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gilascaveTitle: Heart's Desire VII: The Way Home 3a/7
Authors: Wolfling (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wolfling) and James (zortified)
Sequel: to Heart's Desire VI: Seeing Through Different Eyes
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 41,800 (story total)
Disclaimer: not ours, no profit made
Spoilers: none
Warnings: angst, smut, hugging.
Summary: The Winchesters hunt a ghost, while Dean's ghosts hunt him.
Notes: As always, we'd like to thankwesleysgirl for the awesome beta job. We'd also like to thank Hansen's, Diet Rite, and Pepsi for their diet sodas that zortified can drink without getting dizzy. Caffeine makes the world go 'round, people!
The entire series can be found in Gila's Cave and Wolfling's Den.
Continued from Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Dean was sitting in the airport terminal of what he thought was a pretty small airport. He'd only been in one airport before -- Chicago -- and that one had been a huge, freaking, confusing mess. Spokane's International Airport had four terminals and barely more than 30 gates. Sam was coming in at gate 2 according to the monitors, and Dean had been sitting there waiting for him for probably an hour longer than he'd needed to be.
He'd already figured out exactly where baggage claim was -- though he didn't know if Sam would bother with checking a bag. He'd paid way too much for a crappy cup of coffee, and was trying to browse a newspaper when really all he was doing was trying not to freak out.
It was a really good thing he didn't have to get on a plane. His head would have exploded.
Finally they announced the arrival of Southwest Airlines flight 251 from Oakland. Dean set the paper aside and stood up, hovering -- not too closely -- and waited for Sam.
Sam was one of the first people off the plane, backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked around, eyes lighting up when he spotted Dean and made his way over to him. Dean had to hold his hands down at his sides -- wanting to grab Sam and kiss him senseless. But even with Dad waiting for them back at the motel, he didn't feel safe letting himself touch his brother. "Hey."
"Hey," Sam replied and Dean could see the same desire in his expression. It made Dean almost go ahead and grab him -- but the whole reason Sam was here was not because they were pussies who couldn't stand to be apart for 24 hours.
Even if Dean was really, really happy to have Sam here.
He was here because they had to tell Dad. Dean felt all his amusement die away. He reached out for Sam's bag -- not quite like hugging him, but good enough. "How was your flight?" he asked, not that he really cared.
Sam's fingers brushed deliberately against Dean's as he let him take the bag. "It was fine. How's the job going?"
Dean shrugged. "Fine. Dad-- he thinks you're coming up to help. He's really...happy about it." Dad hadn't said as much, of course, just 'fine, all right' when Dean had said he was picking Sam up. But he'd looked happy, in that silent way Dean had learned to interpret.
He turned to lead Sam out, wanting to get out of the airport and back to the car.
Maybe they could run for Mexico.
He felt Sam following right on his heels, almost close enough to feel the heat of his body. Neither of them said anything else until they got back to the car. The moment they were both inside, Sam was sliding across the front seat to hug Dean like his life depended on it.
Dean held onto him, pressing his face into Sam's shoulder and feeling like they'd been separated for months. Maybe it was just fear.
"What the hell are we going to say?" He couldn't tell if Sam could even hear him; he could barely make it out himself with his voice muffled against Sam's jacket.
If anything Sam's grip tightened. "I've been thinking about that. Maybe... maybe we don't have to tell him."
Dean froze, then whipped his head up to stare at Sam. "What?" His fingers tightened on Sam's arm. "Sam, I told you -- I can't lie to him."
"It won't be lying," Sam said, speaking quickly as if he was trying to get the words out before Dean could stop him. "We just don't tell him the whole truth. We tell him that we're living as a couple, but we don't tell him we are... y'know. Not pretending."
It sounded like a good plan -- except Dean knew what Dad would say. "Why are we pretending in the first place?"
"Because 'I'm living with my brother' isn't a good enough reason to get out of having to stay in the dorms to get my scholarship, but 'I'm living with my committed life partner' is," Sam answered immediately, showing that he really had been thinking about it.
Dean stared at him. "Did you say that to the university people? I mean, when you applied? Or did you just make that shit up two seconds ago?" Dean had always been impressed by his brother's ability to bullshit. But he didn't always feel surpassed by said ability -- like he did now.
He wasn't going to tell Sam anything of the sort, though.
He tried to ignore how the words 'committed life partner' made him want to grin like an idiot.
"Well, two hours ago," Sam said with a tilt of his head. "Though I think the admissions people just assumed when I filled out the paperwork with your fake name as emergency contact and all that."
"You think Dad'll buy it?" Dean frowned, and pulled away from Sam before the muscles in his back could tighten up any further.
Sam shrugged. "It has the advantage of being true," he said. "Well, probably true. True enough anyway. And if he does, it gives us the perfect cover for anything that gets back to Dad or that he sees or hears if he comes to Stanford. We're just playing the roles we have to."
"And since we have to live off-campus because of the whole demon thing, it sounds like... well, something he'd approve of." Dean tried to think it over, shoving away the voice in his head that was still trying to freak out about the idea of Dad knowing. He glanced over at Sam. "And the reason you dropped everything and flew up here?"
"I finished my paper early and I missed you," Sam said. "Both of you. Which is mostly the truth, too."
Slowly, Dean nodded. It sounded like this was going to work. But he reached over and took Sam's hand, threading their fingers together. "Sam... if he asks. If Dad looks me in the eye and asks -- I can't lie to him." Dean looked over at his brother, hoping he could make Sam understand. "Not because I want to and I suck at it, even though when it comes to Dad I really do. But -- I can't... I can't lie to him. I'd rather tell him and have him disown us both and have to spend the rest of our lives hiding from him, than...." He shook his head, not able to think of the words to explain how he felt.
"I know," Sam said softly, tightening his grip on Dean's hand. "I'm not sure I could lie to him if he asked me directly, either. It's okay. If that happens, we'll deal. Together." He gave Dean a faint smile. "The trick is to try and keep him from asking."
Smiling back, Dean asked, "And what do we say when we wake up in the morning and we're wrapped around each other like usual?" Dad aside, he was looking forward to that -- although he had a feeling it might be safer all around if he and Sam slept in separate beds.
Sam chuckled. "Dean, we've always woken up that way when we shared a bed. Even before we...."
"Yeah, but lately when I wake up plastered against you, I've already got my hand down your boxers." He gave his brother's crotch a leer. It wasn't precisely true -- normally he was awake before he started playing around. But not always.
"Guess you'll have to concentrate extra hard on keeping your hands to yourself," Sam told him breezily, then shifted in his seat in such a way as to make his jeans tighter in the area that Dean was leering at.
"Or I'll just remember to call you 'Doug'." Dean thought about reaching over and helping Sam with his jeans, but he figured maybe the airport parking lot wasn't nearly as private as it ought to be for that sort of thing.
Luckily, the drive to Clayton had several places where they could pull off.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?" Dean started the engine, and only as he was pulling his hand back did he realise that he'd stroked the dashboard.
"We're going somewhere to have sex, aren't we?"
"There's a couple places we can stop along the way, yeah. Can you hold it for fifteen minutes?"
Sam laughed, the sound low and deep and going straight to Dean's cock. "I was going to ask you that."
"I know I can hold it," Dean said, with a confidence that was completely faked. But he was already pulling the car out of the parking area, and it wouldn't be impossibly long before he got them someplace reasonably private. He glanced at Sam and thought about what he wanted. "I could tell you about the blow job I'm gonna give you," he offered casually.
He watched Sam's eyes darken at the offer. "Well, we have to talk about something while we're driving," he replied just as casually.
"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Although...what I'd like, you shouldn't do while I'm driving."
"I remember the rule. No blowjobs while the car is in motion," Sam recited.
"No, no, this isn't a rule. Yet. It's gonna have to be, though." The cars around them were really starting to annoy Dean more than a little -- every ounce of attention he had to give them was attention away from Sam, and sex. Which, OK, while driving was a good thing. Hence the no blowjobs while the car is in motion rule. "When the hell did we make that a rule, anyway?"
"Day after we almost ran into the ditch when I was... exploring." Sam made 'exploring' sound like the dirtiest word ever.
