Supernatural: Never Again
Title: Never Again
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, John
Genre: Smut!, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: NC-17 because Those Brothers Have Sex (includes pre-series, Sam is 18)
Word Count: 3,275
Author’s Note: Written for tamingthemuse prompt # 166 - Albatross Around Your Neck. Beta’d by wutendeskind. Set immediately after 1x15: The Benders. Divider found here. Also, I’m pretty sure this was my first attempt at writing an omniscient narrator, so hopefully it doesn’t stink. Oh! Also! This is my first time writing actual buttsecks in porn! It’s pretty serious, guys. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: They were together one night before Sam left, and that wasn’t something Dean could just get over.
They were quiet the entire way home and when they got to the motel, too. There was no way to say the millions of things that hung heavy and threatening over their heads. They knew. They both knew, so it didn't need to be said. That was not the kind of thing people talked about, not the kind of thing that was supposed to need discussing.
They'd both been doing a respectable job of keeping their hands to themselves. It was a dangerous way to live. Two brothers who had always Loved each other a little bit too much, brothers with a memory branded into their minds, just one night that snuck into every casual touch or meaningless bit of conversation since they'd been forced back together. Of course this had been a long time coming, of course the tension was going to snap at some point and someone would have to say something.
Dean had forgotten that feeling in their four years apart. He worried about keeping himself and his father safe while they were on hunts, it was his job. But he had forgotten about what it felt like to hunt with Sam-the constant dread, the heightened focus on where he was and what he was doing, the shaky empty feeling if Sam got out of his sight for even a moment. And this hadn't been a moment, this had been days. He'd never let that happen before, never failed his brother so badly. It hurt more than anything, even Stanford, thinking Sam could be dead-at least when Sam had been at Stanford, Dean knew he was safe.
He'd forgotten the other aspect of hunting with Sam, the foreign feeling of self worth when he knew he'd kept his brother safe through another day. When he'd found Sam, when he was checking his little brother’s body for injuries, even after Sam had assured him he was fine, when he could touch his brother all over and feel that he was in one piece...that's when the trouble started.
Sam's expression changed, hungry and hopeful and dirty. Dean had seen the look once before. Dean had relived it every night for four years in his dreams, or rather nightmares. He'd sworn to himself when he and Sam had started hunting again that he would never see that look in Sam's eyes again. He'd tried so hard to believe he didn't want to. He pulled his hands away too quickly, much too obvious, and Sam's expression was triumphant-he knew what Dean was feeling. He knew because he'd put it there. But Dean didn't give him the option of saying or doing anything about it. He headed back to the Impala and silently they focused on not saying what some perversion wanted them both to say.
Dean had been withdrawn all night, Sam knew why and Sam was going to end it. There was no use, he thought, pretending it didn't exist, acting as if something so beautiful could be as base as Dean wanted to believe it was.
“Dean.”
“Yeah?” Dean’s eyes didn’t leave the television but Sam could see his jaw clenching and could feel the stubborn refusal to look in his direction.
“Are we really going to do this?”
“Do what?” Dean replied crisply. He was telling Sam to back off. Sam sat down next to his brother in bed.
“Ignore what happened. Ignore what we want to happen,” his long fingers slid onto his brother’s thigh and he felt him shiver but Dean pushed his hand away and stood up.
“Never again, Sam.”
Dean was facing Sam and Sam reached out, grabbed his brother’s hips on either side and pulled him dangerously close.
“You still want it. I know you do.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Dean sneered, pushing Sam away and backing off completely. “Never again.”
"Why not? Because we're brothers?" Sam stood up and approached Dean's retreating figure. "It doesn't matter, Dean. You must know that."
Dean shook his head. Hearing the need and the hurt in Sam's voice was nearly enough to crack his resolve. He’d never turned down the things Sam asked for, and this was more than asking. Sam was begging, desperate. But he couldn't let the same thing happen that happened before, he was sure he'd rather die than live through it again.
