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Tacit Understanding

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It starts with a kiss in Iowa. It’s just a chaste press of lips on lips. Sam leans into Dean’s personal space for a second, and puts his lips on Dean’s as if they’ve done it a million times before. He steps back almost immediately, and goes out of their hotel room in order to go buy their dinner.

It doesn’t happen again until three days later, but it’s Dean doing it this time. They’ve finished the hunt, and are on the road once again. Dean lets Sam sleep for most of the time. He’s folded awkwardly in the front seat of the Impala, using his left arm as a pillow. Dean stops the car with a sigh. It’s barely 7 PM, he doesn’t have to stop driving for another hour or so, but he does anyway.

He lets Sam sleep for another minute, and goes to book a room in the motel. When he’s back, he opens the passenger side door and leans over in order to whisper in his brother’s ear.

“Wake up, princess,” he says, and then brings his lips to Sam’s. His breath mingles with Sam’s in the second it takes to pull away, and his lips tingle. “Got us a room for the night.”

Sam is groggy and less alert than Dean would expect from a hunter, but he lets Sam put some of his weight on him as they walk to their room. The warmth seeps into Dean’s skin and he feels better than he’s felt in days. He puts his right hand around Sam’s waist. The receptionist gives them a small smile as they pass her.

It’s a slow process they’ve got going on, but they never speak of it. Dean doesn’t think there are words good enough to explain everything that’s going on between them. It would feel like someone trying to explain colors to a blind person. How does one even begin doing that?

Once they’re in the room, Sam drops onto his bed almost immediately, but he doesn’t sleep. The room smells faintly of lilacs. It’s strangely pleasant, so Sam stays awake and breathes in deeply while waiting for Dean to get out of the shower.

Sam thinks he’s floating somewhere between wakefulness and sleep when he feels the first brush of Dean’s lips against his neck. His breath hitches in his throat, but he doesn’t move away. Dean touches him like he has all the time in the world. It’s languid, but it burns hot as if they’re on fire. He presses kisses on Sam’s throat and jaw, fingers going below the hem of his t-shirt. Sam lets him remove it in one swift motion over his head. The kisses now go all over his chest. It’s so slow and intimate it feels like reverent worship, and Sam shudders at the feel of it. They stay like that for a while, just exploring each other’s bodies in a way that isn’t just a step to something else. It’s better than anything Sam’s ever experienced.

They wake up early next morning with Sam’s right arm over the edge of the bed, Dean half on top of him, one of his legs touching the floor. Dean removes himself from Sam’s side slowly, bones cracking in a way that really doesn’t sound comfortable. He is muttering about useless tiny beds and giant brothers who take up all the space like fucking selfish bitches.

The next time they stop at a motel and Dean asks for a king-sized bed, Sam allows himself a small smile.

It’s not exactly different after that, but it’s not the same. They still banter and argue about stupid stuff. They still talk the same way to each other. There is no change in their dynamic. Dean still shamelessly flirts with girls left and right. But he doesn’t take things any further when girls throw themselves at him. He says, “Sorry ladies, I’m taken,” with a small smirk and a lift of his eyebrow when he flings his arm around Sam’s shoulders in a way that leaves no room for argument or miscommunication. The first time he does it, it makes Sam blush.

It’s not that they’ve done anything major, sexually. It feels kind of like an evolution. It’s almost as if the changes are so slow over time that you don’t notice they happened unless you focus on a moment far in the past and realize how many things are different today.

They’re testing the situation, getting comfortable. It’s painfully intimate. So much so that it baffles Sam, who knows the height of intimacy for his brother used to be a clinging hug every time one of them died or returned from the dead.

Then suddenly, it explodes. Sam thinks he should have seen it coming. They’re both guys, and neither of them has had actual sex in a while. It’s when Sam figures out that he has to be the one to initiate the next step, because Dean will never push it.

