Blue Skies From Rain Part 4 - Chapter 20 cont.
*
The chocolate ice cream came after Sam and Dean were mostly finished with their chicken a la king. At least that’s what Sam thought it was supposed to be, though it tasted mostly like flour; the chunks of celery were underdone and the noodles were soggy. He was just drinking his milk when he saw Neland come in through the main door, going straight for the silver doors that led to the back of the serving area. He looked at Dean, and Dean looked at him, and smiled. Sam had been nervous that maybe Neland was going to forget or pretend he’d never promised them ice cream, but it looked like that wasn’t the case.
A second later, Neland came out, followed by one of the kitchen workers, who carried a tray with two huge bowls on it. Neland held his head up high because so many eyes were on him, the eyes of patients who could focus anyway, and marched towards their table, important and in charge. When he arrived at their table, he waved at the kitchen worker, who placed the two bowls on the table. Neland pointed at them with a flourish.
“Piles of chocolate ice cream,” said Neland, loudly. “As promised.”
Dean looked at the bowls, and Sam realized that Dean had also been worried that Neland might have decided to back out. But Dean played it cool. He lifted his head and nodded at Neland like they were old pals, with an understanding going way back.
“Thanks, boss” he said. “Any more favors you need, you just ask, okay?”
This actually made Neland smile. “Yeah, right.” Because of course, an orderly had the power to say where, and when, and how, and a patient in a mental institution had no rights at all. They were getting ice cream because Neland wanted them to, and for no other reason. Sam couldn’t figure out how one smile could tell him all of this, but it did. As he looked at Dean, he knew that Dean had come to the same conclusion. Still, there were two huge bowls of ice cream, which would certainly take away the sting of being reminded of their place.
Neland went away, taking all the pairs of eyes with him, and that didn’t bother Sam, not one bit. He handed Dean a spoon, and took the other one for himself. Then he pushed the bowl that had more ice cream towards Dean, and grabbed the other bowl that had less.
“Sam,” said Dean, and Sam knew what that meant; Dean had meant for it to go the other way.
“I shouldn’t always get more,” Sam said. He took a big spoonful of ice cream that was just getting soft around the edges. It was fake ice cream, of course, in a place like this, it would be what they had, that’s all. Still. It was creamy and sweet and cold and slid down his throat like the real thing. “Besides you did the wheeling and dealing. So eat. And shut up.”
“Okay,” said Dean, laughing under his breath. He pulled his bowl close to him and circled his arm around it as though protecting it from all comers. He put a huge spoonful of ice cream in his mouth and groaned around it, his eyes half closing. “Oh, man. This was a long time coming.”
Sam licked his fingers, and then licked the curve of the spoon, which was cool against his tongue. He couldn’t agree more.
*
As they brushed their teeth, Dean was unaccountably nervous. He’d done this before to girls to make them howl, but he’d never had it done to him, and he felt pretty sure that that’s the way it had to go. There were only so many things he could do and feel okay about once he was able to walk away from everything that had happened. Getting pleasure out of fucking his little brother was not one of them, so it had to be the other way around.
He didn’t think that Sam would mind, really, and once they got going, their bodies would know what to do, he felt pretty sure of that. What was really knocking at him was the way his body wanted it, he was half hard already, his stomach tight, anticipation building along the back of his neck as he watched Sam wash his face. Brush his teeth. Put on his p.j.’s. Everything. Randy would have been howling in indignation, had he been there. Watching them. He’d have known what was coming. Like Dean knew, even if Sam didn’t. And why the hell was he thinking about Randy?
Dean spit into the sink and got into his p.j.’s; he’d stuck the lotion under the pillow when they’d first come into the room to get rid of their pills, and couldn’t understand, as he climbed into bed with Sam, why he felt like a 16-year old on his first date. All fluttery and sweaty, when this was okay, this was what Sam wanted, and what Dean was prepared to give him.
At least he thought this was what Sam wanted. What if he didn’t anymore?
The chime in the hall had sounded and now the lights went out. Dean lay back on the pillow and took a breath, pulling Sam into his arms, in the dark. Getting a mouthful of hair. He listened to Sam sigh, felt his muscles relax, and that was a good thing, Sam relaxed, feeling safe to be where he was. If Sam didn’t want this, then maybe Dean would feel foolish, but Sam would feel wanted. And that was what mattered.