"Because you left." It was hardly a whisper but it was loud enough to freeze Sam's advance. "You left me, Sammy."
"Dean, it wasn't you I was leaving. You could have come to see me at Stanford, I wanted you to. I told you that. I was leaving-"
"What? Dad? You think I'm really stupid enough to believe that? It was me you were leaving and I know it."
"I didn't want you to want it, Dean. It wasn't normal. I was trying to protect you. I was scared then, I'm not now. I’m not going anywhere."
"If you wanted to protect me, you shouldn't have done it at all. You made me want it, Sam, and then you left me alone to deal with it."
Dean didn't have to tell Sam how much that hurt, Sam knew what it felt like, had been dealing with it twice as long as Dean had. He felt guilt tugging his heart in a hundred directions-he'd thought Dean would be able to forget. He'd convinced himself Dean would be grateful that Sam left him alone, let him go back to normal desires instead of the filthy things he couldn't stop wanting and wouldn't have been able to refrain from taking as long as he was still with Dean. But he could see how those four years really went for Dean in the way his brother held his body, the way he pulled back from the want and looked so brokenly at his brother.
Sam stepped forward and put his hand over his brother's shoulder, more supportive than sexual.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Dean leaned into his brother's touch and Sam could feel the heightened stirring of Dean's blood, knew that his body was already responding to the touch. But even welcoming the caress and the feelings that came with it, Dean shook his head.
"Never again, Sam. Not after that."
Sam nodded as if giving in to Dean and didn't push the point. He owed Dean that much. This was his own fault. He hadn’t been able to control himself and then he’d panicked and now he’d lost the only thing he’d ever really wanted. Dean didn’t trust him anymore. Dean didn’t Love him anymore, not the way Sam needed him to. But Sam was going to change that. One day, Dean was going to trip into it and Sam was going to make sure he never let him regret it.
Sam was supposed to be out, on a date of all things. John was working a job a few towns over, so he’d left Sam and Dean alone for a few days. It was the first night Dean had to himself in a long time and, truth be told, he didn’t know how to spend it. He liked that Sam was always around, as much as he complained about it.
After briefly considering finding a bar and some girl to amuse himself with, Dean settled for the next best thing. His hands wandered down, opened his jeans, and began to stroke slowly. He figured he might as well make it last; he had hours to kill, after all. He didn’t hear Sam come back into the room, didn’t hear the door close quietly. Eyes shut tight, he didn’t see his brother standing over the bed, gaze fixed on his hands and their steady rhythm on his shaft.
Sam sucked at dating, but it wasn’t for the reasons Dean had always assumed. He was pretty sure he could have been successful with the girls he took out more often if he’d ever bothered to try but Sam couldn’t feign enough interest in them to convince either the girls or himself that he wanted them. Sam preferred the kind of sex he didn’t tell his brother about, strangers he met in bars he was too young to be in who pushed at him like little boys wrestling, strangers with short hair like Dean’s that pricked his fingers when his hands rested on their heads. Sam had spent half an hour with the girl he’d taken out that night and given up on the charade, much more interested in going home and playing a couple of hands of poker with his brother.
He should have knocked. Or paused to think that his brother wanted a night to himself. Or left the room running when he saw Dean and felt heat building in his cock and surging out through his entire body. But he didn’t.
Dean didn’t register the giant body easing onto the mattress next to him until long fingers replaced his own on his dick and lips that he knew too well to question were licking their way hungrily into his mouth.
“Sam, what the fuck are you doing?” Dean asked once he had fought his way out of Sam’s possessive kiss. He reached down and stopped his brother’s hand but he didn’t push it away like he should have. He almost didn’t want to.
“I…Dean.”
That was all of the explanation Sam offered before moving quickly down Dean’s body.
“Don’t, Sam. What’s wrong with you?”
Sam didn’t know what was wrong with him, but it had been wrong too long to ignore anymore. He paused a few moments, waiting for Dean to shove him away; Dean made no move to stop him. Then, he swallowed down Dean’s dick hungrily.
