SPN Fic: Heart's Desire II 3a/4
Jun. 1st, 2006 08:40 am![[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 part three; part four will be posted tomorrow. Pinky swear.
continued from part two
part 3a
"Oh, man. That one sucked." Dean watched the ripples spread from the rock he'd just thrown -- thrown like an eighty-year-old arthritic woman. He'd tried throwing with his other hand, and couldn't get the distance he knew he was capable of -- much more than his brother, which was the important part.
Half of the rocks were back in the lake, now, and Dean was having an extremely poor showing. The way Sam was cackling made him want to....
Well, maybe after they were done, he'd dump his little brother in the lake.
"I wasn't going to say anything, but..." Sam began then cracked up again. He reached into the bag of rocks and grabbed another one, sending it gracefully arcing over to land in the lake a good 20 feet further than Dean's had.
"Yeah, if you pick the small ones," Dean groused. He grabbed another rock, turned a little, then let it fly with as much power as he could.
Then remembered why he hadn't wanted to do that. He managed not to curse out loud, but at least his rock went as far as Sam's last.
"Idiot." Sam's voice was affectionate.
"The day I can't beat my little brother at rock throwing is the day they push my ass into the retirement home -- and shoot me."
Sam's expression changed, the smile slipping from his face.
"Seriously, Sam -- sitting around all day with the only thing to look forward to is what flavor pudding they serve? I would shoot myself."
"Okay, can we stop talking about you getting shot, please?" Sam asked plaintively, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. "Really don't need the accompanying picture show."
"Picture show, what are you--" Dean stopped, realizing he was probably shutting up just a little too late. He turned and threw another rock into the lake, not even trying for more than far enough away they didn't get splashed. He glanced over at the serious -- no, haunted expression on his brother's face. "You, uh, saw me get shot?" he asked.
"Yeah." Sam threw another rock out in a violent motion; it went further than any of them had before. "One of the times it was me shooting you."
The words shocked him. Dean stared -- but yeah, his brother was serious. "Was I possessed? Or... you were?"
Sam frowned. "Me, I think. Sort of. I don't know." Another rock sailed out over the water.
Dean looked at his brother; it was obvious how much it was bothering him. Well, of course -- Dean mentally smacked himself on the head. Even though he could easily think of several good reasons why Sam would have to shoot him, and it be the right thing to do -- he didn't think Sam was thinking much farther than the image of shooting his brother.
He tried to think of something he could demand in repayment. Jostle his brother out of his mood, make him smile again. But the first thing that came to mind was asking for a blow job -- and while he knew Sam would go for it, he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to treat this thing between them so casually.
"You're buying dinner," he said, instead.
Startled, Sam looked at him. "What?
"You fucking shoot me, you can at least buy me dinner." He made a disgusted sound, and shook his head.
It took a few seconds, but finally he saw Sam's shoulders relax slightly and the ghost of a smile touch his lips. "I suppose that's fair."
"I want a steak," Dean said, firmly. Not that he didn't figure it would be him paying the check, in the end. Not unless Sam's Mrs. Eriks was working at the restaurant they'd passed on the way in.
"Steak? It wasn't like I killed you," Sam protested. "Just a flesh wound."
Dean gave him a pout. "My flesh wound isn't worth a steak? My own brother wounds me, and I don't get steak and garlic mashed potatoes, and apple pie?"
"Your own brother had a vision of shooting you. I suppose I could have a vision of buying you a steak dinner..."
Dean flipped him off, and threw another rock into the lake. "I think I have a vision...."
Sam picked up another rock and threw it. "This should be good," he said dryly.
"No, no, you'll like this." He walked over to Sam, smiling. He let his smile change, just a little comehither. He got his hands on Sam's arms. Though Sam still looked wary, Dean could feel how he let his guard down when he touched him. Trusting.
He pulled Sam close with one quick movement, letting their bodies slam together. Then he was lifting, twisting his hips, and Sam was sailing through the air, and landing with a huge splash in the lake. He reached down and threw the bag with the last of the rocks in after him.
Then Dean ran.
