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Looking back, Dean should have figured it out sooner.


intro post
posted June 2, 2009 at 17:35

Here's the short version of what I'm doing with this blog: hooking up, and then posting about it.

Here's the longer version: my last three relationships were with women, and they all ended horribly. Not throwing dishes or putting each other's stuff on Craigslist bad, but more like the end of the world bad. I know that sounds melodramatic but I can't exaggerate how completely things went wrong. The first was the worst thing that ever happened to me up until that point, and in some ways, the next two were worse.

I've made a conscious decision to change things, which I'm doing by taking a break from women, and from relationships. I know this won't fix all my problems, but at this point, it feels like a start. I don't care if it's an unhealthy mindset, which it probably is. I just want something different.

 

Dean didn't think anything of the blog the first time he opened the laptop and found it loaded in a tab. They both followed some weird links looking for intel, and Dean just opened a new window, and went about his day.

He saw it again ten days later, in a different motel and a different time zone. Dean scrolled down the page – just a default color scheme on a free blogging platform – and grinned when he skimmed the entries.

It was a sexblog.

Or something, anyway. Dean didn't know if that type of thing had a specific name. But he clicked the Read More! link at the bottom of the top post, and his eyebrows inched high on his forehead. It was about some guy getting a handjob, in a parking lot, with plenty of emo and secrecy-related guilt at the end. The sex itself wasn't even hardcore. Dean figured it was the sorta thing Sam would like, even if it was tame, and he clicked back to the main page before getting to his own business.

It was up again four days later, this time showing a few comments on the HJ post. Dean clicked to the weatherchannel.com tab instead of reading, and checked for electrical activity while Sam hurried around, stowing the gear. If Bobby's info had been right, they barely had time to pack and then pick a direction to head, and never mind stopping to check on Sam's favorite amateur erotica and its readership.

He only saw it in passing the next time, coming up behind Sam's shoulder to compare his sketch of the town with Google Maps. Sam clicked away from the blog quickly, but Dean recognized its bland colors at this point. He shook his head at Sam's bizarre shyness and then they got to work.

The fifth time, though.

The fifth time, Sam clacked away at the keys for almost an hour before passing the computer to Dean and heading into the shower. He hadn't met Dean's gaze, but Dean didn't think anything of it. He set about checking his email and then started on the usual news feeds.

The water had just turned off when Firefox froze and crashed. Dean tapped one finger next to the track pad as the session restored, and Sam came out, wrapped in a towel, about the time the tabs starting popping back up.

"There any hot water left?" he asked.

"You could run some through the coffee pot to take with you," Sam said. Dean flipped him the bird and clicked through the different pages to try to find his while Sam dressed. He frowned when he found that blog again. It'd been updated that night, he saw, barely an hour ago. Dean skimmed the new entry at the top of the page, above three or four others.

Whoever this guy was – the side panel gave his name as S, unhelpful – had apparently been trading blowjobs in some truck stop off I-75. Dean glanced up at Sam before clicking to read the rest of the post, and he started frowning as he went. He and Sam passed down I-75 the week before, cutting from Ohio to Georgia, and he remembered filling up at a place just like the one in the blog. All the details were the same, from the fauxhawked girl running the register to the racks of venison jerky to the Slurpee machine leaking into a bucket on the floor.

He drew breath to mention it to Sam when he remembered Sam's disappearance at the gas station. He said just to stretch his legs at the time, but he'd been gone so long Dean almost went after him.

He thought, then, of all the typing Sam did before ducking into the shower – for a long shower, too, like maybe he was beating it instead of just soaping down. He thought of the timing, too close to be accidental, and the blogger named S, and then he looked up sharply at Sam, across the room.

Going by the dates, Sam hadn't even waited a month after the fall-out from Ruby before finding something else to keep secret.

Sam was an entirely different animal than some anonymous closeted dude taking his securities out on the internet. Sam was here in the room with Dean, flipping through Dad's journal right now and apparently so sure he couldn't tell Dean about getting some that he was willing to tell the rest of the world just to have someone to talk to. Dean clicked back to CNN and closed the laptop, and turned away.

 


Dallas, Texas
posted June 14, 2009 at 01:23

I started in Dallas. I travel a lot for work and I don't want my partner to figure out what I'm doing. Texas seemed safe, though, specifically because of its reputation – who would go to Texas to start a journey of gay self-discovery, or whatever this is? If he did notice something was up, I didn't think he'd guess this.

We split up one night and each went to a different bar. He had the car, because we share driving but it's his, so I took a cab. I didn't want to go to a club or anything, but I'd found the name of a bar online, and I went there.

It was just a bar, like any other I'd been to, except mostly full of guys. There were women there, too, but I figured none of them were at a gay bar to hook up with a guy, and I wasn't there to find a woman, either. I got a beer at first and stayed at the bar to people-watch. I got to talking with a guy next to me, and it was this weird flirty small-talk that I only knew how to do with women. I thought I'd done a good job of acting like I knew what I was doing, but after a while he asked if it was my first time. I asked if it was that obvious, and he told me I'd been casing the joint since I got there, just like all the new guys. We finished our beers, and the guy paid my tab, and then asked if I wanted to take a walk.

We wound up in the cab of his pickup, which was old enough to have a bench seat, and he told me this could be whatever I wanted. I told him I didn't know, and that I'd only done this a few times in college and we'd both been pretty trashed at the time.