“Sam, please don’t.” By now Dean’s protest was nothing but a whine, it sounded more like encouragement than anything. Sam wanted to listen to it, wanted to stop. But his lips set a steady pace and he couldn’t bring himself to break it for a moment-it wasn’t the first cock he’d had in his mouth by a lot, but it was the one he’d always imagined. Sam had always enjoyed doing this, but knowing that it was actually Dean was better than anything, too good for self-control to be an option.
Dean’s fingers curled in the sheets and he arched his back a little. One hand finally reached out and stroked the back of Sam’s head, coaxing him up and down, tangling in Sam’s messy hair.
“Oh, God, it’s so good, Sammy. You’re so good.” Sam was a little hurt by the defeat in Dean’s tone but he knew he could get Dean used to the idea, that it didn’t have to be something they were ashamed of.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come.” Dean tried to pull Sam away, but Sam refused. Reasserting himself, Sam circled his tongue on the head of Dean’s cock and sucked it back into his mouth. Sam had never swallowed before, but he wanted to know what Dean tasted like. He braced himself and tried to take down everything. He didn’t even come close.
Sam came up coughing a little and spit what he couldn’t swallow onto his hand. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he urgently yanked his jeans down and used Dean’s come to slick himself. He looked over and met his brother’s eyes, it only took a few pulls before Sam was crying out and spilling onto his hand, harder than ever before.
Sam lay next to Dean staring at the ceiling and panting as he came down slowly from his orgasm. He made a point of not looking at Dean, terrified that he’d see disgust and hatred now that it was over. He didn’t see Dean turn in his direction and move closer, it wasn’t until the length of his brother’s body was pushed against his side that he knew Dean had moved at all.
Dean’s hand hesitated, but it soon pushed under Sam’s shirt, roving over scars from old hunts and newly developed muscles. Sam let Dean pull the t-shirt off of him and tried not to moan when Dean began to kiss his shoulder tenderly, his fingers still drifting over bare skin.
“Sammy?” Dean whispered it against his ear as if he was afraid the walls would overhear. Sam heard the change, the new softness, the reverence, it was everything he’d ever dreamt it would be and it terrified him more than any monster ever had.
“Yeah?”
“You can do anything to me,” Dean promised. “I want you to.”
Sam sat up a little and looked at his brother. He understood what Dean was asking for; he wanted to give it to him so bad he’d spent countless nights awake just imagining it. But this was too new to Dean and Sam couldn’t do that to his brother. Not when they could wake up the next day and Dean could hate him for what they’d already done alone. It wasn’t the kind of decision he was allowed to make on a whim.
“No, Dean, you don’t. You don’t want the things I want.”
Dean pulled his shirt over his head and kicked away the jeans that had already been pulled almost completely off while Sam had been licking and sucking and doing everything he could to bring his brother off. He was completely naked and Sam saw him open him legs a little; he was in a position of complete surrender. Sam’s lust was nearly animalistic; he was barely able to swallow a growl.
“Anything you want, Sam.”
In the span of a second, Sam had turned over and landed between Dean’s legs. He gathered his own come from where it landed on his belly and hands and touched Dean’s hole with just enough pressure to be felt.
“This is what I want, Dean,” Sam said coldly, sliding a finger inside of him and prodding softly. “I want awful things from you.”
He pulled the finger out and reinserted two, Dean’s lips were parted obscenely and Sam was half hard again already. Dean shut his eyes against the sight of his brother moving over him, but he pleaded for more.
Sam pulled out and kissed his brother hard, now three fingers inside of him and Sam knew Dean would be ready. Dean was hard now, too, and Sam’s own erection made it hard to think about anything else.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his lips brushing Dean’s.
“Yes, God yes. Please, just do it.”
