SPN Fic: Heart's Desire II 1a/4
May. 30th, 2006 03:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveTitle: Heart's Desire II: Follow The Light, It's Not In Vain
Sequel to: Heart's Desire I: Times Two
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: Wolfling (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wolfling) and James (zortified)
Pairing: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Rating: nc-17
Word Count 24,361 (story total)
Warnings: none
Spoilers: vague ones for Devil's Trap and Asylum
Summary: What do you do when what you want, is what you have?
Author's Notes: Many thanks to wesleysgirl for the beta. This will be posted in four parts, a part a day over the next four days so as not to completely spam.
Your time will come, I’ll make you feel it
You’re still young like the sun after rain
Follow the light it’s not in vain
And you will see I’ll touch your feelings
-Born to Touch Your Feelings, Scorpions
part 1a
Dean woke up fast, which was normal for him. He knew exactly where he was -- at the apartment, in his bedroom. He squelched the reflexive thought - 'Sam's apartment' but the thought was already there and it was a second later that he realised why waking up the way he had this morning was not a normal thing.
Sam was asleep beside him.
His little brother was asleep on his stomach, one arm flung possessively over Dean's chest. His face was turned toward Dean and he was wearing a faint smile as he snored softly.
That part wasn't really that new. He'd slept with his brother before -- more often than not, when they were little. He'd gotten used to being his brother's pillow -- Sam's head in his lap in the back of dad's car, or tucked into a bed together in any of a thousand motel rooms. Dean remembered how hard it was the first time they'd lived in an apartment after years of being on the road, and Dad had bought them bunk beds. Sleeping separately had lasted only until Sam had learned how to climb the ladder; then Dean had only fallen asleep after Sam had crawled under the blankets with him.
But never, in all those times, had Sam been naked and still smelling of sex.
Sam stirred and moved closer, nuzzling sleepily at Dean's chest. Dean didn't move -- it was pretty obvious what had happened, and the fact it had happened more than once made it pretty hard to tell himself he'd imagined it. Dreamt it -- and wasn't that something to worry about? His little brother having visions?
It was entirely possible Sam had lied, made up a story... but to do what? Get Dean into bed with him, to convince him to have sex?
Dean let that thought walk around in his brain for awhile. Sex. Sam. Sex with Sam.
It wasn't like he hadn't had this fantasy before, and had jerked off to the idea of Sam doing the things he'd done yesterday. But it had only ever happened when he just couldn't stop himself anymore. When knowing he shouldn't had finally fallen to the fact he wanted.
And he had. God.
He looked down at Sam again. How in the hell had he let this happen? And why wasn't he trying harder to remember all the reasons it had to stop?
"Dean." Sam's eyes blinked open, far too awake for someone who had been fast asleep seconds before, and fixed on his own. "Whatever you're thinking, stop it. It's too early in the morning for freak-outs."
"You don't even know what time it is." He had no idea if that was true or not -- he didn't have much clue, himself. The sun was up, but not too high -- probably eight o'clock, and he glanced at his watch and realised that ok, maybe he did have a clue. His internal clock was never far off, and apparently having sex with Sam didn't flip his entire world upside-down.
"Doesn't matter." Sam yawned and propped himself up on one arm, leaning against Dean. "Do I need to distract you?"
"I don't see how that would help," Dean said quickly. God, all he needed was to make things worse.
Sam's lips quirked up into a smile, his dimples showing. "We'll have to work on that." He paused and then added more seriously, "It's all right, Dean. Really."
"All right? All right?" Dean could hear himself starting to shriek -- he hadn't reached that particular high note since his voice had changed, not counting the time Sam had racked him in the balls with a pool cue.
His shriek was cut off when Sam grabbed onto Dean's head and covered Dean's mouth with his own.
There were fourteen ways he could get Sam off him without breaking any bones, and half a dozen more that involved injury not serious enough to take Sam to the ER. Two ways he could get Sam dumped on the floor on his ass, out of Dean's bed and away from his mouth.
Which didn't explain to Dean why he opened his mouth and let his head sink back into the pillow, with Sam rolling on top of him and holding him down.
Sam was a great kisser -- Dean had noticed that last night and if he had forgotten he was certainly getting a refresher course right now. Sam's hands were threading into Dean's hair, his hips moving lightly against Dean's, his cock...
No, no, no, no, Dean screamed to himself. Not that his own body and cock in particular weren't screaming 'yes, yes' right back, and a little bit louder than the part of his brain which was insisting he had to stop this right now, or he'd regret it for a very long time to come.
He needed to let go of Sam, but he felt so damned good, after wanting him for so long. Dean felt something inside himself clench. His heart? His lungs? Maybe he was having a stroke and he'd die, and find out this was a dying dream.
Sam pulled back just far enough to murmur Dean's name. "It's all right," he repeated. "It's okay. You can feel this, have this. I promise." And Sam's eyes when Dean met them were... deeper somehow. Older.
"...the fuck is going on, Sam?" Yesterday Sam had had a vision of the future, which had apparently involved them having sex. Yesterday, he'd had sex with Sam. Now he had the weirdest sensation that the person he'd woken up with wasn't exactly the same person he'd fallen asleep with.
Or had it started before....