He jerked me off while I watched, right there in the cab. His hands weren't bigger than mine but they were much bigger than any woman I'd ever been with. He never let up, like girls do sometimes if they aren't used to working their arms that long, either. We didn't kiss or anything, and I knew that not touching him, too, was a dick move, but he didn't act like it was a big deal.

After I got off, he opened his own pants and jerked himself with my jizz still all over his hand. He watched me while he did it. I still didn't touch him, really, but I moved closer to him on the seat and put my hands on his thighs while he did it. It didn't take him very long to come. I'd thought it might be weird, to watch another guy in real life, but it didn't freak me out like I worried about. It was hot to watch, actually, knowing that he got off like that because of me.

He drove me back to the motel after that, and I had him drop me off at the front office. I didn't want him knowing where we were staying, but mostly I didn't want my partner catching on to where I'd been. He's not stupid and he'll figure things out eventually, but I want to tell him before he catches me with my pants down.

 

Dean had some experience with Sam keeping secrets, but he wasn't acting true to form this time: nothing he went out of his way to keep tucked in the bottom of his duffle, no dreams he denied in the morning, no calls or trips out when Dean was pretending to sleep.

If anything, Dean had thought things were getting better. Sam had lost the strung-out twitchiness of the weeks before the clusterfuck with the panic room, and if he looked over his shoulder more now than used to be usual, well, Dean did the same thing. That was probably a side effect of having all the bureaucrats in heaven and hell on your ass, and not a few hunters besides.

That was the part that pissed Dean off. Sam might be able to tell if these guys were actually being ridden – ha ha – by low-level demons, but he couldn't know if they were some angel's vessel, and if he picked up a hunter? That'd be an actual person. A hunter wouldn't have to worry about blending in, any more than usual, or giving himself away with some supernatural tell. If Dean could connect Sam to the blog, then anyone could. Taken on top of the constant worry that some Fed would dig up their files again, it was almost enough to drive Dean to waiting for Sam to leave himself logged in, so that he could delete the entire thing.

But. Dean couldn't ignore how much better Sam had been doing. These days, Sam squeegeed the car of his own volition at gas stations, and ordered grease-heavy meals picked straight from Dean's list of favorite foods, and hummed along with the tapes like he was fifteen and driving for the first time again. Dean was man enough to admit he'd made some huge fucking mistakes in the name of Sam's immediate welfare, but that wasn't enough to make him take away the thing loosening Sam's shoulders and widening his grins.

Dean memorized the blog's URL, and he waited.

 


Omaha, Nebraska
posted June 22, 2009 at 13:46

This time was accidental. My partner and I had planned on passing straight through the state – we had somewhere to be on a deadline – but we ran across an opportunity to work with a few other people staying in our motel, so we took time off to focus on that. By the time we got things settled to everyone's satisfaction, we'd spent three or four days straight with the clients, and my partner wanted to take them out for drinks to celebrate closing.

There were five of them, three girls and two guys. We went to a bar right across from the motel, so we all drank more than maybe we should have. But, it'd been a long time getting to where we all felt good about closing the deal, and everyone was ready to celebrate.

One of the clients and I played a few games of pool. I hadn't set out to try to make something happen with him – sleeping with clients is more my partner's gig than mine these days – but after a few beers, it seemed like the best idea ever to follow him to the bathroom when he nodded that way.

It seemed like something out of a movie – he locked the door and turned around, so he had me pushed up against it, and went straight down on me. I'd tried all night not to get hard out in public, but now it happened so fast I smacked him in the chin once he got my pants open.

He went all the way down, right away, and I thought my eyes were going to fall out of my head. I'm not a little guy at all. I've only had two women who could ever deepthroat me, and it took them both lots of practice, and they couldn't do it for long. No one ever managed it on the first try, or even tried it on the first time, but this guy winked at me, I swear to god, and just kept going. He swallowed, too.

He tried to thank me, for the work deal, when he stood up. I still hadn't been sure about reciprocating but that was enough for me to stick my hand down his pants. I do my job because it's important, not because I'm looking to get sucked off at the end of the day, and I didn't want him to think that.

It'd been a long time since I touched another guy, and I obviously know what to do with a dick but it threw me at first. Everything was backwards, and what worked for me didn't automatically do it for him. He was all wet and leaking though, and he must have gotten himself pretty close when he was sucking me because he came almost immediately.

I had no idea what to do with that, seriously. It seemed like there was jizz everywhere, all over my hand and wrist, and his shirt somehow. He grabbed my hand before I could get to the sink and licked it clean, and if it wouldn't have clued in my partner, I would have gotten a new room at the motel so we could go again. That would have been a huge tip-off, though, and he'd just want details if I lied and told him I was with a woman. I stayed up against the door while the client cleaned up at the sink, so no one else could get in.

 

Dean checked the blog every day for about a week before giving in and adding it to his RSS feeds. He didn't want Sam knowing he was onto him, but even with watching Sam every day, Dean couldn't tell when Sam was getting to all this fucking.

Maybe Sam learned his lesson since Ruby. Maybe he and Dean had been keeping such heavy shit under wraps recently that hiding a little tail on the side – even stupidly risky tail – was no big deal.

