Supernatural: The Trophy Case
Title: The Trophy Case
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean (bottom!Sam <= I hear that this must be warned for :D)
Genre: Smut, SCMOOP, Hurt/Comfort?
Rating: NC-17 for Brothers Who Touch Each Other’s No-No Places :D
Word Count: 3,657
Author’s Note: A few weekends ago, I wrote a 14,000+ word story in three days for rs_games, then unceremoniously dumped it all on my darling wutendeskind to beta the day it was due. She got it back to me within hours and I was miraculously on time to turn my story in. For this incredible win and her general win-ness as both a beta and sparkly goddess, I offered to write her a present. She requested: “Sam/Dean, bottom!Sam, cut knuckles, and spreading thighs.” The scar kink was just a bonus I threw in. I made her beta this, too, because I am a bad person. Also fits tamingthemuse prompt #170 - I Walk Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. I was going to give Sam the cut knuckles and have Dean be all motherly and adorably about it, but then I watched the hug scene and Dean *actually* has cut knuckles and Sam doesn’t, so I felt like that was a sign or something. I’m pretty sure you were hoping I would go the IMTOD route but I say “Hah! Nobody ever expects me!” ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Dean has just been risen from Hell and he misses his scars. Sam makes it all better withhismouth.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.
None of it was real until he saw Sam. Dean could stay on guard through a lot. He refused to let even a perfect imitation of Bobby fool him. But Sam didn’t exist in Hell. That embrace had been electric and as thrilled as Dean was to see Bobby, he just wished he was alone with his brother. He knew Sam did, too, could feel Sam’s hesitance to release him. They couldn’t hug forever, but Dean wasn’t about to let Sam go, could only pull him in tighter. When Sam finally moved to awkwardly acknowledge the other people in the room, Dean only followed his lead out of necessity.
There were things that had to be discussed. As important as it all was, Dean spent the entire time they were trying to figure out what the hell could have pulled him out looking at his brother, turning away when Sam looked at him, and only thinking of one thing. The psychic was a good idea and it would have to wait until the next day, anyway. That’s the part Dean heard. A few hours of sleep before they’d have to get up. A few hours alone with Sam. Bobby went to take out a room and made a face when Dean told him not to get a double. He didn’t care if Sam’s room only had one king.
“Save your money, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Dean lied.
“Alright, I guess. You boys hungry?”
“No,” Dean lied again. He was starving. Hadn’t eaten anything but protein bars and bottled water for so long he’d lost count. Four months the newspaper said, but the newspaper was wrong. Still, Dean didn’t want to go out and eat. Dean wanted to hold Sam again, without having to stop because people were watching.
“Tired, though, I’ve had a long day.” And that was definitely the truth.
“How about you, Sam? Wanna grab some dinner and a beer and give your brother a break?”
“Just ate,” Sam replied immediately and then winced because the girl who had been there had mentioned a pizza. “I mean, I had a big lunch. And I’m not really hungry. I’ll, uh, order something later if my pizza doesn’t show. So…yeah.”
Bobby gave Sam a puzzled glance and patted him awkwardly on the back. Sometimes Dean felt like they were wasting their time pretending Bobby was stupid enough to not have figured them out, but it’s not like they could come out and tell him, “Oh, by the way, you know how you’ve known us since we were little kids? Well, now we have incestuous sex.” Bobby would probably prefer to be treated like a moron and be able to keep himself as removed from the whole thing as possible.
“Well, then I’m gonna go. You boys better get to sleep soon, we’re leaving before the sun gets up and I don’t want any foot dragging.”
Dean walked Bobby to the door and got a half-hug and an “it’s good to have you back” before he disappeared down the hall. Dean closed the door-he hardly had time to turn around before he was slammed up against it with Sam’s mouth on his so hard and so demanding it would probably have hurt if it wasn’t the best thing he’d felt in decades.
Sam’s hand dipped under the fabric of Dean’s jeans in a matter of seconds and Dean couldn’t help the moan. Sam’s other hand began to attempt to tug at Dean’s jacket, trying to get Dean to help him take it off. Dean gave a little jump and stopped him. Sam froze and pulled both his hands and lips away, but didn’t step back from Dean. His body pinned Dean against the door.
“No,” he said firmly.
“No?” Dean asked. He wasn’t sure what Sam was saying no to. He wasn’t the one with his hands down his brother’s pants a few seconds ago.
“No. You can’t come back and not want me. You’re not allowed to. And I won’t let you.” Sam’s voice wavered from anger to something too weak to belong to Sam. “Dean, I won’t let you.”
Sam’s lips moved to Dean’s neck and he planted kisses against it gently.
“Sammy, I want you, of course I want you. I just…don’t want you to see.”
