SPN Fic: Heart's Desire II 3b/4
Jun. 1st, 2006 08:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascavecontinued from part 3a
part 3b
The bedroom was, indeed, huge. The first door he tried was a walk-in closet; the second door opened onto a bathroom nearly as big as their kitchen, back home. He walked in, staring at the enclosed shower -- big enough for four. The glass doors weren't frosted at all, which meant anyone outside would get a clear view.
"Oh, hell yeah."
Dean reached up for the sling, trying to pull it over his head, and bit back a curse as his shoulder got pulled the wrong way. He tried again to grab the edge of the sling without jostling his shoulder too much.
"Dean?" Sam called from the hallway.
"Bathroom! In fact, you can just find me here for the rest of the weekend." He finally got the freaking sling off, and dumped it onto the floor with a wet squelch. Toeing his shoes off, he had to put one hand on the wall for balance. Still, he couldn't take his eyes off of that shower.
He'd be willing to bet this shower had water pressure.
Sam appeared in the doorway, already talking. "No sign of the spirit. Looks like we got it.... wow."
"Great, wonderful, perfect. I'll be here if you need me." He pulled off his T-shirt and dumped it on top of Sam's flannel shirt-cum-sling. "Have fun at the store."
"Yeah," Sam snorted, "like that's going to happen. You, dude, are going to have to share."
"I can safely say there is enough room in there for both of us. I bet they have one of those double head things, so we don't have to take turns standing under the spray." Dean fumbled with his jeans, trying not to use his right hand any more than necessary.
Sam made an impatient sound, dumped the clothes and first aid kit he was carrying on the vanity, and walked over to him. "Here," he said, pushing Dean's hand away and undoing his jeans himself.
"Careful!" Dean didn't actually try to move away. Sam's hands weren't exactly cold -- and weren't exactly unwelcome. Then he felt really stupid, because it only then occurred to him why Sam was intent on sharing the shower with him. "One of us will break his neck," he warned.
"From me undoing your jeans? I hate to break it to you, Dean, but I think you might be suffering from delusions of grandeur." Sam's eyes glinted with humour.
"No. From--" He nodded towards the shower.
Sam's dimple appeared as his lips curved up. "Feeling adventurous are you?"
"No! I thought...you...." Dean felt his cheeks flush as he realised maybe Sam hadn't meant sex in the shower. He stepped away from his brother, knocking his hands away from Dean's waist. "I've got it." He shoved his jeans down, feeling stupid and off-balance.
Sam held his hands up. "Okay." He stepped back and undid his own jeans.
He wanted to snap at Sam to stop being so fucking accommodating. Instead, he turned his attention away from Sam undressing, and went over to the shower. The door came open with a soft click, and he stepped inside. It smelled faintly of cleanser, but nothing too powerful.
Of course there was no shampoo or soap. Well, he'd be happy to stand under the shower and get clean through the sheer power of friction.
Which made his brain think of Sam, naked, in the shower with him. "Goddammit," he whispered.
The shower door opened and Sam slipped in behind him. "We forgot the soap," he said, resting one hand on Dean's back.
"There's some in my bag," Dean said. His duffel was always packed for traveling, the toiletries bag always fully stocked because you never knew when a motel would be too cheap to hand out even tiny bottles of almost-shampoo. But going to get them would mean leaving the shower, and Dean had the water on, now, and dear god it was already warm.
He closed his eyes and leaned into it. Sometimes, once in a very great while, he had stayed someplace that had a decent shower. Where the water was hot and didn't turn cold when someone upstairs flushed the toilet. Where the water pressure didn't feel like someone was spitting on you.
Dean ducked his head fully into the spray, and figured what the hell, who needed soap or shampoo.
"The soap can wait," Sam said a moment later, his voice slightly husky, having moved under another spray. "With water like this..."
There really was room for both of them under the spray. Not that Sam's arm wasn't touching his, and Dean could feel the presence of his brother in the shape of the spray cascading around him. Dean swallowed, and tried to focus on the hot water. How good it felt, warming up every inch of his body until, perversely, he shivered and goose bumps flared all over his body.