Right, Dean remembered that day. He tried not to think too much about it because -- driving. "Well, here's another rule: no talking me to orgasm while I'm driving."
Sam was silent for a moment. Then asked curiously, "So you think I could really do that then? Make you come without touching you?"
Dean whimpered, because he knew Sam could. "New rule: no talking about talking me to orgasm, either." He wanted to pull over and grab his cock, but there was no place to do so that wouldn't get them arrested five minutes later.
"I really could?" Sam repeated. He seemed to be fascinated by the concept.
With a strangled laugh, Dean said, "You remember when you were practising your lines for Our Town? And I pretty much left the room whenever I could?"
"Yeah. I know I was driving you crazy with it, but you never said a word." Sam smiled. "I always appreciated that."
"Dimwit. I was in the other room, jerking off."
There was silence from the other side of the car.
Plowing ahead, Dean admitted, "When you were practising that speech on voter rights for your history class? Every time you ever worked on your Latin exorcism rites...." He glanced over. "So you talking to me and trying to get me off? Yeah. Is gonna work."
"Dude you got off on me talking about voter's rights?" Sam asked disbelievingly.
"I had my hand on my dick," Dean pointed out, defensively. Sam was right, though -- the speech hadn't been exactly stimulating. But-- "I like your voice," he said.
He'd once deliberately gotten Sam pissed off at him, then he'd locked himself in the bathroom with Sam on the other side, banging on the door and screaming at him. Screaming, so that his voice dipped way down til Dean could practically feel it in his cock. He'd jerked off, listening to his brother shout -- at the time he'd hated himself for it, and Dean had spent the next several weeks trying to make it up to him.
"Huh," Sam said in a tone of enlightenment. "So phone sex would be....?"
"Not when I'm driving. Or on a hunt with Dad. Or when I'm about to run out of minutes," Dean listed. "Otherwise, yeah. It'd be good." Given how hard he was, Dean thought it was maybe obvious that 'good' was an understatement.
Sam took that in and nodded. "We'll have to do that then."
"Sounds better than ice cubes," Dean said. He still wasn't sure Sam hadn't been putting him on with that.
"I could talk about ice cubes."
"That would be safer than trying to stick one in my ass," Dean told him. "You can talk about anything you want." It occurred to him, too late, that he might not have wanted to admit that. Well, then, if Sam hadn't realised it from Dean's confession about the speech on voter's rights....
"Even how much I love you?" Sam asked.
Dean tensed, without meaning to. Hell, talk about being blindsided. He unclenched his jaw, because he didn't want to piss Sam off -- but there wasn't anything he could say to that.
Sam reached over and patted Dean's leg. "That's okay," he said kindly. "We'll work up to it."
He tried to make himself relax; the turnoff was coming up in a couple miles, he remembered seeing it on the drive to the airport. Made note of it, because he'd had a feeling there would be some sex in the car on the drive back to Clayton. He felt like jumping out of the car and shooting something, though. There was even a sawed-off shotgun in the trunk that would be perfect. All he needed was a ghost.
If Sam was aware of his sudden twitchiness, he didn't let on, continuing on in a casual tone, "I guess I'll just have to talk about some of my fantasies then. Like, say, you fucking me over the hood of the car."
Dean coughed. "You could. I could." He had a sudden image, and he knew that right at that very moment the hood was probably not too warm. Fucking traffic. He glared at the Spokane outskirts, wishing they would go the hell away already.
Sam smirked. "Figured that would be one you liked, considering how you feel about your car."
Shifting his glare to Sam, Dean said, "I thought teasing me about the car was off-limits."
"Who's teasing? I'm just stating a fact."
Dean squirmed in his seat, mostly because the conversation wasn't doing much for his ability to drive comfortably -- and he knew if he tried to unzip and give himself a little room, he'd better be ready to slam on the brakes and stop driving all together.
"How much longer until we can stop?" Sam asked.
"Six and a half minutes." Dean glanced down at the speedometer to confirm his speed, and checked his calculation again. "Six if we don't get Ma and Pa Podunk leaving town in their 1932 pickup."
Sam nodded, looking he was doing mental calculations. "I better stay quiet for at least the next four minutes then."
Dean frowned. "Two minutes."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Two minutes?"
"Stay quiet for two minutes."
"You think you can handle me talking dirty while you're driving for four minutes?"
"I think it's better than the alternative, which is me thinking about you talking dirty for four minutes." Dean glanced down at the speedometer again; going a little faster. They'd probably make it to the turnoff in four and a half more minutes.
"Don't think about it then," Sam said in his utmost reasonable tone. Which didn't make it any less unreasonable.
Dean gave Sam a dry look. "Yeah." Because he hadn't stopped thinking about it since they'd got in the car -- well, since he'd left the motel to pick Sam up and he'd taken note of all the places they could pull over. There were three good spots, and two more 'will do if we're desperate' spots.
Clayton was only 35 miles away from the airport.
"Think of something else," Sam suggested. "Something.... unsexy."
Dean gave him another raised eyebrow, asking Sam if he was kidding. "I could think about what Dad will say if he catches us," he said, sarcastically.
Sam made a face. "That might be a little too unsexy," he said mildly.
"It's all I got," Dean told him. "I'd say you could tell me about something unsexy, but that would still be you talking to me, and I think voter's rights have proven it really doesn't matter what you say. Not that it wasn't a good paper," he added.
"It got an A," Sam said just a little bit smugly.
"Did you ever not get an A on a paper?"
Sam frowned, obviously thinking. "I got a B once in 4th grade."
Dean glanced over, saw the look on his brother's face. "You're serious. You got one B? Ever?"
"Well, that I can remember," Sam admitted. "Maybe in kindergarten..."
"Your kindergarten teachers loved you to pieces and always gave you those gold stars on your papers."
"Then no, no other B's."
Dean didn't say anything for a moment. Sometimes his brother was just...scary.
"Dean?" Sam asked after a moment.
"You sure you won't do my homework for me?" He remembered getting A's in his math classes, sometimes. And he always got A's in elementary school when he told the teacher how his dad had been sick or out of town and he'd been taking care of Sammy and hadn't had time to do his homework.
"You don't need me to do your homework," Sam told him with complete confidence.
"But it'd be easy for you," Dean said, wheedling just a tiny bit. It occurred to him a second later that of course it'd be easy, because it was high school and Sam was-- Dean slammed the brakes on that train of thought, then saw the turnoff up ahead.
What he wanted was sex to take his mind off it.
"It's going to be easy for you, too," Sam told him. He looked out the windshield. "Is that the turnoff?"
"It wasn't easy the first time," Dean said, and he checked the traffic in every possible direction because there was no way he was going to risk being hit by a truck this close to his blowjob.
"The first time you were spending all your time looking out for me," Sam pointed out.
"There was one week I missed school because of Rebecca." Dean smiled at the memory. Hell, but she'd been hot. Sassy, agile, and her daddy had had a freaking mansion. Parents off to Europe, and Rebecca had been bored, poor girl.
"Well, that's not something you have to worry about anymore either," Sam said darkly.
"She was hot," Dean said, giving his brother a cocky grin. He knew Sam got jealous, but... he found himself wanting to reassure Sam that Rebecca hadn't been one of those partners. "The only thing I got from her was a week of great sex, free drugs, and missed school."
Sam frowned faintly. "There aren't going to be any more Rebeccas."
"You're saying you won't distract me from my homework by walking around naked?" Dean saw the abandoned gas station ahead, and he headed for it.
"Was that what she did?"
"The first day she was in a bikini. After that, she didn't really bother getting dressed." Dean shook his head, as if thinking of it fondly. In reality, his cock was damn near jumping at the way Sam was almost growling at him.
"Y'know, you really don't need to sound so much like you want to repeat the week," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest and staring out the window. Oh yeah, his brother was definitely pissy.
"You don't wanna have sex for a week and skip class?" Dean asked, confused. He wondered just how serious Sam thought he was, though, about caring at all about Rebecca. As he pulled the car behind the gas station, hiding them perfectly from the road, he asked carefully, "Sam? You know I meant it, when I said I wasn't going to sleep with anyone else?"