“Hey, Sam,” he said, almost whispering. His heart was smacking against his ribs.
“Yeah?”
“So remember when we were talking about making the girls howl?”
“Uh-huh.” Sam’s body stiffened a little alongside him. Listening now.
“Remember how you wanted to do that? You and me? You still wanna?”
Sam made a funny grunt in his throat, like someone had punched him, but before Dean had time to worry that maybe Sam was having a seizure or something, Sam moved. He was on top of Dean, pressing down on him, cupping his face, planting kisses everywhere he could reach. Dean’s arms came up and circled Sam, pulling Sam to him.
Sam still hadn’t said anything, so Dean said, “I take that as a yes?”
“Uh-huh.” Funny, articulate Sammy, lost for words. For once.
“But you gotta-” Dean stopped to reach back under his pillow for the lotion. He could feel Sam’s eyes on him, watching, glinting in the half-dark. He put the lotion in the curve of Sam’s hand, felt the plastic next to his face, and the heat of Sam’s fingers as he pulled his hand away to see what Dean had given him. “You get to, you see? And I’ll be under, on the bottom.”
Dean started to turn over, to put his face in the pillow so that Sam would understand what he meant without him having to explain it any further. He was a guy, and guys didn’t, well, he didn’t, except now he was going to let Sam-and his throat felt too tight almost even to breathe. This was stupid, he felt stupid and foolish, even if it was Sam, only Sam who-
Sam stopped him with a hand, curving around Dean’s neck, holding him still with his big hands. But gently. And warm.
“You ever do this before?” asked Sam.
This question made sense, because of course Sam had never done anything like this, not with the blanks in his memory. But then again, maybe he remembered some of it, maybe there were images or echoes through his body that would show him how to do it. So why was he asking?
“Uh,” said Dean. “To, but not-not from.” His neck felt hot under Sam’s hand and he wanted to squirm. Big, bad, rough and tough Dean Winchester, lying in bed in his loony bin pajamas that might as well have bats and belfries on them as be plain white cotton. With his brother on top of him, on a narrow bed with thin sheets and not enough pillow. Trying to find a way to explain Tab A and Slot B sex to someone who couldn’t remember beyond four weeks ago and wouldn’t that be a story for the boys back home.
Only there weren’t any boys back home. There was only Sam. “I, uh, never like this.” It was all he could manage.
Sam shifted, tipping his head close enough so that Dean could feel the brush of Sam’s eyelashes on his cheeks, against his nose, as Sam kissed him, gently, there and there and there. Feather whispers that made the skin on Dean’s neck tighten. And then Sam kissed him under his ear, where the skin was soft and waiting. Wanting.
“Oh,” said Sam, his voice going low as the word turned into a sigh. “Then I’m your first.”
“I guess so,” said Dean, wishing he could think of something better than that. So he swallowed, lips numb. “You’re the only one. There’s never been anybody else.”
More kisses, and Dean realized that Sam’s eyes were wet, and that his hands on Dean’s face quivered, so Dean kissed him back, his arms snaking around Sam’s neck, a little hard, so the full of Sam’s weight was on him. Dense thighs sank against his, heat building up, and a little friction too, that was nice. He shifted his hips to get some more of that and the tenseness in his neck started to slip away.
And then slip away some more, when Sam took his hands down and tugged at the hem of Dean’s pajama top, pulling upwards, rough, not waiting, so Dean had to lift his arms and let Sam pull. Something ripped as Sam made the final tug, but he was tossing the top aside where it landed somewhere in the dark as Sam planted kisses on Dean’s chest, licking, his tongue warm. Dean found himself arching into Sam’s mouth. Suddenly the bed was just the right size, and they both had too many clothes on.
“Here,” he said. “You too.”
He tried to tug on Sam’s pajama top, but Sam was in charge now and sat up all the way in the bed, his heat suddenly gone from Dean’s skin. He took off his top and then stood up to take off his pajama bottoms and boxers, a dark outline now, beside the bed. He only had time to blink before Sam was on the bed again, his knees pressing against Dean’s leg, his hands curling around the waistband of Dean’s pajamas, stretching the elastic of his boxers.
“Ready?”