Sam's howl of outrage followed him, as did, soon enough, the sound of Sam's footsteps chasing him. Dean looked over his shoulder to see his sopping brother with his head down running full out after him -- and gaining.
Catching him looking, Sam yelled, "You are so dead when I catch you!"
Dean laughed and concentrated on running as fast as he could. He had no idea if Sam would catch him -- they'd been pretty matched for speed for a long time, until Sam hit thirteen and finally figured out how to use those freakishly long legs of his. But Dean was headed towards the woods surrounding the lake, and he had a lot more experience dodging things that wanted to kill him than Sam did.
Dean darted around the side of the cabin and tried not to think about the last time he'd seen those long legs, naked and wrapped around his own.
He blamed that image for making him trip on a rock -- and shouldn't the rock spirits be being nice to him, now? He went sprawling onto the ground, catching himself and feeling the bite of dirt and gravel in the palms of his hands -- two seconds before he was flattened by the weight of his brother landing on him.
His very wet brother, who immediately plastered himself close, transferring as much of the wet as he could. A second later, Sam's fingers were also digging into his ribs in an all too familiar move.
One that Sam kept using because it kept working. Damn it.
He tried to flip them over, get on top of Sam and try to get himself free, but Sam seemed extra determined to keep him pinned where he was. Dean flung an elbow back, not caring if he caught Sam full on the chin or not because fuck he'd got his fingers on Dean's ribs and it was so completely not fair that Dean was ticklish and Sam was not.
He ignored the protest in his shoulder, telling himself he'd happily break his collarbone completely if it meant getting Sam to-- "Stop tickling me!" he shouted, pissed off and knowing it would only egg Sam on.
"Dude, you threw me in the lake," Sam retorted, emphasising his words with jabs of his fingers in-between the tickling.
"You shot me!" Dean yelled back. "And you wouldn't even buy me a steak dinner!" He wriggled harder, trying to get away. Things were getting desperate, because Sam didn't seem to be going anywhere -- and part of his body was happily ignoring the shooting pains in his palms and shoulder, and was focusing on the fact Sam was lying on top of him, holding him down.
Including the fact that the same parts of Sam's body seemed to be pretty happy about it, too.
"It was a vision. You going to hold me responsible for every freaking thing I see?" The tickling was easing up just a little, but the light caresses that replaced it weren't really much better for Dean's peace of mind. Nor was the way Sam's hips were rocking ever so slightly against him.
"Depends," Dean said, then gasped. Tried not to think about how perfectly positioned Sam was, and how all he had to do was yank his jeans down and Sam could fuck him. He heard himself whimper, and clamped his jaw down too late to stifle the embarrassing noise.
"Depends on what?" Sam asked, leaning over Dean and speaking directly into his ear, so close that Dean could feel his brother's hot breath against his skin.
He had no idea what he'd been saying. He didn't bother trying to remember, not with Sam still pressing down on him. He could feel Sam's erection pressed against his ass. His hips jerked, and he wanted so badly to just shove himself backwards, rub his ass on Sam's cock and...
Sam covered him with his body even more thoroughly, sliding his hands along Dean's arms until he could entwine their fingers. He rocked his hips against Dean, his warm breath on Dean's neck sending shivers down his spine.
"Getting...me..." Dean gasped and squeezed his fingers tight around Sam's.
"Yeah." The word was more air than voice and what voice there was was deep and growly. Sam's hips rocked harder against Dean, settling into a rhythm. "I am."
Dean grinned, despite the fact he was facing the ground. "Fucking soaked," he finished. As though the sound of Sam's growl hadn't gone straight to his cock and jabbed him, like a live wire. As though he weren't thinking of ways to make Sam sound like that again.
The breathy chuckle Sam puffed against his ear wasn't a bad alternative either. "That too," Sam agreed, not stopping anything he was doing.
He thought about rallying for another complaint -- the lake water was cold and smelled, but it occurred to him that Sam probably had a much better idea of just how cold and smelly the lake was.
Maybe he should concentrate on making his brother think of him fondly, rather than with any sense of revenge.
Then Sam pushed against him, hard, and Dean's legs fell open, and he thought that maybe he should have considered pulling down his jeans. "Oh god, god...." Dean let his head fall, banging it against his forearm, and pushed up on his knees a little, giving Sam a better angle.