Sam sighed and the tension seemed to ease out of his shoulders a little. "I know," he said in a softer voice.
"So are we cool, or are you gonna sit over there wondering if I'd rather be out there with some chick with a C cup?"
Sam looked over at him with a faintly worried frown. "You're not...?"
Dean rolled his eyes, and resisted the urge to smack his brother. "Sam, if I wanted some chick I'd go get one. But, god help me, I want you. If I didn't, I wouldn't be with you."
"You flirt with Kerrie," Sam blurted.
"I what?" Dean was glad he'd already stopped the car. He switched off the ignition and turned to stare at his brother. "When did I... wait, the beer thing?" He tried to remember if he'd done anything more than just be friendly. He hadn't; hell, Kerrie knew that he and Sam were a couple, so she shouldn't have thought he was serious.
Sam shook his head. "Forget it. I'm being stupid, I know."
"Hey." Dean reached over and put his hand on Sam's arm. "It isn't stupid. Well, it is stupid, because I didn't mean to flirt with her. I was just-- she's a friend of yours, I was trying to be nice."
"She has the hots for you," Sam told him, though he leaned towards Dean just a little.
"Sammy, everyone has the hots for me. Mr. Drake down the street has the hots for me, and he's 82." He shook his head, wondering how to get it into his brother's brain that he wasn't going anywhere. He reached up and tugged Sam's chin around to look at him. "Sam, I'm willing to risk losing the second most important thing in the fucking world, in order to keep you."
Sam sighed and moved into Dean's arms. "I know. I do. I just... I'm being stupid."
Pulling Sam close, Dean pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Is there something I can do?" He should probably offer to stop flirting, but half the time he didn't even know what he'd done until Sam called him on it. But it seemed like it always upset him, so maybe he should at least try to stop doing it.
"I dunno," Sam said, snuggling closer. "I mean, it would probably help if I didn't have to hear how great Rebecca was and how much you loved sleeping with her with so much enthusiasm. Like... you miss it."
"Sam." Dean pulled Sam around so he could look him in the eye. "I don't miss Rebecca. The great thing about that was taking a week off school and doing nothing but enjoy myself. Hell, it coulda been anyone. It could have been no one."
Sam leaned in, resting his forehead against Dean's. "I told you I'm being stupid," he said softly.
"Yeah, you are." He gave Sam a quick kiss.
"I don't even know why this is bugging me now," Sam said sounding exasperated, but not at Dean. "I mean it's not that I think I have anything to worry about with you or anything."
"Don't you? You're not worried about me...picking a nice girl because it'd be a hell of a lot easier to tell Dad about? Or even a nice boy? That maybe I was right to hate myself for wanting you like this?" He swallowed, and said, "You're not worried about us needing something we can't pay for and me deciding to sleep with someone to get it?"
In retrospect, Dean thought maybe Sam had a lot of reasons to worry about what Dean was going to do.
"No," Sam said sharply. He leaned in and kissed Dean gently. "I know where your heart lies."
Dean waited until it seemed like Sam was willing to stop kissing -- it took a minute, and Dean thought maybe the conversation could be over, instead, and they could have sex. But then the kiss broke off, and Dean looked at his brother. "So why are you freaking out about it?" he asked, willing to forego sex to keep having this conversation, if Sam really needed to.
"I don't know," Sam said, shrugging with bewildered honesty. "Guess this whole potential crisis is getting to me maybe? Or maybe it was Kerrie going on and on about how if we ever break up she wants first crack at you..."
Dean wrinkled his nose at the thought of dating Kerrie. "Wait, who said we were breaking up?" Maybe there was another reason Sam was freaking out? There was no way Sam could have been thinking about it, without Dean having had some kind of clue before now.
"Kerrie and Mat were teasing me about it when I showed up on the bus instead of you dropping me off," Sam explained.
"Oh." Dean thought about it, then grinned.
"What?"
Dean shrugged. "I like.. that they think we're attached at the hip." He nudged his hips upward, emphasising the point. "So they tease you about us breaking up just because I'm not dropping you off." It wasn't quite like writing his name on Sam's ass, but it was close. Maybe he could write it on some of Sam's books, though. "Hands off - Dean W."
"We are practically attached at the hip," Sam pointed out, sliding a hand down over Dean's hips as he spoke. "Mat thinks we're married."
Dean smiled, and was seized by the urge to kiss his brother, hard. "Aren't we?" he asked, instead.
"More or less," Sam agreed. "I never really thought of it that way though. You're -- we're -- just a given. Inevitable and essential. Like oxygen."
"Water," Dean corrected. "Oxygen and hydrogen, and don't bitch at me about being one oxygen to two hydrogens. You're not that much taller than me." He gave Sam a kiss, then said, "We must be married -- we have the same last name." He tried to fight the grin -- because Dad was only about twenty five miles away, and in a couple hours they were going to have to pretend they were brothers who would never even dream of this sort of thing.
Sam kissed him then shook his head. "Married isn't a big enough word for what we are." He smiled slightly. "I suppose it'll do as a description for lack of a more accurate one."
"Carbon monoxide."
Sam chuckled. "Something a little less deadly."
"Hey, we're deadly. And there's one carbon, one oxygen... you wanna be nitric oxide?"
Sam just stared at him then shook his head. "You are so weird sometimes."
Dean frowned. "How am I weird? Sam, did you sleep through all of Dad's lectures about fuels and flammable gases?"
"You're comparing us to one of Dad's lectures on fuels and flammable gases," Sam pointed out.
"To make it one atom each, not -- fuck, I am a moron. Sodium chloride."
Sam chuckled. "And you don't think you're smart."
Frowning again, Dean said, "Sam, we learned about salt when we were kids. I was five the first time Dad showed me how to pour a ring around the bed."
"You're smart," Sam said, then leaned in to give Dean a long lingering kiss.
"Whatever." Dean thought Sam was trying to distract him, but from what he couldn't figure out. Being married? Kerrie? Finally having some sex so he could walk into the motel room without sporting a hard-on?
"And I?" Sam said in between kisses. "Like smart guys."
"Don't you mean smartasses?"
"If that's where your brains are..."
"I can tell you where all my blood is," Dean said, hopefully rubbing his crotch against Sam's hip.
Sam grinned at him. "Still want to fuck me over the hood?"
"You think you can hide it from Dad?"
"Unless you're planning on getting a lot kinkier than I've been thinking..."
"Dirty laundry? That well-fucked smirk?" Dean gestured at Sam's face, but really he was hoping Sam would say yes, he could hide all traces of Dean fucking him.
"I'll just have to make sure there's no clothes in the way to get dirty," Sam said. "As for the other," he shrugged. "Maybe I joined the mile high club on the way here."
"Sammy!" Dean gasped. "You dog!" He gave Sam a gentle push. "Get out. Hood." He scrambled behind him for the door handle, because if he was going to get to fuck Sam, he wanted to stop talking and start fucking, already.
Laughing, Sam complied with Dean's orders, getting out and leaning casually on the hood of the car.
"Hood cool enough?" Dean put his hand on the metal, and it seemed OK to him, but it wasn't going to be his bare ass -- though it could be, if Sam said it was too warm still. Dean didn't care about a little contact burn.
"Yeah," Sam said. "Good thing it's cloudy."
"You wanna lie on the hood, legs in the air? Or just stand up and lean forward against the car?"
Sam's eyes darkened at the question. "You have a preference?" he asked, voice going low and husky like it always did when he was aroused.
Dean shrugged. "When it's me, I like to be standing. Um--" He decided not to say that was maybe because he'd never been fucked by Sam on a car. He tried to picture his brother in either position.
Christ, he needed to fuck Sam. Right fucking now.
Sam's gaze on him was almost like a physical touch. "Yeah, but how do you want me?"
"On the hood." He got a hand on Sam's chest and pushed him backwards, and fumbled for his zipper. Then again, he'd rather be undressing Sam. He got his hands onto Sam's waistband and fumbled with the top button.
"You want me naked?" Sam asked in a low voice that had more than a hint of growl to it.
"Pants down'll be fine," Dean managed. "You don't have to waste time stripping."
"But might be good to make sure my clothes stay clean," Sam said thoughtfully, then pulled his shirt up over his head.