One of Sam's hands touched his back again gently. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah." His shoulder was hurting less, the heat doing its job of loosening the muscles. He knew better than to try anything athletic -- like throwing Sam into the lake -- again, but for now he felt pretty decent.
Sam's hand on his back was making him feel more than just decent, however. And if anyone looked down, they'd get an eyeful of just how more than he felt.
"Good." Sam's hand stroked lightly up and down Dean's spine. "I don't like it when you're hurting."
Dean made a noise, sort of strangled and questioning and encouraging, all at once. Except they really would break their necks, and how the hell would they explain this to the paramedics? Fake names to hide that they were brothers, but then Alex would know and--
Dean jerked away from Sam. That damnably familiar sensation burning in the pit of his stomach was back. Need, arousal, fear, shame, all coiled together until it had its own special name: Sam.
It didn't matter how often Sam said it was okay. It couldn't. It....
Had to.
Sam, for once, didn't push it, and let Dean move away. "If you can handle yourself, I'll go grab some food and other supplies."
"Yeah, I'm good." Dean didn't feel like cracking wise about handling things -- though he knew that as soon as Sam was out of the cabin, he'd either have to jerk off, or turn the water all the way to cold.
And really, cold showers never worked.
Sam hesitated, then nodded and opened the shower door. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Yeah." Dean nodded, vaguely, and closed his eyes as he ducked his head under the spray. Maybe he'd just stand here until everything he owned shriveled.
There was a pause, then Sam's fingers lightly touched the back of Dean's neck, there and gone before he stepped out and left.
For a moment, Dean didn't move at all, except for the way he couldn't stop shivering at the ghost of Sam's touch. Then he turned the water hotter, and let it burn into his skin.
After jerking off in the shower, and toweling off, Dean ignored the clothes that Sam had left out for him and instead wrapped himself in two of the hugest, softest, whitest towels he'd seen in his life before heading downstairs. He found the remote to the TV and switched it on, then settled in to wait for Sam. The noises and images from the TV were enough to almost but not quite distract him.
What the hell was he doing? What was he going to do? He and Sam...
He'd been fantasizing about having sex with his brother for two years. He'd hated it, loved it, and despite all the partners he'd had in his life, he'd never wanted any of them the way he wanted Sam.
Dean rubbed his head and wished he knew why he'd lost his mind. Or how, so he could do something about finding it again.
He knew Sam was waiting for him to stop freaking out. It was perfectly clear what Sam wanted from him: every single time, Sam had said yes. He'd assured Dean that he wanted it, that he knew Dean wanted it, that it was all right and okay and nothing at all wrong with what they were doing.
Well, of course there was, but Dean wasn't certain that social disapproval was all that damning.
He knew what Sam wanted to do this weekend. Why they were up at this cabin, alone. Had it been anyone else on the planet, except for Doug Handerson and maybe Doug's sister Trish, then Dean would have said hell yes and stocked up on condoms on the way out here.
But this was his brother. And as much as Dean wanted to, he couldn't....
The trouble was, Dean didn't want to stop. He'd told Sam, warned him that if he ever found out what it felt like to hold him, kiss him, then he wouldn't be strong enough to stop. Sam had acted like that was a good thing, but it was like he didn't know or care about all the reasons why they shouldn't be doing this.
Dean leaned back on the couch, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. Stared at the TV for a minute, but nothing filtered past the thought of Sam kissing him.
He wanted to kiss Sam again. Wanted to hold him, and look his fill, and wanted to strip him down and fuck him. Dean groaned, closing his eyes. He told himself to stop thinking of it, stop imagining Sam underneath him, naked and writhing and begging him.
Gasping, Dean squeezed his eyes closed tighter, but that just made the images sharper. He opened his eyes again and stared at the TV screen. Some chick was screaming at some guy, but he couldn't tell if she was angry, happy, or possessed.
All he had to do was say yes. Sam would do it, and Sam would tell him they could do it again. Dean could have exactly what he'd been wanting....
When had he ever gotten what he wanted? Dean glared at the TV, an old familiar feeling surfacing. Bitter at the way he'd always lost -- or more often, never got -- what he'd wanted. Trading it in for dad's hunt, for Sam, for lack of time and funds and anyone to help him.