Or maybe it was fiction. He remembered Sam in high school, filling up journals just like Dad had, but with creative writing instead of useful stuff. On the other hand, Dean remembered signing John's name on notes from concerned English comp teachers, all of which came stapled to written assignments that were essentially their most recent hunt with only the most glaring details changed. Maybe the blog was true.

So Dean started pissing when Sam did, started coming along on supply runs, started sticking closer by his side at bars. Sam didn't fight him on any of it. The posts kept ticking into Dean's Google Reader anyway, all featuring locations about a week old, and times Dean hadn't noticed Sam was gone.

 


Dante, Tennesse
posted July 3, 2009 at 10:39

My partner and I'd been on the road all day when we stopped for gas. We'd checked out of our motel before the sun was up, and eaten while we drove, so by the time we did stop, I wanted to move around more than almost anything else. I made sure he was good filling up the car and then took off.

It was a weird place, inside. There were these racks of venison jerky with pictures of Bambi on the packaging – the actual, get-your-ass-sued-by-Disney Bambi – and all the employees had fauxhawks. All three of them. It was cute on the girl behind the counter, but out of place on the middle-aged guy mopping under the Coke machines.

The third person was wheeling the mop cart into the back when I came out of the men's room. He was about my age, had on hipster jeans and his uniform shirt was too small, and he checked me out way too obviously for a guy in the Bible belt.

My partner was still messing with the car, though – he actually checks the oil level every time he fills her up, and also he calls the car "her" often enough that I've picked it up – so I followed the kid out back anyway. The station was in front of a field where I'd planned on walking around, but I wound up between the dumpster and a stack of boxes while the kid sucked me off.

It was my first time sober with a guy, and again, I didn't freak out even though I'd thought I might. Probably all the drunk sex beforehand got me used to the idea. This kid wasn't as good as the last guy, but it was warm and sunny outside, and he let me thrust into him just like actual fucking. He swallowed, too, and then pressed himself all up against me when I was coming down.

I'd thought about going down on guys for a while, and figured that if it seemed like a good idea sober, then I actually did want to.

I almost couldn't get him out of his stupid jeans, and I hadn't noticed how sticky the ground was until I got on my knees, but he was already moaning before I even touched him, which was hot. Sucking dick – I'd never done this before, so it was entirely new, but it wasn't as weird as I'd built it up to be. The idea of going down on women was horrible when I was 12, and still pretty gross before the first time I tried it, but it turned out to be amazing once I did, so I figured I'd get used to blowjobs, too.

Still, it wasn't my favorite thing in the world. It was hard to breathe, and taking more than a few inches made me feel like I was going to puke or cry from all the weird pressure on my sinuses. There was drool everywhere, and it probably sucked for him, too.

But that's the thing, right? Even if it did suck, that was the point: getting his dick sucked. Clueless sloppy head is still head, and once I gave up trying to make it fancy and started using my hands, too, he came pretty fast. I sat back and he aimed off to the side when he shot, and that was cool, to watch, just like something out of porn.

He had a pack of cigarettes crammed in a pocket, somehow, and we sat and smoked. I almost never smoke, and I'd never hung out after the sex with a guy before, but he was cool about it. We didn't talk much, and when I set off around the building to find my partner, the guy slapped my ass like we were football players or something.

 

Dean checked round-aboutly with Bobby, the next time they were able to meet up in person.

"Sam seem like he's hiding something, to you?"

Bobby snorted and didn't look away from packing salt and herbs into his pile of empty shells. "Sam and I aren't exactly braiding each other's hair and talking about our daydreams these days."

Dean glanced out the kitchen window, where Sam sanded down a pile of yew branches on to the back porch. His hair was getting long enough to braid, now that Dean thought about it.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Bobby looked up, now, and raised both eyebrows. "There tends to be bad blood for a while when you trap someone in your basement and try to force them to detox."

"But he's fine with me –"

"You, exactly." He shook his head. "Ain't no one else he'll forgive like he does you."

Bobby went back to work but Dean watched out the window for a moment. Sam's hands moved the sandpaper in easy strokes up and down the branches, like he had all the time in the world instead of a schedule set by the lunar cycle, and Dean had an uneasy flash of Sam using those same movements on some stranger's dick. The sandpaper – and ouch, Dean ignored that part right away -- Sam's hands were strong and steady, and Dean could perfectly picture them moving over flesh.

Dean shook his head and got up for a beer. He poured half of it down his throat before he thought, maybe, that image was worse.

 


South Dakota
posted July 13, 2009 at 16:02

Just the state this time; I don't want to get into anything too specific.

It was another guy in a bar this time. We went to one of those biker-trucker-roadhouse places, not anywhere I would have expected to pick someone up. (Maybe it's time for me to let go of those expectations, because I keep being surprised at where I'm hooking up.) He was a trucker and he'd played a few rounds of darts with my partner before we all had a few beers together. I'd gotten better at realizing how guys flirt in places where they think they shouldn't, and when my partner went to the men's room, I asked the guy to show me some feature he had in his cab.

I was most interested in the bed in his cab. I'd never fucked a guy in a bed before. I'd never kissed any of these guys either, which I'll admit is unusual for me. I like kissing on its own with women. So we kissed this time, and lay down on his bed, and even though neither of us got more naked than undoing our pants, it felt more like "actual" sex and less like sneaking around.

