Blue Skies From Rain Part 6 - Chapter 28

[lovesrain44]

 

Dean rolled to his back, wincing as he moved his knee too fast. It had stiffened up on him while he slept, and now his toes were caught in the blanket. Sam was sitting on the other bed, bare footed, elbows on his knees, chin resting in his hands. Waiting. Watching Dean while he slept. Dean’s chest tightened, even if Sam’s face didn’t tell him anything, Sam had been given time to think and now had come back for more. He’d be more dangerous because he’d had time to focus.

There was a bundled towel by Dean’s leg that hadn’t been there before, and when he lifted it, the heft and crinkle told him it was more ice freshly wrapped in plastic in the towel. For his leg. He put it gently on the top of his knee, sighing as the cold soaked into the ache. Some more aspirin might also be a good idea, but Dean had a feeling that there was a huge and difficult conversation coming, blocking his way between now and anything else, including the rest of his life.

“Thanks,” he said.

Sam only nodded.

He looked Sam in the eye and grit his teeth, knowing that he could write it off as pain, and not this sudden stabbing fear that whatever Sam had on his mind would change them forever.

Sam looked back at him, steadily, not a muscle moving in his face, his eyes glinting a little, but that was the overhead lights, shimmering beneath the slowly turning fan.

“I only have one question for you, Dean,” he said.

Dean gathered his breath and let it sit in his chest, trying to ease the ache before letting it go in one long stream. “Yeah?”

“Why did you leave? Why did you leave like that?”

“I told you why,” said Dean, confused. He worked his jaw, getting pissed, knowing it wouldn’t help.

“No, you didn’t,” said Sam. “You told me about the pills, which I’d already figured out. And you told me why you let us have sex. But you didn’t tell me why you left me.”

“I left you the keys, the money, Bobby’s number-”

“Oh, like he was going to call someone he didn’t know. Someone who wasn’t you.”

Dean stared at the ceiling. His heart was thudding and he wanted to sit up so he could breathe, or back up, or move. But his head was heavy in the pillow, his hands fists at his sides and his knee ached like it was going to break in two. “You say he, like he was somebody else.”

Sam seemed to think about this, and Dean forced himself not to look, making himself wait while Sam ran this around in his brain and stirred and poked, trying to make sense of it. Dean hoped he could, because he sure as hell couldn’t. But there was a truth there, the question of who that Sam had been and who this Sam was. Dean’d often thought of it that way, that Sam and that Dean, who worked in the yard and ate in the dining hall and tumbled under the sheets. And this Sam, mad enough to be thinking sharp and straight and clear, and this Dean-

“He was somebody else,” said Sam, finally. “You didn’t know I was going to get my memory back, so you left us both high and dry.” Dean could hear him try to breathe slow, but he could also almost hear the clicking in Sam’s brain. “You were the only one who knew who we were.”

“Thanks, Sam, ‘cause I so didn’t know that.”

“So what were you afraid of?” Sam’s voice came out reasonable, but Dean knew that tone, the one that said Sam was just building his argument, saving the killing blow for when you least expected it. “That Sam did everything you wanted,” Sam continued. “He was pliable, and obedient, only looking to you for you to tell him what to do-is that why you had sex with him?”

“Shut up, Sam.” Rage made Dean sit up, his knee screaming, but he had to move, up or down or sideways, just to keep from shaking. “That wasn’t it and you know it.”

He tried to glare at Sam, but Sam’s head tipped to one side, in that way that told Dean without words that Sam felt he had everything on his side and was unafraid to show it. Or deal with what would happen after he said it out loud. “So,” said Sam. “Which Sam were you leaving, the Sam that was or the Sam that was going to be? And why?”

Dean’s heart stopped, right in his chest, like someone had slammed down on it with a huge fist. The back of his neck was sweaty and the bag of ice slipped off his knee, nestling between his legs like a cold secret. Sam had him in his sights, eyes blazing, holding perfectly still, not moving towards or away, but there, like an invisible wall between Dean and everything else. Nothing else could exist till he got past Sam.