He heard the catch in his brother's breath as Sam reacted, and another one of those sinful chuckles. "Nope, just Sam."
"Real original," Dean said, trying hard to not sound breathy and too aroused to talk. He didn't think he was succeeding, and -- damn. He wriggled one hand under his body and tried to squeeze his hand inside his jeans.
Only to have Sam knock his hand away and replace it with his own, pressing hard against Dean's denim covered erection.
He couldn't stop himself from crying out, some wordless, nearly-mindless thing that made him glad they were alone. Hell, they'd better be alone or the neighbors were going to get their money's worth of free porn. He shoved his cock against Sam's hand, pushed his ass against Sam's cock, and had a second to wish he'd got his jeans off before --
Dean shouted, and came, hard.
Sam came a moment later, collapsing on him, driving them both back to the ground. Grunting at the impact, Dean gave the sound an extra oomph. He laid still for a second, then nudged Sam with the entire backside of his body, lifting them both up an inch or two.
"Oof," he said clearly, though he closed his eyes and thought about staying where he was for awhile.
Sam grunted something unintelligible in response, but didn't actually move except to nuzzle lazily at the back of Dean's neck.
"Fucking heavy," Dean complained, though he didn't really feel like throwing his brother off. Not with Sam's mouth on his skin, doing things that made his cock try to forget he'd just come.
Sam snorted and began humming something. After a few seconds Dean recognised it as He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother.
Dean growled, and put his hands flat on the ground and started to shove Sam off his back, dump his ass on the ground. The sharp pain in his collarbone exploded, and he fell back onto the ground, chest and cheek in the dirt. He closed his eyes and lay still, waiting for the pain to die away.
"Dean?" The weight on his back disappeared and then hands were gently -- but not gently enough -- turning him over.
"Fuck!" The pain shot through his shoulder, down into his spine. He didn't try to move, letting his brother settle him onto his back. He'd felt it when he'd lifted Sam up -- not that throwing him into the lake hadn't been worth it.
But now he was wishing he'd just pushed him.
"Collarbone?" Sam asked, running light fingers over Dean's shoulder and chest that were nonetheless too hard.
Dean winced at the touch, caught himself from flinching away because that movement hurt like hell, too. "Don't touch it," he snapped.
Sam's lips pressed together in clear displeasure, but he didn't stop his prodding immediately. "Well, I don't think you've re-broken it," he said, finally pulling back, thank god. "But you've definitely set yourself back some."
"It's not broken," Dean told him, not trying to hide his irritation. He knew what a broken bone felt like. This was just...setting himself back, some. He got his good arm behind him and pushed, struggling to sit up without using his right shoulder at all.
Sam immediately moved to help him, knowing exactly what he needed to do to keep the jostling to a minimum. It wasn't the first time he'd had to do this sort of thing, after all. He waited until Dean nodded that he was balanced all right in the sitting position before letting go.
Then Sam took off the flannel shirt he was wearing and began turning it into a makeshift sling. "This will do until we get back to the house and the first aid kit."
"I don't need--" Dean began, and shut up at a look from his brother. He made a face, anyhow. "It's wet."
"Whose fault is that? Besides, you're a little damp around the edges yourself." He helped Dean put the sling on and was obviously trying to be as gentle as possible, but Dean still had to bite his lip against the pain of moving.
"Your fault," Dean said, confidently. As confident as he could sound, what with catching his breath every time his shoulder moved. When the sling was finally tied, and the weight taken off his shoulder, Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head against Sam.
He felt his brother's fingers at the nape of his neck, rubbing in small circles. It was... soothing. He rested there for another moment, rallying himself to stand up. He knew it was going to hurt like a bitch, but he couldn't exactly stay sitting outside on the ground all night, either.
He gave himself another moment, staying where he was, before leaning away.
"Up to trying to stand?" Sam asked, still being all solicitous and not saying 'I told you so.' Yet, anyway.
"Sure, let's give it a whirl. Always did like living dangerously." He took a deep breath as Sam moved, wrapping his arms around Dean.