"Fine, fine, strip, I'm not complaining. Unless you take your sweet fucking time." Dean had his jeans unzipped and his cock in his hand and Sam wasn't on the hood yet.
Sam chuckled as he quickly set about undressing. "You're just so romantic," he teased.
"I'll buy you some flowers later. Get naked so I can fuck you, unless you wanna watch me masturbate on you."
"Pushy," Sam accused, shedding the last of his clothes and then moving back to leaning against the edge of the hood.
"I'm not.. Jesus Christ." Dean stared. Sam, naked, on the hood of the car. Looking like he was just waiting to be fucked -- Dean was kinda surprised he didn't come, right there.
He swallowed, and fumbled for the inside pocket of his jacket. He'd stashed some packets of lube, thinking -- looking for places they could have sex on the way to Clayton, because he'd thought that one way or another this would be his last chance to touch his brother.
Sam looked amused. "No, you're not Jesus. I don't want Jesus to fuck me, I want you to fuck me." He slid back a little until he was more firmly sitting on the hood.
Dean took a step forward, then another until he could get his hands on Sam's thighs. Squeezed them, then pushed, gently, because he didn't want to force Sam, just...encourage him to lay down, spread for him.
Sam leaned forward and kissed him, devouring his mouth roughly before pulling back and, with a smirk, leaning back against the hood, his entire body an invitation.
"And you call me a slut," Dean said, and he got the packet of lube open, and spread some on his fingers. One hand on Sam's leg, again, gripping the hard muscles and pushing the leg up. Opening Sam even more when he slid his fingers inside.
Sam gasped, his head falling back. "Just following your lead," he said, voice catching as Dean's fingers moved.
"I think you have a... sex outdoors kink," Dean said, knowing he wasn't making much sense but not really caring because Sam was naked on the hood of his car and Dean could feel parts of his brain breaking.
He made a noise that almost felt as painful as it sounded, and he gripped his cock, smearing lube on it as fast as he could. He couldn't take his eyes, or his hand, off Sammy.
"I have...." Sam groaned. "I have a sex with you kink."
"We can work that in," Dean said, trying to sound casual, but the way he was gasping and moaning made it sound like he was about to come. He slid his cock into Sam's ass, and groaned.
A groan that his brother echoed. "Dean..."
He pulled part way out, and thrust in again, harder. God, he was at the perfect height -- Dean realised he could stand here and fuck Sam all day. The whimper that accompanied that thought made him fight to hold back -- maybe he couldn't manage all day, but he could make it last as long as possible.
Maybe.
Sam lowered his legs as much as he could, wrapping them around Dean as if trying to keep him from escaping. His hands were flat on the car hood, bracing himself against Dean's thrusts.
Thrusting in once, as hard and deep as he could, Dean stopped there, and when he pulled back he began fucking Sam as slowly as he could stand to. He could feel his throat tighten, and he tried to unlock his voice to let the words out. All he could hear was meaningless groans as his voice caught.
Sam didn't seem to be having the same problem as a steady litany of "Dean," "good," "more", and "harder" fell from his lips.
Dean tried to ignore him, concentrating on slow and deep. But he couldn't take his eyes off Sam, spread out on the hood, and yeah, so he had a fucking fetish for his car, and a fetish for Sam, and it was maybe more than a person should ask that he make this last any longer.
"Sam," he breathed, and he let his head fall forward, and that breaking thing he'd felt before was shattering harder.
Sam reached up and rested a hand against Dean's cheek, tracing his lips with his thumb. Dean kissed it, then gave it a lick. Opened his mouth to pull it in, and he lost himself for a moment in just fucking Sam. Fucking him hard, and Dean was still making those noises that he couldn't understand, harsh and painful and like he needed something that he wasn't getting.
"Sam," he begged, and had no idea what he was begging for, just kept fucking Sam and reaching for his hand, trying to get more of him inside Dean.
"Dean," Sam replied, voice catching on the name. "God, you're..."
He wanted to know what -- couldn't ask, because he couldn't get his voice to work. Godawful sounds coming out of him now, and his one hand clenched Sam's thigh, hard enough he didn't know if Sam would be able to walk without wincing. The other hand flat on the hood of the car, warm metal soaking into his skin. The same metal he could feel every time he moved forward, banging his legs against the fender.
Dean cried out and slammed into Sam again, and felt himself about to come. Arms shaking, legs threatening to give out, Dean felt himself starting to fall forward even as he fucked Sam, still, hard as he could.
He heard himself saying Sammy's name, over and over, caught in whispers and each twisted breath that escaped. Sam groaned loudly, the sound taking on a desperate quality as he slid a hand between their bodies and grabbed his own cock, jacking himself off in time with Dean's thrusts.
He wanted to make this last -- knew that was nothing short of impossible because he was losing his fucking mind, but he looked at Sam, watching him as he fucked him, harder, slamming him back against the hood of the car and Dean felt his throat lock, not even breathing as he came. He was aware of Sam watching him the entire time, his gaze holding him, urging him on.
He felt his knees bang into the fender, wondering vaguely if he'd have bruises. How he'd explain them if he had to -- who ever saw his knees but Sam, anyway? He thrust into Sam again, legs and ass shaking with the effort, then Dean froze for a second before falling slowly forward. Arms grabbed him and pulled him close, held him steady, held him tightly, Sam's voice murmuring things to him he wasn't together enough to make out.
Dean tried to tell Sam he was all right, but all that came out was a strangled 'urk' noise. He tried to move his hand towards Sam, wanting to hang onto him. Sam just held him tighter.
After a minute, Dean turned his head and gave Sam's arm a kiss. Then he pried open his eyes and realised that the world hadn't quite stabilised yet. He groaned, loudly. One of Sam's hands found its way into Dean's hair and stroked it lightly.
Much as he wanted to fall into a coma, there was vivid evidence pressing into his hip of something still waiting. Dean moaned as he pushed himself up enough to get a hand on Sam's cock. The sound that came out of Sam's mouth at that first touch was more of a needy whimper than anything else, as Sam pushed his hips up into Dean's grip.
"Love this," Dean said, leaning down. "Your cock in my hand. Get to touch you...." Dean jerked him off with a tight grip, being careful not to jostle his own softening cock out of Sam. Sam was still holding onto him, but now it felt like he was doing it to keep himself from flying apart instead of Dean, fingers digging tightly into flesh.
"You gonna come like this? Bare-ass naked, on the hood of our car? Out here where just about anybody driving by could see your legs in the air, my dick still inside you?"
Dean actually had no idea if talking dirty would turn Sam on or off, but now seemed like as good a chance to find out as any. Sam made this desperate sounding whining moan in the back of his throat as he bucked up into Dean's hand almost violently. Dean reacted quickly, moving his hand to get Sam to come; he made a mental note to find out if what he was saying was having any effect, or if he could be reciting the phone book and Sam would still be this close to coming.
He decided not to risk finding out right then, and instead he leaned down and found a spot of skin near Sam's collarbone, and bit. Sam came, moaning loudly.
Dean moved, a second too late, then just leaned back down and licked the spot he'd been biting. Hell, they'd need a shirt to clean up with afterwards, might as well be this one and hope Dad didn't ask why Dean had left wearing one and returned wearing another.
How many times could he claim to have spilled soda on himself?
Sam had gone completely boneless as he came down from his climax, letting his head fall back to rest against the car's hood. Dean took a moment to just look at him. He was always gorgeous, but like this... Dean leaned down and kissed him, softly.
Then he laid his head on Sam's shoulder and closed his eyes. Possibly not the greatest place for a nap, but Dean didn't care. After a few moments, Sam's hands began to run over his skin lightly, soothingly. He had the vague impression that it should be the other way around -- if Sam had already bounced back, Dean thought maybe they were going to have to use all five stop-for-sex spots he'd scouted out.
He heard Sam sigh in that completely-content-with-the-world way he had, usually heard just before he fell asleep. Dean didn't move a muscle, because if anyone deserved a well-fucked nap, it was the guy who had just been fucked. Sam didn't move either, save to shift his grip on Dean to keep him close.
