FIC - Found
title:Found
pairing: Sam/Dean
rating:NC-17
a/n: My only Stanford-era fic
summary: They don't know someone's listening.
It had been long enough. Too long. Way past time and Dean couldn’t wait anymore.
John knew that Dean went to visit Sam in California when he had the opportunity. Usually just a day or two, and never more than every few months. Dean never said he that was what he was doing, but his father was well aware of it. He didn’t tell him not to go, but he never said “Tell Sam hello for me”. He never asked, after Dean returned, “How’s your brother?” or “What did you do in Palo Alto?”. Like most matters that involved intense emotions other than outright rage, John just pretended it never happened, like his older son had taken a couple of days to drink and gamble, or drive around aimlessly.
So Dean made the call, packed a bag, told his dad he’d be back in a couple of days, and took off. When he arrived at the door to Sam’s dorm room, they instantly fell into each other’s arms with relief. Sam had made the usual arrangements, telling his roommate that he had a girl coming for the weekend and he needed some privacy. Luckily, the guy had a girlfriend who lived off-campus, and he didn’t mind clearing out for a day or two. The dorm-sized fridge was stocked with beer and food that could be heated in the tiny microwave because there was no way either of them would be willing to leave this space for the small amount of time they had together.
Sam had long since stopped inquiring as to his father’s well-being. Neither of them wanted to give a second of thought to John, as doing that would have intruded on these sacred little moments. They already felt stolen and like they were not enough, never enough. The boys made the best of the time they did have, though. The first time was always fast and dirty and hard, tearing away of clothes, kissing that was filled with clashing teeth and biting, grabbing onto each other’s shoulders and wrists and hips hard enough to leave marks, one of them taking the other from behind, shoving in forcefully with only the minimum necessary preparation and snapping his hips to thrust into his brother’s ass until they both came so hard one had his teeth clamped around a pillow and the other was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood so that their screams wouldn’t alert the very close neighbors on either side of the tiny room.
They slept in each other’s arms, exhausted, the occasional contented sigh escaping their lips, holding onto each other like life rafts in a storm. The rest of the weekend was mostly spent watching TV, drinking beer, talking about Sam’s classes, generally just treasuring that safe comforting feeling they had of being in such close proximity, and having more sex. After the first time, though, it was always slower. Always face to face, gentle, so much time spent just kissing and touching each other all over, Dean catching Sam at that spot just below his collarbone and sucking and nipping right there for as long as Sam could stand it, and Sam running his fingers over Dean’s exceptionally sensitive nipples just to hear all the beautiful sounds he made.
Night two of this particular visit was not so different from any other. The brothers, in just t-shirts and boxer briefs, microwaved a pizza, drank a couple of beers, got half an hour into Die Hard 2 before they started getting their hands on each other. Dean pushed up on the hem of Sam’s t-shirt, prompting Sam to pull it over his head and Dean did the same with his own. They kissed softly for a few minutes, pressing their bare chests together and stroking each other’s hair, face, neck. Dean dipped his fingers into the waistband of Sam’s shorts and Sam immediately shifted his hips so they could be pulled right off, then Dean rid himself of his own. Skin on skin, Sam moved his fingers across Dean’s chest and Dean lowered himself so that he could take Sammy’s cock in his mouth. The moans could not be prevented from escaping Sam’s lips, and he didn’t even have the brain function to think about what the people across the hall might think because his brother’s mouth was doing some kind of magic up and down his dick and the only words he could form that made any sense were things like FUCK and SO GOOD and DEAN, Dean, Dean, Dean, like he was replacing the Hail Marys on a rosary with his brother’s name. When he finally reached the edge, he grabbed a fistful of sheets, his hips bucked up involuntarily and he tried not to wail like a banshee but wasn’t sure how successful that attempt had been.