I went down on him first. It was easier on a bed, even on a cramped in-cab bed, and felt more like what I was used to. He had a big dick, the biggest of the guys I'd been with, and he let me take it real slow. It was better to do it when I was still horny, so everything I did got me hot as well as him. I was feeling better about giving head this time, and it was good – actually good on its own, not as just reciprocation. It was still hard to breathe, and I still gagged if I went too far, but every time he made noise or thrust up into my mouth – it just got me harder.

I jerked him off at the end instead of letting him come in my mouth. I'm not cool with swallowing yet and I don't care if that's all in my head, or if it's hypocritical. I'm just not.

I got to lie down this time, while he sucked me. I missed sex in a bed. It was great to just lay there and thrust and let him do the work. He let go of my dick at one point and sucked on my balls while he jerked me off, which no one had done for me before, either. He was so into it, moaning again, that I shot all over the place way before I meant to.

My partner had picked up a game of pool while I was gone, and he was wiping the table with some other guy. He didn't even look up when the trucker and I came inside but he sat with us at the bar after he finished the game. It wasn't awkward, like it could have been. It felt good, actually, to be back with my partner again, so that I could stop worrying about where he was and finally settle into that good relaxed sex-haze.

 

Dean tried Castiel next. They'd met at a rest-stop, deep in the middle of the night, and Sam and some other angel stood guard while Dean and Cas sat at a picnic table under an overhang. Cas had this scabbard under his coat and he kept running his fingers over the empty place at the top, where the sword's handle should be. He didn't seem to notice he was doing it, and watching him made Dean's skin itch.

"Are you guys still keeping an eye on Sam?" He'd been waiting for Cas to pause but finally just interrupted.

Castiel raised his eyebrows and thought before answering. "Not with the same level of vigilance as a few months ago, no."

"Why not?"

Cas glanced over his shoulder. Sam stood alert but not tense behind him, at the very edge of the shadows. "He is more stable now, and as the seals have all been broken –" Cas cut his gaze back to Dean. "There are more pressing matters."

"But, is he doing something he shouldn't?"

Cas shook his head and went back to the text spread across the table, flicking through the pages. "Am I your brother's keeper?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You got your quotes mixed up –"

"No, I am not," Castiel finished. He met Dean's eyes for a moment. "And if anyone is, it is you. Now look –" He bent back over the book. "Consider this passage, in relation to the others. We feel it states that…"

He went on, but Dean's gaze kept slipping from the pages, to Cas's fingers worrying the throat of the scabbard, to Sam's profile, clear and solid against the darkness, over Castiel's shoulder.

 


Some FAQs
posted July 17, 2009 at 20:37

First, thanks to everyone who's been reading, and who's commented or emailed. I didn't expect to wind up with followers when I started blogging, but I'm glad to have you now that I do.

Second, a couple of questions keep coming up, so I'll address them now where you can all see.

1. What exactly is my job?

Sorry, but it's nothing I'm going to discuss in detail. It's important to me that this blog stays anonymous and since we're in a very specialized line of work, any specifics could be enough to name me.

I will give some very basic info. We're non-profit. We provide a service that helps people. We're highly skilled and we've been doing this for a long time. We travel. Sometimes we have deadlines to meet but sometimes we don't. We interact with the public on a regular basis. We're not selling stuff and we don't earn a commission. We're not part of a pyramid scheme. We don't have an online presence (other than this, which you'll probably agree is crappy advertizing). If you saw us on the job, you wouldn't make the connection.

However, if you have a situation you think could benefit from our services, even without knowing exactly what those services are, feel free to email. Put "potential client" or something along those lines in the subject so I'll be able to get to you ASAP. Please note that I'll only be responding to cases we can take, or possibly forwarding your request to someone else who can help, so don't bother sending in a slew of random scenarios as a process of elimination.

2. What's the deal with your "partner," anyway? Are the two of you together?

You wouldn't believe how often we get this question in real life.

When I say partner, I mean business, not life. He and I spend a lot of time together, I trust him more than anyone else, and he's the best person I know, but no, we're not together. Think brothers, not lovers.

Besides, as some of you said, I wouldn't need to hook up in the first place if he and I were together.

 

They squatted in the house for almost a week before the cash ran low. Dean had a new card in his wallet but he wanted to save that until they hit the road again, which meant hustling.

"Look, there are plenty of bars in town." Sam stood in what had been the master bath, giving himself a sponge bath from a bottle of water poured into the sink, lit by a flashlight propped on the counter. "If we split up, we won't be as obvious."

Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. Sam's abs rippled as he lifted his arms behind his head to scrub at his back, and Dean thought of all the other reasons Sam might want to split up that night. "If we do that, then it limits the stuff we can pull. Plus, leaves us without any backup."

Sam sighed heavily, like doing things the way they'd been taught was some huge ordeal, then slopped his hands into the water and scrubbed them through his hair. "Fine," he said eventually. "Whatever. Let's go."

Dean rolled his eyes. When they switched places, so Dean could wash up, Sam took his place in the doorway and watched as well.

Dean headed to the biggest bar in town, and dropped Sam off down a side street a few block away. He parked alone, and was already on his first beer when Sam walked inside. Sam ordered at the opposite end of the bar without glancing at Dean, then headed to the back of the room, where a few guys played cards in a booth.

Dean watched the crowd part easily around Sam's shoulders, then he shook his head and set off to lose a game or two of pool.