He'd slept in worse places, Dean figured, as he let his weight settle on his brother.
end part 3a
continue to part 3b
Authors: Wolfling (
wolfling) and James (zortified)Sequel: to Heart's Desire VI: Seeing Through Different Eyes
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 41,800 (story total)
Disclaimer: not ours, no profit made
Spoilers: none
Warnings: angst, smut, hugging.
Summary: The Winchesters hunt a ghost, while Dean's ghosts hunt him.
Notes: As always, we'd like to thank
wesleysgirl for the awesome beta job. We'd also like to thank Hansen's, Diet Rite, and Pepsi for their diet sodas that zortified can drink without getting dizzy. Caffeine makes the world go 'round, people!The entire series can be found in Gila's Cave and Wolfling's Den.
Continued from Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Dean was sitting in the airport terminal of what he thought was a pretty small airport. He'd only been in one airport before -- Chicago -- and that one had been a huge, freaking, confusing mess. Spokane's International Airport had four terminals and barely more than 30 gates. Sam was coming in at gate 2 according to the monitors, and Dean had been sitting there waiting for him for probably an hour longer than he'd needed to be.
He'd already figured out exactly where baggage claim was -- though he didn't know if Sam would bother with checking a bag. He'd paid way too much for a crappy cup of coffee, and was trying to browse a newspaper when really all he was doing was trying not to freak out.
It was a really good thing he didn't have to get on a plane. His head would have exploded.
Finally they announced the arrival of Southwest Airlines flight 251 from Oakland. Dean set the paper aside and stood up, hovering -- not too closely -- and waited for Sam.
Sam was one of the first people off the plane, backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked around, eyes lighting up when he spotted Dean and made his way over to him. Dean had to hold his hands down at his sides -- wanting to grab Sam and kiss him senseless. But even with Dad waiting for them back at the motel, he didn't feel safe letting himself touch his brother. "Hey."
"Hey," Sam replied and Dean could see the same desire in his expression. It made Dean almost go ahead and grab him -- but the whole reason Sam was here was not because they were pussies who couldn't stand to be apart for 24 hours.
Even if Dean was really, really happy to have Sam here.
He was here because they had to tell Dad. Dean felt all his amusement die away. He reached out for Sam's bag -- not quite like hugging him, but good enough. "How was your flight?" he asked, not that he really cared.
Sam's fingers brushed deliberately against Dean's as he let him take the bag. "It was fine. How's the job going?"
Dean shrugged. "Fine. Dad-- he thinks you're coming up to help. He's really...happy about it." Dad hadn't said as much, of course, just 'fine, all right' when Dean had said he was picking Sam up. But he'd looked happy, in that silent way Dean had learned to interpret.
He turned to lead Sam out, wanting to get out of the airport and back to the car.
Maybe they could run for Mexico.
He felt Sam following right on his heels, almost close enough to feel the heat of his body. Neither of them said anything else until they got back to the car. The moment they were both inside, Sam was sliding across the front seat to hug Dean like his life depended on it.
Dean held onto him, pressing his face into Sam's shoulder and feeling like they'd been separated for months. Maybe it was just fear.
"What the hell are we going to say?" He couldn't tell if Sam could even hear him; he could barely make it out himself with his voice muffled against Sam's jacket.
If anything Sam's grip tightened. "I've been thinking about that. Maybe... maybe we don't have to tell him."
Dean froze, then whipped his head up to stare at Sam. "What?" His fingers tightened on Sam's arm. "Sam, I told you -- I can't lie to him."
"It won't be lying," Sam said, speaking quickly as if he was trying to get the words out before Dean could stop him. "We just don't tell him the whole truth. We tell him that we're living as a couple, but we don't tell him we are... y'know. Not pretending."
It sounded like a good plan -- except Dean knew what Dad would say. "Why are we pretending in the first place?"
"Because 'I'm living with my brother' isn't a good enough reason to get out of having to stay in the dorms to get my scholarship, but 'I'm living with my committed life partner' is," Sam answered immediately, showing that he really had been thinking about it.
Dean stared at him. "Did you say that to the university people? I mean, when you applied? Or did you just make that shit up two seconds ago?" Dean had always been impressed by his brother's ability to bullshit. But he didn't always feel surpassed by said ability -- like he did now.
He wasn't going to tell Sam anything of the sort, though.
He tried to ignore how the words 'committed life partner' made him want to grin like an idiot.
"Well, two hours ago," Sam said with a tilt of his head. "Though I think the admissions people just assumed when I filled out the paperwork with your fake name as emergency contact and all that."
"You think Dad'll buy it?" Dean frowned, and pulled away from Sam before the muscles in his back could tighten up any further.
Sam shrugged. "It has the advantage of being true," he said. "Well, probably true. True enough anyway. And if he does, it gives us the perfect cover for anything that gets back to Dad or that he sees or hears if he comes to Stanford. We're just playing the roles we have to."
"And since we have to live off-campus because of the whole demon thing, it sounds like... well, something he'd approve of." Dean tried to think it over, shoving away the voice in his head that was still trying to freak out about the idea of Dad knowing. He glanced over at Sam. "And the reason you dropped everything and flew up here?"
"I finished my paper early and I missed you," Sam said. "Both of you. Which is mostly the truth, too."
Slowly, Dean nodded. It sounded like this was going to work. But he reached over and took Sam's hand, threading their fingers together. "Sam... if he asks. If Dad looks me in the eye and asks -- I can't lie to him." Dean looked over at his brother, hoping he could make Sam understand. "Not because I want to and I suck at it, even though when it comes to Dad I really do. But -- I can't... I can't lie to him. I'd rather tell him and have him disown us both and have to spend the rest of our lives hiding from him, than...." He shook his head, not able to think of the words to explain how he felt.
"I know," Sam said softly, tightening his grip on Dean's hand. "I'm not sure I could lie to him if he asked me directly, either. It's okay. If that happens, we'll deal. Together." He gave Dean a faint smile. "The trick is to try and keep him from asking."
Smiling back, Dean asked, "And what do we say when we wake up in the morning and we're wrapped around each other like usual?" Dad aside, he was looking forward to that -- although he had a feeling it might be safer all around if he and Sam slept in separate beds.
Sam chuckled. "Dean, we've always woken up that way when we shared a bed. Even before we...."
"Yeah, but lately when I wake up plastered against you, I've already got my hand down your boxers." He gave his brother's crotch a leer. It wasn't precisely true -- normally he was awake before he started playing around. But not always.
"Guess you'll have to concentrate extra hard on keeping your hands to yourself," Sam told him breezily, then shifted in his seat in such a way as to make his jeans tighter in the area that Dean was leering at.
"Or I'll just remember to call you 'Doug'." Dean thought about reaching over and helping Sam with his jeans, but he figured maybe the airport parking lot wasn't nearly as private as it ought to be for that sort of thing.
Luckily, the drive to Clayton had several places where they could pull off.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?" Dean started the engine, and only as he was pulling his hand back did he realise that he'd stroked the dashboard.
"We're going somewhere to have sex, aren't we?"
"There's a couple places we can stop along the way, yeah. Can you hold it for fifteen minutes?"
Sam laughed, the sound low and deep and going straight to Dean's cock. "I was going to ask you that."
"I know I can hold it," Dean said, with a confidence that was completely faked. But he was already pulling the car out of the parking area, and it wouldn't be impossibly long before he got them someplace reasonably private. He glanced at Sam and thought about what he wanted. "I could tell you about the blow job I'm gonna give you," he offered casually.
He watched Sam's eyes darken at the offer. "Well, we have to talk about something while we're driving," he replied just as casually.
"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Although...what I'd like, you shouldn't do while I'm driving."
"I remember the rule. No blowjobs while the car is in motion," Sam recited.
"No, no, this isn't a rule. Yet. It's gonna have to be, though." The cars around them were really starting to annoy Dean more than a little -- every ounce of attention he had to give them was attention away from Sam, and sex. Which, OK, while driving was a good thing. Hence the no blowjobs while the car is in motion rule. "When the hell did we make that a rule, anyway?"
"Day after we almost ran into the ditch when I was... exploring." Sam made 'exploring' sound like the dirtiest word ever.