But then Sam shifted a little, still staying where he was, but relaxing his shoulders, still looking at Dean, but with his head lowered. Looking up at Dean through the hair that had fallen over his eyes. Eyes wide and soft. Mouth a little open, expectant. Looking, so much like, exactly like that Sam, Sam in the hospital. Who looked to Dean to learn how to breathe, and stand up, and be brave. The Sam who had said I love you, Dean.

Dean felt heat shifting over him in waves, skin prickling up, sweat combing through his hair, down his scalp. And still Sam looked like that Sam, and this Sam all at once. Cool as a desert pool, still and quiet, drawing Dean too him, even though he’d not moved a muscle.

“What would you say to that Sam,” asked Sam now, “if he were here instead of me?”

That broke Dean, right there, his heart slicing in two, the feeling of missing that, sharp. He missed Sam so much. What they’d had, the connection between the two of them, joining forces against the hospital, the trust building as they lay together in the dark, Sam taking half and half and half, because Dean had said so. Working at the speed puzzles, his brow furrowed in confusion, owning not a single memory of all the years they’d shared, but believing. Following Dean everywhere, even out beneath the big, open, pouring-with-rain sky. Into the dark, cold night, jumping on trains, jumping off them, for Christ’s sake, just because Dean had said to.

The sex was only part of it, he’d give up the sex for everything else, because he’d screwed up the whole thing so badly, he’d never have Sam trusting him like that, turning to him, only to him because everything else, everyone else, could go to hell for Sam, as long as he had Dean with him. Dean knew he’d give anything to get back to that feeling and in that place in Sam’s heart. But he hadn’t the slightest chance in hell, having screwed it up again and again and again, breaking everything, messing up every chance to do the right thing, and now Sam would never trust him again. And why should he.

Dean braced himself on his arms, and hung his head. His jaw worked, his eyes hot, his throat was closing up and in a minute he was going to lose it, big time. And then Sam would know how Dean felt, how Dean had done what he’d done because he’d wanted it, and then Sam would walk out that door, and Dean would never, ever see him again. Then Dean would walk out into the desert, like he’d thought about before. Just walk out into the desert and die.

Dean felt Sam get up, but he concentrated on focusing on the sheet, rucked between his thighs, the ice melting against him. If Sam touched him, he’d scream. Then he watched as his tears fell in three huge plops on the plastic bag. Loudly. Stupid, fucking-

“I didn’t want you to hate me,” said Dean, rushing his words, gulping. “I didn’t want you to find out-”

Sam’s voice came to him across the gentle air, moved by the slow fan. Soft. “You loved that Sam, didn’t you.”

Dean’s chest heaved, even though he tried to still it, blinking back his tears, his mouth moving as though it wanted to say it. Sam.

Now Sam was standing beside the bed, a dark line out of the corner of Dean’s eyes. In the cool of the room, he could smell Sam’s sweat, the dust of the desert, a touch of rain easing in beneath the door. He felt Sam take a breath.

And then Sam said, “It was horrible. I woke up and you weren’t there. I was all alone, and I thought you didn’t want me any more.”

Which meant that Sam wanted-

“I shouldn’t want you any more.” The words came out before Dean could stop them, exploding up from his gut, ripping through him, out of his mouth. Leaving an echo of silence in the room, as the fan spun overhead.

He heard Sam laugh, low in his throat. Sam got up and went to the window, all legs and surety. He pulled the curtains all the way closed so there was only the slightest bit of light coming through. He turned out all the lights, so it would be dark, like it used to be in the hospital, dark and cool, with a streak of light coming in through the space between the curtains.

Then he went to the bathroom and stood there looking at Dean. “So much of our lives are lies, can’t we just tell the truth this one time? Because, remember, I am that Sam, right here, right now.”

Dean was starting to feel dizzy, mouth open, unable to blink or look away as Sam paused, just about to turn out the bathroom light. Everything he wanted to say was in his chest, exploding out, but unable to get past lips that had gone numb, his mouth unable to work.