And here Sam was telling him he could have this.
Only trouble was, dad would kill him. Literally, kill him for doing this to Sam. No matter Sam would get in dad's face and take the blame, or at least demand to share it. Dad would throw down the 'you're older, you know better' card and Dean would have no way to disagree. He did know better, he knew dad would hate him for doing this. For taking this...one thing that he wanted.
Maybe the thing that he wanted the most.
Dean felt his eyes burn, and tried to shove the anger down. It was wrong, and it was bizarre and it wasn't normal, and maybe if Dean had tried harder he could have uncovered what psychosis he was deflecting into this attraction he had for his brother.
But what he felt, what he'd been feeling for so long, was that he loved Sam. He was aroused by the sight of him, by the thought and act of having sex with him.
He wanted Sam, and it simply wasn't fair that he should have to give his brother up.
He knew what the next logical thought was. What would make this okay -- make it possible to contemplate saying yes to Sam when he got back? He knew what the biggest thing was: Just don't let dad find out.
If Dean let himself imagine that dad would never know...could he do it? Certainly Sam wanted to, and... didn't that make it easier?
He'd always tried to give his brother whatever he wanted. Dean snorted to himself -- within reason, of course. There had been that whole year Sam had demanded a motorcycle, despite the fact he'd only been eight and there was no way in hell they could have afforded even a dirt bike.
But... maybe this was within reason. Lost weekends like this, where they could get away and no one would ever have to know.
Dean glanced at the front door, as though Sam were going to walk through it in response to Dean's thoughts. If he did walk through.... Dean imagined just going to him, and kissing him. An easy enough fantasy -- one he'd had for so long. The difference now was that he knew what Sam's mouth tasted like, knew what his tongue felt like against his own.
Resting his head on the back of the couch, Dean stared at the door. Sam would smile and his eyes would light up in that way that made Dean want to touch his face and lose himself, drowning in the depths of Sam's eyes and the heat of his body.
Choking on a laugh, Dean wrapped his left arm around his body. He was insane.
But what he wanted, right now, was for Sam to be here.
Which maybe was the answer Dean was looking for.
~~~
end part 3b
part 3b
The bedroom was, indeed, huge. The first door he tried was a walk-in closet; the second door opened onto a bathroom nearly as big as their kitchen, back home. He walked in, staring at the enclosed shower -- big enough for four. The glass doors weren't frosted at all, which meant anyone outside would get a clear view.
"Oh, hell yeah."
Dean reached up for the sling, trying to pull it over his head, and bit back a curse as his shoulder got pulled the wrong way. He tried again to grab the edge of the sling without jostling his shoulder too much.
"Dean?" Sam called from the hallway.
"Bathroom! In fact, you can just find me here for the rest of the weekend." He finally got the freaking sling off, and dumped it onto the floor with a wet squelch. Toeing his shoes off, he had to put one hand on the wall for balance. Still, he couldn't take his eyes off of that shower.
He'd be willing to bet this shower had water pressure.
Sam appeared in the doorway, already talking. "No sign of the spirit. Looks like we got it.... wow."
"Great, wonderful, perfect. I'll be here if you need me." He pulled off his T-shirt and dumped it on top of Sam's flannel shirt-cum-sling. "Have fun at the store."
"Yeah," Sam snorted, "like that's going to happen. You, dude, are going to have to share."
"I can safely say there is enough room in there for both of us. I bet they have one of those double head things, so we don't have to take turns standing under the spray." Dean fumbled with his jeans, trying not to use his right hand any more than necessary.
Sam made an impatient sound, dumped the clothes and first aid kit he was carrying on the vanity, and walked over to him. "Here," he said, pushing Dean's hand away and undoing his jeans himself.
"Careful!" Dean didn't actually try to move away. Sam's hands weren't exactly cold -- and weren't exactly unwelcome. Then he felt really stupid, because it only then occurred to him why Sam was intent on sharing the shower with him. "One of us will break his neck," he warned.
"From me undoing your jeans? I hate to break it to you, Dean, but I think you might be suffering from delusions of grandeur." Sam's eyes glinted with humour.
"No. From--" He nodded towards the shower.