Sam slid into Dean slowly and Dean made an uncomfortable sound. Sam knew how to do this, though; he gently moved inside his brother, easing him into what was happening. It wasn’t long before the sounds of complaint melted into moans and gasps of pleasure, murmurs for more, for Sam to never stop. He wished he would never have to. He made sure Dean was completely comfortable before angling his cock into Dean’s prostate and taking more pride in the surprised cry of ecstasy than he’d ever taken in anything. Sam’s name was falling from Dean’s mouth as if it was the only concept he could still understand. Sam held off kissing him just to hear those mutters.
“Sam, touch me, touch me right now. I wanna come while you’re inside of me.”
Sam obeyed his brother gladly, combining the strokes on Dean’s cock with the gentle thrusts into Dean that were torturing him. He wasn’t going to let go until Dean had, he couldn’t thrust the way he wanted to but his body was nearly to the point of fucking Dean hard without his having any say so.
Dean came, for the second time, and Sam swallowed the broken cry from Dean’s lips better than he’d managed to swallow Dean’s first orgasm. Then he thrust, just once, roughly into his brother and he was gone, coming with so much force he collapsed onto Dean, into his brother’s embrace. Dean stroked Sam’s hair the way he had when they were children and held Sam close. Sam made no move to get out of Dean as he tried to recover. He almost didn’t hear Dean’s next words, but he suspected Dean didn’t want him to hear them at all.
“Don’t leave, Sammy. Don’t go. Please. Stay with me.”
Sam had told Dean what he hadn’t told John yet, he’d told Dean months ago. He’d been accepted to Stanford, he was going to go. Dean had acted happy for him, had genuinely looked proud. Sam had completely forgotten about Stanford while he had been wrapped up in his brother, but the reminder coming from Dean just brought home why he’d chosen to go in the first place. That wasn’t normal, lying inside of your own brother. It wasn’t right, making Dean want that when the idea had never occurred to him before. A part of him begged to give his brother what he was asking for: accept that it was too late to go back, too late to protect Dean, and there was no point going anymore.
But after getting dressed and cleaning up, Sam hadn’t gone back to his own bed, he’d fallen asleep half in Dean’s arms watching TV. He’d never had a better night of sleep in his life. He woke up to hear his father talking to his brother in hushed, serious tones.
“You’re making a pansy out of that boy, Dean. He’s eighteen years old, there’s no reason for him to still be sleeping on your bed.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It was an accident. We were playing poker and I didn’t feel like getting up to go to the table, and then we just kind of drifted out watching TV. It was my fault. It…” Sam swore he could hear Dean biting his lip. “It won’t happen again, sir.”
Sam’s stomach turned. Dean was getting in trouble for what was his fault. He was taking it, like he’d always taken the blame for Sam’s actions, and Sam knew he was torn somewhere between being ashamed of what they’d done and being annoyed at John for trying to ruin it. Sam knew what he had to do, knew that he couldn’t make Dean go on like that forever. He had to leave Dean, for everybody’s sake.
That night, Sam stood up for Dean when John criticized him. When a fight erupted between them and Sam told John he was going to school, Dean sat quietly between the two men, the look on his face a mix between surprise and sad resignation. That night, Sam left for Stanford.
It didn’t take long for Dean to break. The shtriga had been too much. Watching it feed on Sam-again-had been too much. He couldn’t stand the image and it replayed itself for hours after the hunt was over. Sam tried to reassure him, the hands circling on Dean’s back were more comfort than the soothing words Sam spoke while Dean clung to his brother and tried his hardest to blink away his tears.
“We got it, Dean. You got it. You saved me, all those kids. It’s ok.” And even though he knew Sam was right, nothing would make the sight of Sam as he nearly faded out stop looping.
That wasn’t true and Dean knew it, knew what could make him forget what had gone wrong. Sam knew how to comfort him. Dean was finally past regretting that. Dean pulled his brother in, kissed him just enough to know that he still felt warm and alive. And as Sam tumbled into the kiss, Dean’s walls dissolved into dust.