Sam’s eyes widened and he looked terrifying for a moment, even to Dean. He pushed the jacket off Dean and before Dean could protest, Sam was pulling his t-shirt over his head.
“What did they do to you?” He asked hotly. “I’ll tear them to shreds.”
He paused and stared at Dean for a few seconds and then looked up to meet Dean’s nervous glance.
“Your scars. They’re all gone.”
Sam’s hand spread over Dean’s chest, clean for the first time since Dean was maybe ten years old of any scar tissue or evidence that he had ever been hurt.
“You must be thrilled,” Sam said playfully, going in to kiss Dean as if it didn’t matter.
“I hate it, Sammy.”
Dean saw a little flash of understanding on his brother’s face and Sam bit his lip and turned away from Dean. He stripped off his own jacket and shirt and sat down on the bed. Sam still had his scars, and maybe deep down, Dean was a little bit jealous of his brother. Dean’s scars had been ugly, but he’d loved every one of them. He’d lost track of how he got each one before he turned twelve and even though he’d learned to stay out of trouble a little better, the number had at least tripled by the time he’d been shredded by the hell hounds. He didn’t really care how he got them; he liked knowing what they meant. They were trophies to him, proof that he’d saved somebody, been good for something. But all the good he’d done on Earth was undone a hundred times over by what he’d done in Hell and now that he was back, all those trophies were gone. Whatever monster dragged him out of the pit had been cruel to him, had given him a little reminder that he was a monster now, too.
“Come here, Dean.” Sam wasn’t asking, but he wasn’t quite demanding, either. He was gentle and maybe he just trusted that Dean would do what he wanted. Dean, of course, did as he asked, taking his place on the bed next to his brother.
“Lie down.”
Again, Dean obeyed. Sam crawled up the bed and hovered half over Dean. He undid Dean’s jeans and pulled them down, but it wasn’t rushed or hungry anymore. Sam moved slowly, as if he knew just how likely Dean was to lose his grip. He pulled Dean’s briefs down, leaving Dean completely naked, spread out on his back, waiting for Sam. But Sam didn’t move to remove his own jeans and ignored Dean’s half-erection.
Dean reached up to pull Sam down on top of him but Sam stopped him. Dean’s hand was gripping Sam’s shoulder and Sam grabbed it into his own, looked at it, a crease appearing on his brow.
“You’re hurt. Already, really? Seriously?”
Dean’s knuckles had been stinging all day, though he’d forgotten about it once he was with Sam.
“Breaking through a goddamned wooden box will do that to you.” Dean was still a little surprised every time he heard the impact Hell had on his voice, but considering how turned on he was, he probably would have sounded about as raspy either way.
“Next time I’ll have to invest in something tougher to break out of, I guess,” Sam teased, bringing the offending knuckles to his lips.
Sam was only 16 when they discovered how good it felt to lick each other’s wounds when they weren’t severe enough for antibiotics. Sam pressed wet kisses against each finger, even the ones that weren’t cut, and sucked lightly on the ones that were.
When he finished and let Dean’s hand drop away, Dean could see a thin strand of saliva between his brother’s lips and his fingers and he felt his dick twitch demandingly.
“Sam, come on,” Dean begged.
Sam licked his lips and brought them so close to Dean’s ear he could feel Sam’s hot breath on his neck.
“You miss your scars, Dean?”
Dean made a noise that was supposed to be “yes.”
Sam moved down until his head was resting on Dean’s shoulder.
“August 1996. Texas, I think. Shapeshifter. You saved nine people.” Sam pressed his lips where the scar used to be and sucked hard until Dean knew there would be a dark mark left on his skin.
Sam sat up, straddled Dean’s hips, and looked over his body as if he could see the scars and just couldn’t decide which one to remind Dean of.
“January 16th, 2007. Rhode Island. Possessed school teacher. Twenty kids.” Sam pressed his lips right into the middle of Dean’s chest and, again, marked Dean where the scar had been.
Sam moved off to Dean’s left side and his fingers traced an area around the handprint on Dean’s shoulder.
“Don’t, Sam. We don’t know what did it. I don’t want you to touch it.”
“It brought you back, it can’t be that bad.”
“It has to be that bad, Sam, nothing that isn’t evil could have gotten me out.”
Sam didn’t argue, but he ignored Dean’s order, put his mouth around the index finger and left the skin that wasn’t burnt pink a much darker shade of red.
“Spring 2002. Fucking Utah, of all places. A ghoul. Married couple, their parents, and the dog. Remember the werewolf in July ’97? Dad let you kill it; it was your first one. It could have gotten the whole town.”
As Sam spoke he made his way down Dean’s body, positioning himself between Dean’s thighs and letting his tongue run along the skin dangerously close to Dean’s now very hard cock.
“I patched it up for you. God, it was like torture, Dean. I wanted you so bad already.”