“Uh,” was all Dean could say, because he knew what Sam was going to do. His stomach dipped low, muscles clenching, and then Sam did it. One, hard jerk of his hands and Dean’s pajamas were halfway down his thighs, his rock hard cock was hot against his stomach, and why did that feel so good, the feeling of his legs being tangled and trapped, his thighs bare. Because then Sam dipped down and licked the length of Dean’s cock with his tongue while he slowly, oh so slowly pulled Dean’s pajama bottoms all the way down. One final tug and they were off Dean’s feet, to disappear into the darkness.
Then Sam was on him again, the full length of him, skin to skin, warm and shifting, lining up his hips with Dean’s, bringing his knee up between Dean’s legs to push just a little bit. His pubic hair scratched along Dean’s thigh, making Dean’s skin prickle and shiver. Sam’s hands cupped Dean’s face, and he licked Dean’s mouth, tasting just a little bit like Dean and a whole lot like Sam. Warm and salty, and Dean pushed into the kiss, liking the taste, the smell of Sam’s skin, the feel of Sam’s hair brushing against his cheek.
“So, okay,” said Sam. He was reaching in the dark for the lotion, and Dean tightened up because he suddenly didn’t want to have to explain the mechanics of this to Sam. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, but if he had to, it would just make it too real, and that would jerk them out of this slice of time that they had between them, where the dark room in a mental hospital was theirs, and the outside world mattered not at all.
Sam had the bottle of lotion in his hand; Dean could feel the coolness of the moisture on Sam’s hand as he moved it down the length of Dean’s body. He curled his other arm under Dean’s shoulder, pulling him close. Dean had to swallow and swallow again, because his breath was going to come out in a high whistle if he had to explain that he did not want to be doing this face to face, he couldn’t do it and look at Sam, look into his eyes, because the big fat lie he’d been telling all this while that this was something to help Sam would suddenly be something that could hurt Sam. And then none of it would make any difference because nothing was worth that.
“Hey, now,” said Sam. He stroked Dean’s hip for a second, as one of his long leg moved over Dean’s. Dean heard the pop of the lid, and his heart started to jackhammer, and his mouth came open as he tried to get some air. He was hot all over, too hot, and sweating, slick against Sam. And in a second Sam was going to figure out that something was not right.
Sam dipped his hand between Dean’s legs, fingers cool with the lotion, stroking the flesh where Dean’s balls were hard and tucked up against him. The cool made him shiver, but Sam kept stroking and petting, and Dean had to finally tuck his face into Sam’s shoulder, smelling Sam’s sweat, his mouth against skin, the pound of Sam’s heart coming up. And that was better, Sam was nervous too. Only a little, though, his hand between Dean’s legs was confident and sure, stroking over and over, and going a little lower each time.
“Hey,” said Sam, whispered kisses against Dean’s forehead. “When we’re ready, you can turn over, okay? I just want this now, you and me, like this.”
Dean whooshed out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and tried to relax. He tucked his arm that wasn’t trapped beneath Sam up against his chest to give Sam some room and then he nodded. Saying okay, okay was simply beyond him, he’d had no idea how hard it would be to let go like this and just give it up, simply because someone asked you to, and you trusted them enough to say yes. His eyes felt hot. He opened his mouth, reaching out his tongue to taste Sam, sucking a little with his mouth, a little dizzy, blinking, letting his mouth relax as Sam got some more lotion and kept stroking.
The lotion got a little warmer, but it still felt slick, and smooth, and when Sam’s fingers dipped low enough to trace up along the line between Dean’s legs, and to finally dip in between Dean’s buttocks to circle around his asshole, Dean’s whole body jerked, and he had to grip at Sam, fingers digging into Sam’s ribs.
“Easy, okay? Easy. I’m not going to hurt you.” Sam paused to kiss the top of Dean’s head, and Dean closed his eyes. If anyone could be gentle with this scary thing, it was Sam. Sam who loved him. Dean swallowed and nodded against Sam’s chest. Okay, okay.
