its proper place, "I'm just sore, that's all." "Come're and let me look at it," Dean orders, putting both beers on the stand. Okay, so maybe drinking makes him a bit of a worry-wort where Sam is concerned, but he would feel better checking it out for himself. He has to take care of Sam, after all, and maybe if he cares for him well enough it will make up for the times his thoughts wander into dangerous territory. Sam rolls his eyes a bit and stands still like a good boy, rubbing at his shoulder. "It's not bleeding, just bruised. I think I'll survive." Besides -- he'd probably need to take his shirt off for Dean to look at it, and while he's comfortable with being half clothed around his brother, there's an odd tension in the room that makes him hesitant to do so. Dean knows it is silly to insist, so he chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out if he should just let him go. "Let's at least ice it down for a while," he suggests, moving to grab a pack from the mini-fridge. "Can't take an icepack in the shower," he grumbles, halfheartedly, and pulls his shirt over his head with a slight wince. A glance in the mirror tells him that, sure enough, there's a lovely green bruise spreading over his shoulder. Sam frowns and sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed to let Dean play mother hen at him. Dean gets the pack and wraps it in Sam's discarded shirt, trying not to look at him. He sits beside him and forces himself to focus on Sam's shoulder, fingertips ghosting over the bruise and the tense muscles underneath before placing the pack against it. Sam flinches slightly, then forces himself to relax again. Dean's fingers feel much too good against his skin and he chews at the inside of his lip to keep from thinking about it. Dean's just -- looking after him. That's all. "Sorry," Dean murmurs when he sees the flinch, his free hand coming up to rub at the hard muscles of Sam's neck in apology. He used to do this for John, sometimes, when he would come home with that weary, world-beaten look, and it always seemed to help; maybe it would ease some of the tension in the room between them, if he did it for Sam for a little while, just this once. "... oh." Sam lets his head fall forward with a soft, appreciative moan. That feels amazing, and Sam can feel the tension start to melt out of his neck. His eyes slip shut and he rests his hands beside him, fingers curling around the edge of the bed, clutching a little at the comforter to keep from -- from what? Touching Dean? He tries to push those thoughts out of his head again and just concentrate on the feeling of Dean's fingers. That moan shoots straight through Dean, and his fingers falter for a moment before jump starting again, firmly. He bites his lip, trying not to think, just to rub and to keep the ice pack against Sam's shoulder to help the shoulder, and not to think about any sounds or the way his spine curves down until it hits his jeans, or anything, anything at all. He feels the stutter of Dean's fingers and his breath catches, just a little. Dean's fingers are warm and the roughness of the calluses that have built up over the years make Sam want to shiver as the brush across the sensitive skin of his neck. His shoulders tense up again at the thought of those fingers touching him elsewhere and he licks over dry lips, trying to keep his breathing steady. "You alright?" Dean asks, feeling his muscles tense, before realizing that he is speaking a bit too close to Sam's ear, his head bent down as if he meant to rest it against his shoulder. He pulls back a little, wishing fervently that he had not drank so much, because it is messing with his head, and he really needs to keep a hold on himself, right now. "Fine, yeah." But his voice is a little too low, a little too rough, and he has to clear his throat and try to swallow. "That feels good." Dean's breath against his neck, his voice in his ear, sends a slow wave of arousal through him, and Sam curses himself for not realizing how sensitive his neck was, earlier. When Dean pulls away, Sam tries to breath, tries not to think about pulling him back. That tone nearly makes Dean shiver; he wonders briefly if it was arousal he could hear- but he quickly chastises himself for wishful thinking, stupid, sick bastard, trying to push this off on Sammy. He should stop touching him, but Sam likes it, and it is helping, and he deserves a little bit of luxury, living this kind of life. He swallows himself, trying to keep his voice even. "I'm glad." that doesn't sound like a sexual invitation. His grip tightens on the edge of the bed, and he shifts slightly, trying to think of cold showers and not his brother's warm hands on his body. Dean chuckles, a stuttering, awkward sound. "Thanks." He cannot even bring himself to joke about it. He lets his hand fall away, resting it on the bed, though he cannot move away because he is still supporting the ice pack. "There, feel a little better?" "Yeah, a little... I can't feel my shoulder anymore, though," he teases, glancing over at Dean from behind his hair. He wonders how Dean's lips would feel against his cold shoulder and licks his lips again, smoothing his hands over the comforter with a quiet sigh. Dean's gaze lingers on Sam's tongue against his lips for a second too long, before jerking his eyes up to look him in the eye. "Well, it doesn't hurt now, does it?" he shoots back, but he takes the ice pack off. "No, it doesn't hurt." He regrets