Dean whimpered out his brother’s name and Sam repeated the action over and over until most, if not all, of Dean’s scars were back. Dean almost couldn’t take the moment in; it was too perfect after too many years of torture to be real. When he’d lost count of his own wounds, Sam had filed each one away in his memory, knew the shape, when they happened, how-and now he was giving them back to Dean, forcing Dean to see that he had still done those things, that he had been missed.
Sam was kissing Dean again when Dean realized he’d forgotten at least one scar. His biggest and ugliest, it used to run most of the way down the right side of his body. Dean was glad he had. He couldn’t remember what it came from but he always associated it with guilt, hated the damn thing. And then Sam’s fingers traced the long line that had once been stitches along Dean’s side.
“Do you remember this one?”
“No,” Dean lied.
“Stupid mistake. You nearly got yourself killed. You only helped one person, and they wouldn’t have been in trouble if it wasn’t for you. Dad was pissed at you for a week. And it was just a vengeful spirit. You’d killed a hundred of them by then.”
Sam paused and kissed Dean again and then went down and traced the line with his tongue before beginning a series of hungry kisses. Sam sucked so hard that Dean was sure the marks wouldn’t go away for a month.
“Why, Sam? I don’t want to remember that.”
Sam continued until the purple line was complete and then looked up meaningfully into Dean’s eyes.
“May 2nd, 1995. My birthday present. Dad let me go on my first hunt. You were hovering and nervous, and the ghost caught on. It aimed a freaking television at me knowing you would try to catch it and you took a pretty bad fall. It was the first time you saved my life, Dean.”
Dean valiantly managed to blink back the tears, but he knew that his voice would break if he said anything, so he sat quietly and waited for his brother to make the next move.
Sam undid his jeans and slipped out of his clothing, pressing himself against Dean, soothing him with his hands, and maybe soothing himself with the knowledge that Dean was there and he could touch him again.
“You want me, Sammy?” Dean finally offered, pushing himself a little more into Sam’s embrace.
“No,” Sam replied; it hadn’t been what Dean had expected to hear.
Sam pulled out of the embrace and sat next to Dean with his body folded up, arms wrapped around his legs the way he used to sit when he was a kid and something was making him feel threatened.
“I need to feel you, Dean. I’m so scared you’re not real.”
Dean wasn’t entirely convinced he could trust this, either, but if there was anywhere on Earth he could go that would make him feel alive, it was deep inside of Sam. He turned to face his brother, sure that the uneasiness he saw there was just as pronounced on his own countenance. Dean put one hand on Sam’s cheek reassuringly and attempted to sound convinced over the doubts still filling his head.
“Don’t be scared, baby. I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
Sam nodded but his eyes were still moist.
“You don’t know what it’s been like, Dean, what I’ve been like. You can’t imagine the things-“
Dean shut his brother up with a kiss, stubbornly determined not to let Sam’s mind go to dark places. He knew they would have to talk about it eventually, that he would have to hear about how hard it was for Sam and swallow the urge to tell Sam what he’d been through for him, what he’d done, but this moment was not about that. It was happy, they had each other, and that was more than Dean could process as it was. It worked-Sam relaxed into Dean’s kiss and neither brother broke it.
Dean’s lust grew with every tiny sound Sam made as their tongues slid together and Sam, though still tucked into himself, pulled Dean closer. Dean’s hands began to rove from Sam’s cheek: cradling his neck, caressing his chest, still kissing, he came to rest on Sam’s thigh. Sam didn’t open up to him, so Dean slid his fingers in between his thick legs, moved his hand up Sam’s thigh until he was just hardly brushing Sam’s balls and the base of his cock.
Sam finally broke his lips from Dean’s, crying out as Dean slowly coaxed his thighs apart, a second hand joined the first, both resting close enough to Sam’s groin to give him a painful hunger and no satisfaction as they moved away from each other. Once Sam was completely spread open, Dean repositioned his body, hovering over Sam, in between his spread legs. He felt his mouth go dry as he looked down at his little brother, all spread out and vulnerable and begging for him with wide eyes.
Dean felt eager and nervous, as if they’d never done this before. He cupped Sam’s face again, rubbed Sam’s bottom lip with his thumb and Sam’s mouth opened automatically, sucking on the digits that Dean offered him savagely.
Dean pulled his wet fingers out of Sam’s mouth and Sam swallowed hard as his eyes followed Dean’s hand down, down, until his slippery index finger was softly pushing against Sam’s hole and Sam was begging Dean to just get on with it. Dean didn’t want to tease Sam, didn’t want to delay being with him a moment longer. He pushed into Sam, moving quickly without losing his tenderness.
“More,” Sam pleaded.