Sam’s fingers kept moving, circling around and around, softly pushing into Dean’s asshole, and circling back out, cool and slick, and when the shivers started to make Dean’s skin warm, Sam pushed inside Dean’s body, just a little, and then pulled out. He paused to get some more lotion, and then circled again, and push in, and Dean realized he was moving, pushing his legs apart to give Sam more room. Pushing back into Sam’s hand as Sam pushed a finger in, blunt, the nail feeling sharp against tender skin. Dean groaned with the feeling of it, and the thought of it, what it was. Not so bad, oh God, definitely not so bad.
“Yeah, now, that’s it,” said Sam, husky and low, rumbling from his chest.
More lotion, Dean’s spine tingled with the snap of the lid on the bottle of lotion, and shivered when Sam’s hand was on him again. Circling low, pushing his legs apart with the width of Sam’s palm as it cupped Dean’s balls, and then Sam was pushing in two fingers, so gently and slow that Dean grit his teeth and pushed back, wanting it a little bit more, a little bit more of that. Sam obliged him, giving his fingers a little shove, stronger than a push, but gentle still. Careful. Sam’s fingers were warm inside of him, and as the muscles around the fingers pushed and flexed, something warm spread out from his stomach, and then Sam spread his fingers apart, like he knew what the fuck he was doing and even if he didn’t, it felt perfect. Just like it should and no wonder the girls howled.
But it was beyond him to say anything like this, his brain couldn’t connect with his mouth to articulate any of it. He gripped Sam’s rib muscles with his hand, and made a sound low in his throat, barely able to manage that much. The heat was building up between their skins, ripples of pleasure pushing out as the heat soaked in, and sweat streaked along his neck.
Sam’s hand was slick against Dean’s thigh as he pulled his fingers out, and then he did something down there, and pushed back in, three fingers, almost hard, but it felt good and solid, still careful, and then Sam twisted his fingers to the side, reaching in, reaching a spot that Dean had heard about, yeah, what guy hadn’t, and he made a sound that came out a surprised yip, and he felt Sam make a satisfied sound, like a sigh, knew that Sam was smiling. Dean tried to say something, wanted to say something, but could only pet Sam’s chest, reach up for his throat, patting with the tips of his fingers. He swallowed hard, and did his best.
“Go,” he said. Or at least he meant to say go, it came out a grunt instead.
“Yeah,” said Sam. He pulled Dean to him till Dean was resting on his side, his back pressed against Sam’s chest, and moved his hand to keep pushing his fingers in and pulling them out, over and over, clicking on that one spot each and every time, making Dean shiver down to his toes as he pressed down and down, wanting it harder. He wanted it so much harder, his toes were curling with wanting it.
Then Sam pulled out and his hands were on Dean’s shoulders, sticky with lotion, hot with being inside Dean. Dean got one glimpse of Sam’s face, from the light from the high window, Sam’s hair in his eyes, eyes glinting, mouth open, pleasure waiting, tucking in close for a fast kiss that made the inside of Dean’s mouth jump. Sam pulled back, and with a little smile, he pushed Dean down, face down into the pillow and the mattress, and from somewhere far off, Dean heard the click of the lotion bottle being opened and closed. A second later and Sam was on top of him, thighs between Dean’s thighs, warm, the hair on Sam’s legs tangling with his own, Sam’s cock, hard, dipping down to push a little, along the length of Dean’s thighs and up, a heavy, warm weight between Dean’s buttocks.
Sam’s hand stroked in long lines across Dean’s hips and up and down his spine, pushing up Dean’s arms so he could rest his head on them, gentling some of the shiver out of his muscles. Then Dean felt Sam bend close, planting small kisses on his ribs, soft enough, dandelion wishes, Sam’s mouth, eyelashes flickering along Dean’s spine. He knew Sam was kneeling now, planting those kisses that felt warm, like being worshipped and Dean knew he’d never felt like that, before, with anyone else. Only with Sam, who could have anything he wanted from Dean, just by asking for it, was taking his time. For Dean. Hands long and warm, kisses soft, hair falling forward to brush the back of Dean’s neck. Slow and sweet and full of love.
Dean was cold, wanted Sam on him, full on him, and in him, and he tried to say this, wondering why he’d ever been scared of this, wanting, Sam all over, hands and heartbeat and skin and warm. And Sam. Anywhere. Everywhere.