He looked at his brother more closely, and thought about how easily he had fired the crossbow. "You weren't practicing," he said quietly.
"No, I wasn't," Sam replied equally quietly.
Sam had made shots he'd learned to make after... how much experience? How many years had Sam seen in his vision?
Seen, or-- "So you came back?" he asked, because seeing the future didn't give you the ability to hit a bull's-eye when before you couldn't group your shots more than a hand's span. "How...far? Why?" What the hell had happened that Sam had come back to now, this time and place and... propositioned him?
And why didn't any of this sound utterly impossible? Freakin' demons.
Sam sighed and finally lowered his gaze. "I don't know. I... Yesterday I just woke up and there was all this -" he waved a hand at his head, "-stuff in my head."
"What stuff?" He knew what Sam had told him yesterday. He knew about the part where Sam remembered them having sex. But clearly there was a lot more going on than he'd realised.
He was already mentally going through what he recalled from dad's stories, trying to remember if he'd ever encountered anything like this before. He should call dad and ask--
Dean mentally choked. Or that would be a really, really fucking bad idea.
"It's a little... hard to sort it all out," Sam said, watching his hand trace the recently healed scar on Dean's chest. "I get... flashes of... memories, visions, whatever, but they seem to be related to whatever I'm thinking or doing now. And sometimes, it's like I just... know stuff. Know how things are supposed to be. Like us."
"How...much? A year? More?" He tried not to think about dad. Tried not to think about just exactly what Dad would say when he found out. Whether he'd follow through on a threat made years ago about something so stupid Dean couldn't even remember, but it was the first time he'd seen his father furious. Dean had never seen his father raise his hand towards him before that night, and though it hadn't flown, Dean had always known, after that, it was possible.
More likely his father would just scream at him and walk away, expecting to come back and Dean would have everything right again.
Focusing on Sam's visions didn't exactly distract him, but it was better than freaking.
"I don't know." Sam frowned. "More than a year. A lot more, I think."
More than a year... Dean gaped at him. "Dude, you are not older than me!"
"I'm the same age I always was!" Sam shot back, along with a look that was pure exasperated little brother. "I'm still me, Dean. Stop trying to make me into some kind of... of... body snatcher or something."
"You're the one who said you got... several years downloaded into your brain. I'm just saying... it wasn't more than four." Dean said it firmly, like if he believed it hard enough it would be true.
Not that he really cared, except that there was no way in hell his little brother was going to magically turn out to be older than him. No way.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
Dean thumped him, not caring that it might be a little too hard on bare skin. Which made him remember -- bare skin -- and maybe he should try harder to focus on this vision thing of Sam's, and less on the fact he wanted to spend the day in bed with him.
Sam was watching his face again, his own expression one of fascination. "I'm not sure anyone should be able to change feelings that quickly," he observed.
Which made absolutely no sense. "What?"
"Dude, it's all over your face." Sam poked him in the chest. "You can't figure out if you're freaked out, interested, wanting to thump me, or turned on. Let me know when you figure out which one to go with so I can hold up my end of the conversation."
Well, that made it easier, anyway. His brother being irritating triggered an ingrained reflex. Dean thumped him again, hard.
"Ow," Sam complained, rubbing his head. "Yeah, figures you'd pick thumping."
"And after 18 years it still doesn't work," Dean muttered. Because Sam was still being irritating, for all that he was just lying there, looking like there was nothing to be worried about.
Sam smiled as he continued watching him.
Dean sighed. "Okay... fuck." Sam was right. He had to make a decision. Visions, dad, bed. Figuring out what was going on in Sam's head was probably going to take the rest of his life, so he shelved that one for now. Dad... yeah. Until dad showed up maybe he could get away with pretending dad would only kill him, then salt and burn the bones so Dean couldn't haunt his ass.
Although it might be kinda fun, shadowing the old man on hunts, razzing him and pointing out when something was about to get the drop on him.
As if dad would let Dean haunt him, after finding him naked in bed with his brother.
Okay, so - that left bed. Specifically, the very thing dad would kill him for.
Sam's smile got even wider. "So anything I can do to help you out here?"
Dean thought about it, then acted like he was thinking hard, about it. There were only two real options, and he really wasn't sure he could say the first one. "You could bring me a couple breakfast burritos," he said, knowing full well the taco stand was a good fifteen minutes' drive away.
He watched as Sam considered the request, then shook his head. "Nope. I'm not leaving." There seemed to be a bit more... oomph to the words than just refusing to go get breakfast required.
"You asked." Dean let the accusation slide into his voice. Better by far to tease him, something he could do in his sleep, drunk off his ass, or half-concussed. All of which he'd proven, before.
"Uh huh. We can go grab some breakfast burritos together if you want. After."
With a suspicious look at Sam, Dean asked, "After what?"
Sam moved his hips lewdly against Dean. "What do you think?"
Dean's cock told him what a fantastic idea it was, and lauded his brother for his genius. Dean told his cock to shut the fuck up and let him think.
Dean pressed his hand against his brother's back, feeling just how warm his skin was, how good it felt to hold him, and how bright and clear Sam's eyes were as he looked at Dean.
Fuck, he was lost. He'd been lost the very first time Sam had opened his eyes and looked at him -- Dean didn't have many clear memories of age four, but the first time his little brother smiled at him was one of them, and the only good one from that whole year.