For once, Dean hadn’t swallowed when he’d sucked Sam off, he savored the taste for just a moment before spitting Sam’s cum into his hand and using it to coat his fingers and his dick. Sam didn’t need so much prep, since he’d just been properly fucked a few hours earlier, but Dean did what he felt he needed to do before rising up, moving Sammy’s knees back a little more and pushing his cum and sweat soaked cock into his brother’s opening. The minute he was all the way inside, he couldn’t stop the JESUS SAMMY from echoing into the air. Staring into his brother’s eyes and holding himself up with one hand on either side of Sam’s shoulders, he started to move, savoring the moans and hitching breath and whispered “I love you”s, and returning them with his own sighs and “Perfect inside you baby boy”s and “Miss you so much”, over and over. They let themselves get lost in it, knew they had to savor every minute they got like this, and when Dean came they were still staring straight into each other’s eyes.
They had no idea that this time, Dean had been followed. That there was someone just outside the door.
It hadn’t taken John more than two minutes to understand exactly what was going on in that room. The heart that he had worked so hard to turn to stone immediately developed a crack that steadily spread across it, not breaking, just leaving a mark that could not be repaired or covered. He walked away, swaying slightly, wondering for the thousandth time why he hadn’t just let his suspicion remain exactly that, something he thought might be but wouldn’t ever ask. This was so much worse than asking and getting a lie in return that would have made him feel better. This was confirmation. He didn’t even wonder now whether or not it was a recent development, his fears that this had been going on since they were teenagers was solidified. This was no one-time thing, it was no experimental act, it was no spur-of-the-moment reaction to tension or fear.
Those two minutes were all that John spent standing there in the stark hallway.
The next afternoon, Sam and Dean kissed each other goodbye, choked back tears as much as they could manage, made promises of more visits, and Dean got in his car and drove away.
He went back to the place where he and his father had arranged to meet after Dean’s couple of “days off” between hunts, and Sam went back to class on Monday morning.
John didn’t ask how Sam was doing or how Dean had spent the weekend. Dean didn’t say where he’d been. John didn’t ask why there was a bruise around Dean’s wrist that looked like a circle of fingers. Dean didn’t ask why John seemed so much more cold and distant than he usually was.
There was a nest of ghouls in northern Oregon. John and Dean headed in that direction. Sam gathered himself up in his sheets that still smelled like Dean. And their lives just kept on moving.
pairing: Sam/Dean
rating:NC-17
a/n: My only Stanford-era fic
summary: They don't know someone's listening.
It had been long enough. Too long. Way past time and Dean couldn’t wait anymore.
John knew that Dean went to visit Sam in California when he had the opportunity. Usually just a day or two, and never more than every few months. Dean never said he that was what he was doing, but his father was well aware of it. He didn’t tell him not to go, but he never said “Tell Sam hello for me”. He never asked, after Dean returned, “How’s your brother?” or “What did you do in Palo Alto?”. Like most matters that involved intense emotions other than outright rage, John just pretended it never happened, like his older son had taken a couple of days to drink and gamble, or drive around aimlessly.
So Dean made the call, packed a bag, told his dad he’d be back in a couple of days, and took off. When he arrived at the door to Sam’s dorm room, they instantly fell into each other’s arms with relief. Sam had made the usual arrangements, telling his roommate that he had a girl coming for the weekend and he needed some privacy. Luckily, the guy had a girlfriend who lived off-campus, and he didn’t mind clearing out for a day or two. The dorm-sized fridge was stocked with beer and food that could be heated in the tiny microwave because there was no way either of them would be willing to leave this space for the small amount of time they had together.
Sam had long since stopped inquiring as to his father’s well-being. Neither of them wanted to give a second of thought to John, as doing that would have intruded on these sacred little moments. They already felt stolen and like they were not enough, never enough. The boys made the best of the time they did have, though. The first time was always fast and dirty and hard, tearing away of clothes, kissing that was filled with clashing teeth and biting, grabbing onto each other’s shoulders and wrists and hips hard enough to leave marks, one of them taking the other from behind, shoving in forcefully with only the minimum necessary preparation and snapping his hips to thrust into his brother’s ass until they both came so hard one had his teeth clamped around a pillow and the other was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood so that their screams wouldn’t alert the very close neighbors on either side of the tiny room.
