SPN Fic: I Wish I Was the Moon -- 3/3 -- Sam/Dean -- NC-17
Title: I Wish I Was the Moon (3/3)
Author: sneaky_sena
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none
Warnings: mentions of underage Wincest
Summary: The main problem with digging up graves, Dean surmised, was that it gave a person way too much time to think.
Part One: here
Part Two: here
Dean slipped as silently as he could into the motel room and was closing the door slowly when Sam said, "So, I found some background out about our potential ghost."
Dean jumped, then pressed his forehead against the door. "Christ, Sammy. I thought you were asleep. It's three in the morning."
"Yeah," Sam said, seemingly unconcerned as he munched on a carrot. "Couldn't sleep so I decided to do some research. How was the, uh, bar?" He smirked up at Dean from where he was sitting on the end of the bed.
Dean rolled his eyes. He tried not to think about the guy he'd just left, his longs legs and shaggy hair and the desperate, needy sounds he'd made as Dean had sucked him off. "What'd you find?'
Sam shifted the computer so that Dean could see the screen. "Turns out Sarah Greenfield may not have been a perfect saint who died peacefully in her sleep the way her family claims."
Dean scanned the headline on the screen. "Mysterious circumstances? OK, no one mentioned any mysterious circumstances."
"Guess they want to remember her as a saint, not a sinner."
Dean sat next to Sam on the bed. "Twenty seven years old, mysterious circumstances, unknown man...you thinking illicit love affair gone bad? Maybe she was murdered."
Sam leaned in and sniffed at Dean's shoulder. "Dude...is that Drakkar Noir?"
Dean moved away from him. "You know I don't wear cologne."
"It is, isn't it? It's cologne and..." Sam barked out a laugh. "Dude, you smell like another guy's cologne, whiskey, and come." He leaned back, laughing and covering his mouth with one hand. "Does Dad know that you--"
"I don't give a shit what he knows," Dean snapped, standing up and stalking to the other side of the room. "Can we just talk about the case?"
Sam's laughter tapered off. "Look, I'm not...I mean, I don't care, Dean, I just didn't know."
"It's not a big deal," Dean said with a shrug. What was he supposed to say? That he only slept with guys who reminded him of Sam? "You think Sarah Greenfield's the ghost?"
"She's buried in Mount Tabor cemetery, not ten miles from here."
Relieved to have a distraction, Dean said, "Let's go."
************
The main problem with digging up graves, Dean surmised, was that it gave a person way too much time to think. He tried to think about cars, about which weapons he needed to clean and or sharpen next. He tried to think about what names he and Sam should choose for their next credit card scam.
He couldn't stop thinking about the kid he'd fucked earlier that night. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sam.
He'd never meant for it to happen. He'd never meant for his brotherly love towards Sam to twist into desire and another kind of love all together. It was his fault and he knew that. It was his own fault for sleeping with Sam in the first place. It was his fault for acknowledging Sam's stupid teenage crush.
Looking back, he wasn't even sure that it had been a crush. Looking back, he worried that maybe it had just been Sam looking up to him as an older brother. Looking back, Dean wondered if he'd taken advantage of Sam's hero worship, if he'd seen it as a crush on Sam's part just because he'd wanted to.
He wondered if Sam remembered or if he'd been able to forget. He wondered if Sam resented him for it, if in that one night he'd ruined any possibility of ever deserving Sam's trust.
Dean knew what he'd done wasn't right. He'd known it even then, and it filled him with shame to know that he'd used his brother to satisfy his own twisted desires.
He didn't even blame Sam for leaving--not really. He knew Sam had probably been dying to get the hell away from his perverted older brother from the first moment Dean had touched him.
Dean felt a wave of nausea hit him. He leaned on the shovel and gripped the handle tight, playing it off as just taking a break to catch his breath. What he'd done...he knew Sam could never forgive him. He could never forgive himself.
"You want me to dig for a while?" Sam asked. He and Dean had been taking turns digging and standing guard.