He poked at the memory and tried to remind his body why this was not going to happen. But the same pair of eyes were looking at him, that same smile was burning a path through his heart.
Sam traced Dean's lips with a light finger. "I love your mouth. It's just so..."
"Perfect," Dean said, trying for smug, and wondering if it should really feel this good. He'd had sex before, he'd lain with a lover and touched and talked and cuddled, and he couldn't remember feeling...like this.
Like he wanted to pull Sam in and not let him go.
"Yeah," Sam agreed, leaning down to lick at Dean's mouth. "It is. Made for kissing."
"Pretty good at it, too," Dean said, because he'd been bragging about his prowess since the first time a girl had kissed him for a second time. It was easier than thinking about the fact Sam was nuzzling at his mouth and that Dean's hand was beginning to wander down Sam's back, towards an ass that Dean had -- No. Not there, Dean told himself. Not... but Sam's tongue was on his lips and Dean's mouth was opening as though Dean's brain had no say in the matter.
He couldn't let himself think about what he wanted, but the image of Sam fucking him suddenly hit.
Sam's hands were sliding down Dean's sides, light caresses that had far more effect than anything that light should have. "I could kiss you for hours," Sam murmured against Dean's mouth. "Days even." He smiled. "Make it my life's career."
"Jesus, Sam," Dean breathed. How the hell had this happened? Yesterday everything made sense. It wasn't normal, but he understood it. Now -- he felt like he was drowning. He squeezed his eyes closed because there was something about this. There had to be -- something to explain why he was hearing and feeling and getting everything he'd ever wanted after a lifetime of giving away all the best pieces -- the strawberry lollipops and the unbroken cookies and the handfuls of change to buy Sam's comic books.
Shapeshifter, he thought. Demon possession. Insanity. Dreams. Nightmares.
All more likely than the fact Sam loved him and wanted him like this.
All more likely than the fact Dean might actually get--
"Stop it," Sam told him, nipping sharply to punctuate the words, before darting his tongue out to sooth the hurt. "This is real. It's all right. You can have this. I want this -- I want you." He kissed him slow and lingering. "Some day you're going to believe me."
Dean turned and pressed his face against his brother's, closing his eyes tightly. Fuck, but he was turning into such a girl, fucking crying because he couldn't have what he wanted. He grabbed hold of his emotions and stuffed them down, hard. Remembered his dad's voice, telling him no, they couldn't buy that, they needed to get... Anything. Five years old and his hand on something bright and plastic, and seeing his dad take it away and replace it with a jar of baby food.
He laughed, once, because thinking of his dad wasn't making him want Sam any less.
Sam had pulled back again just enough to study his face and now he smiled sadly at Dean. "Someday you'll believe me," he repeated softly, resting his forehead against Dean's until they were breathing the same air. "I promise."
Dean shook his head, because there were a lot of things in the world he was prepared to believe in, but having -- keeping Sam, was not one of them.
He thought of the letter from Stanford, still lying wherever Sam had dropped it, and felt his stomach fall down through the soles of his feet.
"Someday," Sam murmured, then kissed him again, before sliding down, under the covers, his tongue leaving a warm wet trail of sensation across Dean's skin as he went.
"No," Dean whispered, not sure why he said it, when everything inside him wanted Sam to keep going. He groped for Sam's head through the blankets, but couldn't seem to coordinate enough to get a hold.
Then Sam's mouth was closing over his cock.
A strangled noise came out of Dean's mouth and he couldn't have said under pain of death if he was trying to say 'yes' or 'no.' But it felt so good, so fucking good and besides -- the little voice in his head which could speak English reminded him -- he had been here already. No more sin than this, twice, than to have done it at all.
He bucked his hips upwards as Sam pulled up slightly. Sam didn't play with him like he had the night before. Instead it was hard and fast and overwhelming, as if he was trying to block out everything else for Dean than this, them, together. Sam was good enough at it that it almost worked.
As it was, his brain only grew quiet, not silent, even as Dean tried to put all his attention on what he was feeling. But what he was feeling was the problem, despite and because of how good and intense it felt. When he finally came, his head was already spinning.
He reached out for Sam as he waited for the room to stop moving.
And Sam was there immediately for him, wrapping his long limbs around him and pressing close, kissing Dean and letting him taste himself in his brother's mouth.
Forcibly, Dean told himself to just stop thinking already. There was one good way to do that -- and it wasn't like he didn't owe Sam already. He pushed Sam onto his back and slid down his brother's body, mirroring Sam's earlier motion.
For all he'd seen his brother naked, and for all that he'd had his hand on Sam yesterday, he'd never actually looked at him, fully-erect and leaking pre-cum. Dean didn't hesitate before wrapping his mouth around the head, used to the mechanics of giving blow jobs, but not expecting the realisation that he already knew his brother's scent.
Sam made a strangled, gasping sound when Dean's mouth closed over him, his hands coming down to grab onto Dean's head. He didn't actually buck upwards, but Dean could feel the tension in his muscles that said he wanted to.
Dean held him down, one arm pressed across Sam's hip bones and the other tucked around Sam's thigh. He used his weight to hold Sam more or less in place, because he knew pretty soon Sam would be trying to choke him with his cock.