Right, Dean remembered that day. He tried not to think too much about it because -- driving. "Well, here's another rule: no talking me to orgasm while I'm driving."
Sam was silent for a moment. Then asked curiously, "So you think I could really do that then? Make you come without touching you?"
Dean whimpered, because he knew Sam could. "New rule: no talking about talking me to orgasm, either." He wanted to pull over and grab his cock, but there was no place to do so that wouldn't get them arrested five minutes later.
"I really could?" Sam repeated. He seemed to be fascinated by the concept.
With a strangled laugh, Dean said, "You remember when you were practising your lines for Our Town? And I pretty much left the room whenever I could?"
"Yeah. I know I was driving you crazy with it, but you never said a word." Sam smiled. "I always appreciated that."
"Dimwit. I was in the other room, jerking off."
There was silence from the other side of the car.
Plowing ahead, Dean admitted, "When you were practising that speech on voter rights for your history class? Every time you ever worked on your Latin exorcism rites...." He glanced over. "So you talking to me and trying to get me off? Yeah. Is gonna work."
"Dude you got off on me talking about voter's rights?" Sam asked disbelievingly.
"I had my hand on my dick," Dean pointed out, defensively. Sam was right, though -- the speech hadn't been exactly stimulating. But-- "I like your voice," he said.
He'd once deliberately gotten Sam pissed off at him, then he'd locked himself in the bathroom with Sam on the other side, banging on the door and screaming at him. Screaming, so that his voice dipped way down til Dean could practically feel it in his cock. He'd jerked off, listening to his brother shout -- at the time he'd hated himself for it, and Dean had spent the next several weeks trying to make it up to him.
"Huh," Sam said in a tone of enlightenment. "So phone sex would be....?"
"Not when I'm driving. Or on a hunt with Dad. Or when I'm about to run out of minutes," Dean listed. "Otherwise, yeah. It'd be good." Given how hard he was, Dean thought it was maybe obvious that 'good' was an understatement.
Sam took that in and nodded. "We'll have to do that then."
"Sounds better than ice cubes," Dean said. He still wasn't sure Sam hadn't been putting him on with that.
"I could talk about ice cubes."
"That would be safer than trying to stick one in my ass," Dean told him. "You can talk about anything you want." It occurred to him, too late, that he might not have wanted to admit that. Well, then, if Sam hadn't realised it from Dean's confession about the speech on voter's rights....
"Even how much I love you?" Sam asked.
Dean tensed, without meaning to. Hell, talk about being blindsided. He unclenched his jaw, because he didn't want to piss Sam off -- but there wasn't anything he could say to that.
Sam reached over and patted Dean's leg. "That's okay," he said kindly. "We'll work up to it."
He tried to make himself relax; the turnoff was coming up in a couple miles, he remembered seeing it on the drive to the airport. Made note of it, because he'd had a feeling there would be some sex in the car on the drive back to Clayton. He felt like jumping out of the car and shooting something, though. There was even a sawed-off shotgun in the trunk that would be perfect. All he needed was a ghost.
If Sam was aware of his sudden twitchiness, he didn't let on, continuing on in a casual tone, "I guess I'll just have to talk about some of my fantasies then. Like, say, you fucking me over the hood of the car."
Dean coughed. "You could. I could." He had a sudden image, and he knew that right at that very moment the hood was probably not too warm. Fucking traffic. He glared at the Spokane outskirts, wishing they would go the hell away already.
Sam smirked. "Figured that would be one you liked, considering how you feel about your car."
Shifting his glare to Sam, Dean said, "I thought teasing me about the car was off-limits."
"Who's teasing? I'm just stating a fact."
Dean squirmed in his seat, mostly because the conversation wasn't doing much for his ability to drive comfortably -- and he knew if he tried to unzip and give himself a little room, he'd better be ready to slam on the brakes and stop driving all together.
"How much longer until we can stop?" Sam asked.
"Six and a half minutes." Dean glanced down at the speedometer to confirm his speed, and checked his calculation again. "Six if we don't get Ma and Pa Podunk leaving town in their 1932 pickup."
Sam nodded, looking he was doing mental calculations. "I better stay quiet for at least the next four minutes then."
Dean frowned. "Two minutes."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Two minutes?"
"Stay quiet for two minutes."
"You think you can handle me talking dirty while you're driving for four minutes?"
"I think it's better than the alternative, which is me thinking about you talking dirty for four minutes." Dean glanced down at the speedometer again; going a little faster. They'd probably make it to the turnoff in four and a half more minutes.
"Don't think about it then," Sam said in his utmost reasonable tone. Which didn't make it any less unreasonable.
Dean gave Sam a dry look. "Yeah." Because he hadn't stopped thinking about it since they'd got in the car -- well, since he'd left the motel to pick Sam up and he'd taken note of all the places they could pull over. There were three good spots, and two more 'will do if we're desperate' spots.
Clayton was only 35 miles away from the airport.
"Think of something else," Sam suggested. "Something.... unsexy."
Dean gave him another raised eyebrow, asking Sam if he was kidding. "I could think about what Dad will say if he catches us," he said, sarcastically.
Sam made a face. "That might be a little too unsexy," he said mildly.
"It's all I got," Dean told him. "I'd say you could tell me about something unsexy, but that would still be you talking to me, and I think voter's rights have proven it really doesn't matter what you say. Not that it wasn't a good paper," he added.
"It got an A," Sam said just a little bit smugly.
"Did you ever not get an A on a paper?"
Sam frowned, obviously thinking. "I got a B once in 4th grade."
Dean glanced over, saw the look on his brother's face. "You're serious. You got one B? Ever?"
"Well, that I can remember," Sam admitted. "Maybe in kindergarten..."
"Your kindergarten teachers loved you to pieces and always gave you those gold stars on your papers."
"Then no, no other B's."
Dean didn't say anything for a moment. Sometimes his brother was just...scary.
"Dean?" Sam asked after a moment.
"You sure you won't do my homework for me?" He remembered getting A's in his math classes, sometimes. And he always got A's in elementary school when he told the teacher how his dad had been sick or out of town and he'd been taking care of Sammy and hadn't had time to do his homework.
"You don't need me to do your homework," Sam told him with complete confidence.
"But it'd be easy for you," Dean said, wheedling just a tiny bit. It occurred to him a second later that of course it'd be easy, because it was high school and Sam was-- Dean slammed the brakes on that train of thought, then saw the turnoff up ahead.
What he wanted was sex to take his mind off it.
"It's going to be easy for you, too," Sam told him. He looked out the windshield. "Is that the turnoff?"
"It wasn't easy the first time," Dean said, and he checked the traffic in every possible direction because there was no way he was going to risk being hit by a truck this close to his blowjob.
"The first time you were spending all your time looking out for me," Sam pointed out.
"There was one week I missed school because of Rebecca." Dean smiled at the memory. Hell, but she'd been hot. Sassy, agile, and her daddy had had a freaking mansion. Parents off to Europe, and Rebecca had been bored, poor girl.
"Well, that's not something you have to worry about anymore either," Sam said darkly.
"She was hot," Dean said, giving his brother a cocky grin. He knew Sam got jealous, but... he found himself wanting to reassure Sam that Rebecca hadn't been one of those partners. "The only thing I got from her was a week of great sex, free drugs, and missed school."
Sam frowned faintly. "There aren't going to be any more Rebeccas."
"You're saying you won't distract me from my homework by walking around naked?" Dean saw the abandoned gas station ahead, and he headed for it.
"Was that what she did?"
"The first day she was in a bikini. After that, she didn't really bother getting dressed." Dean shook his head, as if thinking of it fondly. In reality, his cock was damn near jumping at the way Sam was almost growling at him.
"Y'know, you really don't need to sound so much like you want to repeat the week," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest and staring out the window. Oh yeah, his brother was definitely pissy.
"You don't wanna have sex for a week and skip class?" Dean asked, confused. He wondered just how serious Sam thought he was, though, about caring at all about Rebecca. As he pulled the car behind the gas station, hiding them perfectly from the road, he asked carefully, "Sam? You know I meant it, when I said I wasn't going to sleep with anyone else?"
Sam sighed and the tension seemed to ease out of his shoulders a little. "I know," he said in a softer voice.