Dean pulled away and fed two fingers into the tight opening. He felt the tension melt away as the fingers began to move apart and back together slowly. Sam rocked his body into Dean’s touch and Dean stimulated his brother, too many years in Hell were still not enough to make Dean forget how to find the place inside Sam that made him thrash and gasp with ecstasy.
“That’s enough, that’s enough. Dean, come on. You, I want you.”
Dean nodded, pulling out and then he realized with annoyance that he was still dry.
“Lube. Where’s your lube, Sam?”
“Don’t need it, please, just go.”
“No, Sammy, I’m not going to let this hurt you, not even a little bit.”
Sam kicked his foot petulantly and gestured towards the duffel on the floor next to the bed.
“Bottom of the front pocket.” Dean leaned over the side and began to fumble through the bag. “Hurry up, it’s been months.”
Years, Dean silently corrected; he didn’t need to be told how much they both wanted this. Dean found the bottle and instantly looked away from it as he squeezed some of the liquid onto his palm. He didn’t want to see if it was the same one he’d left behind, or try to remember if there was more in it then than there was now. The girl had been more than enough. Dean knew Sam must have been with other people during those four lonely months, but the thought of another man touching his brother made his mouth taste sour.
Dean slicked himself up, fisting his cock a couple of times before letting it go and moving closer to Sam. He pressed himself against Sam’s hole and leaned in to kiss his brother as he pushed in.
He set the pace: slow, comforting, and for the first time ever, Sam matched his rhythm without the slightest challenge or disconnect. Even when Dean had been on top, Sam had always kept at least a little control for himself; long legs wrapped around Dean and the heels of his feet would push into Dean’s ass, directing his thrusts, Sam’s hands would grip his brother’s back, fingers dug in so tight there would be bruises the next day as Sam supported his deliberate, powerful hip movements up onto Dean’s cock. But now Sam moved only to follow Dean’s lead, his heels pushed into the mattress as one hand held tight to the amulet around Dean’s neck and the other softly rested on the back of Dean’s head. Dean’s mouth was on his brother’s neck and Sam’s gasps were all he could hear.
“Sam,” Dean gasped against sweating skin. “My Sammy.”
“Yours,” Sam agreed shakily. “Always, Dean. Only yours.”
Holding himself up with one arm, Dean was now the one leaving fingerprint bruises on Sam’s hips. He moved slowly until he was cupping Sam’s ass. He felt Sam tighten and release around his cock and realized that Sam’s was still completely ignored. He moved immediately to grip his brother’s dick.
“Mmm, Sammy. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
Sam froze.
“Don’t, I don’t want you to touch me,” he demanded urgently.
“But Sam-“
“I don’t need you to. God, it feels so good, I just need you. Just like this, nice and slow. You know exactly what to do to me, Dean. You’re gonna make me come so hard.”
Dean buried his face back in his brother’s neck, inhaled his scent, and willed himself not to come just from hearing Sam’s words.
“I missed you so much, Sammy. I don’t know how long I can last.”
“You’re going to last as long as I need you to. Because that’s what you do, Dean.”
And he was right. Dean would find a way to last until Sam’s load rushed out and hit his stomach, because that was what Sam wanted and nothing else mattered. Dean angled himself into Sam’s sweet spot, hitting it with every stroke, and Sam’s cries got louder with each thrust.
Finally, Sam tensed and Dean knew it was a matter of moments. He braced himself for it, the first time he would ever do this to Sam. He’d gotten close, and Sam had done it to him a few times, but Dean had never made Sam come untouched. The first time they’d been together, Sam had sucked Dean off and he came in his pants, but this was different. This was Dean making Sam feel so good that Dean knew he would nearly black out from it.
“I’m close, I’m so close. You can let go, Dean, I’m gonna come.”
But Dean held on until Sam arched forward, wrapping both his arms around Dean’s neck as he called out Dean’s name. Dean felt the heavy impact of Sam’s thick orgasm on his belly-more than Sam had ever come. He kept right on thrusting the entire time Sam was coming and through Sam’s aftershocks. When Sam was done, Dean let everything that had been trying to explode out of him for too many long minutes fill his brother up and fell to his side, deep breathes to try to somehow settle himself. Dean felt Sam turn his body and wrap it around Dean; they lay there in their mess while Sam pressed kisses against Dean’s bare back. Dean spent his first night back on Earth in the same place he’d spent his last night, wrapped up in Sam and feeling safe despite the promise of disaster. It was something they both needed and Dean slept there comfortably for months, even when they began to slip away from each other.
Every night before they fell asleep, even when they were too tired to fuck, Sam renewed the mark along Dean’s side. Every morning, Dean saw it, dark against his pale skin in the bathroom mirror, and knew Sam still thought he was a hero. Dean was no hero, couldn’t remember back to a time when he was, but he was sure this had to be better.