not having Dean's hand on him anymore, but perhaps it's for the best. All the same, he clears his throat and pushes his hair out of his eyes. "Are you hurt anywhere that might need ice? I'll play nurse for you, if you want." -- augh. He needs to not talk anymore. Dean has to open and close his mouth a few times before his voice decides to work again. "I bet there are plenty of girls that would cream themselves to hear you say that." The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Sam chokes and ducks his head to hide a blush, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Um, not quite what I meant. I just -- if you're hurt, I can --" He searches for the right word and ends, lamely, with, "I can help." Maybe he's just looking for an excuse to touch Dean, but he can't admit that to himself. It's too... fucked up, and Dean thinks he's enough of a freak as it is. Dean laughs, a note of awkwardness in his own voice. "Yeah, I know- just, funny." He shifts, noting the sore points on his body. "I got whacked pretty hard on the back against that wall. If you really want something play nursemaid on, you can see that." "Alright, shirt off, let me check it out for you." He tries to sound like he says this all the time. Like it isn't edging into a forbidden area, asking his brother to strip down. For something to do, he grabs the half melted ice pack and goes to put it back in the freezer and grab a fresh one. Dean complies, pulling his shirt off and readjusting so that Sam can sit behind him. He should be shrugging this off, telling Sammy that it is not a big deal, and, y'know, keeping his shirt on, but- can he be blamed for wanting a little bit of physical attention? He hopes not, glancing over at his little brother. Sam settles behind him with the ice pack and winces slightly when he sees the bruise. "Fuck, Dean..." he murmurs, trailing his fingers lightly along the length of the bruise, looking worried. "That's -- that looks pretty nasty. Does it hurt?" His fingers linger a little along the edges of the bruise before he pulls his hand away to wrap the ice pack in Dean's discarded shirt. Dean's breath hitches at the feel of Sam's fingers next to the tender skin. "Only as much as every other time I get thrown into things," he says, shrugging it off. "It's really not that bad." He had not really been paying attention to the fact that it hurt, too distracted by more pressing thoughts. "Sometimes I wish this wasn't so normal for us. Getting thrown into things, I mean." He carefully presses the ice against Dean's side, resisting to urge to kiss the back of Dean's neck. Instead, he starts rubbing at the back of Dean's neck, like Dean did for him. "It's like we don't even have muscles anymore. Just a bunch of knots. A chiropractor would have a field day with us." The gentle touch of his fingers on the back of his neck that makes him tense completely. He swallows, trying to force himself to relax. "- yeah. I'd prefer our job to have a little less bruising in general." He has to keep talking, keep running over these thoughts before they can grow. Sam notices the tensing and takes his hand away again, resting it on the bed instead. He keeps the ice pack against Dean's side, his eyes wandering over the web of scars and fresher wounds over his brother's back. "I think even our bruises have bruises." He eyes a longer scar curving over Dean's shoulder blade, thinking it looks like a wing that was removed. He wonders how it would feel to run his hands over such a scarred expanse of skin. How they would feel under his lips and tongue. Such thoughts don't much help the beginnings of an erection, that started when Dean started rubbing his neck. Maybe Sam should take that shower after all. Dean nearly protests the lack of Sam's touch, but instead of saying anything out loud he shifts back, drawing closer to Sam. "Least they turn pretty colors," he murmurs. "What, I don't get a massage?" He stops thinking about how things sound and letting himself lean against Sam the slightest bit. ... oh. Sam shifts a little so his legs are on either side of Dean, though careful not to get close enough for his thighs to touch any part of Dean. "Well, I guess I owe you one." He keeps his tone as light as possible, setting the ice pack aside to rub at Dean's neck with both hands. His thumbs press firmly into the tense muscle, trying to work out the knots there. Dean cannot help the moan that escapes from his lips; that feels good, nothing bad about that- His sags, hunching forward and having to brace himself to stay upright, one hand using Sam's thigh to do so. Sam has to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning in return, the muscle of his thigh twitching as Dean's hand rests on it. "That feels good, I take it?" He works his way further down Dean's back, being sure to work his thumbs hard against the muscles on either side of his spine. It's a surreal experience, hearing his brother moan as he touches him. Surreal, but deeply arousing. "Yeah, really good." His head is getting a little more blurry as he relaxes and the alcohol starts to catch up with him. He strokes Sam's thigh with a thumb absently, making small, appreciative sounds as Sam tenderizes hard muscle. He tries to keep his breathing steady as Dean's thumb moves over his thigh. It feels too good, and his hand is too close to where it shouldn't be, but Sam makes no move to stop him. Those sounds he's making is driving Sam crazy, and he tries to concentrate