"I think I'm almost there," Dean said, and he was. His shovel hit the wooden lid of the coffin not a minute later. Sam jumped down into the grave next to him, helped him pry open the lid and salt Sarah Greenfield's corpse before dousing it in kerosene. They hopped up out of the grave before Dean lit a match and dropped it down onto the corpse. They were silent as they watched it burn.
"You think that'll do it?" Sam asked once the blaze had died down to a few glowing embers.
"Nothing to do but wait for tomorrow night and see if the ghost comes back," Dean said, picking up the shovel so he could start refilling the grave with dirt. "Come on. It's almost dawn."
On the drive home, he tried to think of a way to bring it up, a way to find out if Sam thought of what he'd done was abusive or just irresponsible. He didn't know what to say. What could he say? By the way, remember that night when I fucked you? Do you think that counts as rape or just me being the worst older brother in the history of the world?
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam pinch the bridge of his nose. "Everything OK?" he asked.
Sam shrugged. "I guess. I just...digging up graves in the middle of the night isn't my idea of a good time."
Dean grinned and shrugged. It wasn't his, either, but it was part of the job.
"I just wish we could find Dad, find the damn demon that killed Mom and Jess so that I can get back to my life."
"This is our life," Dean said.
"You know what I mean."
Dean clenched his jaw and nodded. Oh, yeah, he knew. Sam still couldn't wait to get away from him, even after all that time. "You'd really do it," he said darkly. "You'd really just go back."
Sam sighed loudly. "Do we have to have this conversation again? It never goes anywhere."
"I just don't get it. Knowing all you know, with everything you've seen, you could still just walk away."
"Once we find the demon, what reason do we have to do this?"
"What reason?" Dean demanded, anger flaring in his gut. "How the hell can you say that? What about the fact that there's evil out there and it's killing people and we're the only ones who can stop it? How's that for a reason?"
"We're not the only hunters in the world."
"No, we're just the best."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"We've been raised on this, Sammy," Dean said. "What other hunter can say that? We've been doing this our whole lives--"
"And that's exactly it! This has been our whole lives and we didn't even have a say in it. And I tried--you know I tried to have a say in my own life, but Dad never gave an inch--"
"He kept us alive!"
"All I wanted was one thing that was my own, but I couldn't even have that. Dad had to control everything."
"We were kids, Sam. He knew we couldn't make those decisions."
"We were kids!" Sam shot back at him. "We deserved a fucking childhood."
"We had childhoods."
"Yeah? You think other kids spent days at a time holed up in motels while their fathers were out hunting ghosts and demons? You think other kids learned Latin incantations before they learned multiplication? You think other kids stopped even trying to make new friends because it wasn't worth the bother every time they moved to a new town?"
"Friends are overrated," Dean said.
"They're really not."
"Nice to know you value people you've only known a few years over your own flesh and blood."
"I don't, but they are good to have, which you'd know if you ever had any."
"I have plenty of friends."
"You have plenty of fucks. It takes more than an hour and a few beers to really know someone."
"Right. Because all your college buddies know you so well. Even your fucking girlfriend didn't know the real you."
Sam clenched his jaw. "She knew me."
"You didn't ever tell her the truth about you, about our family."
"No, but I told her the truth about you."
Dean huffed out a breath. "Oh, yeah. I bet you told her some choice fucking stories."
"I told her the truth about you and me," Sam whispered. "I told her that I'd been in love with you."
Dean swerved into the oncoming lane, then back again. Thankfully there hadn't been another car on the road for miles. He pulled the Impala over to the side of the road. "You what?" He couldn't quite catch his breath and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.
Sam stared straight ahead. "I told her the truth." His voice was so soft Dean could barely hear him. "I told her how I'd felt about you. I told her what happened."
Dean was silent for a long time. "Sammy..."
"You talk about me leaving like it was some huge betrayal, but what the hell else was I supposed to do? Stay? Watch you bed a different girl--or guy, apparently--in every town and act like I was OK with it? I had to get away from you."
Dean nodded. He still couldn't speak.
"I thought if I could just get away from you...I thought I'd be able to forget, but I can't. I don't think I ever will."