[3]
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, John
Genre: Smut!, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rating: NC-17 because Those Brothers Have Sex (includes pre-series, Sam is 18)
Word Count: 3,275
Author’s Note: Written for tamingthemuse prompt # 166 - Albatross Around Your Neck. Beta’d by wutendeskind. Set immediately after 1x15: The Benders. Divider found here. Also, I’m pretty sure this was my first attempt at writing an omniscient narrator, so hopefully it doesn’t stink. Oh! Also! This is my first time writing actual buttsecks in porn! It’s pretty serious, guys. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: They were together one night before Sam left, and that wasn’t something Dean could just get over.
They were quiet the entire way home and when they got to the motel, too. There was no way to say the millions of things that hung heavy and threatening over their heads. They knew. They both knew, so it didn't need to be said. That was not the kind of thing people talked about, not the kind of thing that was supposed to need discussing.
They'd both been doing a respectable job of keeping their hands to themselves. It was a dangerous way to live. Two brothers who had always Loved each other a little bit too much, brothers with a memory branded into their minds, just one night that snuck into every casual touch or meaningless bit of conversation since they'd been forced back together. Of course this had been a long time coming, of course the tension was going to snap at some point and someone would have to say something.
Dean had forgotten that feeling in their four years apart. He worried about keeping himself and his father safe while they were on hunts, it was his job. But he had forgotten about what it felt like to hunt with Sam-the constant dread, the heightened focus on where he was and what he was doing, the shaky empty feeling if Sam got out of his sight for even a moment. And this hadn't been a moment, this had been days. He'd never let that happen before, never failed his brother so badly. It hurt more than anything, even Stanford, thinking Sam could be dead-at least when Sam had been at Stanford, Dean knew he was safe.
He'd forgotten the other aspect of hunting with Sam, the foreign feeling of self worth when he knew he'd kept his brother safe through another day. When he'd found Sam, when he was checking his little brother’s body for injuries, even after Sam had assured him he was fine, when he could touch his brother all over and feel that he was in one piece...that's when the trouble started.
Sam's expression changed, hungry and hopeful and dirty. Dean had seen the look once before. Dean had relived it every night for four years in his dreams, or rather nightmares. He'd sworn to himself when he and Sam had started hunting again that he would never see that look in Sam's eyes again. He'd tried so hard to believe he didn't want to. He pulled his hands away too quickly, much too obvious, and Sam's expression was triumphant-he knew what Dean was feeling. He knew because he'd put it there. But Dean didn't give him the option of saying or doing anything about it. He headed back to the Impala and silently they focused on not saying what some perversion wanted them both to say.
Dean had been withdrawn all night, Sam knew why and Sam was going to end it. There was no use, he thought, pretending it didn't exist, acting as if something so beautiful could be as base as Dean wanted to believe it was.
“Dean.”
“Yeah?” Dean’s eyes didn’t leave the television but Sam could see his jaw clenching and could feel the stubborn refusal to look in his direction.
“Are we really going to do this?”
“Do what?” Dean replied crisply. He was telling Sam to back off. Sam sat down next to his brother in bed.
“Ignore what happened. Ignore what we want to happen,” his long fingers slid onto his brother’s thigh and he felt him shiver but Dean pushed his hand away and stood up.
“Never again, Sam.”
Dean was facing Sam and Sam reached out, grabbed his brother’s hips on either side and pulled him dangerously close.
“You still want it. I know you do.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Dean sneered, pushing Sam away and backing off completely. “Never again.”
"Why not? Because we're brothers?" Sam stood up and approached Dean's retreating figure. "It doesn't matter, Dean. You must know that."
Dean shook his head. Hearing the need and the hurt in Sam's voice was nearly enough to crack his resolve. He’d never turned down the things Sam asked for, and this was more than asking. Sam was begging, desperate. But he couldn't let the same thing happen that happened before, he was sure he'd rather die than live through it again.