Which was the point, but Dean had learned to enjoy not gagging when he was giving blow jobs.
He opened his mouth wider and took Sam in halfway and sucked lightly. That got more noise out of Sam, a cross between moans and half understood words.
Dean catalogued the reaction, ignoring the fact he was acting like he needed to know this -- but even when he knew he was never going to be with someone again, he tried to notice and repeat the things his lovers liked. Attentive, a woman had called him once.
She'd given him a kiss on the cheek when he'd left.
Dean used his tongue to wrap around Sam's cock, twisting it around and searching for spots that would make Sam make noise.
Sam, it seemed, was very vocal as almost every spot evoked some noise. But there were some that made him a bit louder, made his voice go a bit higher in pitch and those were the ones that Dean concentrated on. When he heard his brother's breathing hitch in a high, breathless gasp, Dean smiled to himself and swallowed as much of Sam as he possibly could.
Sam screamed Dean's name when he came, his hands tightening in Dean's hair to the point of pain.
'He must not have had too many of these,' Dean thought. Or perhaps his care-givers just hadn't said anything -- and so not surprising when the thought of someone else giving Sam a blow job made him angry.
He gave Sam's cock one last kiss, then pushed himself up towards the head of the bed.
Completely limp and boneless, Sam looked at him with eyes that shone with adoration and even a bit of awe. "Th-that was..."
"Not quite as long as I expected, but you're young. You'll learn to make it last." Dean smirked at the expression on Sam's face. He'd had compliments before, but Sam was acting like it was a world-class blowjob.
"I never... I knew they were good, but I never thought it would feel like that."
Dean froze. He felt his jaw drop and he stared at Sam. "Don't... oh god please don't tell me that was your first--"
"I got flashes of it happening, but," Sam gave him the biggest goofiest grin, "I haven't actually physically had..."
His blood seemed to actually stop flowing, and Dean managed somehow to ask, "Sam, please tell me you've had sex before." He remembered his brother talking about girls -- always girls, never guys, and what the fuck was up with that? He'd talked about kissing, and hell, Dean had been the one to pay Crissy ten dollars to make out with a 13 year old Sam, and act like he was decent at it, just to get him started on the right foot.
But never had a blow job before? Hell, that was teenage sex act number two on the charts, right after... everything he and Sam had done yesterday.
"Of course I've had sex before," Sam replied in perfectly reasoned tones. "Yesterday."
There was no way. No fucking way. Dean stared at Sam, and saw innocence and sincerity and fuck, but his brother could pull off that look so well that Dean couldn't actually tell if he was yanking Dean's chain or not.
"Tell me you're joking," he said, his voice steady.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, of course I'm joking! I lost my virginity back when I was 15 to Cindi Garrett, when we were living in Nebraska. Walked around with a huge grin on my face for the next week."
"Thank god," Dean breathed, relaxing with a sudden rush. Because if there was one thing a guy didn't want, it was to be the one to take his brother's virginity.
Dean stared at that thought in his head, and asked himself when he'd lost his mind.
"You are the first guy I've had sex with though," Sam continued helpfully.
Letting his head hit the pillow didn't help much, but it let him close his eyes and try not to think about that statement. He knew Sam was saying it to bug him, the same way Sam would mention casually that a dog had licked the top of Dean's soda can after Dean had taken another drink. True or not, it was all about the spit-take.
What scared him more than what Sam was doing to him was the feeling he had that he wanted to do this right. Slow and gentle, and when the fuck had he become a trashy romance novel?
He was supposed to be thinking about the fact his dad would never speak to him again, not about just how much he wanted to make Sammy's sexual experiences be good ones.
Sam leaned over and kissed him once, briefly, then bounced back up aggressively cheerful. "So showers then breakfast? You still want to go out for breakfast burritos?"
"I'm not going anywhere," Dean said, feeling a bit dazed. "You're going to get me food." He rolled onto his back and put his arm behind his head. A night's sleep had done his shoulder a lot of good, but he wasn't going to be testing it with heavy artillery for awhile, yet.
"You're not going to freak out or anything when I'm gone?" Sam asked, giving him a searching look.
"I'm not freaking out," Dean said, because it wasn't like he was going to admit it, if he was. He realised that Sam really might go down to Bert's Tacos and get them breakfast, and leave Dean lounging in bed.
He sat up and looked around for his jeans.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting pants on," Dean drawled. "It makes it easier to carry a wallet and extra ammunition."
"What happened to you're not going anywhere?" Sam leaned over the far side of the bed and came up with Dean's jeans, which he tossed to him.
"Like I trust you to remember the hot sauce," Dean replied, sliding his jeans on without bothering to look for underwear. He'd have to do laundry, soon, but not today and not tomorrow.
Sam bent over the side of the bed again, this time coming up with his own pants. "Give me a couple of minutes to go get changed and we can go," he said, as he slid them on and climbed over Dean to get out of the bed.
Dean very carefully did not cop a feel, or even stare at Sam's ass as it passed his nose by a few inches. He was grateful Sam put his sweatpants on before climbing over him, because otherwise he wasn't sure they'd make it out of the bedroom until June.