He tried to keep an eye out for Sam without being obvious about it, which only meant that he couldn't watch well. By the time Dean pulled in some college kids and attracted a few more guys as audience, Sam was settled into his own game. The other men at the table had moved to give him a space in the booth. Dean could occasionally see him through the press of people, or hear his loudest and fakest laugh from across the room, but nothing more.

He called it a night after a few hours, once he reached a grand. He bought a round for the guys he played, split up his money to stash in a few different pockets, and set off to find Sam. It wasn't a good idea to stick around after working a place over, but Dean frowned when Sam wasn't at the table. He couldn't exactly ask about that other stranger who'd taken everyone's money and then disappeared, so Dean frowned and dug for his phone.

Sam didn't answer.

Dean headed to the john; Sam wasn't there. He scoped out the people making out in dark corners, but Dean didn't look very hard after realizing they were all straight couples. He stopped by the bar on his way out but Sam wasn't drinking, and he wasn't skulking around the parking lot, either. Dean made sure no one was watching him before slipping his Glock out of his waistband and setting off around the building.

He stepped light and easy, quiet. Some distant part of Dean's mind calculated how long it'd been since he saw Sam inside, and how far he could have been taken since then or how much he could have bled. Another bit, simple to ignore with a lifetime's practice but impossible to shut up, ran through the list of times Sam had already been snatched away from Dean, whether by a creature or a demon or just a fucked up person.

Dean was already thinking through what his next step should be when he rounded the corner of the building and saw Sam next to the employee's entrance, pinned tight against the wall by another man.

Dean assumed Sam was fighting with the guy, at first. He'd taken three steps closer when he realized their position was all wrong for fighting. Sam's legs were spread wide, so the other guy could get right up next to him, and while one of Sam's hands was fisted in the guy's shirt, the other was hidden between their thighs. Dean glanced up just in time to see Sam lean down to kiss the guy, and –

The blog had been tucked with all the other possibly important information in the back of Dean's mind, but now that he could see Sam, Dean couldn't think of much else. He had a basic idea of how Sam kissed the women he was interested in, and he was pulling all the same moves on this guy: sliding his hand up to cup the dude's cheek, angling him into the position Sam wanted, kissing him without backing off.

The guy was practically shaking in Sam's arms, and Dean didn't know what to do about it. He'd known as much about Sam's sex life as he figured he needed to before finding the fucking blog, but now that he'd been reading along?

He was curious, whatever. Worried about Sam's safety, really, because Sam was built but that didn't protect him from being led around by his dick. If Dean stepped into the shadows and watched, instead of backing off, he was doing it for Sam's own good. Sam wasn't in a frame of mind that would let him watch his own back, and Dean knew about watching out for Sam. He knew all about watching Sam.

And if he had to adjust himself after catching a glimpse of Sam's hand on the guy's dick – Sam moving just as steady as Dean feared he would – then that was just a healthy reaction to a stimulating event.

All three of them jumped when a car backfired in the parking lot.

The guy, Sam's stranger, flinched much more than Sam or Dean did. He gave a shaky laugh before pressing his face into Sam's neck and rolling his hips. Sam knew better than that, though, and he gave the surroundings a pretty decent once-over for a guy with his hands on someone else's junk. Dean froze, closed his mouth and let his eyes fall lidded to keep all his glinty parts under wrap, but that didn't keep Sam from placing him as his eyes swept the alley behind the building. Dean swallowed hard when their eyes locked, abruptly sure Sam would flip out, but Sam just froze as well and watched him.

Sam's mouth was open slightly, and moving like he wanted to say something, but he didn't push the guy away. When Dean didn't leave, either, Sam raised his eyebrows, glanced at the stranger against his chest, and then started rolling his hips again. Dean couldn't make himself move away from his spot against the wall, even when the guy reached between them and pulled out Sam's dick.

Sometimes, it seemed like Dean got an accidental eyeful every week, but none of that came close to this, to watching Sam have sex while Sam stared right on back.

Dean tried not to glance down too obviously, but it was like the guy angled himself to give Dean the best possible view. The moonlight hit Sam's dick, showing just how red and flushed and freaking gigantic it was. Even when he wrapped his fingers around Sam's shaft and started pulling, Dean could still make out the head poking out of his fist, popping out with every stroke.

Dean dragged his eyes back to Sam's face and found him leaning against the wall with his head thrown back. He panted, mouth wide now, and his face was red but he didn't look away from Dean. Dean pressed the heel of one hand over his own dick – aching even though he could barely remember getting all the way hard – and Sam actually groaned, loud enough for the sound to carry.

The other guy muttered, probably some you like that, baby line that Dean'd fed his own hookups in the past, and Sam nodded, still watching Dean. The guy glanced to each side, obviously without paying enough attention to notice someone watching, and dropped to his knees. Sam fisted one hand in his hair but didn't tug as he went to work.

Dean couldn't see his dick anymore, with the guy's head in the way, but Sam's face gave away what was happening like he had subtitles scrolling across his forehead. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Dean imagined the guy sucking Sam's cock into his mouth. He opened them again, and the guy was settling into the job; Sam bit his lip, and he was close; his brow crumpled in on itself, and he was coming like a sucker-punch, silent and almost motionless. He still didn't look away.

