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WincestMas 2017

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Meeting Under the Mistletoe

The first time it happened was way back on December sixth, he remembered because they’d stayed the first six days of the month in Colorado finishing up a case. He’d gone into the motel office to turn in their room keys and had paused on his way out under the door frame when something brushed over the top of his head. Just as he’d looked up to see what it was, he’d felt a familiar hand in an unfamiliar place, wrapped around the back of his neck, tugging him down to kissing level. Dean’s lips were warm and soft, and so was the kiss.

His brother hadn’t said anything afterwards, just trotted off to jump in the driver’s seat and started up the Impala with a roar. Sam had looked up at the mistletoe hanging in the doorway and smiled before he’d joined Dean in the car. Dean had never been in the habit of kissing him in public like that, maybe in a dark corner of a bar every now and then, but not broad daylight where anyone could see. It was weird…nice, but still weird.

The second time was a few days later, when they were coming out of the local grocery store they’d recently been using in Kansas. Their arms were full of bags, they’d really stocked up because a big snowstorm was forecast for later in the week. Dean had paused on the doorstep, and Sam instinctively paused and stepped back behind him, scanning the area. There was a rustle of bags as Dean transferred all of his to one hand and used the other to tug Sam down into a really hot teasing sort of kiss. Sam had been left in the high-arched doorway a bit stunned as Dean had headed out towards the car on his own without a backward glance.

Sam had heard the checkout girls giggling behind him and felt an unwanted blush staining his cheeks. He’d rolled his eyes and caught a glimpse of some mistletoe way up above his head. It wasn’t possible was it? After all these years, the p.d.a. dam was finally breaking. And Dean hadn’t warned him (of course).

The last time was this morning, as he’d stood in their kitchen doorway, back against the cool green tiles of the bunker, watching his brother cook their Christmas morning breakfast. He loved watching Dean moving in the kitchen when he didn’t know he was being observed. It was almost a dance, the way his brother’s hips would sway in time to some unheard tune, how he’d spin on one heel to move from counter to sink to stove, always so graceful and powerful.

Before Sam had even noticed he was moving, Dean was in his space and pushing him up against the tiles, slotting their bodies together and holding him there. When Sam didn’t do anything, Dean rolled his eyes and looked up over their heads dramatically, and Sam finally spotted it, a small sprig of mistletoe, tied with red curling ribbon thumbtacked over the tile arch of the door.

Sam’s arms were around Dean in an instant and their mouths were brought together in a kiss as warm as the Bailey’s and hot cocoa they’d already shared this morning. Dean tasted so sweet from the cocoa and whiskey, but once they’d kissed for a while the flavor just turned into what Sam had always thought of how they tasted. Dean’s breathing got a little heavier as Sam pursued that flavor, licking into his mouth deep and rhythmically, searching for every last bit. Finally Dean pushed him back against the opposite side of the doorway and dashed to the stove turning off the flame. He pulled the pan off the burner, and covered it with a lid.

“You know you don’t need the mistletoe to kiss me like that, right?” Sam said once Dean was back in his arms.

Dean chuckled and looked up into Sam’s face with an open, gorgeous smile. “I do yeah. I guess it’s just a reminder, and like a permission slip to do it out in public. Wait…you didn’t mind when I—did you?” Dean asked, looking concerned.

“Anywhere, anytime, no mistletoe required,” Sam answered.


                                                                                                    ~*~*~*~*~*~

Being Snowed In

Taking on a case in Colorado in the winter hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea, they’d dealt with plenty of snow and ice over the years. And it was something that only happened around Christmas time every fifteen years. It had taken some extensive research in the stacks of all three public library branches, hours and hours going through boxes of manuscripts and files until they were doubled over coughing from all the dust, flipping through microfiche until their eyes were permanently glazed over. That wasn’t even the fun part, once they’d dug up the two graves and salted and burned the bones, a third spirit joined the party, throwing Sam into one of the largest and sharpest granite gravestones and tipping Dean into the still burning grave.