on working out the knots in Dean's back, rather than the hand on his thigh. Dean lets him continue for a little while more, before leaning back into Sam's chest with a sigh. "Oof." He feels like the massage took out all the bones of his back, leaving him a sack of happily relaxed muscle. He tilts his head back against his shoulder to look up at him with a small smile. "I should make you do that more often." Sam leans back against his hands, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around Dean's chest. He smiles, amused despite the awkward situation. "I think you're drunk," he says, gently. "You should probably try to sleep." But he doesn't want Dean to move, doesn't want to lose this contact with him. He realizes how close Dean's mouth is, that he could kiss him, if he wanted to. If he dared to. "You might be right," Dean admits. He shifts, not away, but to get into a more comfortable position. "I like it here, though." He wishes Sam would hold him, wrap that long body around him- he is sober enough to push away the that thought, but not enough to stop himself from leaning up and placing a kiss to the attractive line of jaw that is stretched out above him. He inhales sharply, both as Dean presses back against him further, and as he feels Dean's lips against his jaw. He swallows hard, shifting to rest one of his hands on top of Dean's, lightly. A suggestion of what he thinks they both want. "I like you here, too," he whispers, his voice low and a little darker than usual. Dean likes the feel of Sam's warm skin beneath his lips, and he moves his head again, twisting enough in his lap to place another kiss to his neck, and a third, wherever he can reach. That tone in Sam's voice stirs his own arousal, and his fingers shift restlessly under his brother's. "Dean..." he breathes, letting out a soft moan as Dean shifts in his lap. "What are you..." he begins, then has to stop and clear his throat. "What are we doing?" Sam wishes he could blame this on alcohol, but after barely two and a half beers, he's still mostly sober. And Dean's kissing his neck and Sam's tilting his head back and God it feels perfect. "We're - " Suddenly Dean has to think about it, really think about it, and he is on his feet, a look of horror crossing his face. "I am /not/ doing this to you." It's half an order to himself and half a plea; he stumbles a step back, running a hand over his face. "Shit, shit, I'm sorry-" God he's such a - such a /slut,/ trying to do this to Sam, trying to draw him into this, it was fucked up enough to want this from John; wanting it from your goddamn little /brother/ is even worse- And Sam's left alone on the bed, half hard, with guilt twisting in his stomach. "You're not doing anything /to/ me," he assures his brother as he slips off the bed and takes a step towards him. "I wouldn't have let you get that close if I didn't want -- whatever this is." Another step towards Dean, wanting nothing more than to run to him and kiss him breathless. "This is /not/ right," he informs him, eyes wide and a little wild. "I shouldn't- " God, does he really want it? Does he know what he is saying? Dean cannot really believe it, so he has to fight it, however much he does not want to, in case- he cannot risk hurting Sam. "/We/ shouldn't-" He knows he'll be damning them both, but it's useless to try and deny it any longer. It's clear that they both want it, even if they shouldn't. And so, Sam closes the distance between he and Dean, his hands trembling as he runs his hands lightly over Dean's arms. He can't think of anything romantic or -- heroic to say, so he simply cups Dean's face in his hands and pulls him into a slow and tender kiss. Dean should resist, should push him away and put an end to this, but that kiss is- it's too /Sam,/ firm but loving, the kind you could lose yourself in and end up realizing that you have been making out for an hour like a pair of horny teenagers. He melts into it, bit by precious bit, and returns it with slightly trembling gestures of his own. Sam's fingers stroke over Dean's neck, onto his chest, retracing all those muscles and scars he's grown so familiar with over the years. It rushes at him full force; how much he really loves Dean, all the affection he's been trying to smother for -- God, seven or eight years now. He parts his lips, inviting Dean to take over the kiss, if he wants. Dean cannot stifle a moan, not taking over the kiss - he's too well trained, and this is too much like kissing John, someone bigger than him, someone so irredeemably /male/ - but continuing it, his hands sliding down Sam's sides and resting on his hips. He takes a step back, towards his bed, tugging Sam ever so gently with him. Yes -- that's a good idea. Sam feels like his knees might go out any moment. He gently leans Dean back against the bed, not breaking the kiss if he can help it. He moans softly, moving to stretch out on top of Dean, hands braced against the bed, their bodies barely touching. Dean stretches out beneath him, prepared to take his weight, hands moving again to touch hip, side, chest, shoulder. He breaks the kiss only when he needs to breathe, quick, shallow breaths against his lips. "Sammy-" It is partially a question, partially a want. Dean calling him Sammy when they're so close, kissing and touching like this, makes him groan. He brushes his lips against Dean's neck, sucking gently at his pulse point, shifting to rest a hand against his hip. He's so relieved