Sam's dimple appeared as his lips curved up. "Feeling adventurous are you?"
"No! I thought...you...." Dean felt his cheeks flush as he realised maybe Sam hadn't meant sex in the shower. He stepped away from his brother, knocking his hands away from Dean's waist. "I've got it." He shoved his jeans down, feeling stupid and off-balance.
Sam held his hands up. "Okay." He stepped back and undid his own jeans.
He wanted to snap at Sam to stop being so fucking accommodating. Instead, he turned his attention away from Sam undressing, and went over to the shower. The door came open with a soft click, and he stepped inside. It smelled faintly of cleanser, but nothing too powerful.
Of course there was no shampoo or soap. Well, he'd be happy to stand under the shower and get clean through the sheer power of friction.
Which made his brain think of Sam, naked, in the shower with him. "Goddammit," he whispered.
The shower door opened and Sam slipped in behind him. "We forgot the soap," he said, resting one hand on Dean's back.
"There's some in my bag," Dean said. His duffel was always packed for traveling, the toiletries bag always fully stocked because you never knew when a motel would be too cheap to hand out even tiny bottles of almost-shampoo. But going to get them would mean leaving the shower, and Dean had the water on, now, and dear god it was already warm.
He closed his eyes and leaned into it. Sometimes, once in a very great while, he had stayed someplace that had a decent shower. Where the water was hot and didn't turn cold when someone upstairs flushed the toilet. Where the water pressure didn't feel like someone was spitting on you.
Dean ducked his head fully into the spray, and figured what the hell, who needed soap or shampoo.
"The soap can wait," Sam said a moment later, his voice slightly husky, having moved under another spray. "With water like this..."
There really was room for both of them under the spray. Not that Sam's arm wasn't touching his, and Dean could feel the presence of his brother in the shape of the spray cascading around him. Dean swallowed, and tried to focus on the hot water. How good it felt, warming up every inch of his body until, perversely, he shivered and goose bumps flared all over his body.
One of Sam's hands touched his back again gently. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah." His shoulder was hurting less, the heat doing its job of loosening the muscles. He knew better than to try anything athletic -- like throwing Sam into the lake -- again, but for now he felt pretty decent.
Sam's hand on his back was making him feel more than just decent, however. And if anyone looked down, they'd get an eyeful of just how more than he felt.
"Good." Sam's hand stroked lightly up and down Dean's spine. "I don't like it when you're hurting."
Dean made a noise, sort of strangled and questioning and encouraging, all at once. Except they really would break their necks, and how the hell would they explain this to the paramedics? Fake names to hide that they were brothers, but then Alex would know and--
Dean jerked away from Sam. That damnably familiar sensation burning in the pit of his stomach was back. Need, arousal, fear, shame, all coiled together until it had its own special name: Sam.
It didn't matter how often Sam said it was okay. It couldn't. It....
Had to.
Sam, for once, didn't push it, and let Dean move away. "If you can handle yourself, I'll go grab some food and other supplies."
"Yeah, I'm good." Dean didn't feel like cracking wise about handling things -- though he knew that as soon as Sam was out of the cabin, he'd either have to jerk off, or turn the water all the way to cold.
And really, cold showers never worked.
Sam hesitated, then nodded and opened the shower door. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Yeah." Dean nodded, vaguely, and closed his eyes as he ducked his head under the spray. Maybe he'd just stand here until everything he owned shriveled.
There was a pause, then Sam's fingers lightly touched the back of Dean's neck, there and gone before he stepped out and left.
For a moment, Dean didn't move at all, except for the way he couldn't stop shivering at the ghost of Sam's touch. Then he turned the water hotter, and let it burn into his skin.
After jerking off in the shower, and toweling off, Dean ignored the clothes that Sam had left out for him and instead wrapped himself in two of the hugest, softest, whitest towels he'd seen in his life before heading downstairs. He found the remote to the TV and switched it on, then settled in to wait for Sam. The noises and images from the TV were enough to almost but not quite distract him.
What the hell was he doing? What was he going to do? He and Sam...
He'd been fantasizing about having sex with his brother for two years. He'd hated it, loved it, and despite all the partners he'd had in his life, he'd never wanted any of them the way he wanted Sam.