They’d had to abandon the cemetery without refilling the dugout gravesites, which Sam had felt terrible about. It was bad enough that they had to disturb the remains and burn them, but to leave it open seemed like a real insult to the people the dead had left behind. The third ghost had let them leave, and hadn’t been able to follow them, thank Chuck for small favors. But that had meant another bout of research in the libraries, they must have missed something.

Sam swore up and down that his ribs were okay, he’d barely even flinched when Dean had pressed on them to test for fractures. But then, Sam had always been a little too stoic for his own good. He’d been so focused on solving the case that he didn’t pay attention to how awful the pain was getting. Not until he stood up at the end of a long fruitless day at the microfiche machine in the basement of the library did he realize how bad it really was.

Dean was picking him up in five minutes, and it took all of that time and a bit more to slowly make his way up the stairs and out the front door. The parking lot was getting icy, the temperature had dropped by at least twenty degrees just in the time he’d been inside. He wrapped his coat around himself a little tighter and shoved his hands in the pockets wishing he’d brought his gloves. The Impala roared up, fishtailing a bit on the ice on the pavement and Sam hurried over, not watching his steps carefully enough, he was airborne and then laid flat out on the ice before he knew what had happened.

Dean’s worried face came into view, backlit against a brilliant sunset through the huge black snowstorm clouds on the horizon. It was beautiful, he was so damn beautiful, and Sam had never told him that, what if Dean didn’t know that he was beautiful to me.

“Yeah, yeah, everyone says that, Sammy, c’mon now, let’s get you up off of this ice,” Dean said, as he levered Sam up off the ground.

Everything hurt now, not just his ribs, the back of his head felt like it was swelling up and he couldn’t breathe very deeply.

“You okay there, Sasquatch?” Dean asked, after he helped Sam fold himself down into the car. Sam didn’t answer, just watched helpless and a little stunned as Dean fastened the seatbelt around his waist and patted him on the chest. He was able to lift his hand to hold Dean’s against him. His brother’s hands, they were so strong, but soft too, and the things they could do to him if he only knew.

“If I only knew what, Sammy?” Dean asked, tilting his head a little like the answer was just out of view.

Shit, he hadn’t meant to say anything out loud. “Nevermind,” Sam mumbled, hoping Dean would drop the subject.

Dean was still looking at him funny once they’d gotten back to the motel. The parking lot was an ice-skating rink and they held onto each other for balance to make it to their door as the snow began to pour down in a near white-out. Luckily this room’s heater actually worked, which was practically a Christmas miracle in Sam’s opinion. They had leftover pizza from last night, so Dean heated it up in the microwave and they ate it together on Sam’s bed.

“The librarian said the storm was going to drop at least a foot of snow tonight,” Dean said.

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise but didn’t say anything because he had just taken a huge bite of pizza.

“We’ll just have to hunker down in here I guess, and hope for the best with the roads,” Dean said. “How’re your ribs feeling? You took a pretty hard fall out in that parking lot.”

“They’re okay,” Sam said, which turned into a sharp hiss of pain as Dean’s hand pressed into his side.

“You want me to wrap them up?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded, not sure if he could deal with Dean’s hands on his skin, but knowing that he needed the support of the wrap. Dean dug around in his duffel for the med kit and came up with a bottle up painkillers and a long, slightly dirty ace bandage. “Off with it,” Dean said.

Sam tried, he really did, to take off his own shirts, but he couldn’t manage it. Dean kneed up on the bed behind him and gently worked his arms and head through the tangle he’d made of his shirts. His hands stroked down along Sam’s back, pressing and feeling each rib, his warm breath a comforting caress along his skin. Sam felt awful everywhere, but it felt better anyplace Dean was touching him, it always did.

“I’ve just got the magic touch, Sammy, you know that,” Dean said, continuing yet another conversation Sam didn’t realize he’d started. What was wrong with him, a concussion?