The grin Sam shot him over his shoulder as he was leaving the room told him that Sam knew it too.
end part 1a
on to part 1b
Sequel to: Heart's Desire I: Times Two
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: Wolfling (
wolfling) and James (zortified) Pairing: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Rating: nc-17
Word Count 24,361 (story total)
Warnings: none
Spoilers: vague ones for Devil's Trap and Asylum
Summary: What do you do when what you want, is what you have?
Author's Notes: Many thanks to wesleysgirl for the beta. This will be posted in four parts, a part a day over the next four days so as not to completely spam.
Your time will come, I’ll make you feel it
You’re still young like the sun after rain
Follow the light it’s not in vain
And you will see I’ll touch your feelings
-Born to Touch Your Feelings, Scorpions
part 1a
Dean woke up fast, which was normal for him. He knew exactly where he was -- at the apartment, in his bedroom. He squelched the reflexive thought - 'Sam's apartment' but the thought was already there and it was a second later that he realised why waking up the way he had this morning was not a normal thing.
Sam was asleep beside him.
His little brother was asleep on his stomach, one arm flung possessively over Dean's chest. His face was turned toward Dean and he was wearing a faint smile as he snored softly.
That part wasn't really that new. He'd slept with his brother before -- more often than not, when they were little. He'd gotten used to being his brother's pillow -- Sam's head in his lap in the back of dad's car, or tucked into a bed together in any of a thousand motel rooms. Dean remembered how hard it was the first time they'd lived in an apartment after years of being on the road, and Dad had bought them bunk beds. Sleeping separately had lasted only until Sam had learned how to climb the ladder; then Dean had only fallen asleep after Sam had crawled under the blankets with him.
But never, in all those times, had Sam been naked and still smelling of sex.
Sam stirred and moved closer, nuzzling sleepily at Dean's chest. Dean didn't move -- it was pretty obvious what had happened, and the fact it had happened more than once made it pretty hard to tell himself he'd imagined it. Dreamt it -- and wasn't that something to worry about? His little brother having visions?
It was entirely possible Sam had lied, made up a story... but to do what? Get Dean into bed with him, to convince him to have sex?
Dean let that thought walk around in his brain for awhile. Sex. Sam. Sex with Sam.
It wasn't like he hadn't had this fantasy before, and had jerked off to the idea of Sam doing the things he'd done yesterday. But it had only ever happened when he just couldn't stop himself anymore. When knowing he shouldn't had finally fallen to the fact he wanted.
And he had. God.
He looked down at Sam again. How in the hell had he let this happen? And why wasn't he trying harder to remember all the reasons it had to stop?
"Dean." Sam's eyes blinked open, far too awake for someone who had been fast asleep seconds before, and fixed on his own. "Whatever you're thinking, stop it. It's too early in the morning for freak-outs."
"You don't even know what time it is." He had no idea if that was true or not -- he didn't have much clue, himself. The sun was up, but not too high -- probably eight o'clock, and he glanced at his watch and realised that ok, maybe he did have a clue. His internal clock was never far off, and apparently having sex with Sam didn't flip his entire world upside-down.
"Doesn't matter." Sam yawned and propped himself up on one arm, leaning against Dean. "Do I need to distract you?"
"I don't see how that would help," Dean said quickly. God, all he needed was to make things worse.
Sam's lips quirked up into a smile, his dimples showing. "We'll have to work on that." He paused and then added more seriously, "It's all right, Dean. Really."
"All right? All right?" Dean could hear himself starting to shriek -- he hadn't reached that particular high note since his voice had changed, not counting the time Sam had racked him in the balls with a pool cue.
His shriek was cut off when Sam grabbed onto Dean's head and covered Dean's mouth with his own.
There were fourteen ways he could get Sam off him without breaking any bones, and half a dozen more that involved injury not serious enough to take Sam to the ER. Two ways he could get Sam dumped on the floor on his ass, out of Dean's bed and away from his mouth.
Which didn't explain to Dean why he opened his mouth and let his head sink back into the pillow, with Sam rolling on top of him and holding him down.
Sam was a great kisser -- Dean had noticed that last night and if he had forgotten he was certainly getting a refresher course right now. Sam's hands were threading into Dean's hair, his hips moving lightly against Dean's, his cock...
No, no, no, no, Dean screamed to himself. Not that his own body and cock in particular weren't screaming 'yes, yes' right back, and a little bit louder than the part of his brain which was insisting he had to stop this right now, or he'd regret it for a very long time to come.
He needed to let go of Sam, but he felt so damned good, after wanting him for so long. Dean felt something inside himself clench. His heart? His lungs? Maybe he was having a stroke and he'd die, and find out this was a dying dream.
Sam pulled back just far enough to murmur Dean's name. "It's all right," he repeated. "It's okay. You can feel this, have this. I promise." And Sam's eyes when Dean met them were... deeper somehow. Older.
"...the fuck is going on, Sam?" Yesterday Sam had had a vision of the future, which had apparently involved them having sex. Yesterday, he'd had sex with Sam. Now he had the weirdest sensation that the person he'd woken up with wasn't exactly the same person he'd fallen asleep with.
Or had it started before....
He looked at his brother more closely, and thought about how easily he had fired the crossbow. "You weren't practicing," he said quietly.