Standing up wasn't nearly as much fun as he could have wished, given that he ended up leaning his entire body against Sam. Careful of the sling, Sam wrapped his arms around him and hugged him, and showed no signs of wanting to let go any time soon.
"You're still wet," Dean complained. Then he shivered; the breeze was hitting him just hard enough to chill his own clothes where they'd gotten wet. Which meant Sam was probably freezing. He stepped back, and looked at his brother. "Let's get inside." They both needed to dry off and put on clean, dry clothes.
"Sounds like a good plan," Sam said, releasing Dean, but keeping one arm around his waist for support as they started walking.
They'd made it about halfway back when Sam blurted, "I'm sorry you're hurting but I'm not sorry that I... we... y'know."
Surprised, Dean looked at him, raising one eyebrow in an exaggerated expression of 'what the hell is wrong with you now?' "That we... threw rocks in the lake? Talked about dinner?"
Hell, if his little brother couldn't say it.... Dean swallowed. Then again, who was he to talk? He could barely let himself think it, and he'd done it four times now.
"I'm not sorry that I pounced you and then we humped like rabbits," Sam replied, voice stronger. "Though okay, I'm a little sorry we didn't get our pants off again..."
"I'm cold, wet, and sticky," Dean said, as they reached the door. He made no move to help as Sam juggled him and getting the door open. He sniffed, and said sadly, "Sticky pants."
Then he snickered. That would never stop being funny.
"Shut up."
"Sticky pants," he repeated, and let Sam drag him inside. He leaned against the wall as Sam closed and locked the door behind them. "We'd better salt the place if we're staying," Dean said. "Sticky pants."
"What are you, five?" Sam asked in exasperation, already pulling his soaked t-shirt over his head and dropping it where he stood.
Dean's mouth dropped open to reply, but all he could think was, damn.
Sam toed off his sneakers and was starting to undo his jeans when he looked up and saw Dean staring at him. He froze for a few seconds then a slow smile crept across his face. "Feeling better I see."
His shoulder still hurt like hell, but Dean didn't mind. Some painkillers and a comfortable bed, and he'd be great. Especially with this sort of view...
Dean looked away, at the floor. He shouldn't... shouldn't be doing this.
"Hey," Sam said softly, moving into his line of sight, stooping slightly to look up at him. "You're allowed to look."
"Yeah, I just...." He couldn't meet Sam's eyes, glancing over to look at anything but. He caught sight of the kitchen, through the end of the short hallway.
Crap. So they'd forgotten one small detail.
"I don't suppose they left any food from the last time they were here?" Assuming the cleaning service had got rid of the perishable stuff, did he really want to eat nothing but canned goods that had been sitting for two years?
Sam followed his gaze, opened and shut his mouth a couple of times without saying anything then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll make a supply run once we get you all fixed up and settled."
"'Settled'? You make it sound like I'm an invalid. Come on, we can make a quick check and see if our rock spirit is gone, then head back towards the gas station." He'd seen the sign -- gas, groceries, fishing licenses. But he hadn't taken the hint.
"Shouldn't take me too long to drive there and back," Sam said, moving over to where they'd dropped their bags and dug in the duffel until he pulled out the first aid kit and clean outfits for them both. "Come on, we can get cleaned up in the bathroom upstairs and check for the spirit on the way."
Dean noticed how Sam seemed to be ignoring the part where he wasn't an invalid. But he followed Sam, letting him carry everything, and once they hit the stairs he found his nose about five inches away from Sam's ass.
He stopped, and once Sam had got a few steps up, continued up the stairs at a safer distance.
Sam paused when they reached the hallway at the top of the stairs. "Shower?" he asked. "Or spirit checking?"
"Let's check the sister's bedroom first, huh?" Dean hoped it was gone, because the idea of a hot shower -- a place as luxurious as this one probably had one hell of a nice shower. He'd be willing to bet the hot water didn't run out after fifteen minutes.
"I'll do it," Sam said moving past Dean and back down the hallway.