[7]
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean (bottom!Sam <= I hear that this must be warned for :D)
Genre: Smut, SCMOOP, Hurt/Comfort?
Rating: NC-17 for Brothers Who Touch Each Other’s No-No Places :D
Word Count: 3,657
Author’s Note: A few weekends ago, I wrote a 14,000+ word story in three days for rs_games, then unceremoniously dumped it all on my darling wutendeskind to beta the day it was due. She got it back to me within hours and I was miraculously on time to turn my story in. For this incredible win and her general win-ness as both a beta and sparkly goddess, I offered to write her a present. She requested: “Sam/Dean, bottom!Sam, cut knuckles, and spreading thighs.” The scar kink was just a bonus I threw in. I made her beta this, too, because I am a bad person. Also fits tamingthemuse prompt #170 - I Walk Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. I was going to give Sam the cut knuckles and have Dean be all motherly and adorably about it, but then I watched the hug scene and Dean *actually* has cut knuckles and Sam doesn’t, so I felt like that was a sign or something. I’m pretty sure you were hoping I would go the IMTOD route but I say “Hah! Nobody ever expects me!” ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Dean has just been risen from Hell and he misses his scars. Sam makes it all better withhismouth.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.
None of it was real until he saw Sam. Dean could stay on guard through a lot. He refused to let even a perfect imitation of Bobby fool him. But Sam didn’t exist in Hell. That embrace had been electric and as thrilled as Dean was to see Bobby, he just wished he was alone with his brother. He knew Sam did, too, could feel Sam’s hesitance to release him. They couldn’t hug forever, but Dean wasn’t about to let Sam go, could only pull him in tighter. When Sam finally moved to awkwardly acknowledge the other people in the room, Dean only followed his lead out of necessity.
There were things that had to be discussed. As important as it all was, Dean spent the entire time they were trying to figure out what the hell could have pulled him out looking at his brother, turning away when Sam looked at him, and only thinking of one thing. The psychic was a good idea and it would have to wait until the next day, anyway. That’s the part Dean heard. A few hours of sleep before they’d have to get up. A few hours alone with Sam. Bobby went to take out a room and made a face when Dean told him not to get a double. He didn’t care if Sam’s room only had one king.
“Save your money, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Dean lied.
“Alright, I guess. You boys hungry?”
“No,” Dean lied again. He was starving. Hadn’t eaten anything but protein bars and bottled water for so long he’d lost count. Four months the newspaper said, but the newspaper was wrong. Still, Dean didn’t want to go out and eat. Dean wanted to hold Sam again, without having to stop because people were watching.
“Tired, though, I’ve had a long day.” And that was definitely the truth.
“How about you, Sam? Wanna grab some dinner and a beer and give your brother a break?”
“Just ate,” Sam replied immediately and then winced because the girl who had been there had mentioned a pizza. “I mean, I had a big lunch. And I’m not really hungry. I’ll, uh, order something later if my pizza doesn’t show. So…yeah.”
Bobby gave Sam a puzzled glance and patted him awkwardly on the back. Sometimes Dean felt like they were wasting their time pretending Bobby was stupid enough to not have figured them out, but it’s not like they could come out and tell him, “Oh, by the way, you know how you’ve known us since we were little kids? Well, now we have incestuous sex.” Bobby would probably prefer to be treated like a moron and be able to keep himself as removed from the whole thing as possible.
“Well, then I’m gonna go. You boys better get to sleep soon, we’re leaving before the sun gets up and I don’t want any foot dragging.”
Dean walked Bobby to the door and got a half-hug and an “it’s good to have you back” before he disappeared down the hall. Dean closed the door-he hardly had time to turn around before he was slammed up against it with Sam’s mouth on his so hard and so demanding it would probably have hurt if it wasn’t the best thing he’d felt in decades.
Sam’s hand dipped under the fabric of Dean’s jeans in a matter of seconds and Dean couldn’t help the moan. Sam’s other hand began to attempt to tug at Dean’s jacket, trying to get Dean to help him take it off. Dean gave a little jump and stopped him. Sam froze and pulled both his hands and lips away, but didn’t step back from Dean. His body pinned Dean against the door.
“No,” he said firmly.
“No?” Dean asked. He wasn’t sure what Sam was saying no to. He wasn’t the one with his hands down his brother’s pants a few seconds ago.
“No. You can’t come back and not want me. You’re not allowed to. And I won’t let you.” Sam’s voice wavered from anger to something too weak to belong to Sam. “Dean, I won’t let you.”
Sam’s lips moved to Dean’s neck and he planted kisses against it gently.
“Sammy, I want you, of course I want you. I just…don’t want you to see.”