Then Sam smiled at him, love sparking there. “You don’t have to say it, Dean. I can see it in your eyes. But then, I always could.”

The light went off, and with the cool, moving air, dark except for the slice of light, it might be-could be- just like the hospital, at night, when the chime had gone off and the lights went off on their own because someone else controlled every moment of their lives. But here, in this room, they controlled it, him and Sam. And Sam had said-

Sam came back to the bed, standing very still. Dean could feel him there, warm and still and careful, like Dean was the one who needed it, the gentleness, the slowness. Giving him the time for his heart to slow down, and the sweat to cool on the back of his neck.

“Do I have your permission?”

It took him a minute to realize that Sam was actually talking to him, asking him a question that was real and not just an echo, a memory of that time in the hospital, when after it had really, really, really been Dean’s fault that Sam had gone into Treatment, he’d wanted to make it up to Sam. Yes, and get them back on track so that Sam would go with him when he went, but also to have that with Sam, that time between them that nothing, not even Sam’s hating him, could take away.

Dean could keep running, but Sam would keep chasing him. That wasn’t why he would stop running, it would be because he wanted to.

Sam seemed to laugh a little then, breathy in the dark air. “I’ll bet our kisses would taste the same as they did in the hospital. Want to see?”

Dean thought of the window in the room they’d shared, high up in the wall, and how the moon seemed to come through and lit up their bed, silver and soft, and knew that he did. He wanted Sam, and he wanted this, and he wanted it forever. He wanted to feel Sam’s touches along his back, on his skin, worshipful and soaking into him, all over, filling him up from the inside, reaching all those empty, blank spaces that the world had left behind. And Sam wanted him, so it was okay. All of it.

Okay, okay.

He reached up and grabbed the back of Sam’s neck with his hand to pull his head down, full of fierce joy and desire and wanting. This. Sam. Everything. Always.

And then he kissed Sam hard, right on the mouth. Felt Sam smile against him, and as Sam tipped his head to kiss him back, his hair brushed against Dean’s skin, full of Sam’s scent, sweet and silky.

Then Sam pulled away, and Dean’s heart hammered as Sam slid into the bed next to him, the sheets felt cool, like a blessing, beneath Dean’s hands. Outside the window, he could hear the roar of the highway, maybe even a coyote in the distance, till the air conditioner kicked on and the white noise filled the room. Low, a like a hum of a sigh in the distance.

“Before I was big, I was little,” said Sam, almost conversationally as he tried to adjust himself and his long length next to Dean.

Dean smiled, and, shaking, pulled Sam to him so he could smile into Sam’s hair and inhale the sweat that pushed through his skin, a little dizzy again, stomach rolling, scared. But his heart was flying out into the blue, blue, wide, big, huge enormous sky that would always be the right size. Because Sam would be there. With him.

Sam butted the top of his head into Dean’s jaw as his arms circled Dean’s waist, pulling himself close, his body one long, familiar line against Dean’s. Dean knew he could die right then but that would be okay, because he had this. He had this.

And then Sam kissed his skin, brushing his eyelashes like more kisses. “You never,” said Sam, whispering into his neck. “You always said-but you wanna? I think it’s my turn for you to be on top. That’s fair.”

Dean wanted to laugh then, it felt good to think of it, Sam eager, wanting him. That he was safe now, safe with Sam in his arms. That he knew everything and still wanted to be there. Dean cleared his throat. “Would I, could I, Sam-I-Am,” said Dean, “but, uh-”

Sam shifted on the bed, just bumping Dean’s thigh with his. He reached over Dean’s legs, and touched the bandage under the sweat pants on Dean’s left knee, his fingers trailing.

“I’ll be careful,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” said Dean, feeling breathless. His heart was racing still, wanting this, his cock stirring to life, almost unable to believe it, except for the reality of Sam, right there in the bed beside him.

Sam bent closer and Dean found Sam’s mouth in the dark, open and sweet, the taste of Sam rushing through him, making him feel, for a second, that they were in that long, narrow bed, under the high bank of windows. In the moonlight, where Sam had teased Dean’s clothes off, and the heat of their bodies was all that kept them warm in the cool air.

