So this chapter is for the_last_shadow because she made me such wonderful, amazing, beautiful icons. And not to pimp anyone out here (cos technically I am also pimping myself right now) but you should totally check them out...
Icons for ME...
AND because she made me this totally beautiful banner!
The drive to Rockwood did take longer than a day. It didn't help that Sam couldn't keep his hands to himself and practically ordered Dean to find a motel or he was “going to fuck him on the side of the road”. Sam's words, not Deans. In the end it had been Dean that fucked Sam anyway, long and marking, making Sam beg for release in a voice that sounded broken and desperate. And that tone was now high up on the Dean's favourite Sam Winchester's tone's of voice list. Not that he had a list.
They arrived in Rockwood mid morning, the streets practically deserted as people were probably working, avoiding the early morning sun that was far too hot already. The height of summer in Tennessee. They couldn't have picked a worse time to come. The upside of it being that Sam was currently stretching out his long limbs from being cramped in the car for a few hours and the t-shirt he was wearing was riding up, exposing a strip of tone stomach. Dean's fingers itched to touch it but just as he reached out Sam lowered his arms and tugged the t-shirt back down.
“Holy Shit its hot.” He exclaimed. And Dean has to fight the urge to say “Yeah, you are” because that's corny as hell and also he has no idea where these thoughts are coming from and truth be told they scare him. Three weeks ago he wouldn't have had them, wouldn't have looked twice at his brother stretching in the mid morning sun, wouldn't have wanted to lick the strip of tanned skin that was exposed. He wonders briefly when Sammy got so tanned because he wasn't been privy to some private sunbathing sessions recently. Sam hooks an eyebrow at him over the hood of the Impala and Dean ignores it, turning away and searching the streets for a coffee shop, because he has no intention of divesting his inner thoughts to his brother right now, just because he's sleeping with him. Sleeping, fucking, with his brother. Dean swallows down the bile that threatens to rise at the thought. Each time he really thinks about it, it makes him sick to his stomach.
“Dean...” Sam's fingers are around his wrist, discreetly holding on, thumb rubbing over his erratic pulse and the bile is gone. Its always the way, one look at Sam's worried eyes and the sick feeling of oh shit I'm going to hell is gone like...something that goes really quickly. He obviously can't think straight when Sam's got his hands on him, no mater how innocent the touch is.
“Coffee.” He manages to croak out. Sam hooks an eyebrow again, obviously wanting to discuss what the hell was just going through Dean's mind. Dean slides his hand down his wrist, links his fingers with Sam's briefly then lets go, dropping Sam's hand. There is a brief flicker of fear on Sam's face but the smile Dean sends him seems to placate it. They are striding down the high street, if you could call it that, shoulder's bumping slightly with every other step a few moments later.
The coffee shop is warm and smells of cinnamon and, funnily enough, coffee. It would be a nice respite if it wasn't so damn hot outside. Dean feels the first prickles of sweat breaking out between his shoulder blades the second he steps through the door. Sam blows his breath out over his face, his lower lip sticking out like he's pouting, it's a ridiculous expression, but it makes him seem childish and innocent. He catches Dean looking at him again and smiles that half smile, the one that lights up his eyes but not quite his face. But its always his eyes that Dean looks at anyway, so he gets it.
"Hi sugar, what can I get ya?” The waitress leans over the counter. Dean can practically feel the tension coming off his brother in waves. Dean has always been aware of his brothers moods. That started well before Sam could speak and one look from little tubby baby Sammy and Dean knew what the problem was. Now he doesn't even have to look, he feels the way his brother bristles in annoyance and can practically feel the death glare he's giving the waitress.