Sighing, Dean let him go. He headed towards the other end of the hall, towards what he figured would be the master bedroom. The best shower would be there, he reasoned. Biggest bathroom, biggest bed--
Dean swallowed, and concentrated on finding the shower.
end part 3a
on to part 3b
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 part three; part four will be posted tomorrow. Pinky swear.
continued from part two
part 3a
"Oh, man. That one sucked." Dean watched the ripples spread from the rock he'd just thrown -- thrown like an eighty-year-old arthritic woman. He'd tried throwing with his other hand, and couldn't get the distance he knew he was capable of -- much more than his brother, which was the important part.
Half of the rocks were back in the lake, now, and Dean was having an extremely poor showing. The way Sam was cackling made him want to....
Well, maybe after they were done, he'd dump his little brother in the lake.
"I wasn't going to say anything, but..." Sam began then cracked up again. He reached into the bag of rocks and grabbed another one, sending it gracefully arcing over to land in the lake a good 20 feet further than Dean's had.
"Yeah, if you pick the small ones," Dean groused. He grabbed another rock, turned a little, then let it fly with as much power as he could.
Then remembered why he hadn't wanted to do that. He managed not to curse out loud, but at least his rock went as far as Sam's last.
"Idiot." Sam's voice was affectionate.
"The day I can't beat my little brother at rock throwing is the day they push my ass into the retirement home -- and shoot me."
Sam's expression changed, the smile slipping from his face.
"Seriously, Sam -- sitting around all day with the only thing to look forward to is what flavor pudding they serve? I would shoot myself."
"Okay, can we stop talking about you getting shot, please?" Sam asked plaintively, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. "Really don't need the accompanying picture show."
"Picture show, what are you--" Dean stopped, realizing he was probably shutting up just a little too late. He turned and threw another rock into the lake, not even trying for more than far enough away they didn't get splashed. He glanced over at the serious -- no, haunted expression on his brother's face. "You, uh, saw me get shot?" he asked.
"Yeah." Sam threw another rock out in a violent motion; it went further than any of them had before. "One of the times it was me shooting you."
The words shocked him. Dean stared -- but yeah, his brother was serious. "Was I possessed? Or... you were?"
Sam frowned. "Me, I think. Sort of. I don't know." Another rock sailed out over the water.
Dean looked at his brother; it was obvious how much it was bothering him. Well, of course -- Dean mentally smacked himself on the head. Even though he could easily think of several good reasons why Sam would have to shoot him, and it be the right thing to do -- he didn't think Sam was thinking much farther than the image of shooting his brother.
He tried to think of something he could demand in repayment. Jostle his brother out of his mood, make him smile again. But the first thing that came to mind was asking for a blow job -- and while he knew Sam would go for it, he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to treat this thing between them so casually.
"You're buying dinner," he said, instead.
Startled, Sam looked at him. "What?
"You fucking shoot me, you can at least buy me dinner." He made a disgusted sound, and shook his head.
It took a few seconds, but finally he saw Sam's shoulders relax slightly and the ghost of a smile touch his lips. "I suppose that's fair."
"I want a steak," Dean said, firmly. Not that he didn't figure it would be him paying the check, in the end. Not unless Sam's Mrs. Eriks was working at the restaurant they'd passed on the way in.
"Steak? It wasn't like I killed you," Sam protested. "Just a flesh wound."
Dean gave him a pout. "My flesh wound isn't worth a steak? My own brother wounds me, and I don't get steak and garlic mashed potatoes, and apple pie?"
"Your own brother had a vision of shooting you. I suppose I could have a vision of buying you a steak dinner..."
Dean flipped him off, and threw another rock into the lake. "I think I have a vision...."
Sam picked up another rock and threw it. "This should be good," he said dryly.
"No, no, you'll like this." He walked over to Sam, smiling. He let his smile change, just a little comehither. He got his hands on Sam's arms. Though Sam still looked wary, Dean could feel how he let his guard down when he touched him. Trusting.
He pulled Sam close with one quick movement, letting their bodies slam together. Then he was lifting, twisting his hips, and Sam was sailing through the air, and landing with a huge splash in the lake. He reached down and threw the bag with the last of the rocks in after him.
Then Dean ran.
Sam's howl of outrage followed him, as did, soon enough, the sound of Sam's footsteps chasing him. Dean looked over his shoulder to see his sopping brother with his head down running full out after him -- and gaining.