“Hurry,” said Sam. “Before you change your mind.”

“No,” said Dean. “No. Not ever. Not-” He paused, remembering what he’d said in the hospital. “Not in a million years.”

Sam pulled away now, on his knees next to Dean, his small laugh muffled as he tugged on Dean’s shirt and pulled it off, tossing it on the other bed. Then slower, careful, he tugged Dean’s boxers and sweat pants down, past the bandage on his legs without touching Dean once, his breath on Dean’s thighs, and Dean’s tight breath eased in his throat. Then Sam got off the bed, and Dean could hear him taking off his own clothes.

“We have to do it this way,” said Sam as he climbed on the bed, and straddled Dean, skin to skin, the silky curve of Sam’s backside warm against Dean’s thighs.

“You ever-” Dean couldn’t quite finish his sentence, though he liked the dense weight of Sam above him in the dark. Holding him down, holding him true to gravity.

“To, but not from,” said Sam, almost snickering. His palms covered Dean’s shoulders as if he meant to push Dean into the mattress, even though he wasn’t. “I’ve made a girl howl a time or two, though you tend to yip.”

“Do not,” said Dean, shifting. His knee protested, so he made himself be still, hands on Sam’s hips, feeling the silky weight of Sam’s balls velvet on his thighs, the dense, heavy feel of Sam’s cock nestled next to his own.

“Yip, yip,” said Sam, now laughing outright. He bent close to kiss Dean on the mouth, sweeping his tongue in, and Dean’s whole body jumped as though Sam had run a sudden electric current through him. He soaked it in, his heart jackhammering through his spine. “Yip,” Sam said again, nipping Dean’s mouth and then licking the spot.

Dean’s cock was starting to come to attention, as if it finally realized what Sam was offering, the position Sam was in, what it meant-and it was still okay, because Sam had asked, he wanted it, and Dean had said yes.

Okay, okay.

“Do we have anything?” he asked, breathless.

“Just spit and patience,” said Sam, blithe, trusting Dean.

Nothing they didn’t have the last time, but though he had a lot of the one, he didn’t have a lot of the other.

He was hard, how, his cock pressing up against his belly, feeling like it could start pumping at any moment, and hang the consequences. He was about to stick his fingers in his mouth to moisten them, then changed his mind. Reaching, he placed his thumb near Sam’s mouth.

“Open.”

Sam opened his mouth, sucking Dean’s fingers in, hard and fast. Dean’s cock gave a thump.

“Easy now,” he said, his heart racing, even though he wanted Sam to hurry.

The slide of Sam’s tongue against the root of his fingers was slick, his stomach was doing double time, holding on, holding it in as Sam’s tongue swirled round and round. Then Dean his fingers out and grabbed Sam’s neck to pull him down.

“You’re too far away,” he said, whispering.

Sam stayed close as though he agreed, tucking low into Dean’s neck, and shifting his weight. He was moving towards the side of Dean’s bad knee, and just as Dean was tightening up to either push Sam off or move out of the way, Sam halted, mid air, bracing himself with his legs. Then he lowered himself slowly, inches to spare as he settled into the mattress.

“Now you can do me,” said Sam, licking the curve of Dean’s chest.

Dean curved his arm around Sam, reaching between the sprawl of Sam’s legs, his fingers up between Sam’s thighs. He pushed till his fingers met with the heat of Sam’s body, pressing against the flesh behind his balls. He moved his fingers up. Pushed a little way in with one finger, and heard Sam gasp. He knew the feeling, knew what Sam would want. Tried not to hurry. Pressed his finger into the hot, narrow space in Sam’s body, and pulled out a little. When he pushed back in, he felt the muscles give, and heard Sam whimper.

Dean paused to bend and press a kiss to the side of Sam’s neck. “So good, so good, you see.”

He felt Sam shake, felt it inside and out. “Stop,” said Sam. “Stop making me laugh.”