The guy got in the way again when he stood up. Dean shook his head to try to clear it when Sam closed his eyes, and Dean realized he'd gone from putting pressure on his dick to rubbing himself mindlessly.

When he looked back to Sam, Sam was staring again, even as he jerked off the other guy. Dean swallowed hard as he rubbed himself best he could through denim and cotton. It wasn't much more than steady contact, but Dean was tense and wired, ready for it. He came before the other guy did. The hot mess stuck immediately to his boxers, and he felt Sam's eyes on him the whole time.

Dean kept watching while he caught his breath. The other guy's thrusts grew fast and jerky, but Dean nodded to Sam, totally unsure of what to do here, and slunk off before whoever-it-was came.

He turned off the radio as he drove back to the neighborhood where he'd dropped off Sam. Dean tapped his fingers over the steering wheel but didn't shift his feet, his legs, anything that'd move him around in his boxers, at all. He stank like sex, cooped up in the car; he kept the windows up anyway.

About an hour passed, with no calls from either of them, before Sam walked up and tapped the window. Dean didn't let himself startle. He reached over and unlocked the door and slid back to his own side of the seat before Sam could get close.

Their eyes caught, even though Dean'd hoped to avoid that, and they stared at each other again. Sam's hair was more of a mess than usual, his lips were red and bite-plumped, and he had something that might be a hickey high on his neck.

"So," Sam said, and they each turned to look out their own windows.

Dean fumbled for the keys, still in the ignition, and started the car before Sam could finish that talk-it-out, ruin-our-lives thought.

"How much'd you pull in?" Dean asked instead. He looked over his shoulder and then pulled away from the curb, and into the empty street.

Sam stayed quiet for a moment, then shifted. The seat belt clicked as he buckled up. "About six hundred," he said. "They weren't playing anything like high stakes, and I didn't want to push it."

"No," Dean agreed. "Wouldn't wanna do that."

 


Minnesota
posted August 2, 2009 at 03:23

The bar was just another dive, but it was huge – maybe two or three times bigger than most places. I think it used to be a dance club or something. If I'm planning to hook up, I usually make sure my partner and I are going to different places, but I couldn't swing it that night. It was such a big place that I figured it'd be fine. We split up once we got there anyway, and I found a group of local guys to talk to. One of them kept talking up the local beer, and the two of us split off from the group to head to the bar. It was damn good beer, actually, some of the best I've ever had.

We went outside to smoke next, which turned into going out behind the building to smoke, which turned into fucking. I couldn't put my finger on why, but I kept thinking: what if someone sees us?

I wasn't doing anything that night that I hadn't done before, but I still couldn't stop thinking about it. I never would've expected it, but that bit of worry just made the whole thing hotter.

Every little thing was better. The guy wasn't small, but he wasn't huge either, and he didn't kiss the way I like best, and he was slow to reciprocate, but I couldn't get enough of him. I kept him pulled tight up against me so I could get to his dick before someone caught us.

He didn't seem to worry about it, though. There was a noise at one point that scared me way more than it should have, but I wound up staring towards the side of the building and just watching. It was like I could see what someone else would see, if they were watching – would I let them? Would they get off on it? Would they want some, too? The guy wasn't the best lay ever but I came so hard down his throat from thinking about that stuff. I couldn't remember the last time I got off so fast.

It stayed with me, too. What if someone could see how hard my dick still was, after he let me go? What if they could see the jizz smeared on the corner of the guy's mouth? What if they watched me jerk him off, all fast and barely even paying attention to him? Would they get off on it, too?

So yeah, exhibitionism. Who knew.

 

Dean tried not to think about it.

He and Sam kept on keeping on. They left town on an hour's notice later that week, on a tip from Cas that boiled down to get out before the town becomes collateral damage. It was four days on the road after that, alternating shifts of driving and sleeping.

By the time they holed up, neither of them had gotten more than a six-hour stretch asleep at a time, and none of that was very restful. A good chunk of their cash, since it was untraceable, went to gas and food. The – the thing at the bar just simmered with the rest of Dean's worries. Even though they didn't talk about it, he could barely look at Sam without remembering how his brother looked when he came.

After Cas gave the all-clear, Dean voted to find a cabin, or a trailer – something isolated, and away from other people. Sam wanted someplace near a city, on the other hand, so they'd be near supplies and infrastructure. They wound up on the outskirts of a skiing town, rattling around a mostly-empty motel in the middle of the off-season, so that neither of them were comfortable.

Dean stood watch at the room's door while Sam showered, then got the bathroom to himself while Sam took lookout. Dean had the last turn at the wheel so he got to crash first, and launched himself face-first into the pillows without toweling himself all the way dry.

When Dean woke up, they ordered pizza and cheesy-bread, and two huge bottles of Coke, to be delivered to the motel's office instead of to their room. It was a just a national chain, but hot food was pretty much the best thing Dean could imagine, and they inhaled everything without worrying about leaving leftovers for the next day.

Sam crashed next, sprawled across the same bed Dean slept in, and Dean watched him for longer than he would have been happy admitting. He probably didn't need to keep watch, since Cas said they were as safe as they'd get, but he was wide awake now. Dean turned the TV on low and flipped around for a while. Every so often he glanced at the laptop, which Sam left sleeping on the table next to the pizza boxes, After running across an infomercial for the same product on three different channels, Dean rolled his eyes, gave up, and crossed the room.

