Banner made by the_last_shadow
Right, so serendip50 asked for a sequel and now it has turned into a multi chapter thingy because its still not finished yet. So...blame her. I do.
It takes a moment for reality to sink in after Sam awoke, feeling warm and safe but with a niggling feeling of something at the back of his mind. Like waking up with the remnants of a dream still lurking, clouding your sleep hazy vision, taunting you as you try to chase them, skipping out of your memory the more awake you get.But the memory lets its self get caught this morning, gives up the hunt and he grasps it with both hands. His legs tangled with Dean's, Dean's hand still curled on his chest, a solid, comforting weight over his heart, and Sam has to blink a couple of times, straining his neck to look at Dean, just to make sure he isn't dreaming, isn't imagining. Dean's breath tickles his neck, hot air wafting over his skin and Sam is hot, almost uncomfortably so and he needs the bathroom, but he wouldn't move for the world. Especially when he shifts and Dean snuffles into Sam's neck, shifting closer and tightening his grip on Sam. Its an unconscious movement, one that Sam is sure he does himself, or did, when they were kids all those years ago, or when he shared a bed with Jess. But it makes Sam smile, a slow, sleepy grin across his face as his brother mumbles his name in his sleep.
Sam feels it when Dean begins to wake, feels his brothers muscles stiffen, jerk awake, just like the good hunter he is. No lazy mornings for him. No matter how much he wants to run his fingers through Dean's almost too short hair, lull his brother back to sleep with hushed words and kisses ghosting along his jawline. But Dean's eyelashes flutter against Sam's collar bone and Dean rolls away and sits up, running his hand over his face, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes. He doesn't even look at Sam as he slips out of the bed and stumbles towards the bathroom. Its only when he door closes and Sam hears the lock slipping into place does he let out the sigh that he had been holding since Dean stirred. The smile slips from his face. He knew that this morning was going to be hard, knew that Dean would make it hard because it would be so easy to put everything down to alcohol, the come down from adrenaline, the pain killers, anything other than the fact that they both wanted it and the fact that Dean had practically ordered Sam into his bed and wrapped himself around Sam. And no matter than Dean said they would talk in the morning, Sam knows they wont.
He can't hear anything from the bathroom, not even running water or Dean fumbling around in his bag trying to find toothbrush and razor. Nothing. The silence it telling and Sam can practically see Dean, two hands braced on the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror, wondering where he went wrong with his baby brother. Sam is out of bed before he can even process the movement and is knocking on the door.
“Dean?” His voice sounds overly tentative and Sam swallows, clears his throat and tries again. “Need me to check the stitches?” The door cracks open and Dean steps back to the sink. Razor in his hand. Sam suddenly has the urge to take the razor, slather shaving cream onto his brothers face and run the razor down over the contours of Dean's face. He takes in Dean's white knuckles as his hand grips the razor, like he can read Sam's thoughts and Sam takes a step back. Giving Dean the space his body language is screaming for. The nod that Dean gives is tiny, an almost imperceptible movement that only Sam would pick up on. Sam crowds into the tiny bathroom, reaching his hand out and pushing Dean slightly forward so he can slip in behind him, between Dean and the shower curtain, the cold plastic at his back and Dean's hot skin radiating heat on to Sam's chest. Sam lifts a slightly shaking hand and carefully unsticks one corner of the bandage. Dean flinches under the touch, but whether its from Sam's touch or from pain, Sam can't tell. He doesn't really want to figure it out right now either, doesn't want Dean to push him away, because Sam can already feel Dean throwing up the walls already, not wanting to discuss last night, not that anything major happened. He just kissed his brother.
Sam wants to slam his head against the sink, or any hard material really, just to knock some sense into him thick skull. What the hell was he thinking?
“Sam.” Sam knows he's in trouble now, Dean using his name rather than the nickname that Sam will never admit makes him go weak in the knees. Sam lifts his head and stares at Dean in the mirror. Dean's eyes are slightly wide, his hair is still sticking up in crazy ways, he looks sleep fuddled and completely adorable.
“What's the diagnosis, Dr Quinn?” Dean asks, a slight twinkle in his eyes and Sam can't help letting go of yet another breath he's held in at the joke that Dean used the night before.