"I'm so sorry." Dean swallowed hard, took a deep breath. "I've wished a million times that I could take it back. If I could make it go away, if I could just take it back--" His voice broke and he turned away, ashamed of the tears filling his eyes and threatening to spill over. "I never meant to fuck things up. I never meant to hurt you."
"Things were already fucked up. You didn't do anything to hurt me."
"I'm your brother. Jesus, Sammy, I shouldn't have done anything."
"I wanted you to."
"Did you? Because I can't...I tell myself that you did, but I'm not so sure anymore."
Dean felt Sam's hand rest gently on his shoulder. "I did want you to. It wasn't your fault I left."
"It felt like my fault. It feels like my fault you're desperate to get away even now."
"It's not," Sam told him. "It's just...it still hurts. It's nothing like what it was before. I've had time to accept the fact that you'll never feel the same, but it still stings a little."
"I'm in love with you." Dean didn't even know he was going to say it until the words were out.
Sam didn't say anything and Dean didn't look over to check his expression. He could hear Sam breathing quick, shallow breaths.
"Sam, I--"
"What am I supposed to do with that?" Sam demanded.
"I don't know. I just--"
"Six years of nothing, of beating myself up over the way I felt and you...? I don't even know what to say right now."
Dean nodded. "Yeah."
"You're not...look, I won't...just tell me the truth, here. If you're just saying that to make me stay..."
Dean looked over at him finally. "I'm not."
Sam nodded and swallowed hard. "OK. So we both..."
Dean nodded slightly.
"So what do we do now?"
"I don't know," Dean admitted. He looked forward again, ran his hands over the steering wheel. I think maybe we should just--" He stopped speaking as he got a lapful of Sam.
"Jesus," Sam whispered, his mouth against Dean's. Dean was too shocked to react, just let Sam kiss him over and over again. Sam shoved him against the car door and finally Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders, kissing him back, lost in the mindless bliss of Sam's body against his.
"Ow," Sam said suddenly, twisting within Dean's embrace. "Steering wheel. OK. Back seat?" His voice was breathless and his eyes were dark in the gray light of dawn.
Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder as Sam moved to climb into the back seat. "Wait."
"Dean," Sam whimpered.
"Not in the backseat." He shifted the car into gear. "Motel. In a bed."
Sam slipped back into the passenger seat and stared straight ahead. Neither one of them said another word for the rest of the drive.
When they got to the motel, Dean was shaky enough to have trouble unlocking the motel room door. What the hell was he doing? What were they doing? He startled when he felt Sam's hand on the small of his back, rubbing in gentle circles.
Finally, he got the motel door unlocked and stepped inside. "Sam," he said, starting to turn, "maybe we should--"
Sam shoved him against the closed motel room door and kissed him hard.
"Sammy," Dean whimpered as Sam pressed the heel of his hand against Dean's hard on. "We should talk about this."
"No," Sam said simply. He gripped Dean's t-shirt and tugged him forward, urging him inch by inch until the back of Sam's legs hit the bed. "Come on," he whispered, pulling his shirt off over his head as he climbed up and knelt on top of the drab comforter.
"Jesus Christ, Sammy," Dean whimpered. He tugged his shirt off and followed, climbing onto the bed next to Sam. He didn't even have to think about it, just slid his hands up Sam's bare torso, slid them back down and around to Sam's back so he could pull him close for another kiss. He spread his legs and could feel Sam's cock hard against his own.
Sam kissed his way down Dean's neck, leaned to suck on a nipple and, God, when had that become such a turn on? It had never felt that good with anyone else. Dean groaned, then kissed and sucked on Sam's shoulder, his hands stroking all the bare skin he could reach.
"Wanted this," Sam whispered as he kissed his way back up Dean's chest and neck. "Wanted this for so long."
"Me too," Dean admitted. His eyelids fluttered closed as Sam deftly unbuttoned his fly and reached in to stroke his cock. He gripped Sam's shoulders tightly and let his forehead rest against Sam's.
"Nice?" Sam asked.