"Because you left." It was hardly a whisper but it was loud enough to freeze Sam's advance. "You left me, Sammy."
"Dean, it wasn't you I was leaving. You could have come to see me at Stanford, I wanted you to. I told you that. I was leaving-"
"What? Dad? You think I'm really stupid enough to believe that? It was me you were leaving and I know it."
"I didn't want you to want it, Dean. It wasn't normal. I was trying to protect you. I was scared then, I'm not now. I’m not going anywhere."
"If you wanted to protect me, you shouldn't have done it at all. You made me want it, Sam, and then you left me alone to deal with it."
Dean didn't have to tell Sam how much that hurt, Sam knew what it felt like, had been dealing with it twice as long as Dean had. He felt guilt tugging his heart in a hundred directions-he'd thought Dean would be able to forget. He'd convinced himself Dean would be grateful that Sam left him alone, let him go back to normal desires instead of the filthy things he couldn't stop wanting and wouldn't have been able to refrain from taking as long as he was still with Dean. But he could see how those four years really went for Dean in the way his brother held his body, the way he pulled back from the want and looked so brokenly at his brother.
Sam stepped forward and put his hand over his brother's shoulder, more supportive than sexual.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Dean leaned into his brother's touch and Sam could feel the heightened stirring of Dean's blood, knew that his body was already responding to the touch. But even welcoming the caress and the feelings that came with it, Dean shook his head.
"Never again, Sam. Not after that."
Sam nodded as if giving in to Dean and didn't push the point. He owed Dean that much. This was his own fault. He hadn’t been able to control himself and then he’d panicked and now he’d lost the only thing he’d ever really wanted. Dean didn’t trust him anymore. Dean didn’t Love him anymore, not the way Sam needed him to. But Sam was going to change that. One day, Dean was going to trip into it and Sam was going to make sure he never let him regret it.
Sam was supposed to be out, on a date of all things. John was working a job a few towns over, so he’d left Sam and Dean alone for a few days. It was the first night Dean had to himself in a long time and, truth be told, he didn’t know how to spend it. He liked that Sam was always around, as much as he complained about it.
After briefly considering finding a bar and some girl to amuse himself with, Dean settled for the next best thing. His hands wandered down, opened his jeans, and began to stroke slowly. He figured he might as well make it last; he had hours to kill, after all. He didn’t hear Sam come back into the room, didn’t hear the door close quietly. Eyes shut tight, he didn’t see his brother standing over the bed, gaze fixed on his hands and their steady rhythm on his shaft.
Sam sucked at dating, but it wasn’t for the reasons Dean had always assumed. He was pretty sure he could have been successful with the girls he took out more often if he’d ever bothered to try but Sam couldn’t feign enough interest in them to convince either the girls or himself that he wanted them. Sam preferred the kind of sex he didn’t tell his brother about, strangers he met in bars he was too young to be in who pushed at him like little boys wrestling, strangers with short hair like Dean’s that pricked his fingers when his hands rested on their heads. Sam had spent half an hour with the girl he’d taken out that night and given up on the charade, much more interested in going home and playing a couple of hands of poker with his brother.
He should have knocked. Or paused to think that his brother wanted a night to himself. Or left the room running when he saw Dean and felt heat building in his cock and surging out through his entire body. But he didn’t.
Dean didn’t register the giant body easing onto the mattress next to him until long fingers replaced his own on his dick and lips that he knew too well to question were licking their way hungrily into his mouth.
“Sam, what the fuck are you doing?” Dean asked once he had fought his way out of Sam’s possessive kiss. He reached down and stopped his brother’s hand but he didn’t push it away like he should have. He almost didn’t want to.
“I…Dean.”
That was all of the explanation Sam offered before moving quickly down Dean’s body.
“Don’t, Sam. What’s wrong with you?”
Sam didn’t know what was wrong with him, but it had been wrong too long to ignore anymore. He paused a few moments, waiting for Dean to shove him away; Dean made no move to stop him. Then, he swallowed down Dean’s dick hungrily.