"No, I wasn't," Sam replied equally quietly.
Sam had made shots he'd learned to make after... how much experience? How many years had Sam seen in his vision?
Seen, or-- "So you came back?" he asked, because seeing the future didn't give you the ability to hit a bull's-eye when before you couldn't group your shots more than a hand's span. "How...far? Why?" What the hell had happened that Sam had come back to now, this time and place and... propositioned him?
And why didn't any of this sound utterly impossible? Freakin' demons.
Sam sighed and finally lowered his gaze. "I don't know. I... Yesterday I just woke up and there was all this -" he waved a hand at his head, "-stuff in my head."
"What stuff?" He knew what Sam had told him yesterday. He knew about the part where Sam remembered them having sex. But clearly there was a lot more going on than he'd realised.
He was already mentally going through what he recalled from dad's stories, trying to remember if he'd ever encountered anything like this before. He should call dad and ask--
Dean mentally choked. Or that would be a really, really fucking bad idea.
"It's a little... hard to sort it all out," Sam said, watching his hand trace the recently healed scar on Dean's chest. "I get... flashes of... memories, visions, whatever, but they seem to be related to whatever I'm thinking or doing now. And sometimes, it's like I just... know stuff. Know how things are supposed to be. Like us."
"How...much? A year? More?" He tried not to think about dad. Tried not to think about just exactly what Dad would say when he found out. Whether he'd follow through on a threat made years ago about something so stupid Dean couldn't even remember, but it was the first time he'd seen his father furious. Dean had never seen his father raise his hand towards him before that night, and though it hadn't flown, Dean had always known, after that, it was possible.
More likely his father would just scream at him and walk away, expecting to come back and Dean would have everything right again.
Focusing on Sam's visions didn't exactly distract him, but it was better than freaking.
"I don't know." Sam frowned. "More than a year. A lot more, I think."
More than a year... Dean gaped at him. "Dude, you are not older than me!"
"I'm the same age I always was!" Sam shot back, along with a look that was pure exasperated little brother. "I'm still me, Dean. Stop trying to make me into some kind of... of... body snatcher or something."
"You're the one who said you got... several years downloaded into your brain. I'm just saying... it wasn't more than four." Dean said it firmly, like if he believed it hard enough it would be true.
Not that he really cared, except that there was no way in hell his little brother was going to magically turn out to be older than him. No way.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
Dean thumped him, not caring that it might be a little too hard on bare skin. Which made him remember -- bare skin -- and maybe he should try harder to focus on this vision thing of Sam's, and less on the fact he wanted to spend the day in bed with him.
Sam was watching his face again, his own expression one of fascination. "I'm not sure anyone should be able to change feelings that quickly," he observed.
Which made absolutely no sense. "What?"
"Dude, it's all over your face." Sam poked him in the chest. "You can't figure out if you're freaked out, interested, wanting to thump me, or turned on. Let me know when you figure out which one to go with so I can hold up my end of the conversation."
Well, that made it easier, anyway. His brother being irritating triggered an ingrained reflex. Dean thumped him again, hard.
"Ow," Sam complained, rubbing his head. "Yeah, figures you'd pick thumping."
"And after 18 years it still doesn't work," Dean muttered. Because Sam was still being irritating, for all that he was just lying there, looking like there was nothing to be worried about.
Sam smiled as he continued watching him.
Dean sighed. "Okay... fuck." Sam was right. He had to make a decision. Visions, dad, bed. Figuring out what was going on in Sam's head was probably going to take the rest of his life, so he shelved that one for now. Dad... yeah. Until dad showed up maybe he could get away with pretending dad would only kill him, then salt and burn the bones so Dean couldn't haunt his ass.
Although it might be kinda fun, shadowing the old man on hunts, razzing him and pointing out when something was about to get the drop on him.
As if dad would let Dean haunt him, after finding him naked in bed with his brother.
Okay, so - that left bed. Specifically, the very thing dad would kill him for.
Sam's smile got even wider. "So anything I can do to help you out here?"
Dean thought about it, then acted like he was thinking hard, about it. There were only two real options, and he really wasn't sure he could say the first one. "You could bring me a couple breakfast burritos," he said, knowing full well the taco stand was a good fifteen minutes' drive away.
He watched as Sam considered the request, then shook his head. "Nope. I'm not leaving." There seemed to be a bit more... oomph to the words than just refusing to go get breakfast required.
"You asked." Dean let the accusation slide into his voice. Better by far to tease him, something he could do in his sleep, drunk off his ass, or half-concussed. All of which he'd proven, before.
"Uh huh. We can go grab some breakfast burritos together if you want. After."
With a suspicious look at Sam, Dean asked, "After what?"
Sam moved his hips lewdly against Dean. "What do you think?"
Dean's cock told him what a fantastic idea it was, and lauded his brother for his genius. Dean told his cock to shut the fuck up and let him think.
Dean pressed his hand against his brother's back, feeling just how warm his skin was, how good it felt to hold him, and how bright and clear Sam's eyes were as he looked at Dean.
Fuck, he was lost. He'd been lost the very first time Sam had opened his eyes and looked at him -- Dean didn't have many clear memories of age four, but the first time his little brother smiled at him was one of them, and the only good one from that whole year.