Dean nodded. He couldn't speak. All he could do was hold on and thrust up into Sam's touch.
"Lay back," Sam whispered.
Dean shivered, dipped his head down so he could press his face against Sam's neck.
"It's all right," Sam whispered. He pushed on Dean's chest gently. "Just lay back."
Dean let Sam pull the comforter down, then sat on the bed, up high near the pillows and kicked his jeans off. He ran his hands up and down Sam's thighs, dared to slide one hand up further and ghost over the hard ridge of Sam's erection.
Sam grinned down at him, his dark eyes filled with lust. He unbuttoned his own jeans, slowly slid the zipper down. Dean couldn't look away, couldn't look at anything except for Sam's long, lean body, his hard cock, his strong thighs. Sam pushed his jeans down to his knees, then sat and pulled the off the rest of the way. He tossed them over the edge of the bed and turned and he and Dean were kissing again, stretching out on the bed, legs intertwined.
Dean pulled Sam's body close against his, shuddered when their cocks brushed together. It was all he wanted, all he'd ever wanted, him and Sam together like this, the only two people in the world.
He pulled Sam's leg up so that his thigh was nestled against Dean's hip. His cock was pressed against Sam's, and nothing had ever felt so good. He ground his hips, clung to Sam, kissed him fierce and sloppy. Their kisses became more frantic and then, as their breathing got ragged, the kisses stopped and they were just pressing their mouths together, sharing one another's air.
Sam was stronger than he remembered, his body not much more than skin, muscle, and bone. He hadn't had biceps like that before he'd left. He hadn't had such an amazing ass. It had been nice before but, Jesus, Dean felt like maybe it had been made just for his hands. He pulled Sam closer again, couldn't get enough of him, wanted to feel him everywhere. It was like he wouldn't ever be close enough to Sam unless he was inside him.
Dean moaned, remembering that night. For the first time, he really let himself remember what it had been like. He let himself remember without all the guilt and shame and self-loathing that usually went along with it. He remembered how frightened Sam had been, how eager he'd been for Dean's touch. He remembered how beautiful Sam had looked stretched out beneath him. He remembered how raw he'd felt afterwards, like he'd just done something he could never take back and didn't want to, like he'd never have anything as good ever again.
But he did have it. He had Sam right there, hard and arching against him, making soft little moans in the back of his throat, whispering Dean's name, whispering things like love and yes and always.
Dean's orgasm caught him nearly by surprise. Suddenly he was coming and crying out and holding Sam so, so tight. Sam pushed him onto his back and slid his own cock through the hot pool of come on Dean's belly, the expression on his face intense and needy, his arms shaking just a bit, his full lower lip caught between his teeth. He collapsed against Dean as he came, hips jerking, teeth sharp against Dean's skin.
They were sticky with come and with sweat, but Dean didn't let go. He stroked the nape of Sam's neck and down between his shoulder blades. He slid his hand down into the dip at the small of Sam's back, then back up again. Sam shifted after a minute so that most of his weight was on the bed instead of Dean. He propped himself up on one elbow, gently caressed Dean's face. "You all right?" Sam asked.
"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?"
Sam shook his head. He was looking at Dean the way no one else ever had. He was looking at Dean like there was nothing else in the world he could ever love more. "You all right?"
Dean nodded.
"Good." Sam kissed him gently.
"I...maybe we should...that is I don't--"
Sam kissed him again. "Do you really want to talk about this right now?"
"No, but...no."
"Then let's not talk about it. We don't have anything new to say, anyway." He lay back down, put his head on Dean's shoulder. "Go to sleep."
Dean nodded and stroked Sam's arm. "You, too. No dreams."
He could feel Sam smiling against his skin. "I'll try. We have to be up tonight to see if we got the right ghost." Sam's words were starting to slur together and he hummed softly, something he only did when he was starting to fall asleep.
Dean closed his eyes but didn't sleep, not for a few hours, anyway. He listened to Sam's breathing become shallow and regular. He listened to the people next door start to move around and shower before checking out. He held Sam in his arms, shifted just enough to reach the blankets and pull them up when he felt a chill. The sound of the maid vacuuming the next room lulled him to sleep.