“Sam, please don’t.” By now Dean’s protest was nothing but a whine, it sounded more like encouragement than anything. Sam wanted to listen to it, wanted to stop. But his lips set a steady pace and he couldn’t bring himself to break it for a moment-it wasn’t the first cock he’d had in his mouth by a lot, but it was the one he’d always imagined. Sam had always enjoyed doing this, but knowing that it was actually Dean was better than anything, too good for self-control to be an option.
Dean’s fingers curled in the sheets and he arched his back a little. One hand finally reached out and stroked the back of Sam’s head, coaxing him up and down, tangling in Sam’s messy hair.
“Oh, God, it’s so good, Sammy. You’re so good.” Sam was a little hurt by the defeat in Dean’s tone but he knew he could get Dean used to the idea, that it didn’t have to be something they were ashamed of.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come.” Dean tried to pull Sam away, but Sam refused. Reasserting himself, Sam circled his tongue on the head of Dean’s cock and sucked it back into his mouth. Sam had never swallowed before, but he wanted to know what Dean tasted like. He braced himself and tried to take down everything. He didn’t even come close.
Sam came up coughing a little and spit what he couldn’t swallow onto his hand. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he urgently yanked his jeans down and used Dean’s come to slick himself. He looked over and met his brother’s eyes, it only took a few pulls before Sam was crying out and spilling onto his hand, harder than ever before.
Sam lay next to Dean staring at the ceiling and panting as he came down slowly from his orgasm. He made a point of not looking at Dean, terrified that he’d see disgust and hatred now that it was over. He didn’t see Dean turn in his direction and move closer, it wasn’t until the length of his brother’s body was pushed against his side that he knew Dean had moved at all.
Dean’s hand hesitated, but it soon pushed under Sam’s shirt, roving over scars from old hunts and newly developed muscles. Sam let Dean pull the t-shirt off of him and tried not to moan when Dean began to kiss his shoulder tenderly, his fingers still drifting over bare skin.
“Sammy?” Dean whispered it against his ear as if he was afraid the walls would overhear. Sam heard the change, the new softness, the reverence, it was everything he’d ever dreamt it would be and it terrified him more than any monster ever had.
“Yeah?”
“You can do anything to me,” Dean promised. “I want you to.”
Sam sat up a little and looked at his brother. He understood what Dean was asking for; he wanted to give it to him so bad he’d spent countless nights awake just imagining it. But this was too new to Dean and Sam couldn’t do that to his brother. Not when they could wake up the next day and Dean could hate him for what they’d already done alone. It wasn’t the kind of decision he was allowed to make on a whim.
“No, Dean, you don’t. You don’t want the things I want.”
Dean pulled his shirt over his head and kicked away the jeans that had already been pulled almost completely off while Sam had been licking and sucking and doing everything he could to bring his brother off. He was completely naked and Sam saw him open him legs a little; he was in a position of complete surrender. Sam’s lust was nearly animalistic; he was barely able to swallow a growl.
“Anything you want, Sam.”
In the span of a second, Sam had turned over and landed between Dean’s legs. He gathered his own come from where it landed on his belly and hands and touched Dean’s hole with just enough pressure to be felt.
“This is what I want, Dean,” Sam said coldly, sliding a finger inside of him and prodding softly. “I want awful things from you.”
He pulled the finger out and reinserted two, Dean’s lips were parted obscenely and Sam was half hard again already. Dean shut his eyes against the sight of his brother moving over him, but he pleaded for more.
Sam pulled out and kissed his brother hard, now three fingers inside of him and Sam knew Dean would be ready. Dean was hard now, too, and Sam’s own erection made it hard to think about anything else.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his lips brushing Dean’s.
“Yes, God yes. Please, just do it.”