that he wasn't the only one with those thoughts, that Dean was thinking the same thing. Wanting the same thing. Dean shivers, tilting his head back to grant Sam more room. This is surreal, like a strange wetdream, and he is afraid he is going to wake up any moment to a normal, straight Sam giving him odd looks across the motel room. He digs his nails into Sam's shoulders, as if to keep him there, as he is now, aroused and hard and wanting him. Carefully, he shifts them to move onto his back, pulling Dean on top of him. Sam shivers and presses up against him, dragging his nails over Dean's back as his mouth eagerly explores his neck and shoulder. It feels good, to have Dean's weight so solidly on top of him like this. Almost comforting in a strange way. Dean moans, straddling his hips and pressing down shamelessly, all the while arcing his back into Sam's nails. His glimpses of this fantasy, in those dark, shameful moments of pleasure, do not even begin to compare with the reality. He moves his head to catch Sam's lips with his own again, kissing him hungrily. Ohfuckyes. Sam rocks his hips up against Dean's, running his hands up his back, fingers tracing eagerly over old scars, mapping out their paths across Dean's back. Again he parts his lips, offering his mouth for Dean to devour however he wishes. Dean begins to deepen the kiss, running his tongue across Sam's lips hesitantly, as if worried about what will happen if he dares cross them, before pushing himself to slide into his mouth. He buries a hand in Sam's hair, pulling them closer together as he grinds against his hips with a deep sound in his throat. Sam shifts to try and wrap a leg around Dean's waist, or hook it over his hip, or anything to try and pull Dean closer to him, feel more of his brother's body against his. He slides his tongue against Dean's, working their hips firmly together. God -- he never knew it could feel this good, pressed against another man like this. Dean helps him, his kiss becoming bolder and more demanding as they tangle together, hands wildly touching anything they can reach, stroking and exploring Sam's body. He tries to regain enough control of his body to fumble between them to loosen Sam's pants, or his own, he does not really care which, but the alcohol combined with the frantic pace of the moment cause him to fail at doing more than grasping at buttons. With another, louder moan, Sam helps Dean undo his jeans, then his own, pushing at Dean's jeans to try and get them off. He needs to feel Dean's body completely against his, aches for it, to feel him skin to skin. He's sure this is going too fast, but have either of them really been above fucking on the first date? Or first -- he doesn't even know what this is. He just needs Dean in a bone-deep yearning he can't describe. Dean sits up, shedding his jeans as quickly as he can, before focusing on Sam's, tearing them off him none too gently. He leans over him, placing open-mouthed kisses to his chest, a hand stroking over the front of his boxers. Sam feels so good under his palm, sending a shiver through him that goes straight south. "Dean -- " he gasps, pushing his fingers through Dean's short hair and grinding against his palm, arching into his kisses. It all feels perfect; like all of his sexual experience has been leading up to this moment, where his and Dean's bodies start to lock together, sliding into place like they were never meant to be apart. Dean draws his lips against one of Sam's nipples, following it with his tongue as he tugs his boxers down to wrap his hand fully around him, stroking him firmly. He wants him, desperately, but does not know how to ask, focusing instead on making him squirm beneath him. Somewhere, in the part of Sam's brain that still possesses coherent thought, Sam wonders if Dean's done this before. Then he decides that it doesn't matter, because Dean's tongue is doing amazing things to his chest and his hand is on his cock and Sam's running his hands over any part of Dean he can reach, wanting to be able to touch all of him at once. "Deanplease -- " he whimpers, not knowing what precisely he's asking for, what he needs, aside from more. God, he's /whimpering/, and that makes Dean want him all the more desperately. He pushes his own boxers down with a groan, pressing his body down along the length of Sam's, kissing him fiercely as he begins to rub against him. He should feel guilty for this, for having Sam under him, for doing this to him, but at the moment he cannot bring himself to care. Sam makes a desperate sound, wrapping a leg around Dean and scraping his nails up the backs of his thighs. He wants Dean. Completely. In any way Dean is willing to take him. He pulls away from the kiss only to drag parted lips over his neck and shoulder, leaving hot, openmouthed kisses paired with soft, needy moans against his brother's skin. Dean fairly whimpers himself, fingers fisting into the sheets as he thrusts against his hip, biting his lip to keep from moaning too loudly. Sam's lips on his skin are driving him mad, he can't think anymore, can't do anything but press against Sammy and touch every inch of skin that he can. He scrapes his teeth over an unbruised portion of Dean's shoulder, biting down hard as his fingers roughly trace over the scars on Dean's back. One hand slips between them to wrap around Dean's cock, stroking firmly, and Sam glances up to see Dean's reaction. Dean cannot stop a gasp, spine curling upwards in