Dean rubbed his head and wished he knew why he'd lost his mind. Or how, so he could do something about finding it again.
He knew Sam was waiting for him to stop freaking out. It was perfectly clear what Sam wanted from him: every single time, Sam had said yes. He'd assured Dean that he wanted it, that he knew Dean wanted it, that it was all right and okay and nothing at all wrong with what they were doing.
Well, of course there was, but Dean wasn't certain that social disapproval was all that damning.
He knew what Sam wanted to do this weekend. Why they were up at this cabin, alone. Had it been anyone else on the planet, except for Doug Handerson and maybe Doug's sister Trish, then Dean would have said hell yes and stocked up on condoms on the way out here.
But this was his brother. And as much as Dean wanted to, he couldn't....
The trouble was, Dean didn't want to stop. He'd told Sam, warned him that if he ever found out what it felt like to hold him, kiss him, then he wouldn't be strong enough to stop. Sam had acted like that was a good thing, but it was like he didn't know or care about all the reasons why they shouldn't be doing this.
Dean leaned back on the couch, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. Stared at the TV for a minute, but nothing filtered past the thought of Sam kissing him.
He wanted to kiss Sam again. Wanted to hold him, and look his fill, and wanted to strip him down and fuck him. Dean groaned, closing his eyes. He told himself to stop thinking of it, stop imagining Sam underneath him, naked and writhing and begging him.
Gasping, Dean squeezed his eyes closed tighter, but that just made the images sharper. He opened his eyes again and stared at the TV screen. Some chick was screaming at some guy, but he couldn't tell if she was angry, happy, or possessed.
All he had to do was say yes. Sam would do it, and Sam would tell him they could do it again. Dean could have exactly what he'd been wanting....
When had he ever gotten what he wanted? Dean glared at the TV, an old familiar feeling surfacing. Bitter at the way he'd always lost -- or more often, never got -- what he'd wanted. Trading it in for dad's hunt, for Sam, for lack of time and funds and anyone to help him.
And here Sam was telling him he could have this.
Only trouble was, dad would kill him. Literally, kill him for doing this to Sam. No matter Sam would get in dad's face and take the blame, or at least demand to share it. Dad would throw down the 'you're older, you know better' card and Dean would have no way to disagree. He did know better, he knew dad would hate him for doing this. For taking this...one thing that he wanted.
Maybe the thing that he wanted the most.
Dean felt his eyes burn, and tried to shove the anger down. It was wrong, and it was bizarre and it wasn't normal, and maybe if Dean had tried harder he could have uncovered what psychosis he was deflecting into this attraction he had for his brother.
But what he felt, what he'd been feeling for so long, was that he loved Sam. He was aroused by the sight of him, by the thought and act of having sex with him.
He wanted Sam, and it simply wasn't fair that he should have to give his brother up.
He knew what the next logical thought was. What would make this okay -- make it possible to contemplate saying yes to Sam when he got back? He knew what the biggest thing was: Just don't let dad find out.
If Dean let himself imagine that dad would never know...could he do it? Certainly Sam wanted to, and... didn't that make it easier?
He'd always tried to give his brother whatever he wanted. Dean snorted to himself -- within reason, of course. There had been that whole year Sam had demanded a motorcycle, despite the fact he'd only been eight and there was no way in hell they could have afforded even a dirt bike.
But... maybe this was within reason. Lost weekends like this, where they could get away and no one would ever have to know.
Dean glanced at the front door, as though Sam were going to walk through it in response to Dean's thoughts. If he did walk through.... Dean imagined just going to him, and kissing him. An easy enough fantasy -- one he'd had for so long. The difference now was that he knew what Sam's mouth tasted like, knew what his tongue felt like against his own.
Resting his head on the back of the couch, Dean stared at the door. Sam would smile and his eyes would light up in that way that made Dean want to touch his face and lose himself, drowning in the depths of Sam's eyes and the heat of his body.
Choking on a laugh, Dean wrapped his left arm around his body. He was insane.
But what he wanted, right now, was for Sam to be here.
Which maybe was the answer Dean was looking for.
~~~
end part 3b