Sam’s eyes widened and he looked terrifying for a moment, even to Dean. He pushed the jacket off Dean and before Dean could protest, Sam was pulling his t-shirt over his head.
“What did they do to you?” He asked hotly. “I’ll tear them to shreds.”
He paused and stared at Dean for a few seconds and then looked up to meet Dean’s nervous glance.
“Your scars. They’re all gone.”
Sam’s hand spread over Dean’s chest, clean for the first time since Dean was maybe ten years old of any scar tissue or evidence that he had ever been hurt.
“You must be thrilled,” Sam said playfully, going in to kiss Dean as if it didn’t matter.
“I hate it, Sammy.”
Dean saw a little flash of understanding on his brother’s face and Sam bit his lip and turned away from Dean. He stripped off his own jacket and shirt and sat down on the bed. Sam still had his scars, and maybe deep down, Dean was a little bit jealous of his brother. Dean’s scars had been ugly, but he’d loved every one of them. He’d lost track of how he got each one before he turned twelve and even though he’d learned to stay out of trouble a little better, the number had at least tripled by the time he’d been shredded by the hell hounds. He didn’t really care how he got them; he liked knowing what they meant. They were trophies to him, proof that he’d saved somebody, been good for something. But all the good he’d done on Earth was undone a hundred times over by what he’d done in Hell and now that he was back, all those trophies were gone. Whatever monster dragged him out of the pit had been cruel to him, had given him a little reminder that he was a monster now, too.
“Come here, Dean.” Sam wasn’t asking, but he wasn’t quite demanding, either. He was gentle and maybe he just trusted that Dean would do what he wanted. Dean, of course, did as he asked, taking his place on the bed next to his brother.
“Lie down.”
Again, Dean obeyed. Sam crawled up the bed and hovered half over Dean. He undid Dean’s jeans and pulled them down, but it wasn’t rushed or hungry anymore. Sam moved slowly, as if he knew just how likely Dean was to lose his grip. He pulled Dean’s briefs down, leaving Dean completely naked, spread out on his back, waiting for Sam. But Sam didn’t move to remove his own jeans and ignored Dean’s half-erection.
Dean reached up to pull Sam down on top of him but Sam stopped him. Dean’s hand was gripping Sam’s shoulder and Sam grabbed it into his own, looked at it, a crease appearing on his brow.
“You’re hurt. Already, really? Seriously?”
Dean’s knuckles had been stinging all day, though he’d forgotten about it once he was with Sam.
“Breaking through a goddamned wooden box will do that to you.” Dean was still a little surprised every time he heard the impact Hell had on his voice, but considering how turned on he was, he probably would have sounded about as raspy either way.
“Next time I’ll have to invest in something tougher to break out of, I guess,” Sam teased, bringing the offending knuckles to his lips.
Sam was only 16 when they discovered how good it felt to lick each other’s wounds when they weren’t severe enough for antibiotics. Sam pressed wet kisses against each finger, even the ones that weren’t cut, and sucked lightly on the ones that were.
When he finished and let Dean’s hand drop away, Dean could see a thin strand of saliva between his brother’s lips and his fingers and he felt his dick twitch demandingly.
“Sam, come on,” Dean begged.
Sam licked his lips and brought them so close to Dean’s ear he could feel Sam’s hot breath on his neck.
“You miss your scars, Dean?”
Dean made a noise that was supposed to be “yes.”
Sam moved down until his head was resting on Dean’s shoulder.
“August 1996. Texas, I think. Shapeshifter. You saved nine people.” Sam pressed his lips where the scar used to be and sucked hard until Dean knew there would be a dark mark left on his skin.
Sam sat up, straddled Dean’s hips, and looked over his body as if he could see the scars and just couldn’t decide which one to remind Dean of.
“January 16th, 2007. Rhode Island. Possessed school teacher. Twenty kids.” Sam pressed his lips right into the middle of Dean’s chest and, again, marked Dean where the scar had been.
Sam moved off to Dean’s left side and his fingers traced an area around the handprint on Dean’s shoulder.
“Don’t, Sam. We don’t know what did it. I don’t want you to touch it.”
“It brought you back, it can’t be that bad.”
“It has to be that bad, Sam, nothing that isn’t evil could have gotten me out.”
Sam didn’t argue, but he ignored Dean’s order, put his mouth around the index finger and left the skin that wasn’t burnt pink a much darker shade of red.
“Spring 2002. Fucking Utah, of all places. A ghoul. Married couple, their parents, and the dog. Remember the werewolf in July ’97? Dad let you kill it; it was your first one. It could have gotten the whole town.”
As Sam spoke he made his way down Dean’s body, positioning himself between Dean’s thighs and letting his tongue run along the skin dangerously close to Dean’s now very hard cock.
“I patched it up for you. God, it was like torture, Dean. I wanted you so bad already.”