This made him smile as he slipped in another finger and pushed. Pushed wide, made Sam wiggle against him, felt the shudder beneath him, felt Sam’s back grow slick under his arm. His heart was thumping too.

When he got a third finger in is when Sam groaned, pulling away and then pushing back. The back of his neck was soaking as Dean reached up to stroke it, pulling his fingers out, and pushing against Sam. He spread his fingers and narrowed them, out and back, out and back, till Sam’s muscles relaxed around him.

“’kay?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, his voice breathless like he’d been running.

“Move up, now.”

Sighing, Sam sat back up, his knees into the bed, on either side of Dean’s hips. Dean ran his hands along Sam’s back. He was hard, felt like he could pound through cement and Sam was slick, tense almost, hovering above him, waiting. It took him a second to realize that he couldn’t do what his body wanted, to flip Sam down into the bed and push in, nice and slow and the whole Tab A, Slot B mechanics of it stalled his brain. His knee wouldn’t take it, he’d be screaming before he got in the first thrust. He put his hands on Sam’s hips and looked up, seeing Sam in the half dark, hearing Sam’s slightly rattled breathing.

“Hey,” said Sam. “What’s wrong?” Sam’s hands splayed across his chest, and Dean knew that Sam could feel the hard, confused chugging of his heart.

“I don’t-” Dean stopped to swallow. “You have to-”

Now Sam’s hands moved down to Dean’s cock, which had started to soften against his hip. His fingers circled around it, fiddling, teasing, while he thought it out and translated what Dean couldn’t bring himself to say.

“I see,” said Sam. “That’s easy.” He bent close, now, a soft kiss on Dean’s mouth. “But then, doing anything for you is easy.”

There it was again, that adoration, pushing through every word, every gesture Sam made, and now his hands stroked Dean’s chest, flaring up, spreading warmth as if in worship. Dean felt his jaw work and his eyes grow hot, and he swallowed and swallowed again, and while the feeling didn’t go away, it settled back down, ready to spring out when he wasn’t watching.

Sam scooted back and tipped forward, sucking Dean’s cock into his mouth with a sudden purpose that jagged the air from Dean’s chest. Sam’s tongue curled around and around, sweeping up and down while his throat sucked Dean down, making him hard in the moistness of Sam’s mouth. Then he sat back up, and rising up on his heels, shifted forward so Dean could push in. He went slow, pushing into Sam, and pausing, taking his time, instead of jamming himself in like he wanted to. Held on to Sam’s thighs, and twitched his hips up and up, a little bit each time, Sam sighing above him, as Sam’s legs became sweaty beneath Dean’s palms.

Dean felt the muscles inside Sam give and he slipped all they way, snug up against Sam, thigh to thigh, and Sam gave a sound of surprise. Sam shuddered, and dipped his head, a shadow in the dark, resting his knees now on the mattress, and Dean realized he was all the way in, hilted against Sam’s body, inside of Sam-

“Okay, okay.” He pushed his hips up, blood pounding through his cock, the tight space pulling him in, the back of Sam’s thighs, the hair there distracting him, and Sam’s low sound, a groan from deep in his gut.

“Uh-huh,” said Dean. “I know just what you mean.”

“God, Dean.” Sam shook, his voice ragged. “God.” Then he took a breath. “For God’s sake, push, damnit.”

Dean pushed, flexing, feeling himself rise into Sam, the heat of Sam’s body scorching him, and the light inside of him growing, a flickering live thing as he pressed up and sank down, and again, rocking up in time with his heart, in, in, then pulling out, pushing in, feeling Sam rock with him, feeling Sam’s thighs trembling. Realized the trembles were matching his own.

His breath was ragged in his chest, and he swore that he was going to get his knee better, and then he would take Sam like he meant to, like he wanted to-and he pushed in and in, felt Sam grinding down, twisting his hips with a little shimmy that seemed to touch a button deep within Dean’s spine. A hush of breath as Dean pumped in and out, faster, thighs aching, then Sam arched a bit, tipping his head back so his eyes looked down at Dean from beneath a lock of dark hair. A glimmer, gathering the light from somewhere, and Dean pushed in as his cock pulsed, heat screaming up from his spine in a mindless arrow that he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. His hands slipping on Sam’s ribs, sweat-slick, and the jerk of Sam’s hips above him as he came, regret mixing with the joy as a snap of black covered his brain, and then filled it with the sweet, sweet smell of Sam’s hair as Sam leaned forward so he could bury his nose in it.