response. "Sammy- ohgod, /Sammy/-" He thrusts into Sam's hand wantonly, burying a hand in his hair. He wants to kiss him again, but he cannot seem to control himself long enough to even do that, panting for breath. Sam's free hand grips Dean's hair, pulling his head back to bare his neck. With a groan that's almost a growl, he licks a line up Dean's throat, ending with a sharp bite under his chin. He loves that this time, he's the one making Dean gasp and moan, not some girl at a bar. He's the one that gets to draw shivers and whimpers, to tease and touch until they're both trembling and sweaty. "Fuck, Sammy-" The stings of pain make him squirm, trying to free himself from Sam's grip but loving being trapped all the same. He wants to kiss him, suck him, fuck him, something- but all he can do is whimper and thrust, digging his fingers into Sam's shoulder hard enough to leave marks. He is coming undone faster than he has in years, and he would be a bit embarrassed if not completely, utterly content to be had this way. "Tell me -- " he growls out, tugging at Dean's lip with his teeth. "What you want." He has no idea what he's doing, other than feeling so fucking good. He just needs a little guidance, a hint of where to go next. Of what Dean likes. "Against me-" He crushes their lips together, kissing him fervently. He does not know how to say this, but he has to answer him, cannot say no - he slips a hand down, wrapping it around both of them, fingers slipping over Sam's, showing him. Sam gasps at the sensation of their cocks sliding together like that, Dean's fingers wrapped around his. He rocks his hips, thrusting against their hands. He kisses Dean as deeply as possible, trying to move his hand in time with Dean's. His other hand grips the back of Dean's neck firmly, holding him in the kiss. Dean moans into Sam's mouth, squeezing tightly as he shamelessly bucks against him. He wants to tell him how good it feels, but the words come out as muffled little sounds of pleasure, lost on Sam's lips. His free hand roams his brother's body aimlessly, stroking at the warm skin. "Deanyes..." he breathes, licking over Dean's lips as he fumbles to keep his hand moving as he feels all his nerves about to snap. He worries at Dean's lip with his teeth, rocking desperately against him. Dean feels his muscles tense all at once, desperate for release, but he fights it, focusing on the Sam's teeth in his lip, Sammy's knuckles under his fingertips, the slippery sheets beneath them- he grinds down into their hands, wanting to push Sam over the edge, to make him come for him. And Sam gives in, lets himself fall apart completely, burying his face against Dean's neck and moaning deeply as his orgasm slams into him, his body rocking from the force of it. He gasps Dean's name, over and over, like a prayer, clinging tightly to him. Dean cries out into his hair as the force of Sam's pleasure causes him to lose what discipline he had left, pulling him close and holding him as their bodies shake. He collapses on top of him when the last of his energy is spent, panting against his cheek, eyes closed. Sam presses a few breathless kisses to Dean's jaw and cheek, wrapping his arms around him, smoothing his hair. This... was insane and incredible and amazing. Beautiful. Perfect. There should be something he should say, something romantic or reassuring, but nothing comes to mind. Dean buries his face in Sam's neck, trying to stave off having to think, having to process any of this more than physically. He tries to focus on anything else, like groping for the comforter they half-kicked off onto the floor and pulling it over them both as if it would make everything a little more safe. He shifts a little, to get comfortable, moving a little to stretch out on his back next to Dean, letting Dean's head rest against his chest. Sam sighs deeply, stretching out his stiff legs, his muscles sore from tensing up. He feels like he could sleep forever, snug against Dean's side, warm and safe. Dean stretches his arm across Sam's stomach, pulling him as close as he can, not wanting to move farther away than he absolutely has to. He is silent for a moment, before murmuring, inanely, to break the silence: "I don't think that helped the bruises much." "No," he laughs breathlessly, "Probably not." But fuck if it didn't feel amazing. He pulls Dean half on top of him, but not crushing him, draping an arm across his back. "I think I might have a few more, now, actually." Mmph, that is better. He cuddles against him with a sigh. "Me too. I never imagined you were such a biter." His tone is light and teasing, covering the worry that is starting to crop up despite his best efforts. "I never imagined you'd like to cuddle afterward," Sam teases back, dropping a kiss to Dean's hair. "You think you know a guy..." He trails off, wondering -- exactly how long Dean had been keeping this from him. Not that he's been more forthcoming, by any means. "Shut up, you just happen to be comfortable." He lets him kiss him begrudgingly, glancing at him with a slightly disgruntled look. "It's 'cause you're so chubby." He sees the look on Sam's face and wants to know what he is wondering, but is hesitant to ask. "And you're a hypocrite. At least I eat healthy." ... well, healthier than Dean does anyway. He makes an attempt, at the very least. He nuzzles into Dean's hair a little, trying to sort things out in his head. "Dean..." he starts, in that all too familiar 'I want to