"So are we cool, or are you gonna sit over there wondering if I'd rather be out there with some chick with a C cup?"
Sam looked over at him with a faintly worried frown. "You're not...?"
Dean rolled his eyes, and resisted the urge to smack his brother. "Sam, if I wanted some chick I'd go get one. But, god help me, I want you. If I didn't, I wouldn't be with you."
"You flirt with Kerrie," Sam blurted.
"I what?" Dean was glad he'd already stopped the car. He switched off the ignition and turned to stare at his brother. "When did I... wait, the beer thing?" He tried to remember if he'd done anything more than just be friendly. He hadn't; hell, Kerrie knew that he and Sam were a couple, so she shouldn't have thought he was serious.
Sam shook his head. "Forget it. I'm being stupid, I know."
"Hey." Dean reached over and put his hand on Sam's arm. "It isn't stupid. Well, it is stupid, because I didn't mean to flirt with her. I was just-- she's a friend of yours, I was trying to be nice."
"She has the hots for you," Sam told him, though he leaned towards Dean just a little.
"Sammy, everyone has the hots for me. Mr. Drake down the street has the hots for me, and he's 82." He shook his head, wondering how to get it into his brother's brain that he wasn't going anywhere. He reached up and tugged Sam's chin around to look at him. "Sam, I'm willing to risk losing the second most important thing in the fucking world, in order to keep you."
Sam sighed and moved into Dean's arms. "I know. I do. I just... I'm being stupid."
Pulling Sam close, Dean pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Is there something I can do?" He should probably offer to stop flirting, but half the time he didn't even know what he'd done until Sam called him on it. But it seemed like it always upset him, so maybe he should at least try to stop doing it.
"I dunno," Sam said, snuggling closer. "I mean, it would probably help if I didn't have to hear how great Rebecca was and how much you loved sleeping with her with so much enthusiasm. Like... you miss it."
"Sam." Dean pulled Sam around so he could look him in the eye. "I don't miss Rebecca. The great thing about that was taking a week off school and doing nothing but enjoy myself. Hell, it coulda been anyone. It could have been no one."
Sam leaned in, resting his forehead against Dean's. "I told you I'm being stupid," he said softly.
"Yeah, you are." He gave Sam a quick kiss.
"I don't even know why this is bugging me now," Sam said sounding exasperated, but not at Dean. "I mean it's not that I think I have anything to worry about with you or anything."
"Don't you? You're not worried about me...picking a nice girl because it'd be a hell of a lot easier to tell Dad about? Or even a nice boy? That maybe I was right to hate myself for wanting you like this?" He swallowed, and said, "You're not worried about us needing something we can't pay for and me deciding to sleep with someone to get it?"
In retrospect, Dean thought maybe Sam had a lot of reasons to worry about what Dean was going to do.
"No," Sam said sharply. He leaned in and kissed Dean gently. "I know where your heart lies."
Dean waited until it seemed like Sam was willing to stop kissing -- it took a minute, and Dean thought maybe the conversation could be over, instead, and they could have sex. But then the kiss broke off, and Dean looked at his brother. "So why are you freaking out about it?" he asked, willing to forego sex to keep having this conversation, if Sam really needed to.
"I don't know," Sam said, shrugging with bewildered honesty. "Guess this whole potential crisis is getting to me maybe? Or maybe it was Kerrie going on and on about how if we ever break up she wants first crack at you..."
Dean wrinkled his nose at the thought of dating Kerrie. "Wait, who said we were breaking up?" Maybe there was another reason Sam was freaking out? There was no way Sam could have been thinking about it, without Dean having had some kind of clue before now.
"Kerrie and Mat were teasing me about it when I showed up on the bus instead of you dropping me off," Sam explained.
"Oh." Dean thought about it, then grinned.
"What?"
Dean shrugged. "I like.. that they think we're attached at the hip." He nudged his hips upward, emphasising the point. "So they tease you about us breaking up just because I'm not dropping you off." It wasn't quite like writing his name on Sam's ass, but it was close. Maybe he could write it on some of Sam's books, though. "Hands off - Dean W."
"We are practically attached at the hip," Sam pointed out, sliding a hand down over Dean's hips as he spoke. "Mat thinks we're married."
Dean smiled, and was seized by the urge to kiss his brother, hard. "Aren't we?" he asked, instead.
"More or less," Sam agreed. "I never really thought of it that way though. You're -- we're -- just a given. Inevitable and essential. Like oxygen."
"Water," Dean corrected. "Oxygen and hydrogen, and don't bitch at me about being one oxygen to two hydrogens. You're not that much taller than me." He gave Sam a kiss, then said, "We must be married -- we have the same last name." He tried to fight the grin -- because Dad was only about twenty five miles away, and in a couple hours they were going to have to pretend they were brothers who would never even dream of this sort of thing.
Sam kissed him then shook his head. "Married isn't a big enough word for what we are." He smiled slightly. "I suppose it'll do as a description for lack of a more accurate one."
"Carbon monoxide."
Sam chuckled. "Something a little less deadly."
"Hey, we're deadly. And there's one carbon, one oxygen... you wanna be nitric oxide?"
Sam just stared at him then shook his head. "You are so weird sometimes."
Dean frowned. "How am I weird? Sam, did you sleep through all of Dad's lectures about fuels and flammable gases?"
"You're comparing us to one of Dad's lectures on fuels and flammable gases," Sam pointed out.
"To make it one atom each, not -- fuck, I am a moron. Sodium chloride."
Sam chuckled. "And you don't think you're smart."
Frowning again, Dean said, "Sam, we learned about salt when we were kids. I was five the first time Dad showed me how to pour a ring around the bed."
"You're smart," Sam said, then leaned in to give Dean a long lingering kiss.
"Whatever." Dean thought Sam was trying to distract him, but from what he couldn't figure out. Being married? Kerrie? Finally having some sex so he could walk into the motel room without sporting a hard-on?
"And I?" Sam said in between kisses. "Like smart guys."
"Don't you mean smartasses?"
"If that's where your brains are..."
"I can tell you where all my blood is," Dean said, hopefully rubbing his crotch against Sam's hip.
Sam grinned at him. "Still want to fuck me over the hood?"
"You think you can hide it from Dad?"
"Unless you're planning on getting a lot kinkier than I've been thinking..."
"Dirty laundry? That well-fucked smirk?" Dean gestured at Sam's face, but really he was hoping Sam would say yes, he could hide all traces of Dean fucking him.
"I'll just have to make sure there's no clothes in the way to get dirty," Sam said. "As for the other," he shrugged. "Maybe I joined the mile high club on the way here."
"Sammy!" Dean gasped. "You dog!" He gave Sam a gentle push. "Get out. Hood." He scrambled behind him for the door handle, because if he was going to get to fuck Sam, he wanted to stop talking and start fucking, already.
Laughing, Sam complied with Dean's orders, getting out and leaning casually on the hood of the car.
"Hood cool enough?" Dean put his hand on the metal, and it seemed OK to him, but it wasn't going to be his bare ass -- though it could be, if Sam said it was too warm still. Dean didn't care about a little contact burn.
"Yeah," Sam said. "Good thing it's cloudy."
"You wanna lie on the hood, legs in the air? Or just stand up and lean forward against the car?"
Sam's eyes darkened at the question. "You have a preference?" he asked, voice going low and husky like it always did when he was aroused.
Dean shrugged. "When it's me, I like to be standing. Um--" He decided not to say that was maybe because he'd never been fucked by Sam on a car. He tried to picture his brother in either position.
Christ, he needed to fuck Sam. Right fucking now.
Sam's gaze on him was almost like a physical touch. "Yeah, but how do you want me?"
"On the hood." He got a hand on Sam's chest and pushed him backwards, and fumbled for his zipper. Then again, he'd rather be undressing Sam. He got his hands onto Sam's waistband and fumbled with the top button.
"You want me naked?" Sam asked in a low voice that had more than a hint of growl to it.
"Pants down'll be fine," Dean managed. "You don't have to waste time stripping."
"But might be good to make sure my clothes stay clean," Sam said thoughtfully, then pulled his shirt up over his head.