Firefox was the only thing running, and the blog was its only open tab. Sam had somehow found time for two posts since the bar; the newer entry was entirely hidden behind its Read More! link, so Dean skimmed the other one first. Sam talked around the fact that someone actually had been watching, and Dean wondered again how truthful the blog was.

He kept coming back to the paragraphs where Sam talked about getting off, though, where being watched made it better. Dean didn't buy that it was just the exhibitionism – assuming the posts were all true, Sam had been having plenty of public sex recently, but he never singled out that aspect until now.

Dean shook his head and scrolled up to the other post instead.

 


Speaking of being watched:
posted August 6, 2009 at 15:57

Are you reading this? Yes, I mean you. You, right there. Maybe you've been reading but never saying anything, and I'm curious. Let me know who you are.

I'll go first: hi, I'm Sam, and I'm happy you've been reading.

(Is that my real name? WHO KNOWS. You can ask all you want but I won't tell.)

 

Dean skimmed the comments but quickly realized that fuck-all was happening there besides people giving generic first names and patting themselves on the back. He thought about leaving his own comment, but that seemed ridiculous when Sam was sleeping in the other bed, close enough Dean could hear his snuffly almost-snores.

The laptop whirred a final time as Dean closed it. He crossed the room again to sit on the empty bed, so he wouldn't jostle Sam, and he rested his elbows on his knees. Sam's chest rose and fell slowly, and he slept with one hand on his belly, right where his shirt had ridden up. Sunlight slipped through the open blinds in narrow strips. Dean stayed on the bed, watching, as the light angled its way across the room, until Sam stirred and opened his eyes.

He looked straight to Dean as if he'd known Dean was waiting. Dean wet his lips and wanted to look away, but didn't.

"I've been reading," he said.

Sam nodded. "I thought you had."

"Did you –" Dean broke off, shook his head, and tried again. "Was it being watched that did it, or…"

"No." He closed his eyes. "It was you."

Dean huffed. "Yeah, I thought so." Sam didn't open his eyes and, after a moment, Dean braced his hands on his thighs and stood. He filled a glass of water from the sink and leaned against the counter as he drank it. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam snorted and looked over. "Hey Dean, it got me hot when you watched me have sex and I think I'd like to try it again, is that okay?" He raised his eyebrows. "No way would you have been cool with that."

Dean blinked at him a few times. That wasn't – he hadn't meant – he'd been talking about the blog in general, not anything more specific. Just because he'd been reading about Sam hooking up with guys, and thinking about it, and watching it, didn't mean he'd actually wanted to try it himself. He'd only thought about it so much because he was worried, because he'd been stuck on the fucking road for a hundred hours in a row, because he was curious.

His eyes shot over Sam's body almost without his control, from his hands to that bit of belly to his lips to his neck. His hickey was gone, had faded while they were running, and Dean's belly jumped when he realized he'd been there for the hickey's entire life. He watched it get sucked into place, and he tracked its disappearance in the car, and now he was staring at Sam's neck like he could will a new mark into place.

Maybe Dean was more curious than he should be. He turned abruptly and drank another cup of water to buy some time, and avoided his reflection.

Behind him, Sam sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, facing the far wall. "You know, never mind. Forget it. I'm sorry I even brought it up."

"You gotta take that last post down, man." Dean put the plastic cup behind the faucet and turned back to Sam. He watched his back tense and shook his head. "You were right about not putting your name there. If I could figure it out, so could someone else, and you're pretty much leaving whole loaves of bread behind us with that thing."

Sam nodded and stood, heading straight for the table. Dean rubbed at his bottom lip for a few minutes while Sam typed. When he finished, he closed the laptop and drummed his fingers on its top, not looking towards the sink. Dean studied the tense set of his shoulders and sighed. There was his decision, made by Sam's kicked expression and averted eyes.

"I haven't ever," he said. Sam stopped moving his hands and then looked over, eyebrows high.

"Does the rest of that sentence exist?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "With guys. Had some offers, but never did."

Sam's mouth moved a few times before he answered, and then it barely counted. "Oh."

Dean nodded and then toed out of his boots, one at a time. Stopping in the middle of things to deal with shoes always sucked. He walked to Sam, slow, and when he stopped in front of him, Sam had to look up to meet his eyes.

"I'm saying up your game for a while, cuz I know you know how to do this."

Sam's eyes widened hilariously before he got himself under control. "I already apologized, Dean. Don't fuck with me."

Dean snorted. He kicked one of Sam's shins, then frowned and stepped on his socks, one at a time, to pull them off, too. "You seriously gotta stop with the secrets, Sammy, because I always find out in the end." Sam kept frowning up at him, so Dean jerked his head backwards, towards the bed. "We doing this or what?"

Sam shuddered and then he stood, pushing up into Dean's space. "Yeah," he said. "All right."

They didn't touch on their way to the bed. Dean sat on the edge of the mattress and watched Sam shrug out of his button down, but he closed his eyes once Sam sat next to him, and reached out for him. His brother's hand felt huge bracketing his face, turning him, and Dean shivered, full-body, when Sam pressed their lips together.

"How much of it was true?" Dean asked. He didn't pull away, so their lips dragged together. The question was more of a kiss than the kiss itself had been, but Sam ran his tongue between Dean's lips, and then hot into his mouth, before answering.