talk about something that you'd rather face a werewolf in hand to hand combat than discuss' tone of voice. "I eat plenty healthy. Meat, veggies, carbs- all in one meal, most of the time." Hamburgers were healthy, really. He nearly smiles, but it fades when he hears Sam say his name in that tone. "Yeah?" he responds, cautiously, his expression already starting to close off. "How long have you... I mean -- when did this start?" He tries to move so he's looking at Dean properly, rather than talking into his hair. "Wanting... something like this?" Dean chews on the inside of his lip, not meeting his eyes. "Are we talking the guy thing or the wanting to screw you thing?" He has tensed back up, not really wanting to talk about this, but figuring that Sam deserves at least a little explanation. "Wanting -- this with me." Sam strokes his hand over Dean's back, pressing a gently kiss to the corner of his mouth, trying to show that he's not bothered by it, that he wants it as well. "Haven't been letting myself." It is the most honest answer he can come up with. "Well- until I was actually- y'know, but-" He shies away, feeling vaguely dirty, like this - both his feelings and Sam's - are somehow all his fault. "Me neither." Sam catches Dean's arm, studying his face with a worried expression. "Dean... I don't want to just forget about this and go back to normal -- whatever normal is for us. I don't want this to turn into something else I have to pretend never happened." Far too many of his childhood memories have been locked away already, and he doesn't want to have to forget something as... as good as this. "- Sam- " It comes out more like a plea than Dean meant it to. "Sam, this is- fucked up. I mean, even for -" He cuts himself off, before looking into Sam's eyes as best he can. "You're my little brother, and- well, screwing you into a bed isn't right." "Well, your my big brother. I shouldn't want you to." He leans in again, kissing Dean gently. "This isn't just something we can shoot or burn, Dean. It's not going to go away because it isn't normal. Not even if we wanted it to." He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Dean's, brushing their lips together again briefly. "And I don't want it to." God, Sam needs to stop kissing him like that. It is so not a fair way to win an argument. "I feel like- a child molester, or something," he murmurs, but he stops pulling away. "You're only four years older. I'm a consenting adult, Dean. I contributed just as much to this as you did -- don't argue with me on this, I know how the legal system works," he laughs, trying to lighten the mood a little. Dean sighs, resting his chin against Sam's shoulder. "Fucking lawyers," he jibes half-heartedly. He wonders if Sam would still feel so cool about this if he knew- but then, that was something Sam never, ever needed to know. Let him have that much innocence about this whole mess, at least. "Are we okay, Dean?" he asks, more seriously, wrapping his arms around Dean again. He doesn't... want to lose this. He's lost too many people already, he doesn't want to lose Dean, too. Especially not because of something like this. He realizes how this all looks, with his track record, the numerous one night stands and quick lays. Dean looks up at him, meeting his eyes suddenly with a firm stare. "I'm not going to dump you like a cheap prom date," he tells him, voice completely serious. As ridiculous as it seems, even to him, Sam feels relieved. He gives Dean a small smile, stroking his fingers over Dean's jaw and neck. "I think I'd have to kick your ass, if you did. Slash your tires, or something." "Dude, not even funny. You even think about it and your gigantic ass is dumped." The threat gives him pause; he looks away, chewing on the inside of his lip before speaking. "Does this- make me your boyfriend, or what?" Sam blinks a little at the question, taken aback by it. "Um -- I don't... know. I guess that's something to talk about?" At least Dean's not running for the door at the idea of being with him. "Dude, I'm a shitty boyfriend. Just for the record." He rubs a hand across his face, not really believing that he is having this conversation with Sam. He never had to have discussions like this with John. "I've seen you with girls." He stretches out on his stomach, chin on his hands, trying to think. He's really pretty sure that there is no power in the universe to stop Dean's flirtatious nature. Not even Sam. Carefully, he says, "Not unless you want to be." Dean watches him out of the corner of his eye, not sure what he means by that. He knows what kind of hell it will put them both through, if they decide to be an exclusive couple, and he really does not want to fuck their relationship up that badly, though he is not sure he could say no if Sam asked him to. "Meaning what?" he asks, cautious. "Meaning I'm not going to stop you from bringing home girls." Just don't forget about me entirely, he wants to say, but doesn't. Instead, he reaches out to take Dean's hand and kisses the palm. Dean lets out a sigh of relief, despite himself. "Oh thank god. - not that- I wouldn't - I mean- " He fumbles his words, trying to reassure Sam but failing. He leans over and places an awkward kiss to his temple instead. "Shut up," he grins, smacking Dean lightly upside the head, then leaning up to kiss him again. Which is when he realizes something that strikes him as hilarious, and tries to smother a laugh against Dean's lips. Dean pulls