“Fine.” He says and smooths the tape back onto Dean's skin, spending slightly too long with his fingers against Dean's shoulder blade. Dean just continues to stare at him in the mirror. Eyes expressionless, emotions carefully masked, like always. Sam shakes his head and steps back from behind him, leaving him to his stewing, no matter how much he wants to spin Den round and kiss him till the walls come down.
Ten minutes later Sam is itching to get out of the motel room that still smells like the salve he rubbed into Dean's skin, still smells of blood and leather and Dean. He gives up on the idea of getting into the bathroom where Dean is still hiding and grabs on a pair of old jeans, giving them the smallest of cursory sniffs before pulling them on and shoving his feet into his boots. He is outside in the carpark before he allows himself to take a deep breath, the air is fresh and there is a still a very slight chill left over from the night, but Sam can feel the sun already making its way through the morning haze of clouds. It is going to be another hot day, another day trapped inside the Impala smelling Dean as the breeze flows through the open window. He still doesn't have the faintest idea how to broach the subject of last night when Dean walks up behind him, keys jangling in his hand as he no doubt spins them around his finger.
“Breakfast?” He says in Sam's ear. Sam spins and stumbles at Dean's closeness. Dean snakes a hand out and grabs Sam's elbow. An innocent touch but the way his fingers tighten and shift, makes Sam weak kneed again.
“Careful Sammy.” Dean mumbles before letting go so abruptly that Sam almost stumbles again. Dean takes a step back and walks towards the crappy diner across the car park. Sam watches him go with something akin to wanting settling in his stomach. Want for Dean. Sam shoves his hands into his pockets and slouches, following Dean.
Dean is already seated by the time Sam pushes the door open. He slips into the booth opposite Dean, not missing the way that Dean has placed himself in the optimal position for surveying the whole Diner. And just once Sam wishes that Dean would relax, let himself be normal and sit with his back to the door.
They go through the motions, innocent questions about food, about the job they have yet to pick up. It feels like a normal morning, but Sam can't shake the desire to lean forward and lick away the drip of syrup that glistens on Dean's lower lip. Sam catches himself just as he braces his hands on the table. Dean's eyes widen slightly and Sam can see the confliction in them. Dean wants to ignore last night. And Sam is damned if he is going to let him.
Dean is pacing. Frustration rolling him in waves as Sam trawls the internet for a job. Only because he hates Dean being ansty. Can't stand the residual emotions that fly off him. Dean likes to think that he isn't that emotional, that he can mask them well enough that even Sam can't pick up on them. But Sam can, can always tell what kind of mood Dean is in. Can see beneath the mask, even if he can't quite translate what he sees. But Dean is frustrated, getting cabin fever. He needs to kill something and Sam isn't stupid enough to tell him to sit right now. Because Dean is wound as tight as a spring and one wrong word could sending him spinning in the wrong direction. So Sam huffs right at the same time Dean does and concentrates his efforts trying to find something for them to kill.
“There is what looks like could be a werewolf up in Nebraska. Although that could just be a bear.” Sam says, just to say something. Dean doesn't stop pacing. Doesn't even flick a glance at Sam just continues to chew on his bottom lip like his life depends on it. Sam huffs again and slams his laptop. The sound makes Dean flinch and turn, mid pace, towards him. Sam almost recoils back at the look in his eyes.
“Right, when are we gonna talk about it. Cos it looks like you're gonna choke on it.” Sam says, letting irritation at the completely false normalcy of the morning show in his voice. Dean narrows his eyes and strides towards the door. He wrenches it open and slams it shut without a further word. Sam sighs and runs his hands through his hair. He doesn't know what made him lean forward and kiss his brother the night before. But he wants it, wants to grasp it and hold on, because it may be wrong, and he might go to hell for this, but he might as well enjoy the ride.
The door bangs against the wall when Dean comes storming back through it. His knuckles are red, raw and Sam knows that some poor defenceless wall has taken the brunt of his frustration.
“You wanna talk about it?” He demands. Sam is on his feet and takes a step towards him. Dean takes a step back.