Sam slid into Dean slowly and Dean made an uncomfortable sound. Sam knew how to do this, though; he gently moved inside his brother, easing him into what was happening. It wasn’t long before the sounds of complaint melted into moans and gasps of pleasure, murmurs for more, for Sam to never stop. He wished he would never have to. He made sure Dean was completely comfortable before angling his cock into Dean’s prostate and taking more pride in the surprised cry of ecstasy than he’d ever taken in anything. Sam’s name was falling from Dean’s mouth as if it was the only concept he could still understand. Sam held off kissing him just to hear those mutters.
“Sam, touch me, touch me right now. I wanna come while you’re inside of me.”
Sam obeyed his brother gladly, combining the strokes on Dean’s cock with the gentle thrusts into Dean that were torturing him. He wasn’t going to let go until Dean had, he couldn’t thrust the way he wanted to but his body was nearly to the point of fucking Dean hard without his having any say so.
Dean came, for the second time, and Sam swallowed the broken cry from Dean’s lips better than he’d managed to swallow Dean’s first orgasm. Then he thrust, just once, roughly into his brother and he was gone, coming with so much force he collapsed onto Dean, into his brother’s embrace. Dean stroked Sam’s hair the way he had when they were children and held Sam close. Sam made no move to get out of Dean as he tried to recover. He almost didn’t hear Dean’s next words, but he suspected Dean didn’t want him to hear them at all.
“Don’t leave, Sammy. Don’t go. Please. Stay with me.”
Sam had told Dean what he hadn’t told John yet, he’d told Dean months ago. He’d been accepted to Stanford, he was going to go. Dean had acted happy for him, had genuinely looked proud. Sam had completely forgotten about Stanford while he had been wrapped up in his brother, but the reminder coming from Dean just brought home why he’d chosen to go in the first place. That wasn’t normal, lying inside of your own brother. It wasn’t right, making Dean want that when the idea had never occurred to him before. A part of him begged to give his brother what he was asking for: accept that it was too late to go back, too late to protect Dean, and there was no point going anymore.
But after getting dressed and cleaning up, Sam hadn’t gone back to his own bed, he’d fallen asleep half in Dean’s arms watching TV. He’d never had a better night of sleep in his life. He woke up to hear his father talking to his brother in hushed, serious tones.
“You’re making a pansy out of that boy, Dean. He’s eighteen years old, there’s no reason for him to still be sleeping on your bed.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It was an accident. We were playing poker and I didn’t feel like getting up to go to the table, and then we just kind of drifted out watching TV. It was my fault. It…” Sam swore he could hear Dean biting his lip. “It won’t happen again, sir.”
Sam’s stomach turned. Dean was getting in trouble for what was his fault. He was taking it, like he’d always taken the blame for Sam’s actions, and Sam knew he was torn somewhere between being ashamed of what they’d done and being annoyed at John for trying to ruin it. Sam knew what he had to do, knew that he couldn’t make Dean go on like that forever. He had to leave Dean, for everybody’s sake.
That night, Sam stood up for Dean when John criticized him. When a fight erupted between them and Sam told John he was going to school, Dean sat quietly between the two men, the look on his face a mix between surprise and sad resignation. That night, Sam left for Stanford.
It didn’t take long for Dean to break. The shtriga had been too much. Watching it feed on Sam-again-had been too much. He couldn’t stand the image and it replayed itself for hours after the hunt was over. Sam tried to reassure him, the hands circling on Dean’s back were more comfort than the soothing words Sam spoke while Dean clung to his brother and tried his hardest to blink away his tears.
“We got it, Dean. You got it. You saved me, all those kids. It’s ok.” And even though he knew Sam was right, nothing would make the sight of Sam as he nearly faded out stop looping.
That wasn’t true and Dean knew it, knew what could make him forget what had gone wrong. Sam knew how to comfort him. Dean was finally past regretting that. Dean pulled his brother in, kissed him just enough to know that he still felt warm and alive. And as Sam tumbled into the kiss, Dean’s walls dissolved into dust.
[3]