back. "What? What are you laughing about?" He is startled and not really sure if Sam's laughter is a good thing or not, but he hopes so. "I was just thinking of all the people who assumed we were a couple. I -- found it funny, that's all." He also remembers an extremely embarrassing smack on the ass from Dean and -- tries not to think of Dean and smacking his ass while they're naked. "Oh, god, yeah." He rubs his face again, remembering all those fun, embarrassing times. "Guess they knew us better than we thought. Next they're going to be asking us where we went on our honeymoon." "Couples counseling has been suggested on more than one occasion, for us." He strokes his fingers along Dean's back, tracing along his spine, enjoying being able to touch him like this. "Though I refuse to go antiquing." "By who?" Dean is disgruntled by the idea, frowning. His expression softens, however, as he feels Sam's touch down his back. He closes his eyes for a moment, his smartass comment a bit late: "But they had a sale going on doll shoes down the road." "Jerk," he murmurs, kissing him softly. Kissing Dean is addictive; he tastes like liquor and smoke, like a dingy bar, but with something darker underneath. Blood is the closest thing he can think of, but the thought disturbs him and he deepens the kiss to try and move his thoughts elsewhere. "Bitch," Dean replies, almost lovingly, returning the kiss playfully. He sobers after a moment, pulling back to look at him, trying to decide whether to ask what he wants to. "- awkward question." His fingers worry the sheet wrapped around them. Sam makes a soft sound in protest at the loss of the kiss, but he's all for discussing things if Dean wants to. The opportunity to do so is rare. "Hopefully I have an unawkward answer, but no promises." Dean would much rather be kissing him, but the not knowing is starting to bother him; he hates not knowing things about Sam, especially things like this. "So- have you -" He hesitates, trying to figure out how to word it. "-been with a guy before?" ... awkward question indeed. He blushes, faintly, and clears his throat. "Um -- no. I mean -- not really, no. I... kissed a guy, once, on a dare. But that's it." He bites at his lip, watching for Dean's reaction. "Um -- have you?" Dean cannot help but to be a bit relieved at that answer, his natural protectiveness backing down. Not that he would ever be tempted to hunt someone down for fucking his brother years previous. Unless they happened to be in town. Which could be arranged, if things had gone badly between Sam and Mystery Man #2349. He should of known that his question would lead into that one. He shifts, debating lying for a brief, golden second, but he hates lying to Sammy, and it seems worse to start this relationship off by doing that. He chews on his lip before replying, words chosen carefully. "Provided we never speak about it again, yes." Sam looks stunned, briefly. "You have? Really?" He'd thought his brother was the most disgustingly heterosexual man on the face of the planet. "... do I know them?" Oh -- wow. He'd never really considered the thought of his brother being gay; though from a psychological standpoint, the machismo and obsessive hooking up with girls made sense, if so. "No." Dean responds a second too quickly, but he hopes that Sam does not catch it. "No jokes. I was in my teens." At least, when it started. That much is not a lie. He hopes he can get off this subject soon; thinking of John makes his stomach twist in horrible ways, and he starts to feel sick and guilty all over again. John would kill him, if he knew he was doing this to Sam. "... okay," he nods, not pressing it for now. Dean opening up takes babysteps, he knows, and the last thing he wants to do is push his brother away. He kisses him again, to distract him, or make him forget whatever painful past relationship he's thinking of. "I'll follow your lead, then," he murmurs, trying to sound sexy, trying to make Dean smile or moan or some positive reaction like that. Dean kisses back, trying not to cling but wanting to desperately. He wants Sam to tell him that it is okay, that this does not make him sick or perverted, but he cannot ask that. He cracks a small smile at Sam's words, tone lightening. "I never thought I'd hear you say that outloud," he jokes, almost gently. "I never thought I'd be kissing you like this, so I guess we're about even." He likes this, this easy conversation, both of them laying in bed naked, exchanging soft kisses. It's... what he had with Jess, but he can't think about that now. He brushes his thumb over Dean's lips, gently nuzzling him and feeling contented. Dean kisses the pad of Sam's thumb lightly, smiling against it. "Guess so." He snuggles closer, putting his arm fully around him and holding him close, letting himself have the selfish comfort of cuddling, reputation be damned.