Catching him looking, Sam yelled, "You are so dead when I catch you!"
Dean laughed and concentrated on running as fast as he could. He had no idea if Sam would catch him -- they'd been pretty matched for speed for a long time, until Sam hit thirteen and finally figured out how to use those freakishly long legs of his. But Dean was headed towards the woods surrounding the lake, and he had a lot more experience dodging things that wanted to kill him than Sam did.
Dean darted around the side of the cabin and tried not to think about the last time he'd seen those long legs, naked and wrapped around his own.
He blamed that image for making him trip on a rock -- and shouldn't the rock spirits be being nice to him, now? He went sprawling onto the ground, catching himself and feeling the bite of dirt and gravel in the palms of his hands -- two seconds before he was flattened by the weight of his brother landing on him.
His very wet brother, who immediately plastered himself close, transferring as much of the wet as he could. A second later, Sam's fingers were also digging into his ribs in an all too familiar move.
One that Sam kept using because it kept working. Damn it.
He tried to flip them over, get on top of Sam and try to get himself free, but Sam seemed extra determined to keep him pinned where he was. Dean flung an elbow back, not caring if he caught Sam full on the chin or not because fuck he'd got his fingers on Dean's ribs and it was so completely not fair that Dean was ticklish and Sam was not.
He ignored the protest in his shoulder, telling himself he'd happily break his collarbone completely if it meant getting Sam to-- "Stop tickling me!" he shouted, pissed off and knowing it would only egg Sam on.
"Dude, you threw me in the lake," Sam retorted, emphasising his words with jabs of his fingers in-between the tickling.
"You shot me!" Dean yelled back. "And you wouldn't even buy me a steak dinner!" He wriggled harder, trying to get away. Things were getting desperate, because Sam didn't seem to be going anywhere -- and part of his body was happily ignoring the shooting pains in his palms and shoulder, and was focusing on the fact Sam was lying on top of him, holding him down.
Including the fact that the same parts of Sam's body seemed to be pretty happy about it, too.
"It was a vision. You going to hold me responsible for every freaking thing I see?" The tickling was easing up just a little, but the light caresses that replaced it weren't really much better for Dean's peace of mind. Nor was the way Sam's hips were rocking ever so slightly against him.
"Depends," Dean said, then gasped. Tried not to think about how perfectly positioned Sam was, and how all he had to do was yank his jeans down and Sam could fuck him. He heard himself whimper, and clamped his jaw down too late to stifle the embarrassing noise.
"Depends on what?" Sam asked, leaning over Dean and speaking directly into his ear, so close that Dean could feel his brother's hot breath against his skin.
He had no idea what he'd been saying. He didn't bother trying to remember, not with Sam still pressing down on him. He could feel Sam's erection pressed against his ass. His hips jerked, and he wanted so badly to just shove himself backwards, rub his ass on Sam's cock and...
Sam covered him with his body even more thoroughly, sliding his hands along Dean's arms until he could entwine their fingers. He rocked his hips against Dean, his warm breath on Dean's neck sending shivers down his spine.
"Getting...me..." Dean gasped and squeezed his fingers tight around Sam's.
"Yeah." The word was more air than voice and what voice there was was deep and growly. Sam's hips rocked harder against Dean, settling into a rhythm. "I am."
Dean grinned, despite the fact he was facing the ground. "Fucking soaked," he finished. As though the sound of Sam's growl hadn't gone straight to his cock and jabbed him, like a live wire. As though he weren't thinking of ways to make Sam sound like that again.
The breathy chuckle Sam puffed against his ear wasn't a bad alternative either. "That too," Sam agreed, not stopping anything he was doing.
He thought about rallying for another complaint -- the lake water was cold and smelled, but it occurred to him that Sam probably had a much better idea of just how cold and smelly the lake was.
Maybe he should concentrate on making his brother think of him fondly, rather than with any sense of revenge.
Then Sam pushed against him, hard, and Dean's legs fell open, and he thought that maybe he should have considered pulling down his jeans. "Oh god, god...." Dean let his head fall, banging it against his forearm, and pushed up on his knees a little, giving Sam a better angle.