“Sam, find a table.” He doesn't look at Sam though he knows Sam is staring blankly at him. Dean turns back to the waitress. “I'll have a regular black coffee and Samantha here will have a non fat decaf soy latte.” He tries to make a joke but he can still feel tension coming off Sam. Sam huffs and slinks away. The waitress frowns a little at his retreating form. “He'll have a regular white coffee thanks darlin'.” He drawls, and adds in a wink for good measure. She blushes slightly and turns to make the coffee. Dean turns and leans back against the counter, watching as Sam pulls out his laptop and fires it up. His shoulder's are hunched, in his “brooding and pensive” stance. It be honest it kind of freaks Dean out how much he knows about the guy without actually have to voice it. It freaks him out how far under each others skin they are. They fight about everything from what to listen to, to how fast to drive, to who gets the bathroom first, to what way to ward of a ghost. But even after all that, after the fact they share a small space in the from of the Impala each day for way to long to be healthy and they still haven't killed each other has to mean something.
“Your coffees sugar.” Dean, although he will never admit this, jumps slightly when the waitress leans over the counter and talks directly into his ear. He turns though with a well practised smile, ready to extract information by any means.
“Thank you Mary-Beth.” Fifteen minutes and she's practically eating out of his hand, spilling every dirty little secret this town has. Dean gives the waitress his winning smile. Its sometimes too easy. She leans forward even more and Dean thinks that she might fall over the fucking counter in a minute, and touches his arm, fingers sliding down his arm to try and link with his. The touch is almost possessive. A cold shiver runs down his spine and he resists the urge to shudder. Something about her touch makes Dean's skin crawl.
“You, Dean, are welcome. And you know where I'll be if you are sticking around?” She winks and Dean plasters his fake smile on his face.
“Yeah.” He grabs the now cooling coffees and walks over to Sam, still suppressing the urge to shudder. Sam doesn't even look up as Dean slips into the chair opposite him. Its only when Mary-Beth slips behind the counter and into the back room does Dean give into his urge. Sam looks up with a face like thunder but it changes to curiosity and a hint of worry when he's sees Dean's face.
“What the hell dude?” He asks. Dean shoots a look at the back room and shakes his head. He's never been particularly sensitive about people, about people. Yeah he can pretty much tell the minute a ghost enters the room, but that's just common knowledge, but he can't shake the feeling that there is something about Mary-Beth that is...well, just wrong.
“Nothing.” Sam arches an eyebrow. Dean shoves the coffee in front of him. “Nothing Sam. What did you find?” He asks. Sam continues to stare at him for a while, still looking a little bit more than pissed right now. Dean ignores it and take a sip of coffee. The tension is still surrounding Sam, its a little distracting.
“Not much more than we already know. Guys, normal, hard working lots of friends, two had girlfriends, one was married. Started sleeping more about two months ago. Started sleeping more and more. Doctors couldn't find anything wrong with them, they just wanted to sleep. They weren't even tired. Looks like they just...” Sam shrugs once, “gave up. Went to sleep, didn't want to wake up.” Dean rubs a hand over his face.
“What the hell man?” He asks exasperatedly. Sam shrugs again. “Why do you look like you're chewing on a wasp Sammy? Who pissed in your muesli this morning?” Sam glares at him and slams his laptop. He is out of the door before Dean can even blink.
He finds him leaning against the Impala, head back against the roof, eyes closed. Dean studies him for a minute, long line of his throat, powerful body like a coiled spring, ready to fight at any moment. And that worries him. Sam should be wound that tight. He should be relaxed, shouldn't have the hunter instincts that Dean had drilled into him from an early age.
“Can we go back to the motel?” Sam asks without looking up or opening his eyes. Dean sighs, he still sounds like a pissy bitch, voice all pouty and huffy. Dean would call him on it if he wasn't s up for going back himself. And getting his brother out of this crappy mood by any means possible.
He's just locking the door when Dean finds himself plastered to it, chest hard up against the wood.
“The hell Sam?” Sam ignores the question and uses his height to worm his mouth in between shirt and neck, licking at the skin just below Dean's hairline. Dean shivers slightly and pushes back against him.