"How much of what?"

"The, the blog." Dean pulled back far enough to look at Sam without making his eyes cross. Sam cocked his head and Dean shrugged. "What you wrote about us, that wasn't how it actually went down."

"I changed that one the most." Sam shrugged. "That was us. No one else got to have that."

He leaned back in and kissed Dean again, sucking at his bottom lip until Dean fisted a hand in Sam's hair to keep him there.

It wasn't anywhere near as weird as Dean thought it would be. He closed his eyes and kissed back.

Dean felt like a genius later, when Sam had to back away to take off his shoes while Dean stretched across the bed to watch, happily barefoot. Sam got his pants and boxers off while he stood and Dean stripped off his own jeans, holding Sam's gaze. Sam's skin felt hot under his hands when he climbed back on the mattress. Dean stroked over his chest and arms and back, suddenly uncertain of how to do what he knew should come next, but Sam nipped his neck before pulling away again.

"Here," he said, and sat back on his heels with his knees on the bed. He tugged Dean's boxers off, quickly enough that Dean gasped as his dick slapped onto his belly, then pulled at Dean's legs until he was in Sam's lap, with his knees on either side of Sam's hips, and Sam's dick looking enormous between Dean's thighs. He'd put a million girls into this position himself but had never seen it from the opposite end, and he swallowed hard.

"Sam," he said, a question and a warning all at once, and Sam laughed and shook his head.

"Nah, just this." He licked his palm and kept his tongue between his teeth as he wrapped it around Dean's dick. His hand – Dean knew Sam's hands were ridiculous, but he never expected them to feel this good. Sam just held him for a moment, eyes locked with Dean, and then dropped his gaze to Dean's cock as he began stroking.

It was the same steady rhythm Dean saw all those days ago, used on someone else, and he rolled his hips into it the same way that random guy had. Sam didn't try anything fancy at first, only jerked him off with his free hand cupping Dean's balls, but when Dean started panting, and grabbed onto Sam's knees just to have something to hold, Sam smiled and ducked down. He moved his hand to the base of Dean's cock and sucked his head into his mouth, spreading his tongue wide and slurping noisy and hard.

Dean grunted and clenched his eyes closed. His hips jerked up, out of his control, but Sam moaned and let him. Dean thrust a few more times, gasping, and then came. Sam didn't move away; he stayed right where he was, mouth firmly attached to Dean's cock, and worked him through it until Dean pushed him away.

"Damn," Dean said, and opened his eyes. Sam smiled at him from between his knees, with his own dick now in his hand, and it stole Dean's breath. "Damn, damn, damn."

"Yeah." Sam thrust into his own fist, going slow at first but speeding quickly. Dean's heart still pounded as he watched Sam's cock slipping through Sam's fingers, as he watched Sam's chest heave and his pupils dilate further.

"Can I?" he asked. He wasn't sure what he meant, really, but Sam nodded immediately.

"Anything, Dean, yeah." Sam didn't stop his hand, so Dean slid his hands over his own legs and onto Sam's hips. He gripped firmly, digging his thumbs beneath Sam's hip bones, and tugged in time with Sam's thrusts, pulling him faster along as he fucked into his own fist. Sam moaned and bit his bottom lip. They had a few moments of uncoordination, but then Sam fell into the pace Dean set. He pushed Sam into the same rhythm he used he when fucking women, the same way he thrust when he was about to shoot. Dean barely had time to think how good Sam looked, flushed and sweaty, before he came all over the place, splattering jizz on Dean's chest all the way up to his neck.

Dean wrinkled his nose but kept tugging Sam along until he shook his head and settled back further on his heels. His dick was still twitching. Dean watched it for a moment, fascinated as if he'd never seen a cock before, before biting his lip and rubbing one thumb over its red, wet head.

Sam groaned and he batted his hand away. "Next time, man."

Dean snorted and peered at his thumb. Sam's dick had felt just like his own, and he sniffed his fingers before reaching to the side, for the box of tissues on the bedside table.

Sam waited until Dean wiped himself dry before untangling their legs and flopping next to him, onto the other pillow. Dean turned his head to follow Sam with his gaze. Sam raised an eyebrow at him before leaning in and kissing him again. He tasted like come, but Dean had never balked at his own second-hand jizz, and he didn't plan on starting now just because he was licking it out of his brother's mouth.

It wasn't dark yet, but Dean followed Sam under the bedspread anyway when the air conditioner kicked on. Sam's warmth felt amazing against the chill, and Dean pressed slightly closer.

He'd almost dozed off when he remembered something.

"If you even think about blogging that," Dean said, and poked Sam in the belly, "I will leave your ass by the side of the road."

Sam snorted. "Would not."

"We can bet on it, if you'd like." He settled further into his pillow and closed his eyes again. "You'll have to send my winnings to Bobby for me to pick up, since you'll be in the dust, but it'll work."

"Mmm hmm," Sam said. He rolled onto his side and hooked a leg over Dean's. "I'll keep that in mind."

Dean smiled, but he'd be checking for updates anyway.

 


fyi
posted August 7, 2009 at 09:23

I'm taking a break from blogging, and also random sex, for the foreseeable future. Thank you all for following along; you've been great company.

On a related note, he was that kind of partner after all. Maybe I should have figured it out sooner.