Dean’s arms came around him to start the bandage wrap in the right place and Sam couldn’t help himself, he leaned back into his brother, resting against him for a moment until Dean moved him. “You sure are being cuddly today, what’s with you?”


“’s too cold,” Sam mumbled, knowing that neither of them believed that was the whole reason.

Dean’s hands went around and around his torso, pressing, pulling, tightening, and always caressing. Sam’s skin went wild with all the touch, he needed to break his ribs more often.

“Please don’t do that,” Dean said quietly, sitting back on his heels, his hands still on Sam’s shoulders.

Sam didn’t understand, what was Dean asking? He turned a bit so he could see Dean’s face and hissed at the flare of pain. “Do what?”

“Break your ribs more often, you’ve done it enough, don’t you think?” Dean asked, eyebrows raised but his face somehow much softer than usual.

“Sorry,” Sam said after he’d turned away from looking into his brother’s beautiful eyes, so intense and full of emotion, all those things Dean thought but never said, Sam could read it in his eyes.

“What are my eyes telling you tonight, huh, Sammy?” Dean asked, settling down with his back against the headboard and his legs on either side of Sam. He pulled Sam down to rest against him, nestled between his legs, head resting on his chest.

“Everything, nothing, I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what I’m saying,” Sam said all in a jumble, freaked out that he’d already said way too much. After all these years of hiding everything this wasn’t how he’d wanted it to go.

“How did you want it to go?” Dean asked in a whisper against his ear.

Sam thought he must be dreaming, or delusional, or maybe in a coma stuck in some hospital bed. There was not a chance in the world that he knew the rules of that his brother would be holding him so tenderly, whispering in his ear, asking to hear the whole thing.

“But I am holding you, and I do want to hear it,” Dean said in a firmer voice than the hesitant whisper from before.

“I wanted to not have a concussion or whatever the hell this is that’s making me say stuff I really shouldn’t be,” Sam said, disgusted with himself.

Dean’s arms and legs held him tighter as he tried to struggle off the bed. “Stay…please, Sam, just stay with me.”

Sam tried to shrug it off, to not let it mean what it should…or could. “Fine, it’s not like I have anywhere to go.”

“And it’s not like you could go anywhere either, not with the snow coming down like it is. You’re stuck with me, at least for tonight,” Dean said, his hot breath brushing against the sensitive skin on the back of Sam’s neck.

Sam reached up to hold Dean there, to feel that he was real with his own two hands, not some product of his stupidly hopeful imagination.

“Hopeful sure, stupid, no way, no how. Not my Sammy,” Dean said with a small chuckle that made Sam’s stomach flip in a slow curl of happiness and desire.

“It’s not just tonight though, right?” Sam asked, hoping that he actually had said these words out loud.

Dean didn’t say anything, his real answer came in how he continued to hold Sam closer than close, just breathing together as the snow covered the whole world outside.

 

                                                                                                  ~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Chapter Text

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
White Christmas

 

Dean wasn’t too sure about taking on this case way up in Vermont, but Sam had insisted. It was yet another haunted motel, supposedly a “milk-run” that they both needed for distraction from their missing mother and nephilim. The driving got harder and harder the further north they went, the snow piling up on the side of the interstate was pretty impressive. At least it wasn’t still snowing so the roads were clear, but there was ice.

 

All the ice meant he had to pay a lot more attention and drive more slowly. That always pissed him off, he liked to be able to monitor Sam while he was driving, checking in with him visually very frequently. Sam would usually mutter something about keeping his eyes on the road before disappearing back in to his book or research or whatever. But this time, it was Sam who was doing the monitoring. It was strange that there wasn’t even a book or a folder on his lap, they’d been chatting about everything and nothing practically the whole drive. And every time Dean looked over, his passenger already had his eyes locked on him. It initially made Dean preen a little inside, made him smile and squeeze Sam’s knee more than usual.