“Oh,” he said, muffled, as Sam slipped off him, they were both so hot, and he collapsed in the sheets next to Dean, as Dean’s heart thumped. “I meant that to go-what about you?”

“Next time,” said Sam. Then he twisted to face Dean, his legs sprawling, the heat banking off of him. Dean wished he could see Sam’s face in the darkness, see the relaxed curve of his mouth, and kissed him on the forehead, stroked the hair back from Sam’s face. “Yeah?”

There was a small silence as Dean pulled his legs together to unravel them from Sam’s, but he didn’t go far. Instead he moved in close, basking for a moment. He had this, and he wanted to keep it, even though it was strange, so strange. Sam’s hand was petting his arm, stroking him in that way he had, not absently, but if he could see Sam’s eyes, he knew what would be there. In the morning. He would see it in the morning.

“Will you stay?” asked Sam. “Stay with me?”

He moved to kiss Sam, tasting the sweat, and some salt. Sam. With his wide sweet mouth and careful hands. Shaking as they petted him. He should never make Sam wait.

“You’re my Sam,” he said, making his voice slow and clear. “My Sam.”

He turned on his side so he could reach between Sam’s legs, even though Sam had said next time, there was no reason for it. Not when Dean’s hands still worked, not while he had a breath left in his body. He picked up Sam’s sweat as he swept his palm along Sam’s thigh, and used it to slick Sam’s cock, moving up and down slowly, listening to Sam gasp under his breath, feeling Sam’s hips push towards him. Wanting more, wanting Dean’s hand on him, and Dean moved up and down, moving a little faster each time, thinking mildly how the angle of his wrist was backwards in that he was moving out rather than in, but the motion was still the same.

And Sam seemed to like the little flip he did with the edge of his thumb over the crown of Sam’s cock, flip and twist and then back down, sliding faster each time. Hearing Sam’s breath grow faster, feeling the pulse of Sam’s cock as it twitched and then jerked. Sam’s gasp as he came, long hot strings over Dean’s fingers as he fell back into the pillow, sprawling everywhere, barely missing Dean’s knee, but seeming to remember in time, his hips settled back as Dean wiped his hand on Sam’s thigh.

He kissed Sam on the side of his forehead, almost too tired to move any further, but this seemed to satisfy Sam. He ducked his head low and as he let his hand trail down Dean’s ribs, along his hip, sighing. Pushed down till he could push under Dean’s chin, his hair in Dean’s mouth, tickling the underside of his jaw. It was almost too hot, but the air conditioner kicked on again, maybe it had before and he’d not heard it; the room would be cooler in a minute or two. Sam could set himself on fire and Dean wouldn’t push him away. Couldn’t. He had found a place there, Sam pressed up against him, his arms hooking back behind Sam, settling around his waist. He thought about tugging the sheets up, when Sam reached down and did that, the cool cotton sifting over them like a small breeze.

“Sleep now, Sam-I-am,” he said, rubbing his thumb along one of Sam’s ribs.

Sam huffed, half asleep through the snort, shifting on the pillow, pressing down, his head growing heavy against Dean’s shoulder, his legs carefully away from Dean’s bad knee. It was a good weight. It would hold Dean down, carry him into sleep. Keep him safe in the dark. His throat ached like it shouldn’t, because the backs of his eyes were hot, and he felt close to saying it, even as Sam was falling asleep. He kissed the top of Sam’s head, hard, three times, catching the top of Sam’s forehead, still damp with heat. Felt the sleepy press of Sam’s mouth against his throat, and a low sound that he couldn’t quite make out, but understood anyway.

Chapter 29

Blue Skies From Rain Master Fic Post