Author: sneaky_sena
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none
Warnings: mentions of underage Wincest
Summary: The main problem with digging up graves, Dean surmised, was that it gave a person way too much time to think.
Part One: here
Part Two: here
Dean slipped as silently as he could into the motel room and was closing the door slowly when Sam said, "So, I found some background out about our potential ghost."
Dean jumped, then pressed his forehead against the door. "Christ, Sammy. I thought you were asleep. It's three in the morning."
"Yeah," Sam said, seemingly unconcerned as he munched on a carrot. "Couldn't sleep so I decided to do some research. How was the, uh, bar?" He smirked up at Dean from where he was sitting on the end of the bed.
Dean rolled his eyes. He tried not to think about the guy he'd just left, his longs legs and shaggy hair and the desperate, needy sounds he'd made as Dean had sucked him off. "What'd you find?'
Sam shifted the computer so that Dean could see the screen. "Turns out Sarah Greenfield may not have been a perfect saint who died peacefully in her sleep the way her family claims."
Dean scanned the headline on the screen. "Mysterious circumstances? OK, no one mentioned any mysterious circumstances."
"Guess they want to remember her as a saint, not a sinner."
Dean sat next to Sam on the bed. "Twenty seven years old, mysterious circumstances, unknown man...you thinking illicit love affair gone bad? Maybe she was murdered."
Sam leaned in and sniffed at Dean's shoulder. "Dude...is that Drakkar Noir?"
Dean moved away from him. "You know I don't wear cologne."
"It is, isn't it? It's cologne and..." Sam barked out a laugh. "Dude, you smell like another guy's cologne, whiskey, and come." He leaned back, laughing and covering his mouth with one hand. "Does Dad know that you--"
"I don't give a shit what he knows," Dean snapped, standing up and stalking to the other side of the room. "Can we just talk about the case?"
Sam's laughter tapered off. "Look, I'm not...I mean, I don't care, Dean, I just didn't know."
"It's not a big deal," Dean said with a shrug. What was he supposed to say? That he only slept with guys who reminded him of Sam? "You think Sarah Greenfield's the ghost?"
"She's buried in Mount Tabor cemetery, not ten miles from here."
Relieved to have a distraction, Dean said, "Let's go."
************
The main problem with digging up graves, Dean surmised, was that it gave a person way too much time to think. He tried to think about cars, about which weapons he needed to clean and or sharpen next. He tried to think about what names he and Sam should choose for their next credit card scam.
He couldn't stop thinking about the kid he'd fucked earlier that night. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sam.
He'd never meant for it to happen. He'd never meant for his brotherly love towards Sam to twist into desire and another kind of love all together. It was his fault and he knew that. It was his own fault for sleeping with Sam in the first place. It was his fault for acknowledging Sam's stupid teenage crush.
Looking back, he wasn't even sure that it had been a crush. Looking back, he worried that maybe it had just been Sam looking up to him as an older brother. Looking back, Dean wondered if he'd taken advantage of Sam's hero worship, if he'd seen it as a crush on Sam's part just because he'd wanted to.
He wondered if Sam remembered or if he'd been able to forget. He wondered if Sam resented him for it, if in that one night he'd ruined any possibility of ever deserving Sam's trust.
Dean knew what he'd done wasn't right. He'd known it even then, and it filled him with shame to know that he'd used his brother to satisfy his own twisted desires.
He didn't even blame Sam for leaving--not really. He knew Sam had probably been dying to get the hell away from his perverted older brother from the first moment Dean had touched him.
Dean felt a wave of nausea hit him. He leaned on the shovel and gripped the handle tight, playing it off as just taking a break to catch his breath. What he'd done...he knew Sam could never forgive him. He could never forgive himself.
"You want me to dig for a while?" Sam asked. He and Dean had been taking turns digging and standing guard.