He poked at the memory and tried to remind his body why this was not going to happen. But the same pair of eyes were looking at him, that same smile was burning a path through his heart.
Sam traced Dean's lips with a light finger. "I love your mouth. It's just so..."
"Perfect," Dean said, trying for smug, and wondering if it should really feel this good. He'd had sex before, he'd lain with a lover and touched and talked and cuddled, and he couldn't remember feeling...like this.
Like he wanted to pull Sam in and not let him go.
"Yeah," Sam agreed, leaning down to lick at Dean's mouth. "It is. Made for kissing."
"Pretty good at it, too," Dean said, because he'd been bragging about his prowess since the first time a girl had kissed him for a second time. It was easier than thinking about the fact Sam was nuzzling at his mouth and that Dean's hand was beginning to wander down Sam's back, towards an ass that Dean had -- No. Not there, Dean told himself. Not... but Sam's tongue was on his lips and Dean's mouth was opening as though Dean's brain had no say in the matter.
He couldn't let himself think about what he wanted, but the image of Sam fucking him suddenly hit.
Sam's hands were sliding down Dean's sides, light caresses that had far more effect than anything that light should have. "I could kiss you for hours," Sam murmured against Dean's mouth. "Days even." He smiled. "Make it my life's career."
"Jesus, Sam," Dean breathed. How the hell had this happened? Yesterday everything made sense. It wasn't normal, but he understood it. Now -- he felt like he was drowning. He squeezed his eyes closed because there was something about this. There had to be -- something to explain why he was hearing and feeling and getting everything he'd ever wanted after a lifetime of giving away all the best pieces -- the strawberry lollipops and the unbroken cookies and the handfuls of change to buy Sam's comic books.
Shapeshifter, he thought. Demon possession. Insanity. Dreams. Nightmares.
All more likely than the fact Sam loved him and wanted him like this.
All more likely than the fact Dean might actually get--
"Stop it," Sam told him, nipping sharply to punctuate the words, before darting his tongue out to sooth the hurt. "This is real. It's all right. You can have this. I want this -- I want you." He kissed him slow and lingering. "Some day you're going to believe me."
Dean turned and pressed his face against his brother's, closing his eyes tightly. Fuck, but he was turning into such a girl, fucking crying because he couldn't have what he wanted. He grabbed hold of his emotions and stuffed them down, hard. Remembered his dad's voice, telling him no, they couldn't buy that, they needed to get... Anything. Five years old and his hand on something bright and plastic, and seeing his dad take it away and replace it with a jar of baby food.
He laughed, once, because thinking of his dad wasn't making him want Sam any less.
Sam had pulled back again just enough to study his face and now he smiled sadly at Dean. "Someday you'll believe me," he repeated softly, resting his forehead against Dean's until they were breathing the same air. "I promise."
Dean shook his head, because there were a lot of things in the world he was prepared to believe in, but having -- keeping Sam, was not one of them.
He thought of the letter from Stanford, still lying wherever Sam had dropped it, and felt his stomach fall down through the soles of his feet.
"Someday," Sam murmured, then kissed him again, before sliding down, under the covers, his tongue leaving a warm wet trail of sensation across Dean's skin as he went.
"No," Dean whispered, not sure why he said it, when everything inside him wanted Sam to keep going. He groped for Sam's head through the blankets, but couldn't seem to coordinate enough to get a hold.
Then Sam's mouth was closing over his cock.
A strangled noise came out of Dean's mouth and he couldn't have said under pain of death if he was trying to say 'yes' or 'no.' But it felt so good, so fucking good and besides -- the little voice in his head which could speak English reminded him -- he had been here already. No more sin than this, twice, than to have done it at all.
He bucked his hips upwards as Sam pulled up slightly. Sam didn't play with him like he had the night before. Instead it was hard and fast and overwhelming, as if he was trying to block out everything else for Dean than this, them, together. Sam was good enough at it that it almost worked.
As it was, his brain only grew quiet, not silent, even as Dean tried to put all his attention on what he was feeling. But what he was feeling was the problem, despite and because of how good and intense it felt. When he finally came, his head was already spinning.
He reached out for Sam as he waited for the room to stop moving.
And Sam was there immediately for him, wrapping his long limbs around him and pressing close, kissing Dean and letting him taste himself in his brother's mouth.
Forcibly, Dean told himself to just stop thinking already. There was one good way to do that -- and it wasn't like he didn't owe Sam already. He pushed Sam onto his back and slid down his brother's body, mirroring Sam's earlier motion.
For all he'd seen his brother naked, and for all that he'd had his hand on Sam yesterday, he'd never actually looked at him, fully-erect and leaking pre-cum. Dean didn't hesitate before wrapping his mouth around the head, used to the mechanics of giving blow jobs, but not expecting the realisation that he already knew his brother's scent.
Sam made a strangled, gasping sound when Dean's mouth closed over him, his hands coming down to grab onto Dean's head. He didn't actually buck upwards, but Dean could feel the tension in his muscles that said he wanted to.
Dean held him down, one arm pressed across Sam's hip bones and the other tucked around Sam's thigh. He used his weight to hold Sam more or less in place, because he knew pretty soon Sam would be trying to choke him with his cock.