He heard the catch in his brother's breath as Sam reacted, and another one of those sinful chuckles. "Nope, just Sam."
"Real original," Dean said, trying hard to not sound breathy and too aroused to talk. He didn't think he was succeeding, and -- damn. He wriggled one hand under his body and tried to squeeze his hand inside his jeans.
Only to have Sam knock his hand away and replace it with his own, pressing hard against Dean's denim covered erection.
He couldn't stop himself from crying out, some wordless, nearly-mindless thing that made him glad they were alone. Hell, they'd better be alone or the neighbors were going to get their money's worth of free porn. He shoved his cock against Sam's hand, pushed his ass against Sam's cock, and had a second to wish he'd got his jeans off before --
Dean shouted, and came, hard.
Sam came a moment later, collapsing on him, driving them both back to the ground. Grunting at the impact, Dean gave the sound an extra oomph. He laid still for a second, then nudged Sam with the entire backside of his body, lifting them both up an inch or two.
"Oof," he said clearly, though he closed his eyes and thought about staying where he was for awhile.
Sam grunted something unintelligible in response, but didn't actually move except to nuzzle lazily at the back of Dean's neck.
"Fucking heavy," Dean complained, though he didn't really feel like throwing his brother off. Not with Sam's mouth on his skin, doing things that made his cock try to forget he'd just come.
Sam snorted and began humming something. After a few seconds Dean recognised it as He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother.
Dean growled, and put his hands flat on the ground and started to shove Sam off his back, dump his ass on the ground. The sharp pain in his collarbone exploded, and he fell back onto the ground, chest and cheek in the dirt. He closed his eyes and lay still, waiting for the pain to die away.
"Dean?" The weight on his back disappeared and then hands were gently -- but not gently enough -- turning him over.
"Fuck!" The pain shot through his shoulder, down into his spine. He didn't try to move, letting his brother settle him onto his back. He'd felt it when he'd lifted Sam up -- not that throwing him into the lake hadn't been worth it.
But now he was wishing he'd just pushed him.
"Collarbone?" Sam asked, running light fingers over Dean's shoulder and chest that were nonetheless too hard.
Dean winced at the touch, caught himself from flinching away because that movement hurt like hell, too. "Don't touch it," he snapped.
Sam's lips pressed together in clear displeasure, but he didn't stop his prodding immediately. "Well, I don't think you've re-broken it," he said, finally pulling back, thank god. "But you've definitely set yourself back some."
"It's not broken," Dean told him, not trying to hide his irritation. He knew what a broken bone felt like. This was just...setting himself back, some. He got his good arm behind him and pushed, struggling to sit up without using his right shoulder at all.
Sam immediately moved to help him, knowing exactly what he needed to do to keep the jostling to a minimum. It wasn't the first time he'd had to do this sort of thing, after all. He waited until Dean nodded that he was balanced all right in the sitting position before letting go.
Then Sam took off the flannel shirt he was wearing and began turning it into a makeshift sling. "This will do until we get back to the house and the first aid kit."
"I don't need--" Dean began, and shut up at a look from his brother. He made a face, anyhow. "It's wet."
"Whose fault is that? Besides, you're a little damp around the edges yourself." He helped Dean put the sling on and was obviously trying to be as gentle as possible, but Dean still had to bite his lip against the pain of moving.
"Your fault," Dean said, confidently. As confident as he could sound, what with catching his breath every time his shoulder moved. When the sling was finally tied, and the weight taken off his shoulder, Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head against Sam.
He felt his brother's fingers at the nape of his neck, rubbing in small circles. It was... soothing. He rested there for another moment, rallying himself to stand up. He knew it was going to hurt like a bitch, but he couldn't exactly stay sitting outside on the ground all night, either.
He gave himself another moment, staying where he was, before leaning away.
"Up to trying to stand?" Sam asked, still being all solicitous and not saying 'I told you so.' Yet, anyway.
"Sure, let's give it a whirl. Always did like living dangerously." He took a deep breath as Sam moved, wrapping his arms around Dean.