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sam sleeps snug against Dean, arm around his waist, head against his chest, legs tangled together. He sleeps deeper than he has in years, and for once, he can't remember his dreams. When the alarm clock goes off, he groans and slaps at it until it stops beeping, then nuzzles more firmly against Dean, not wanting to move yet. "Ten more minutes," Dean mumbles into Sam's hair, for once not snapping awake at the sound. He is warm and he is comfortable, and more relaxed than he has been in a long time. He nuzzles against him, eyes still tightly closed, prepared to drift back to sleep. "S'what snooze is for," Sam grumbles back, pressing a soft kiss to Dean's chest. He never thought he'd wake up like this, naked and completely tangled up in Dean. Sam decides he could spend every morning, just like this. "Hit it," Dean murmurs. Sam's voice wakes him up a bit, though, the kiss only more so. He opens one eye, peeking down at him, awkwardly touching his back with a hand. "Did. G'sleep." He strokes his fingers slowly up and down Dean's back, sighing happily, feeling very warm and safe. He's glad they don't have anywhere to be just yet. They have to find a new job, first, and for once, Sam doesn't really want to boot up his computer to look. Dean watches him for a moment, letting the feeling of Sam's body sink in, before the words just fall out of his mouth: "Holy shit, we actually had sex." Sam laughs and leans up to kiss Dean lightly, "Well, good morning to you, too." He strokes his fingers over Dean's cheek, then over to his neck. "We didn't have sex. Not -- technically." "Close a fuckin' 'nough." He has to take a deep breath to calm himself. "And you don't hate me, that's a good sign." He leans into Sam's touch without thinking about it. "I don't hate you. Would I be doing this if I hated you?" Sam sighs, wishing they could maybe talk this out, but knowing Dean would run as far away from that conversation as possible. "Do you hate me?" "Of course not." He frowns at him for even thinking that was a possibility. "I didn't say it was a bad thing. It's just- startling." "Good... Then neither of us hate each other." Sometimes, though, he does worry that Dean hates him. Or is scared of him, for what he could become. Or... any number of things. The alarm clock startles him out of his thoughts and he almost jumps out of his skin. "Jesus -- that's our next hunt, this thing is possessed." Dean has it in his hand before he can think about it; he manages not to throw it at the wall only with a great deal of self discipline, shutting it off and setting it back carefully. "You go get the salt, I'll bring the fire," he mutters, glaring at it. At least things are relatively normal and unawkward. Sort of. He stretches out on his back, rubbing his hands over his face. "Speaking of. Are we looking for a new job today, or do we get a weekend off?" Honestly, he'd enjoy the time off. The opportunity to... explore this new whatever it is he has with Dean. Dean shrugs, starting to sit up before remembering that he is buttnaked. He keeps the sheets piled around his waist self-conciously; it is certainly not anything that Sam has not seen (or touched, but he is not going to think about that this early in the morning), but he feels extremely exposed. "Guess we should keep an ear out-" He does not really feel up to a hunt right now, but he is willing to throw himself into one, if only as a distraction. "Can we keep an ear out after breakfast?" He glances over at Dean, almost amused that he's being so... modest. He pokes at the back of Dean's shoulder with a soft laugh, teasing, "I think you're blushing." "Yeah, that sounds fine-" Dean is horrified to discover that he does blush, and he swats at Sam's hand quickly. "Shut up, I am not." He turns his face away so Sam cannot see, looking at the floor and hoping that a pair of boxers got shed within arms reach. Sam sits up, grinning in amazement and amusement. "You are! You're blushing. Dean Winchester blushes. I never thought I'd see the day." He ruffles at Dean's hair, jumping on the chance of actually /not/ being the awkward one, for once. "Shut up!" Dean smacks Sam's hand away, quickly standing up and retrieving the closest pair of boxers he can find, putting them on. He is embarassed and irritated that it is only making his blush worse. He does not know how to handle this kind of teasing; nothing like this has ever happened before. "Oh come on -- don't pout." Sam rolls his eyes and pulls his own boxers on, watching his brother with raised eyebrows. "I'm just teasing -- you don't need to get so defensive." Shit, he'd crossed a line. Usually, teasing and insults bounce off his brother's skin. But every now and then, Sam manages to get one in that really gets to Dean, and Sam always feels guilty, afterwards. "I'm fine," Dean snaps, running a hand through his hair and trying to focus on finding a t-shirt. He knows that Sam does not deserve to be bitched at, but this is getting to him, this- blushing and being lovey and feeling too damn much. It was easier just being brothers, it was easier with John- he winces, catching that thought and burying it deep. "Whatever," Sam sighs, knowing from the tone of voice that the Subject Is Closed. "I'm -- gonna grab a shower, if you want to go out and get us breakfast." Why did he assume this was going to be like his other relationships? Like... like Jess. Easy and comfortable, moving from casual conversation to teasing to intimacy without having to think about it. But no, this is Dean, and Dean is... himself. He pushes a hand through his mussed hair and goes into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Dean opens his mouth to say something, but the door is already closed. He feels a stab of guilt that stays with him as he gets dressed. He wants to apologize, or at least give Sam a nice white lie about how it is alright, but there is no way to now, and he does not know the right words, anyway. So he goes and gets breakfast, bringing back Sam's favorites in silent apology.