Dean whimpered out his brother’s name and Sam repeated the action over and over until most, if not all, of Dean’s scars were back. Dean almost couldn’t take the moment in; it was too perfect after too many years of torture to be real. When he’d lost count of his own wounds, Sam had filed each one away in his memory, knew the shape, when they happened, how-and now he was giving them back to Dean, forcing Dean to see that he had still done those things, that he had been missed.
Sam was kissing Dean again when Dean realized he’d forgotten at least one scar. His biggest and ugliest, it used to run most of the way down the right side of his body. Dean was glad he had. He couldn’t remember what it came from but he always associated it with guilt, hated the damn thing. And then Sam’s fingers traced the long line that had once been stitches along Dean’s side.
“Do you remember this one?”
“No,” Dean lied.
“Stupid mistake. You nearly got yourself killed. You only helped one person, and they wouldn’t have been in trouble if it wasn’t for you. Dad was pissed at you for a week. And it was just a vengeful spirit. You’d killed a hundred of them by then.”
Sam paused and kissed Dean again and then went down and traced the line with his tongue before beginning a series of hungry kisses. Sam sucked so hard that Dean was sure the marks wouldn’t go away for a month.
“Why, Sam? I don’t want to remember that.”
Sam continued until the purple line was complete and then looked up meaningfully into Dean’s eyes.
“May 2nd, 1995. My birthday present. Dad let me go on my first hunt. You were hovering and nervous, and the ghost caught on. It aimed a freaking television at me knowing you would try to catch it and you took a pretty bad fall. It was the first time you saved my life, Dean.”
Dean valiantly managed to blink back the tears, but he knew that his voice would break if he said anything, so he sat quietly and waited for his brother to make the next move.
Sam undid his jeans and slipped out of his clothing, pressing himself against Dean, soothing him with his hands, and maybe soothing himself with the knowledge that Dean was there and he could touch him again.
“You want me, Sammy?” Dean finally offered, pushing himself a little more into Sam’s embrace.
“No,” Sam replied; it hadn’t been what Dean had expected to hear.
Sam pulled out of the embrace and sat next to Dean with his body folded up, arms wrapped around his legs the way he used to sit when he was a kid and something was making him feel threatened.
“I need to feel you, Dean. I’m so scared you’re not real.”
Dean wasn’t entirely convinced he could trust this, either, but if there was anywhere on Earth he could go that would make him feel alive, it was deep inside of Sam. He turned to face his brother, sure that the uneasiness he saw there was just as pronounced on his own countenance. Dean put one hand on Sam’s cheek reassuringly and attempted to sound convinced over the doubts still filling his head.
“Don’t be scared, baby. I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
Sam nodded but his eyes were still moist.
“You don’t know what it’s been like, Dean, what I’ve been like. You can’t imagine the things-“
Dean shut his brother up with a kiss, stubbornly determined not to let Sam’s mind go to dark places. He knew they would have to talk about it eventually, that he would have to hear about how hard it was for Sam and swallow the urge to tell Sam what he’d been through for him, what he’d done, but this moment was not about that. It was happy, they had each other, and that was more than Dean could process as it was. It worked-Sam relaxed into Dean’s kiss and neither brother broke it.
Dean’s lust grew with every tiny sound Sam made as their tongues slid together and Sam, though still tucked into himself, pulled Dean closer. Dean’s hands began to rove from Sam’s cheek: cradling his neck, caressing his chest, still kissing, he came to rest on Sam’s thigh. Sam didn’t open up to him, so Dean slid his fingers in between his thick legs, moved his hand up Sam’s thigh until he was just hardly brushing Sam’s balls and the base of his cock.
Sam finally broke his lips from Dean’s, crying out as Dean slowly coaxed his thighs apart, a second hand joined the first, both resting close enough to Sam’s groin to give him a painful hunger and no satisfaction as they moved away from each other. Once Sam was completely spread open, Dean repositioned his body, hovering over Sam, in between his spread legs. He felt his mouth go dry as he looked down at his little brother, all spread out and vulnerable and begging for him with wide eyes.
Dean felt eager and nervous, as if they’d never done this before. He cupped Sam’s face again, rubbed Sam’s bottom lip with his thumb and Sam’s mouth opened automatically, sucking on the digits that Dean offered him savagely.
Dean pulled his wet fingers out of Sam’s mouth and Sam swallowed hard as his eyes followed Dean’s hand down, down, until his slippery index finger was softly pushing against Sam’s hole and Sam was begging Dean to just get on with it. Dean didn’t want to tease Sam, didn’t want to delay being with him a moment longer. He pushed into Sam, moving quickly without losing his tenderness.
“More,” Sam pleaded.