“Mine.” Sam murmurs against his skin. God, the possession in his voice goes straight to Dean's cock. Sam's voice is low and thick almost like he isn't aware of what he's saying. “Mine.” He says again, fingers sliding down Dean's ribs and snaking underneath his t-shirt. Sam's hands smooth along the waistband of Dean's pants, fingers dipping below and Dean pushes back against him again, hearing his brother's breath hitch in his throat.
“Sammy, gotta let me move dude.” He says, because he needs to get his hands on Sam, needs to see the lust in his eyes. He tries to turn but Sam's hand's leave his hips and pin both of his wrists above his head against the door. The aggression in Sam is a major turn on and Dean gasps slightly as Sam bucks his hips into him.
“She touched you. You're mine. No one touches you.” Sam is murmuring like a man possessed, completely unaware of what he's saying as he extracts one hand from Dean's wrist.
“Jealous much?” Dean goes to move and Sam slams his hand back over Dean's.
“No. Don't move.” He orders. Dean is beyond shocked that he complies so easily but its been this way with Sam since...well since their dad put him in Dean's arms. Sam only has to look at Dean and he gives in. But there is something in the way Sam is suddenly all demanding that turns Dean on no end and it worries him, worries him how far they will go for each other.
“No one touches you now apart from me.” Sam mutters into Dean's neck. Dean arches back into him. Sam runs his hands down Dean's sides and pulls up his t-shirt. In one fluid movement its on the floor in a crumpled heap. Sam's lips are back on Dean's skin, mouth ghosting over scars on Dean's back muttering words of ownership in every language that they know and Dean groans as one of Sam's hands snakes into the front of his pants. The angle is awkward but Sam's hand is sure and grips just this side of painful and twists in the way that Sam knows Dean loves. And the fact that Sam knows that should be wrong, should make Dean push him off. They shouldn't know that about each other, but Dean can't bring himself to care. Not when Sam's hand is moving, not when Dean is bucking into San's fist, not when Sam is cramped so close behind him Dean doesn't know where he ends and Sam begins.
He is so blissfully unaware of anything else other than the movement of Sam's hand that he doesn't feel Sam moving his other hand from the possessive grip on his hip, doesn't hear the noise of Sam's belt being undone or the dull thud as Sam's pants pool around his ankles, does even feel Sam undoing his own jeans. The next thing he's aware of is Sam kicking his legs further apart and his long fingers circling his hole. His hips jerk.
“Shhhh...” Sam soothes from behind, lips behind his ear, breath tickling his skin. Sam pushes a finger inside and Dean groans again and then Sam is gone. Dean whimpers, honest to god whimpers. But Sam's hand running down his back a few moment later has him shivering again. The next time Sam pushes a finger inside Dean its cool and slick and Dean suddenly realises where Sam went and knows that Sam isn't going to be content with just jerking Dean off. He needs to mark Dean is deeper ways than finger shaped bruises on his hips.
He hears Sam slick himself up and Dean's hips twitch in anticipation. They seem to have bought the worst out of each other, because he's pretty sure that Sam has never woken anybody up by sliding down on their cock before and Dean knows he's never been in this position, hands braced against a cheap motel door, ass pushing backwards practically begging for more. But its Sam. His Sammy. And if this is Dean's worst then bring it on.
“Fuck, Dean.” Sam groans as he pushes his way inside. And if Dean could actually form words he would say exactly the same thing, but he has to settle for a rolls of his hips that has Sam tightening his grip around Dean's hips and slamming even deeper into him. The air seems to leave the room, for a few seconds neither of them breathe. That is until Sam draws almost all the way out and slams home again and the air is knocked out of Dean's chest.
Its fast, its hard and so goddam perfect that Dean wonders why the hell they didn't do this before.
“Mine.” Sam mutters as Dean comes, so blindingly hard that he thinks he might have passed out for a second.
“Mine.” Sam murmurs as his hips stutter and he comes too, lips against the skin of Dean's neck.
“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean whispers, wanting nothing more right now than to go to sleep for a very long time. “Yours.”