Sam lay down on top of him, finally, half to the side, where he could move between Dean’s legs, still with his weight bearing down, as if he knew how Dean liked it, and Dean felt Sam’s fingers, there up high, pushing in a little, making way. And then Sam settled back, his weight shifting, the round, hot head of his cock pressing into Dean’s body a little and Dean rose up. He couldn’t help it, but Sam petted him, and waited a little moment, breathing nice and slow, until Dean felt his neck relax and he dipped his head down into the pillow. Wanting to nod or say something about how he was ready, oh, so very ready.
With a small kiss to the top of his spine, Sam shifted down, and pushed, and paused, his cock filling Dean and pressing him open, Sam’s cockhead a flair of pressure along his insides. His stomach muscles shivering and Sam’s skin hot and slick against his backside. He moved a little, pressing, so that Sam would know it was okay, and he was okay, though his hands had a grip on the pillow tight enough to tear, his jaw tight as Sam pushed, and his cock was warm, pressing in, slipping a little, the lotion slick and warm now as Sam pushed. Dean could feel the muscles in Sam’s thighs tight, holding himself back, Sam wanting to be gentle like he had promised, but it was going to take forever if they kept like this, and Dean knew he couldn’t wait. Didn’t want to. So he lifted his hips and tightened his knees and pushed back hard, surprising himself, making a sudden, high sound because it was so tight it hurt, just for a second, like he was being ripped open.
Sam made a sound, low, like dismay. “Dean,” he said, his hands on Dean’s hips. “Dean.”
It felt sharp and not nice, like someone was slicing him from the inside out, but his body told him there was something else, something beyond that pain, so he shifted back. “Up,” he said, knowing what he meant, hoping Sam would because he couldn’t manage more than that without cluing Sam in to how much this fucking hurt. And then Sam would stop, and Dean didn’t want that. “Up,” he said again.
Sam’s fingers curled around Dean’s hips and tugged, and then tugged again, Sam’s strong hands pulling Dean to him, so Dean was on his hands and knees. As the angle changed and Sam’s cock thrust deep inside of him, all at once the nasty, slicing feeling faded into something deeper, smooth, the right angle now, and Dean groaned and pressed back. That was it, that was it. Right. There.
Sam was all the way in him fully sheathed now, tight and hard, and Dean felt full, felt the pulsing warmth of Sam’s cock, from the inside. He could feel the hard planes of Sam’s stomach along his own backside, the warmth of his groin, and sweat, Sam was sweating, soaking heat into Dean’s skin.
“Dean?” asked Sam.
“Push.” It came out like he was growling, and he got it now, so much of it, what the girls liked and why. “Push, damnit.”
Sam pushed, his hands gripping Dean’s hips, with his slick heavy cock, that felt tight and mean inside of him, Sam’s pubic hair scratching the backs of Dean’s thighs, he’d not known it felt like that, but he wanted it. Sam pulled out and Dean shifted back into it, wanting Sam to slam back in. Sam did, picking up the rhythm, pushing his cock in and pulling out, fingers tight, almost too tight, pressing into bone, leaving bruises, but that was good, he wanted that weight, that force that would keep him from spinning right off the bed. Sam leaned into him, thighs flexing, pumping, like a heartbeat, pushing inside of him now, and Dean felt his stomach start to curl up, and he wanted Sam, wanted him closer. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he opened them, and reached back.
“Sam,” he said, thready, gasping. “Sam.”
Sam leaned close, moving his hips, sliding his cock in and out of Dean, his damp chest along Dean’s back, mouth hot on Dean’s shoulder.
“Yeah?”
Dean couldn’t even speak, but he wanted Sam’s hands on him, his cock was like an iron band against his own belly, and the muscles in his stomach were clenching and sparks were building up in his brain, and he wanted Sam there for that, he wanted Sam’s hands. So he reached back and pulled Sam to him, circling Sam’s fingers around his cock with his own, and it was slippery, but Sam shifted his weight, holding on, pumping Dean’s cock up and down, pumping into Dean’s ass at an angle, and then, he sank in hard and pressed down, his chest a long, hot line along Dean’s back.