Dean pulled away and fed two fingers into the tight opening. He felt the tension melt away as the fingers began to move apart and back together slowly. Sam rocked his body into Dean’s touch and Dean stimulated his brother, too many years in Hell were still not enough to make Dean forget how to find the place inside Sam that made him thrash and gasp with ecstasy.
“That’s enough, that’s enough. Dean, come on. You, I want you.”
Dean nodded, pulling out and then he realized with annoyance that he was still dry.
“Lube. Where’s your lube, Sam?”
“Don’t need it, please, just go.”
“No, Sammy, I’m not going to let this hurt you, not even a little bit.”
Sam kicked his foot petulantly and gestured towards the duffel on the floor next to the bed.
“Bottom of the front pocket.” Dean leaned over the side and began to fumble through the bag. “Hurry up, it’s been months.”
Years, Dean silently corrected; he didn’t need to be told how much they both wanted this. Dean found the bottle and instantly looked away from it as he squeezed some of the liquid onto his palm. He didn’t want to see if it was the same one he’d left behind, or try to remember if there was more in it then than there was now. The girl had been more than enough. Dean knew Sam must have been with other people during those four lonely months, but the thought of another man touching his brother made his mouth taste sour.
Dean slicked himself up, fisting his cock a couple of times before letting it go and moving closer to Sam. He pressed himself against Sam’s hole and leaned in to kiss his brother as he pushed in.
He set the pace: slow, comforting, and for the first time ever, Sam matched his rhythm without the slightest challenge or disconnect. Even when Dean had been on top, Sam had always kept at least a little control for himself; long legs wrapped around Dean and the heels of his feet would push into Dean’s ass, directing his thrusts, Sam’s hands would grip his brother’s back, fingers dug in so tight there would be bruises the next day as Sam supported his deliberate, powerful hip movements up onto Dean’s cock. But now Sam moved only to follow Dean’s lead, his heels pushed into the mattress as one hand held tight to the amulet around Dean’s neck and the other softly rested on the back of Dean’s head. Dean’s mouth was on his brother’s neck and Sam’s gasps were all he could hear.
“Sam,” Dean gasped against sweating skin. “My Sammy.”
“Yours,” Sam agreed shakily. “Always, Dean. Only yours.”
Holding himself up with one arm, Dean was now the one leaving fingerprint bruises on Sam’s hips. He moved slowly until he was cupping Sam’s ass. He felt Sam tighten and release around his cock and realized that Sam’s was still completely ignored. He moved immediately to grip his brother’s dick.
“Mmm, Sammy. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
Sam froze.
“Don’t, I don’t want you to touch me,” he demanded urgently.
“But Sam-“
“I don’t need you to. God, it feels so good, I just need you. Just like this, nice and slow. You know exactly what to do to me, Dean. You’re gonna make me come so hard.”
Dean buried his face back in his brother’s neck, inhaled his scent, and willed himself not to come just from hearing Sam’s words.
“I missed you so much, Sammy. I don’t know how long I can last.”
“You’re going to last as long as I need you to. Because that’s what you do, Dean.”
And he was right. Dean would find a way to last until Sam’s load rushed out and hit his stomach, because that was what Sam wanted and nothing else mattered. Dean angled himself into Sam’s sweet spot, hitting it with every stroke, and Sam’s cries got louder with each thrust.
Finally, Sam tensed and Dean knew it was a matter of moments. He braced himself for it, the first time he would ever do this to Sam. He’d gotten close, and Sam had done it to him a few times, but Dean had never made Sam come untouched. The first time they’d been together, Sam had sucked Dean off and he came in his pants, but this was different. This was Dean making Sam feel so good that Dean knew he would nearly black out from it.
“I’m close, I’m so close. You can let go, Dean, I’m gonna come.”
But Dean held on until Sam arched forward, wrapping both his arms around Dean’s neck as he called out Dean’s name. Dean felt the heavy impact of Sam’s thick orgasm on his belly-more than Sam had ever come. He kept right on thrusting the entire time Sam was coming and through Sam’s aftershocks. When Sam was done, Dean let everything that had been trying to explode out of him for too many long minutes fill his brother up and fell to his side, deep breathes to try to somehow settle himself. Dean felt Sam turn his body and wrap it around Dean; they lay there in their mess while Sam pressed kisses against Dean’s bare back. Dean spent his first night back on Earth in the same place he’d spent his last night, wrapped up in Sam and feeling safe despite the promise of disaster. It was something they both needed and Dean slept there comfortably for months, even when they began to slip away from each other.
Every night before they fell asleep, even when they were too tired to fuck, Sam renewed the mark along Dean’s side. Every morning, Dean saw it, dark against his pale skin in the bathroom mirror, and knew Sam still thought he was a hero. Dean was no hero, couldn’t remember back to a time when he was, but he was sure this had to be better.
[7]