"I think I'm almost there," Dean said, and he was. His shovel hit the wooden lid of the coffin not a minute later. Sam jumped down into the grave next to him, helped him pry open the lid and salt Sarah Greenfield's corpse before dousing it in kerosene. They hopped up out of the grave before Dean lit a match and dropped it down onto the corpse. They were silent as they watched it burn.
"You think that'll do it?" Sam asked once the blaze had died down to a few glowing embers.
"Nothing to do but wait for tomorrow night and see if the ghost comes back," Dean said, picking up the shovel so he could start refilling the grave with dirt. "Come on. It's almost dawn."
On the drive home, he tried to think of a way to bring it up, a way to find out if Sam thought of what he'd done was abusive or just irresponsible. He didn't know what to say. What could he say? By the way, remember that night when I fucked you? Do you think that counts as rape or just me being the worst older brother in the history of the world?
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam pinch the bridge of his nose. "Everything OK?" he asked.
Sam shrugged. "I guess. I just...digging up graves in the middle of the night isn't my idea of a good time."
Dean grinned and shrugged. It wasn't his, either, but it was part of the job.
"I just wish we could find Dad, find the damn demon that killed Mom and Jess so that I can get back to my life."
"This is our life," Dean said.
"You know what I mean."
Dean clenched his jaw and nodded. Oh, yeah, he knew. Sam still couldn't wait to get away from him, even after all that time. "You'd really do it," he said darkly. "You'd really just go back."
Sam sighed loudly. "Do we have to have this conversation again? It never goes anywhere."
"I just don't get it. Knowing all you know, with everything you've seen, you could still just walk away."
"Once we find the demon, what reason do we have to do this?"
"What reason?" Dean demanded, anger flaring in his gut. "How the hell can you say that? What about the fact that there's evil out there and it's killing people and we're the only ones who can stop it? How's that for a reason?"
"We're not the only hunters in the world."
"No, we're just the best."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"We've been raised on this, Sammy," Dean said. "What other hunter can say that? We've been doing this our whole lives--"
"And that's exactly it! This has been our whole lives and we didn't even have a say in it. And I tried--you know I tried to have a say in my own life, but Dad never gave an inch--"
"He kept us alive!"
"All I wanted was one thing that was my own, but I couldn't even have that. Dad had to control everything."
"We were kids, Sam. He knew we couldn't make those decisions."
"We were kids!" Sam shot back at him. "We deserved a fucking childhood."
"We had childhoods."
"Yeah? You think other kids spent days at a time holed up in motels while their fathers were out hunting ghosts and demons? You think other kids learned Latin incantations before they learned multiplication? You think other kids stopped even trying to make new friends because it wasn't worth the bother every time they moved to a new town?"
"Friends are overrated," Dean said.
"They're really not."
"Nice to know you value people you've only known a few years over your own flesh and blood."
"I don't, but they are good to have, which you'd know if you ever had any."
"I have plenty of friends."
"You have plenty of fucks. It takes more than an hour and a few beers to really know someone."
"Right. Because all your college buddies know you so well. Even your fucking girlfriend didn't know the real you."
Sam clenched his jaw. "She knew me."
"You didn't ever tell her the truth about you, about our family."
"No, but I told her the truth about you."
Dean huffed out a breath. "Oh, yeah. I bet you told her some choice fucking stories."
"I told her the truth about you and me," Sam whispered. "I told her that I'd been in love with you."
Dean swerved into the oncoming lane, then back again. Thankfully there hadn't been another car on the road for miles. He pulled the Impala over to the side of the road. "You what?" He couldn't quite catch his breath and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.
Sam stared straight ahead. "I told her the truth." His voice was so soft Dean could barely hear him. "I told her how I'd felt about you. I told her what happened."
Dean was silent for a long time. "Sammy..."
"You talk about me leaving like it was some huge betrayal, but what the hell else was I supposed to do? Stay? Watch you bed a different girl--or guy, apparently--in every town and act like I was OK with it? I had to get away from you."
Dean nodded. He still couldn't speak.
"I thought if I could just get away from you...I thought I'd be able to forget, but I can't. I don't think I ever will."