 

It got even weirder when he noticed that Sam’s hand hadn’t left the back of his neck since way back in Syracuse and they were almost all the way to Stowe. He leaned back into the warmth of Sam’s hand and nearly groaned when Sam gently massaged his neck.

 

“We’re almost there, Dean,” Sam said. “Turn is coming up in about three miles."

 

“We shoulda brought our passports, we’re practically in Canada way up here,” Dean said.

 

“Do we even have valid ones?” Sam asked.

 

“Sure, they’re even in our names. Jody helped me get them done, remember?”

 

“Huh,” Sam said, going silent and twitching his fingers against the bare skin of Dean’s neck. “Didn’t even think about bringing them.”

 

Dean shivered at how good it felt to have Sam’s hands on him so much. He wondered if something was wrong, there had to be some reason for the extra touching. All he knew was that he was going to miss it when they had to get out of the car and figure out how to solve this haunting. He wished the roads were clear and dry so he could talk Sam into some road head, it had been a while.

 

“So, what’s our story going in?” Dean asked.

 

“Want to do travel writers instead of FBI?” Sam asked.

 

“Might make more sense this time of year, that way we don’t have to change into the suits and all that,” Dean said.

 

“You brought them though, right?” Sam asked, looking a little worried.

 

“Yeah, of course. Part of our standard kit at this point. Why?” Dean asked.

 

“Uh…no reason. Here’s the turn, take a right,” Sam pointed at the wide driveway ahead. There was a sign next to the entrance that read ‘Columbia Inn’ and ‘Welcome to Pine Tree, Vermont’.

 

“Thought we were in Stowe, why’s it say Pine Tree on the sign?” Dean asked.

 

Sam made a strange grumbling sound in his throat and Dean didn’t get to ask him about it, because they were parking next to a really cool vintage wood-sided station wagon. The thing looked like it was from the 1930’s, but it was beautifully kept, painted a soft grey with polished wood sides, and a gleaming metal roof rack.

 

When they finally made it in the front door of the place, Dean stopped in shock. This was the place—from the movie—White Christmas. This was just like the inn in the movie. But that wasn’t possible, it had all been shot on a soundstage in Hollywood. All the way across the country, and far away from all this cold snow.

 

“Sam, why does place this look like the movie set of White Christmas?”

 

“Sssh, just go with it for a sec,” Sam said, flushing a deep red as they stepped up to the check-in counter.

 

“Bob Wallace and Phil Davis checking in, we had a reservation,” Sam said to the check-in person, a tall woman dressed in a severe wool dress that looked like vintage 40’s.

 

Dean heard the names Sam used and suddenly understood what was happening here. The one and only Christmas movie he liked, besides Die Hard of course, was White Christmas. Five years ago, Sam had gotten him the dvd and they had made a tradition of watching it every year. And if he was honest, sometimes he watched it himself at other times when he was feeling down. There was something about the uncomplicated past that was depicted, the lovely songs and all the glamorous production that soothed him. Plus it reminded him of his mom watching the movie on tv every year when it would come on at the holidays. Sam had brought him here on false pretenses, to a place that was pretending to be the inn from the movie, using the names of the main characters.

 

“Does this mean we don’t get to have any PDA, since we’re Wallace and Davis?” Dean murmured to Sam as the woman turned away to find their keys.

 

Sam was still quite blushy, which was all kinds of adorable so of course Dean had to push a little more. “At least they weren’t brothers though, right?”

 

A little squeak came out of Sam and Dean got to watch him readjust himself, pressing his hips into the counter. “Shut up and let me give you your damn present,” Sam hissed just as the woman turned back to them.

 

“Right, Wallace and Davis, got you in cabin eight, down at the end. Should be a parking spot right in front. Your package includes our Christmas Eve dinner which is served tonight between six and seven-thirty in the main dining room, so don’t be late. The guy who runs this place thinks he’s still a general. Which also means suit jacket and tie required.”

