Fic: Forget Me Not (Dean/Sam Supernatural)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: graphic sex
Summary - Dean lost his memory on a hunt and now Sam's back from Stanford to try and help him find it.
Dean slapped a beer bottle out on the bar, earning him a half smile from the kid - probably not old enough to be in here, but the cops didn't seem to pay much mind to places like this - and a glance of intense eyes through the veil of thick lashes and shaggy brown bangs. The kid was cute, well, hot really, but in an unusual way, and he would have gotten Dean's attention the second he walked in even if he hadn't been one of the three customers they had at this time of day. Most people liked to wait for lunch to digest before hitting the sauce.
Turning away from Mr. Shaggy Brunette, Dean went back to taking inventory of the bottles behind the bar, seeing what needed to be brought up from storage. He got the feeling that hazel stare was still trained on him and he couldn't say he minded one bit, bending over a little at the waist to enhance the view. Dean wasn't exactly a stranger to attention. He hadn't gone a night without getting some since he started working here and he had noticed the way people tended to watch him for, well, as long as he could remember. Which was about a week and a half.
He'd woken up sprawled out on the ground, aching all over, with John - er, Dad - standing over him. He hadn't had a clue where he was, even who he was, aside from the fact that it had sounded right when John called him Dean. For a while he had been pretty sure his supposed father was nuts, guy kept babbling about witches and spells and saying "christo" to him over and over, but after John had settled down, he turned out not to be such a bad guy. Little weird maybe, but ok.
Dean had been disappointed that none of the stuff John talked to him about or showed him - God, what a car! - had jogged his memory, even though lots of it felt like he'd heard it before. For some reason he really, really wanted to be able to please John - although every time he tried to remember he got this twinge in his gut that made him wonder if he really wanted to know his past - but it was a no go on memories. After that, Dean's - heh - dad had said he needed to do some research to try and fix this and that he had to go away for a while. He'd done some serious sweet talking on the owner of the bar - Dean wouldn't have guessed John had it in him - and had gotten Dean a job bar backing, even though they didn't really need the help.
Still, Dean felt good here; there was something homey about the smell of beer, the clack of balls on the pool table, the classic rock wailing from the jukebox. It was the closest to right he had felt all this time. Well, except maybe for now. Now, with Unkempt College Boy watching him - college boy? Where had that come from? - like he was the most important thing in the world, Dean felt even better. And speaking of...
Dean laid his inventory list down, deciding to hold off on going down to the storage room - it would be hours before the real business picked up, anyway - he walked back over to his new favorite customer.
Yeah, the kid was definitely staring.
"Get you anything else?" Dean asked, trying not to make it sound quite as outright obscene as he wanted to make it. The kid gave him another little half smile that did strange things to Dean's ability to breathe.
"No thanks, I'm fine," he said. Great voice; Dean wondered how it would sound screaming his name.
"Nice to meet you, Fine. I'm Dean," he smirked back. Ok, so not the greatest pick-up line in the world, but he hadn't really gotten his game face on this early in the afternoon. Besides, the kid seemed to like it, splitting into a grin and laughing under his breath.
"Sam," he said, looking up at Dean through those bangs again. There was just really no way not to imagine the kid on his knees when he did that, so Dean wasn't going to feel bad about it. He was really too preoccupied with the fluttering in his stomach that the kid's name produced to bother.
"Sam," Dean repeated, sounding way more breathless than he should have. What the fuck?
Dean leaned back a little to grab two more beers out of the fridge, even though Sam was still nursing half of the first one. Dean took a long pull on his to clear his throat before continuing.
"So, Sammy, you local?" God, that butterfly thing in his stomach just got worse when he said the guy's name again. He laid a hand on the bar as a gentle reminder to himself that reaching across it and tongue-fucking a stranger would be a bad idea. For some reason.
"It's Sa -" the kid cut himself off midway, his eyes doing this puppy dog thing that mixed Dean's need to tongue-fuck him with the desire to pull him against his chest and pet that soft hair. Seriously, what the fuck? This time it was Sam who had to clear his throat,
"No, I'm just passing through. Looking for somebody."
"Oh yeah? Should I be jealous?"