Which was the point, but Dean had learned to enjoy not gagging when he was giving blow jobs.
He opened his mouth wider and took Sam in halfway and sucked lightly. That got more noise out of Sam, a cross between moans and half understood words.
Dean catalogued the reaction, ignoring the fact he was acting like he needed to know this -- but even when he knew he was never going to be with someone again, he tried to notice and repeat the things his lovers liked. Attentive, a woman had called him once.
She'd given him a kiss on the cheek when he'd left.
Dean used his tongue to wrap around Sam's cock, twisting it around and searching for spots that would make Sam make noise.
Sam, it seemed, was very vocal as almost every spot evoked some noise. But there were some that made him a bit louder, made his voice go a bit higher in pitch and those were the ones that Dean concentrated on. When he heard his brother's breathing hitch in a high, breathless gasp, Dean smiled to himself and swallowed as much of Sam as he possibly could.
Sam screamed Dean's name when he came, his hands tightening in Dean's hair to the point of pain.
'He must not have had too many of these,' Dean thought. Or perhaps his care-givers just hadn't said anything -- and so not surprising when the thought of someone else giving Sam a blow job made him angry.
He gave Sam's cock one last kiss, then pushed himself up towards the head of the bed.
Completely limp and boneless, Sam looked at him with eyes that shone with adoration and even a bit of awe. "Th-that was..."
"Not quite as long as I expected, but you're young. You'll learn to make it last." Dean smirked at the expression on Sam's face. He'd had compliments before, but Sam was acting like it was a world-class blowjob.
"I never... I knew they were good, but I never thought it would feel like that."
Dean froze. He felt his jaw drop and he stared at Sam. "Don't... oh god please don't tell me that was your first--"
"I got flashes of it happening, but," Sam gave him the biggest goofiest grin, "I haven't actually physically had..."
His blood seemed to actually stop flowing, and Dean managed somehow to ask, "Sam, please tell me you've had sex before." He remembered his brother talking about girls -- always girls, never guys, and what the fuck was up with that? He'd talked about kissing, and hell, Dean had been the one to pay Crissy ten dollars to make out with a 13 year old Sam, and act like he was decent at it, just to get him started on the right foot.
But never had a blow job before? Hell, that was teenage sex act number two on the charts, right after... everything he and Sam had done yesterday.
"Of course I've had sex before," Sam replied in perfectly reasoned tones. "Yesterday."
There was no way. No fucking way. Dean stared at Sam, and saw innocence and sincerity and fuck, but his brother could pull off that look so well that Dean couldn't actually tell if he was yanking Dean's chain or not.
"Tell me you're joking," he said, his voice steady.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, of course I'm joking! I lost my virginity back when I was 15 to Cindi Garrett, when we were living in Nebraska. Walked around with a huge grin on my face for the next week."
"Thank god," Dean breathed, relaxing with a sudden rush. Because if there was one thing a guy didn't want, it was to be the one to take his brother's virginity.
Dean stared at that thought in his head, and asked himself when he'd lost his mind.
"You are the first guy I've had sex with though," Sam continued helpfully.
Letting his head hit the pillow didn't help much, but it let him close his eyes and try not to think about that statement. He knew Sam was saying it to bug him, the same way Sam would mention casually that a dog had licked the top of Dean's soda can after Dean had taken another drink. True or not, it was all about the spit-take.
What scared him more than what Sam was doing to him was the feeling he had that he wanted to do this right. Slow and gentle, and when the fuck had he become a trashy romance novel?
He was supposed to be thinking about the fact his dad would never speak to him again, not about just how much he wanted to make Sammy's sexual experiences be good ones.
Sam leaned over and kissed him once, briefly, then bounced back up aggressively cheerful. "So showers then breakfast? You still want to go out for breakfast burritos?"
"I'm not going anywhere," Dean said, feeling a bit dazed. "You're going to get me food." He rolled onto his back and put his arm behind his head. A night's sleep had done his shoulder a lot of good, but he wasn't going to be testing it with heavy artillery for awhile, yet.
"You're not going to freak out or anything when I'm gone?" Sam asked, giving him a searching look.
"I'm not freaking out," Dean said, because it wasn't like he was going to admit it, if he was. He realised that Sam really might go down to Bert's Tacos and get them breakfast, and leave Dean lounging in bed.
He sat up and looked around for his jeans.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting pants on," Dean drawled. "It makes it easier to carry a wallet and extra ammunition."
"What happened to you're not going anywhere?" Sam leaned over the far side of the bed and came up with Dean's jeans, which he tossed to him.
"Like I trust you to remember the hot sauce," Dean replied, sliding his jeans on without bothering to look for underwear. He'd have to do laundry, soon, but not today and not tomorrow.
Sam bent over the side of the bed again, this time coming up with his own pants. "Give me a couple of minutes to go get changed and we can go," he said, as he slid them on and climbed over Dean to get out of the bed.
Dean very carefully did not cop a feel, or even stare at Sam's ass as it passed his nose by a few inches. He was grateful Sam put his sweatpants on before climbing over him, because otherwise he wasn't sure they'd make it out of the bedroom until June.
The grin Sam shot him over his shoulder as he was leaving the room told him that Sam knew it too.
end part 1a
on to part 1b