They slept in each other’s arms, exhausted, the occasional contented sigh escaping their lips, holding onto each other like life rafts in a storm. The rest of the weekend was mostly spent watching TV, drinking beer, talking about Sam’s classes, generally just treasuring that safe comforting feeling they had of being in such close proximity, and having more sex. After the first time, though, it was always slower. Always face to face, gentle, so much time spent just kissing and touching each other all over, Dean catching Sam at that spot just below his collarbone and sucking and nipping right there for as long as Sam could stand it, and Sam running his fingers over Dean’s exceptionally sensitive nipples just to hear all the beautiful sounds he made.
Night two of this particular visit was not so different from any other. The brothers, in just t-shirts and boxer briefs, microwaved a pizza, drank a couple of beers, got half an hour into Die Hard 2 before they started getting their hands on each other. Dean pushed up on the hem of Sam’s t-shirt, prompting Sam to pull it over his head and Dean did the same with his own. They kissed softly for a few minutes, pressing their bare chests together and stroking each other’s hair, face, neck. Dean dipped his fingers into the waistband of Sam’s shorts and Sam immediately shifted his hips so they could be pulled right off, then Dean rid himself of his own. Skin on skin, Sam moved his fingers across Dean’s chest and Dean lowered himself so that he could take Sammy’s cock in his mouth. The moans could not be prevented from escaping Sam’s lips, and he didn’t even have the brain function to think about what the people across the hall might think because his brother’s mouth was doing some kind of magic up and down his dick and the only words he could form that made any sense were things like FUCK and SO GOOD and DEAN, Dean, Dean, Dean, like he was replacing the Hail Marys on a rosary with his brother’s name. When he finally reached the edge, he grabbed a fistful of sheets, his hips bucked up involuntarily and he tried not to wail like a banshee but wasn’t sure how successful that attempt had been.
For once, Dean hadn’t swallowed when he’d sucked Sam off, he savored the taste for just a moment before spitting Sam’s cum into his hand and using it to coat his fingers and his dick. Sam didn’t need so much prep, since he’d just been properly fucked a few hours earlier, but Dean did what he felt he needed to do before rising up, moving Sammy’s knees back a little more and pushing his cum and sweat soaked cock into his brother’s opening. The minute he was all the way inside, he couldn’t stop the JESUS SAMMY from echoing into the air. Staring into his brother’s eyes and holding himself up with one hand on either side of Sam’s shoulders, he started to move, savoring the moans and hitching breath and whispered “I love you”s, and returning them with his own sighs and “Perfect inside you baby boy”s and “Miss you so much”, over and over. They let themselves get lost in it, knew they had to savor every minute they got like this, and when Dean came they were still staring straight into each other’s eyes.
They had no idea that this time, Dean had been followed. That there was someone just outside the door.
It hadn’t taken John more than two minutes to understand exactly what was going on in that room. The heart that he had worked so hard to turn to stone immediately developed a crack that steadily spread across it, not breaking, just leaving a mark that could not be repaired or covered. He walked away, swaying slightly, wondering for the thousandth time why he hadn’t just let his suspicion remain exactly that, something he thought might be but wouldn’t ever ask. This was so much worse than asking and getting a lie in return that would have made him feel better. This was confirmation. He didn’t even wonder now whether or not it was a recent development, his fears that this had been going on since they were teenagers was solidified. This was no one-time thing, it was no experimental act, it was no spur-of-the-moment reaction to tension or fear.
Those two minutes were all that John spent standing there in the stark hallway.
The next afternoon, Sam and Dean kissed each other goodbye, choked back tears as much as they could manage, made promises of more visits, and Dean got in his car and drove away.
He went back to the place where he and his father had arranged to meet after Dean’s couple of “days off” between hunts, and Sam went back to class on Monday morning.
John didn’t ask how Sam was doing or how Dean had spent the weekend. Dean didn’t say where he’d been. John didn’t ask why there was a bruise around Dean’s wrist that looked like a circle of fingers. Dean didn’t ask why John seemed so much more cold and distant than he usually was.
There was a nest of ghouls in northern Oregon. John and Dean headed in that direction. Sam gathered himself up in his sheets that still smelled like Dean. And their lives just kept on moving.