Sammy actually looked startled for a second, like maybe he hadn't picked up on the fact that Dean was hitting on him until now. He hadn't thought he was being subtle... or that he even knew how. Either way, Sam rallied quickly, shoving one giant fucking hand through his hair, only to have it fall right back over his eyes.
"Taking a break from school to look for my big brother," he said. Fuck, but the kid was just really... sincere. It so wasn't helping with avoiding the across-the-bar-tongue-fuck scenario.
"If he's bigger than you, baby, he oughta stand out," Dean laughed. It just felt so damn good to talk to Sam. What was going on with him?
"He usually manages," Sam agreed, laughing too. It was now officially Dean's mission in life to make sure Sam never stopped making that sound... well except for the other sounds Dean planned on having him make. He really needed to see this guy naked, ASAP.
"Is he missing or something," he asked, knowing the second it came out of his mouth that it was a stupid fucking thing to say because now Sam had that kinda sad look on his face again.
"Something like that," Sam smiled as little wistfully now, eyes unfocused for a second before he perked back up again, "He tends to get himself into trouble, so I have to go and pull his ass out the frying pan, again."
There was absolutely no good reason for Dean to suddenly feel defensive, so he tamped down the emotion, reaching for another set of beers instead. Turned out Sammy could throw them back when he put his mind to it. Then again, Dean had a feeling there wasn't much Sam couldn't do when he put his mind to it.
Somewhere in the middle of that thought, Dean's fingers decided that they really belonged in Sam's hair and all he could do was stare at them as they brushed soft brown locks back from the younger man's face. Sammy looked a little stunned again, but didn't try to pull away, even when Dean's stupid, apparently possessed, fingers brushed across his cheekbone to caress soft pink lips.
Finally regaining his basic motor functions, Dean pulled his hand back and just barely stopped himself from apologizing. He'd already been picturing those lips wrapped around his cock, so why should he apologize for making a move? Why did it suddenly feel so wrongrightwrong?
"School, you said?" he asked, shaking himself out of the confused haze he'd moved into. "College boy?"
Sam laughed again - such a fucking good sound - and nodded.
"Stanford," he bragged.
"Ugh!" Dean grunted automatically, wondering why a second later. He just got the feeling he really, really hated Stanford. Maybe he was a USC fan? He couldn't help but grin at Sammy's incredulous reaction though; he looked like Dean had just punched his mother. And oh God, he couldn't breathe all of a sudden, like his chest had just turned into one big knot of pain.
"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded panicky and way too close. That was when he noticed that those broad hands were on his shoulders and Sam was standing right in front of him behind the bar - he climbed across the bar? The kid looked petrified, or maybe like he was going to kill somebody, it was kind of hard to tell. Whichever it was, it worked wonders on Dean's chest, long hauls of air coming in easy now.
"I'm fine," he assured those big hazel eyes, but Sam didn't let go or step back. Ok part of the might have been because Dean's hands had moved to the younger man's hips, thumbs slipping under his shirt to rub gentle circles onto the soft, soft skin. Seriously, he already had upstairs and downstairs brains to deal with, Dean really couldn't afford for his hands to develop minds of their own, too. The downstairs brain was completely happy with the development, though.
"Hey," he said when Sammy just kept searching his face like Dean was hiding something he really needed to find, "C'mon."
He jerked his head in the direction of the hatch leading down into the storage room. Sam followed him without question.
The storage room was pretty dark, the one 30 watt bulb in the corner was mostly blocked by crates, and Sam squinted and blinked when he reached the bottom of the stairs, trying to adjust his eyes. Dean pounced on that little unguarded moment, his lips on Sam's in half a second, sucking the bottom one between his own to lick and nip at. It was the best goddamn kiss he'd ever had - as far as he knew - and Sam wasn't even doing anything yet.
Then Sam did something; he gasped, followed almost immediately by a moan and then for some idiotic reason he was trying to pull back, push Dean's hands off of him. Dean whined in his throat, pressing in harder so that both of their lips would be swollen and puffy after this and fuck yes, that's what he wanted. Anything, everything, Sam.
With a little twist of his head - which had to hurt from the way Dean had a grip on his hair - Sam managed to pull his lips away and gasp Dean's name. So different from the way he'd said it upstairs, his voice now rough and low and exactly the way Dean needed to hear his name said everyday for the rest of forever.