Standing up wasn't nearly as much fun as he could have wished, given that he ended up leaning his entire body against Sam. Careful of the sling, Sam wrapped his arms around him and hugged him, and showed no signs of wanting to let go any time soon.
"You're still wet," Dean complained. Then he shivered; the breeze was hitting him just hard enough to chill his own clothes where they'd gotten wet. Which meant Sam was probably freezing. He stepped back, and looked at his brother. "Let's get inside." They both needed to dry off and put on clean, dry clothes.
"Sounds like a good plan," Sam said, releasing Dean, but keeping one arm around his waist for support as they started walking.
They'd made it about halfway back when Sam blurted, "I'm sorry you're hurting but I'm not sorry that I... we... y'know."
Surprised, Dean looked at him, raising one eyebrow in an exaggerated expression of 'what the hell is wrong with you now?' "That we... threw rocks in the lake? Talked about dinner?"
Hell, if his little brother couldn't say it.... Dean swallowed. Then again, who was he to talk? He could barely let himself think it, and he'd done it four times now.
"I'm not sorry that I pounced you and then we humped like rabbits," Sam replied, voice stronger. "Though okay, I'm a little sorry we didn't get our pants off again..."
"I'm cold, wet, and sticky," Dean said, as they reached the door. He made no move to help as Sam juggled him and getting the door open. He sniffed, and said sadly, "Sticky pants."
Then he snickered. That would never stop being funny.
"Shut up."
"Sticky pants," he repeated, and let Sam drag him inside. He leaned against the wall as Sam closed and locked the door behind them. "We'd better salt the place if we're staying," Dean said. "Sticky pants."
"What are you, five?" Sam asked in exasperation, already pulling his soaked t-shirt over his head and dropping it where he stood.
Dean's mouth dropped open to reply, but all he could think was, damn.
Sam toed off his sneakers and was starting to undo his jeans when he looked up and saw Dean staring at him. He froze for a few seconds then a slow smile crept across his face. "Feeling better I see."
His shoulder still hurt like hell, but Dean didn't mind. Some painkillers and a comfortable bed, and he'd be great. Especially with this sort of view...
Dean looked away, at the floor. He shouldn't... shouldn't be doing this.
"Hey," Sam said softly, moving into his line of sight, stooping slightly to look up at him. "You're allowed to look."
"Yeah, I just...." He couldn't meet Sam's eyes, glancing over to look at anything but. He caught sight of the kitchen, through the end of the short hallway.
Crap. So they'd forgotten one small detail.
"I don't suppose they left any food from the last time they were here?" Assuming the cleaning service had got rid of the perishable stuff, did he really want to eat nothing but canned goods that had been sitting for two years?
Sam followed his gaze, opened and shut his mouth a couple of times without saying anything then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll make a supply run once we get you all fixed up and settled."
"'Settled'? You make it sound like I'm an invalid. Come on, we can make a quick check and see if our rock spirit is gone, then head back towards the gas station." He'd seen the sign -- gas, groceries, fishing licenses. But he hadn't taken the hint.
"Shouldn't take me too long to drive there and back," Sam said, moving over to where they'd dropped their bags and dug in the duffel until he pulled out the first aid kit and clean outfits for them both. "Come on, we can get cleaned up in the bathroom upstairs and check for the spirit on the way."
Dean noticed how Sam seemed to be ignoring the part where he wasn't an invalid. But he followed Sam, letting him carry everything, and once they hit the stairs he found his nose about five inches away from Sam's ass.
He stopped, and once Sam had got a few steps up, continued up the stairs at a safer distance.
Sam paused when they reached the hallway at the top of the stairs. "Shower?" he asked. "Or spirit checking?"
"Let's check the sister's bedroom first, huh?" Dean hoped it was gone, because the idea of a hot shower -- a place as luxurious as this one probably had one hell of a nice shower. He'd be willing to bet the hot water didn't run out after fifteen minutes.
"I'll do it," Sam said moving past Dean and back down the hallway.
Sighing, Dean let him go. He headed towards the other end of the hall, towards what he figured would be the master bedroom. The best shower would be there, he reasoned. Biggest bathroom, biggest bed--
Dean swallowed, and concentrated on finding the shower.
end part 3a
on to part 3b