"Fine, fine, strip, I'm not complaining. Unless you take your sweet fucking time." Dean had his jeans unzipped and his cock in his hand and Sam wasn't on the hood yet.
Sam chuckled as he quickly set about undressing. "You're just so romantic," he teased.
"I'll buy you some flowers later. Get naked so I can fuck you, unless you wanna watch me masturbate on you."
"Pushy," Sam accused, shedding the last of his clothes and then moving back to leaning against the edge of the hood.
"I'm not.. Jesus Christ." Dean stared. Sam, naked, on the hood of the car. Looking like he was just waiting to be fucked -- Dean was kinda surprised he didn't come, right there.
He swallowed, and fumbled for the inside pocket of his jacket. He'd stashed some packets of lube, thinking -- looking for places they could have sex on the way to Clayton, because he'd thought that one way or another this would be his last chance to touch his brother.
Sam looked amused. "No, you're not Jesus. I don't want Jesus to fuck me, I want you to fuck me." He slid back a little until he was more firmly sitting on the hood.
Dean took a step forward, then another until he could get his hands on Sam's thighs. Squeezed them, then pushed, gently, because he didn't want to force Sam, just...encourage him to lay down, spread for him.
Sam leaned forward and kissed him, devouring his mouth roughly before pulling back and, with a smirk, leaning back against the hood, his entire body an invitation.
"And you call me a slut," Dean said, and he got the packet of lube open, and spread some on his fingers. One hand on Sam's leg, again, gripping the hard muscles and pushing the leg up. Opening Sam even more when he slid his fingers inside.
Sam gasped, his head falling back. "Just following your lead," he said, voice catching as Dean's fingers moved.
"I think you have a... sex outdoors kink," Dean said, knowing he wasn't making much sense but not really caring because Sam was naked on the hood of his car and Dean could feel parts of his brain breaking.
He made a noise that almost felt as painful as it sounded, and he gripped his cock, smearing lube on it as fast as he could. He couldn't take his eyes, or his hand, off Sammy.
"I have...." Sam groaned. "I have a sex with you kink."
"We can work that in," Dean said, trying to sound casual, but the way he was gasping and moaning made it sound like he was about to come. He slid his cock into Sam's ass, and groaned.
A groan that his brother echoed. "Dean..."
He pulled part way out, and thrust in again, harder. God, he was at the perfect height -- Dean realised he could stand here and fuck Sam all day. The whimper that accompanied that thought made him fight to hold back -- maybe he couldn't manage all day, but he could make it last as long as possible.
Maybe.
Sam lowered his legs as much as he could, wrapping them around Dean as if trying to keep him from escaping. His hands were flat on the car hood, bracing himself against Dean's thrusts.
Thrusting in once, as hard and deep as he could, Dean stopped there, and when he pulled back he began fucking Sam as slowly as he could stand to. He could feel his throat tighten, and he tried to unlock his voice to let the words out. All he could hear was meaningless groans as his voice caught.
Sam didn't seem to be having the same problem as a steady litany of "Dean," "good," "more", and "harder" fell from his lips.
Dean tried to ignore him, concentrating on slow and deep. But he couldn't take his eyes off Sam, spread out on the hood, and yeah, so he had a fucking fetish for his car, and a fetish for Sam, and it was maybe more than a person should ask that he make this last any longer.
"Sam," he breathed, and he let his head fall forward, and that breaking thing he'd felt before was shattering harder.
Sam reached up and rested a hand against Dean's cheek, tracing his lips with his thumb. Dean kissed it, then gave it a lick. Opened his mouth to pull it in, and he lost himself for a moment in just fucking Sam. Fucking him hard, and Dean was still making those noises that he couldn't understand, harsh and painful and like he needed something that he wasn't getting.
"Sam," he begged, and had no idea what he was begging for, just kept fucking Sam and reaching for his hand, trying to get more of him inside Dean.
"Dean," Sam replied, voice catching on the name. "God, you're..."
He wanted to know what -- couldn't ask, because he couldn't get his voice to work. Godawful sounds coming out of him now, and his one hand clenched Sam's thigh, hard enough he didn't know if Sam would be able to walk without wincing. The other hand flat on the hood of the car, warm metal soaking into his skin. The same metal he could feel every time he moved forward, banging his legs against the fender.
Dean cried out and slammed into Sam again, and felt himself about to come. Arms shaking, legs threatening to give out, Dean felt himself starting to fall forward even as he fucked Sam, still, hard as he could.
He heard himself saying Sammy's name, over and over, caught in whispers and each twisted breath that escaped. Sam groaned loudly, the sound taking on a desperate quality as he slid a hand between their bodies and grabbed his own cock, jacking himself off in time with Dean's thrusts.
He wanted to make this last -- knew that was nothing short of impossible because he was losing his fucking mind, but he looked at Sam, watching him as he fucked him, harder, slamming him back against the hood of the car and Dean felt his throat lock, not even breathing as he came. He was aware of Sam watching him the entire time, his gaze holding him, urging him on.
He felt his knees bang into the fender, wondering vaguely if he'd have bruises. How he'd explain them if he had to -- who ever saw his knees but Sam, anyway? He thrust into Sam again, legs and ass shaking with the effort, then Dean froze for a second before falling slowly forward. Arms grabbed him and pulled him close, held him steady, held him tightly, Sam's voice murmuring things to him he wasn't together enough to make out.
Dean tried to tell Sam he was all right, but all that came out was a strangled 'urk' noise. He tried to move his hand towards Sam, wanting to hang onto him. Sam just held him tighter.
After a minute, Dean turned his head and gave Sam's arm a kiss. Then he pried open his eyes and realised that the world hadn't quite stabilised yet. He groaned, loudly. One of Sam's hands found its way into Dean's hair and stroked it lightly.
Much as he wanted to fall into a coma, there was vivid evidence pressing into his hip of something still waiting. Dean moaned as he pushed himself up enough to get a hand on Sam's cock. The sound that came out of Sam's mouth at that first touch was more of a needy whimper than anything else, as Sam pushed his hips up into Dean's grip.
"Love this," Dean said, leaning down. "Your cock in my hand. Get to touch you...." Dean jerked him off with a tight grip, being careful not to jostle his own softening cock out of Sam. Sam was still holding onto him, but now it felt like he was doing it to keep himself from flying apart instead of Dean, fingers digging tightly into flesh.
"You gonna come like this? Bare-ass naked, on the hood of our car? Out here where just about anybody driving by could see your legs in the air, my dick still inside you?"
Dean actually had no idea if talking dirty would turn Sam on or off, but now seemed like as good a chance to find out as any. Sam made this desperate sounding whining moan in the back of his throat as he bucked up into Dean's hand almost violently. Dean reacted quickly, moving his hand to get Sam to come; he made a mental note to find out if what he was saying was having any effect, or if he could be reciting the phone book and Sam would still be this close to coming.
He decided not to risk finding out right then, and instead he leaned down and found a spot of skin near Sam's collarbone, and bit. Sam came, moaning loudly.
Dean moved, a second too late, then just leaned back down and licked the spot he'd been biting. Hell, they'd need a shirt to clean up with afterwards, might as well be this one and hope Dad didn't ask why Dean had left wearing one and returned wearing another.
How many times could he claim to have spilled soda on himself?
Sam had gone completely boneless as he came down from his climax, letting his head fall back to rest against the car's hood. Dean took a moment to just look at him. He was always gorgeous, but like this... Dean leaned down and kissed him, softly.
Then he laid his head on Sam's shoulder and closed his eyes. Possibly not the greatest place for a nap, but Dean didn't care. After a few moments, Sam's hands began to run over his skin lightly, soothingly. He had the vague impression that it should be the other way around -- if Sam had already bounced back, Dean thought maybe they were going to have to use all five stop-for-sex spots he'd scouted out.
He heard Sam sigh in that completely-content-with-the-world way he had, usually heard just before he fell asleep. Dean didn't move a muscle, because if anyone deserved a well-fucked nap, it was the guy who had just been fucked. Sam didn't move either, save to shift his grip on Dean to keep him close.
He'd slept in worse places, Dean figured, as he let his weight settle on his brother.
end part 3a
continue to part 3b