It’s a regular dive bar, nothing different about it than any other they’ve ever passed before. It’s noisy, bright and smells like beer and fast food. Dean is playing pool and Sam is sitting next to the pool table, paying rampant attention to every hit of the cue stick against the white ball, every time it rolls and makes a crack as it hits another ball. There’s something new in it that Sam hasn’t noticed before. It’s colorful and almost hypnotic, especially when Sam turns his eyes and notices the way his brother’s shoulders bunch and relax, the way his arms are stretched, the way he leans over the table more seductively than strictly necessary, as if he’s doing it on purpose just to drive him crazy.

Sam is not the only one who notices. It’s one of the guys he’s playing with – a shorter, blond biker. Sam ignores it at first. It’s not the first time either one of them has been hit on by guys. No matter how risky it is in their regular hangouts full of macho testosterone, there’s someone from time to time, who will show interest. Sam doesn’t think Dean would do anything about it now, so he doesn’t concern himself with it. They have an implicit knowledge between them, that it’s not okay anymore. That whatever is happening between them doesn’t leave room for anyone else.

It begins to annoy him, though. The guy starts touching Dean more often, brushing by his side when he doesn’t really have to, dragging his hand down Dean’s shoulder when he thinks there are no eyes on him.

They finish the last game, and Sam can hear the biker asking Dean if he would like another beer. Sam stands up from his table and approaches them.

“Hey,” he says with a small, casual smile. “I’m going back to the motel. You coming?”

Dean flashes him a thousand-watt grin, as if he hasn’t seen him in years, and nods. The blondie next to him narrows his eyes.

“Excuse me, who the fuck are you?”

Sam just laughs. It’s such a ridiculous question. Who is he? How does he explain it? He is still laughing when he takes Dean’s wrist and pulls him towards the door. “Come on, Dean, let’s go.”

The biker looks like he’s about to protest, but changes his mind when he realizes Sam has at least five inches on him. He retreats quickly, going towards the bathroom.

They are out the door in less than fifteen seconds, Sam still holding Dean’s wrist lightly. They walk like that to the motel, their hands hidden by the darkness of the street, no street lamps to give them away.

Once they’re safely behind locked doors, Sam is on Dean in the space of a second. He grabs at Dean’s jacket roughly and pulls his brother towards him, kissing him hungrily. Their bodies are flush against each other now, and Sam can feel Dean’s quickening heartbeat, smell the lingering bar smoke and the residue of lilacs he can’t quite get out of his mind since that motel room last time. They tear at each other, clothes flying off them quickly.

They tumble towards the bed soon enough. Sam pushes Dean down on it and makes himself follow. He puts his arms on either side of Dean’s head and spends a few seconds simply observing. It’s the first time they actually get to see each other completely naked in a sexual situation, and Sam feels drunk with it. Dean is flushed, his pupils are dilated and his breathing hard. It makes him wonder how he got so lucky to be able to do this to his brother. He kisses him again, tongue exploring the inside of Dean’s mouth in quick strokes. Sam pulls himself further down, hissing and arching when their cocks meet.

“Fuck!” Dean says. “Sam. Sammy.” It sounds like a plea.

“Yeah, Dean,” he answers. “I got you, big bro.”

He trails kisses down Dean’s chest, licks and bites lightly at his nipples. He lets himself look at Dean’s cock then, big, dark and achingly hard. He wants to tease Dean, but doesn’t think he would appreciate it at the moment.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, he’s never done anything with a cock other than his own, but he knows what he likes done to him, so he tries to replicate that. He wraps his hand around the base, eliciting a gasp from Dean, and then licks the tip. The precome tastes salty and slightly bitter, but not completely unpleasant. He groans, and Dean bucks his hips. It’s sloppy and messy; Dean definitely gags him a couple times when he jerks his hips unexpectedly, before Sam holds his hips down. It’s so hot, though, that Sam doesn’t care, and by the sounds of it, Dean is definitely enjoying himself.

“Sam, aahh, Sam, if you don’t stop now, I’m going to come.”

Sam looks up and quirks his lips. “Isn’t that the point?”

“Smug bitch. Want you to fuck me.” Sam thinks Dean sounds just a bit embarrassed by the admission.

“Now?”