"I'm so sorry." Dean swallowed hard, took a deep breath. "I've wished a million times that I could take it back. If I could make it go away, if I could just take it back--" His voice broke and he turned away, ashamed of the tears filling his eyes and threatening to spill over. "I never meant to fuck things up. I never meant to hurt you."
"Things were already fucked up. You didn't do anything to hurt me."
"I'm your brother. Jesus, Sammy, I shouldn't have done anything."
"I wanted you to."
"Did you? Because I can't...I tell myself that you did, but I'm not so sure anymore."
Dean felt Sam's hand rest gently on his shoulder. "I did want you to. It wasn't your fault I left."
"It felt like my fault. It feels like my fault you're desperate to get away even now."
"It's not," Sam told him. "It's just...it still hurts. It's nothing like what it was before. I've had time to accept the fact that you'll never feel the same, but it still stings a little."
"I'm in love with you." Dean didn't even know he was going to say it until the words were out.
Sam didn't say anything and Dean didn't look over to check his expression. He could hear Sam breathing quick, shallow breaths.
"Sam, I--"
"What am I supposed to do with that?" Sam demanded.
"I don't know. I just--"
"Six years of nothing, of beating myself up over the way I felt and you...? I don't even know what to say right now."
Dean nodded. "Yeah."
"You're not...look, I won't...just tell me the truth, here. If you're just saying that to make me stay..."
Dean looked over at him finally. "I'm not."
Sam nodded and swallowed hard. "OK. So we both..."
Dean nodded slightly.
"So what do we do now?"
"I don't know," Dean admitted. He looked forward again, ran his hands over the steering wheel. I think maybe we should just--" He stopped speaking as he got a lapful of Sam.
"Jesus," Sam whispered, his mouth against Dean's. Dean was too shocked to react, just let Sam kiss him over and over again. Sam shoved him against the car door and finally Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders, kissing him back, lost in the mindless bliss of Sam's body against his.
"Ow," Sam said suddenly, twisting within Dean's embrace. "Steering wheel. OK. Back seat?" His voice was breathless and his eyes were dark in the gray light of dawn.
Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder as Sam moved to climb into the back seat. "Wait."
"Dean," Sam whimpered.
"Not in the backseat." He shifted the car into gear. "Motel. In a bed."
Sam slipped back into the passenger seat and stared straight ahead. Neither one of them said another word for the rest of the drive.
When they got to the motel, Dean was shaky enough to have trouble unlocking the motel room door. What the hell was he doing? What were they doing? He startled when he felt Sam's hand on the small of his back, rubbing in gentle circles.
Finally, he got the motel door unlocked and stepped inside. "Sam," he said, starting to turn, "maybe we should--"
Sam shoved him against the closed motel room door and kissed him hard.
"Sammy," Dean whimpered as Sam pressed the heel of his hand against Dean's hard on. "We should talk about this."
"No," Sam said simply. He gripped Dean's t-shirt and tugged him forward, urging him inch by inch until the back of Sam's legs hit the bed. "Come on," he whispered, pulling his shirt off over his head as he climbed up and knelt on top of the drab comforter.
"Jesus Christ, Sammy," Dean whimpered. He tugged his shirt off and followed, climbing onto the bed next to Sam. He didn't even have to think about it, just slid his hands up Sam's bare torso, slid them back down and around to Sam's back so he could pull him close for another kiss. He spread his legs and could feel Sam's cock hard against his own.
Sam kissed his way down Dean's neck, leaned to suck on a nipple and, God, when had that become such a turn on? It had never felt that good with anyone else. Dean groaned, then kissed and sucked on Sam's shoulder, his hands stroking all the bare skin he could reach.
"Wanted this," Sam whispered as he kissed his way back up Dean's chest and neck. "Wanted this for so long."
"Me too," Dean admitted. His eyelids fluttered closed as Sam deftly unbuttoned his fly and reached in to stroke his cock. He gripped Sam's shoulders tightly and let his forehead rest against Sam's.
"Nice?" Sam asked.
Dean nodded. He couldn't speak. All he could do was hold on and thrust up into Sam's touch.
"Lay back," Sam whispered.