“Well then, talk Sammy, cos I really wanna know why you kissed me last night. I really wanna know why I can't forget that and why I want...” Dean trails off and runs a hand across his face. Sam takes a step towards him again and this time Dean doesn't step back.
“Want what, Dean.” Dean lifts his gaze and locks it with Sam's. Green eyes meet hazel. The flecks of gold in Dean's eyes seem to be on fire, catching the late afternoon sun as it streams through the window. His hands fist by his sides and Sam wants to take them in his own, uncurl the fingers and run his own fingers across Dean's palms. The air between them is charged with unsaid words, words that neither of them can bring themselves to say, no matter how much they both want to say them, Sam can feel that, can feel that they both want this. Whatever this is.
Dean reaches forward in a movement that is almost unnaturally fast and curls his fingers in to Sam's shirt and pulls him sharply forward. Sam has to put his hands out to stop himself from falling into Dean and shoving them both into the wall behind him.
“Jesus Sammy, want you, ok?” Dean hisses before smashing his lips against Sam's. Its brutal, almost as if Dean is showing Sam how it could be, warning him almost, but Sam doesn't care. His hands are braced against Dean's chest and he can feel Dean's heartbeat against his palm and the heat from Dean's body radiating through his shirt.
“Shouldn't.” Dean murmurs against Sam's jaw. His teeth catching against stubble and making Sam shiver in his brothers embrace. Dean tightens his grip of Sam, pulling him even more flush against his body and slips his thigh in between Sam's. Sam hisses a breath in and arches, sending his hips closer to Dean's. Dean spins them and backs Sam up against the wall. Dean is taking control and Sam has no problem with that. Dean is usually in control anyway, always leading, Sam always following. What does it matter that he taking control now? Because in all honesty, Sam has no idea what to do. He's stuck, frozen to the spot, as Dean licks, bites, kisses his way along his jaw, pulling his ear lobe into his mouth and he can't stop the pathetic whimper that escapes his mouth at that. Dean's mouth is hot and inviting. Dean lifts his head and stares at Sam, his eyes searching his face, almost as if he's waiting for Sam to push him away, even though Sam was the one that kissed Dean last night. Sam snaps back to reality and lifts his hands to Dean's face, runs his fingers through Dean's hair and cups his face.
“Dean...” He pulls Dean forward, that inviting mouth back onto Sam's and they both groan. Years of not knowing that he wanted this, and months of trying to deny that he did all come flooding back to Sam at the sound that Dean makes when Sam grips his hips, fingers digging into muscle and bone, marking him so much more deeply then just a bruise on the skin.
“You still wanna talk Sammy?” Dean teases, concentrating on Sam's collar bone, tongue darting out and soothing the bite he just placed there. Sam slams his head back into the wall when Dean's hands worm under his t-shirt, skin against skin, work rough hands against the smooth expanse of Sam's belly.
“Fuck no.” Sam manages to get out, his voice sounding strangled and desperate. Dean laughs a little and his hands reach round, finger dipping into the waistband of Sam's pants and tugging his hips even closer than they already are.
“Good, cos even though I have no idea what the hell I am doing...I don't wanna stop.” Dean confesses. Dean reiterates his point with a roll of a his hips that reduces Sam to expelling a string of nonsensical words. The friction of his jeans against his already straining crotch is enough to have Sam coming in his pants and Dean covers Sam mouth with his own again, tongue slipping inside, exploring every inch of Sam's mouth. And Sam has never loved kissing anyone as much as right now. Kissing Jess was different, softer, gentler, even when she was drunk and hungry. But kissing Dean is harsh, desperate, like blood and pain and god if that thought doesn't go straight to Sam's cock.
Sam pulls away from the kiss and stares into Dean's eyes. Dean looks uncertain, a flicker of doubt crosses his face and Sam curls his fingers into Dean's hair. Dean's eyes flutter closed for a second.
“Me neither.” Sam assures and pulls Dean back, putting all his assurance into his actions. He may not be able to voice his surety, may not be able to tell Dean how much he wants this, even though the lingering thought of this ruining everything still taunts him from the back of his mind, he wants this, god, does he want this. He's just going to have to show Dean they can have this.