“No, next July. Fuck, now, yes,” Dean says, pained and slightly desperate. It goes straight to Sam’s cock and he hurries over to his duffel, finding the condoms and a small bottle of lube.

“Regular boy scout, Sammy. Hurry the fuck up.”

“Patience.”

“Fuck your fucking patience; I haven’t gotten laid in months.”

“Touché.”

He doesn’t ask if Dean is sure, and Dean doesn’t tell him he is. He knows he doesn’t have to ask, but he’s still nervous.

Dean smiles and pulls him down for a kiss. He takes the pillows and their blankets, and arranges them so that he’s more comfortable.

“On my back. Is that OK?”

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Sam answers and kisses him once again while dragging his hands down Dean’s arms.

“Just –”

“—slowly, yeah.”

He opens the lube and puts a generous amount on his fingers. The first press of Sam’s index finger around Dean’s hole draws out a small hitch in his breath. It’s slow, just like Sam promised. It’s strange, but definitely good. Dean’s relaxed and trusting, which definitely speeds things along. He curls his fingers a little, experimentally, and Dean cries out. Sam does it again.

He does it until he’s got Dean writhing, arching and fucking himself up and down Sam’s fingers, and he thinks he could come on the spot just from the view Dean is giving him. He has to squeeze his cock at the base to stop himself.

“Sammy, come on.”

“OK,” he breathes out, pulling his fingers out. It makes Dean moan.

He puts the condom on as quickly as possible. He aligns himself with Dean, pulling him up with his hands, locking his arms underneath him. He goes in as slowly as he can, barely stopping himself from just going at it. It’s torture. When he’s sheathed in completely, he waits for Dean to adjust to the feeling. His brother gives a small nod in encouragement. “Move, please.”

He takes a second to realize just how different this is to fucking a woman, to fucking anybody else in his entire life. It’s so much better. It’s not just the act of pure physical sex that’s different. It’s the side of emotional connection to the person he loves more than anyone in the entire world. It’s Dean, pure and simple. Sam knows Dean feels it too. The way he repeats his nickname like a chant, over and over, tells him everything. Sam would cry if he didn’t think Dean would never let him live it down.

He moves, slowly at first, but speeds up with every thrust. Dean lifts himself up on his elbows, and Sam comes down just enough to make their bodies connect. They are both slick with sweat and almost completely breathless. They kiss again, and then Sam wraps his hand around Dean’s dick and starts jacking him. It doesn’t take long before they’re both screaming out in ecstasy, finally coming.

Sam has enough presence of mind left to dispose of the condom and wipe away Dean’s come. Then he collapses on the bed next to his brother, wrapping his arms around him, and goes right to sleep.

 

The next morning he wakes up to the smell of coffee overpowering his senses. He opens his eyes groggily.

“Rise and shine, princess. It’s 10am.”

“Don’t wanna…”

“Well it sucks to be you. I found us a hunt.”

He groans. “Oh, fuck me.”

Dean laughs and comes to the bed, putting one of the coffee cups on the night stand. He kisses Sam. “After you get some food in you, at least.”

“OK, OK. I’m up. Definitely up.” He gets up from the bed clumsily, sheets and legs getting in the way. Then he really looks at Dean, noticing the quiet, fond, amusement in his eyes. They’re both standing now, looking at each other.

Sam grins, and he doesn’t know if Dean will find it appropriate to start laughing at this moment, but he can’t help it when it comes out. He’s suddenly feels so light and happy. Right – like this is it, this is how everything in the world is supposed to be. He takes Dean by the arm, pulls him in towards himself, and starts twirling them around the room.

“You are such a fucking girl, Winchester,” Dean says, but his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he starts laughing along. “Go shower, damn it,” he adds and pushes him towards the bathroom door with a small, playful smirk.

They still don’t talk about it, afterwards. There’s no ‘Are you sure?’ or ‘What is it that we’re doing here?’ or ‘How long?’ They take everything as it comes, without trying to look for explanations or excuses for the way things are. It’s them, they don’t need that. It’s enough just to look and see everything in each other’s eyes. It’s enough to understand.

THE END