Dean shivered, dipped his head down so he could press his face against Sam's neck.
"It's all right," Sam whispered. He pushed on Dean's chest gently. "Just lay back."
Dean let Sam pull the comforter down, then sat on the bed, up high near the pillows and kicked his jeans off. He ran his hands up and down Sam's thighs, dared to slide one hand up further and ghost over the hard ridge of Sam's erection.
Sam grinned down at him, his dark eyes filled with lust. He unbuttoned his own jeans, slowly slid the zipper down. Dean couldn't look away, couldn't look at anything except for Sam's long, lean body, his hard cock, his strong thighs. Sam pushed his jeans down to his knees, then sat and pulled the off the rest of the way. He tossed them over the edge of the bed and turned and he and Dean were kissing again, stretching out on the bed, legs intertwined.
Dean pulled Sam's body close against his, shuddered when their cocks brushed together. It was all he wanted, all he'd ever wanted, him and Sam together like this, the only two people in the world.
He pulled Sam's leg up so that his thigh was nestled against Dean's hip. His cock was pressed against Sam's, and nothing had ever felt so good. He ground his hips, clung to Sam, kissed him fierce and sloppy. Their kisses became more frantic and then, as their breathing got ragged, the kisses stopped and they were just pressing their mouths together, sharing one another's air.
Sam was stronger than he remembered, his body not much more than skin, muscle, and bone. He hadn't had biceps like that before he'd left. He hadn't had such an amazing ass. It had been nice before but, Jesus, Dean felt like maybe it had been made just for his hands. He pulled Sam closer again, couldn't get enough of him, wanted to feel him everywhere. It was like he wouldn't ever be close enough to Sam unless he was inside him.
Dean moaned, remembering that night. For the first time, he really let himself remember what it had been like. He let himself remember without all the guilt and shame and self-loathing that usually went along with it. He remembered how frightened Sam had been, how eager he'd been for Dean's touch. He remembered how beautiful Sam had looked stretched out beneath him. He remembered how raw he'd felt afterwards, like he'd just done something he could never take back and didn't want to, like he'd never have anything as good ever again.
But he did have it. He had Sam right there, hard and arching against him, making soft little moans in the back of his throat, whispering Dean's name, whispering things like love and yes and always.
Dean's orgasm caught him nearly by surprise. Suddenly he was coming and crying out and holding Sam so, so tight. Sam pushed him onto his back and slid his own cock through the hot pool of come on Dean's belly, the expression on his face intense and needy, his arms shaking just a bit, his full lower lip caught between his teeth. He collapsed against Dean as he came, hips jerking, teeth sharp against Dean's skin.
They were sticky with come and with sweat, but Dean didn't let go. He stroked the nape of Sam's neck and down between his shoulder blades. He slid his hand down into the dip at the small of Sam's back, then back up again. Sam shifted after a minute so that most of his weight was on the bed instead of Dean. He propped himself up on one elbow, gently caressed Dean's face. "You all right?" Sam asked.
"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?"
Sam shook his head. He was looking at Dean the way no one else ever had. He was looking at Dean like there was nothing else in the world he could ever love more. "You all right?"
Dean nodded.
"Good." Sam kissed him gently.
"I...maybe we should...that is I don't--"
Sam kissed him again. "Do you really want to talk about this right now?"
"No, but...no."
"Then let's not talk about it. We don't have anything new to say, anyway." He lay back down, put his head on Dean's shoulder. "Go to sleep."
Dean nodded and stroked Sam's arm. "You, too. No dreams."
He could feel Sam smiling against his skin. "I'll try. We have to be up tonight to see if we got the right ghost." Sam's words were starting to slur together and he hummed softly, something he only did when he was starting to fall asleep.
Dean closed his eyes but didn't sleep, not for a few hours, anyway. He listened to Sam's breathing become shallow and regular. He listened to the people next door start to move around and shower before checking out. He held Sam in his arms, shifted just enough to reach the blankets and pull them up when he felt a chill. The sound of the maid vacuuming the next room lulled him to sleep.