Dean felt Sam’s teeth, on the back of his neck. Closing in, biting, sharp, almost enough to break the skin, and Dean felt it. Deep inside his gut, like a scream that broke forth as he came in Sam’s hand, his hips jerking, mindless. And Sam, inside him, pumping hard, and pulsing, Dean could feel Sam come inside of him, gushing, heat spreading as Sam’s cock pulsed inside of him. Streaking heat deep into him, marking him. Making him Sam’s. Slowing as Sam’s body relaxed, spent. Dean’s arms gave out, and he collapsed face down, sweaty on the pillow, Sam a huge, hot weight all over him. There was a small popping sound as Sam’s cock slipped out of him, still half hard, and wet, his seed spilling down over Dean’s thighs.
And then Sam flopped backwards onto the mattress, letting in a stream of cool air along Dean’s back, and his neck, still throbbing from Sam’s bite. Sam let out a gasping breath, arms wide, trying to get cool, even as Dean thought he could hear Sam’s heart pounding. Dean leaned back and spread out himself, breathing, rolling over to let his chest cool and his legs stop trembling. The sheets were all rucked beneath them, damp in spots, the air smelling of salt and spent sex, but the cool of the room felt good, and this had been good. All of it. If Sam remembered anything, Dean wanted him to remember this. Feeling good like this.
“So yeah,” said Dean, after taking a breath. “About that.”
Sam let out a whoosh of air that Dean realized was a laugh.
“You howled,” said Sam, gasping.
“Did not.”
“Yeah you did. You so did.”
“Did not.”
“Just like a girl, yeah.”
Sam sounded so pleased with himself that Dean wasn’t sure whether he wanted to feel irritated or not. “I’m not a girl,” he said, finally settling on that.
Then Sam shifted on the bed, all one hot line against Dean’s side, their sweat mixing to slip down between them, lacing into the sheets. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean knew that whoever did the sheets would know exactly what had gone on. But with Sam’s hand flat on his chest, moving up to touch his throat, with Sam’s mouth on his jaw, moving higher to lick at the corner of his mouth that Sam seemed obsessed with, well, he just couldn’t make himself care about anything else.
“No,” said Sam. Agreeing. “You’re not a girl.” He moved back on top of Dean, hot now, and heavy and sweaty, tangling his legs with Dean and kissing him, lacing his tongue in Dean’s mouth with a swirl and salt, making Dean’s lips tingle, spreading sparks down the back of his throat. Dean didn’t want to push Sam off. Not when Sam could use his tongue like that.
“You’re definitely no girl,” said Sam, taking a breath. “You’re my Dean, though. Mine.”
Dean smiled into Sam’s mouth, the inside of his lips flickering with the sweep of Sam’s mouth, the taste of him. His stomach jumping, because he was feeling the blood rush to his cock and there might be other interesting things Sam might want to do with that mouth. As for everything else, the plan, the goddamn plan to escape, well, that would just have to wait. He was making Sam feel good, feel strong, and yeah, the strength in Sam’s hands as they pushed Dean back into the pillow, that felt good too. Everything else would just have to wait.
*
When Sam whispered to Dean as they stood in line, the gleam beneath the line of Dean’s eyelashes promised kisses later. When his hands accidentally brushed against Dean’s when they were folding towels, the skin on the back of Dean’s hand would tighten, letting Sam know that Dean would want more of that later. When they ate their supper, and Dean licked his lips, he would pretend not to notice that Sam was watching him. Eyes idle, looking across the dining hall, as if Sam wasn’t right there, his knee pressed against Sam’s knee.
And just when Sam was sure that Dean had forgotten Sam was even there, his eyes would light on Sam, and narrow like he was trying not to smile. Then his eyes would glint and his mouth would quirk up, and he would look away, a flush on his cheeks that told Sam that Dean was only teasing. Because he could and because, Sam knew, it was almost too much for Dean. He couldn’t say the words, and while he’d obviously enjoyed what they did in the dark, the light of day was just too bright. That was just Dean’s way.
So Sam tipped his head and smiled, looking away to give Dean some space, some privacy. An oxymoron, really, in the dining hall, where all the tables were full of mental patients, and the spaces in between monitored by orderlies, all of whom valued their jobs. He caught Dean’s eyes and blinked, slow, looking up at Dean through his lashes. Flirting, just a little bit. Watching Dean smile, just a little bit, flirting right back. That was the way it was supposed to be. Just like this. Just like this.
Chapter 21
Blue Skies From Rain Master Fic Post