"Sammy," Dean moaned into the skin of Sam's neck, working his mouth over every inch he could reach with a frantic hunger. His heart was pounding in his chest, mapping out a counterpoint to Sam's heartbeat hammering against him. His skin felt oversensitized, every brush of lips and hands and - fuck yes! - the hardness of Sam's cock through his jeans, feeling like toomuchnoteverenough.
Dean was finally getting to do that tongue-fucking he'd been thinking so hard about, rubbing against the taller man like a cat in heat. His hands slid under the soft cotton shirt to explore perfect, hard abs and the mottled roughness scars. Sam shivered and groaned when Dean's fingers found a nipple, teasing it to a peak that he could tweak and rub. The thumb of Dean's other hand was flexing against the sparse trail of hair down from Sam's navel, sliding under the waistband of his jeans to circle in stiff curls.
"Oh Sammy, baby," he panted, his words slurred against Sam's skin, "feel so good."
Sam's hands were on him too, sliding through his short hair, playing over the small of his back, while those lips kissed his cheeks and forehead, moving down to lav over his jaw.
Clumsily, Dean undid the fly of Sam's jeans, barely enough space to move his hand between them. Sam let out a sharp cry as Dean's fingers wrapped around his cock, pulling it free to slide underneath Dean's tee and drag the velvety soft steel over his skin. Every time Sam's hips bucked against him, Dean could feel the flared ridge catch on his bellybutton and the echoing tremble down Sam's spine.
As fast as he could manage with his brain consumed by all things Sam - and, holy fuck, that flicking thing his tongue was doing - Dean got his own dick out too, mirroring the way he'd positioned Sam's. The friction was fantastic, the slick head dragging over hard muscle, just this side of too much stimulation.
Dean felt his eyes roll back at the sensation and it just shouldn't be this intense, he was losing his fucking mind. Weird images and feelings kept bombarding him; the feel of Sam's little body curled up against him at night, Sam's cool hands on his forehead waiting for a fever to break, Sam's long legs shoved up against the dash of the Impala trying to get comfortable, Sam getting on a bus and never coming back.
Dean wasn't exactly sure when he had started sobbing, but his body hadn't taken it as a signal to stop kissing Sam so he just kept right on going, rocking up on his toes to get more skin against his throbbing, begging cock.
"Love you, love you so much, baby," he was chanting, babbling, but he couldn't stop and Sam just kept holding on, kissing the tracks hot tears down his cheeks and grinding against his flat belly. "Need you, God, please, Sammy!"
It was wrong to be saying these things like this, he barely knew Sam, but he knew him better than anyone - better than anyone ever could, because Sammy was his, all his, his little br--
Two things happened at once; one, the pieces clicked into place, memory flooding back to Dean like it had never been gone, and two, he came like a freight train, his fucking soul pumping out onto Sam's stomach as his vision went white and he lost all contact with the rest of his body.
The next thing he could process was the sound of Sam softly shushing him, whispering little non-sense love words into his ear and stroking his hair. They were sitting on the floor - well, Sam was sitting, Dean was pretty much laying on him like a ragdoll - sweaty and panting and both looking like they'd just walked across hell. Felt like it too, except for the tingles of pleasure that kept skating up his spine everytime Sam's long fingers brushed the nape of his neck. Then again, maybe laying on the floor in your baby brother's arms, fucked out and come-tacky was what hell felt like. Or maybe heaven. It was too hard to think.
"Dean?" Sam asked, and his older brother knew exactly what the question was.
"Yeah, Sam," he sighed, not quite ready to move yet, "Sorry Dad had to get you out of school."
"Don't worry about it; I can afford to miss a few classes."
Sam's voice sounded kind of hollow. Dean tried to ignore the way the thought of Sam leaving again made his gut clench.
"Are you gonna go all girl on me and want to talk about this?" he asked finally, thick fluid starting to cool uncomfortably under his shirt.
"No." was all Sam said, but he didn't sound disgusted, mostly just tired, and maybe a little sad. Then again, Dean was wearing the evidence that Sam had enjoyed that at least as much as he had, so maybe he shouldn't have been worried.
"We're gonna have to get up eventually," he managed half-heartedly.
"Yeah," Sam sighed, "not yet, ok?"
Dean settled his head more comfortably against Sam's shoulder, sticky mess be damned.
"Ok."