 

“Will do, m’am, thanks,” Sam said, signing for the keys and scooping them up. He put a hand on Dean’s lower back and steered them back outside.

 

The cold air hit Dean right then, the smell of snow and fresh-cut pine trees practically screaming Christmas! at him. Sam was shifting from foot to foot, which meant he was nervous about something important.

 

Dean turned to him and stood on his tiptoes to kiss Sam’s cheek. “Thanks for this, Sammy, I love it.”

 

Sam flushed again and wrapped him up in a hug. “Good, I didn’t know if you’d really be okay with something cheesy like this, but it seemed like a good chance to take.”

 

They got the car moved and entered their cabin, it was just like the room Wallace and Davis shared in the movie. Two twin beds, a small couch, all of it exactly the same down to the color of the bedspreads.

 

“How’d you even find this place?” Dean asked, as he flopped on the bed nearest the door.

 

“It came up when I was looking at a list of holiday gifts for movie geeks,” Sam said.

 

“Oh ho ho, is that what I am now, a movie geek?” Dean asked, stretching his arms over his head.

 

“About some movies, yeah I guess so,” Sam said.

 

“So the place isn’t haunted at all, is it?” Dean asked, disappointed that they didn’t get to kill anything.

 

“Nope,” Sam said. “Sorry for getting your hopes up.”

 

“So let me get this straight, you straight-up lied to me about there being a case, got me to drive twenty-five hours here, in the ice and snow, for what now exactly?” Dean said in a severe, yet teasing voice.

 

“A…Christmas vacation I guess?” Sam asked in an unsure voice.

 

“C’mere, Sam,” Dean said, pounding the bed next to him as loudly as he could, but Sam didn’t turn around. “I was just kidding, you know that right? Sammy?”

 

Sam nodded but still didn’t speak, rustling around in his duffel like he was searching for something.

 

“We can leave if you want to, I’m sure there’s a normal motel around here somewhere. I’ll go ask if we can get the reservation money back.” Sam said into the uncomfortable silence, his hand on the door handle.

 

“Sam, come back here—now,” Dean said with the command voice he rarely ever used on Sam. “Sit down and look at me.”

 

Sam slouched back to the bed and perched on the very edge of it, his eyes skated over Dean’s but didn’t linger. His brother’s face was very still and blank.

 

“Would you lie down here with me for a sec?” Dean asked, patting the bed next to himself.

 

Sam shrugged, kicked his boots off and then arranged himself stiffly alongside Dean. It was hard to fit both of them in a twin bed without touching but somehow Sam managed it without falling off the bed.

 

“Can we start over? I think you totally misunderstood me,” Dean said.

 

Sam nodded and tried his best to smile, but it still didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“I really love that you found this place and brought us here. I want to stay, here with you in our cozy room or do whatever else they have going on here, whether it’s White Christmas related or not.”

 

“I shouldn’t have tricked you like that, I just wanted to surprise you with something good for once,” Sam explained, face serious and intense.

 

“I know, Sammy, and you did surprise me. I love it that you can still get one over on me sometimes.”

 

“Really?” Sam asked, lifting his head off the pillow with a look of surprise on his face.

 

“Sure, means that we’re not just old stick-in-the-mud boring oldsters, we still have a little life left in us, you know?” Dean asked, smiling as he watched Sam’s expression change from to surprise to desire.

 

Sam rolled over on top of Dean, pinning his hands above his head in one of his lightning quick judo maneuvers. Dean felt his heart speed up, tripping over his quickened breath, trying to catch up with the sudden change in Sam’s mood. As Sam ground down onto him though, the rest of his body got on board right away, no problem there.

 

“You are definitely not boring, Dean,” Sam murmured against his neck as he bit and sucked dark marks against Dean’s pulse point.

 

Dean groaned and stretched under Sam’s assault, loving the pressure, the quickness that they spiraled up together, the intensity and passion still there, always match-strike ready.

 

“I was going to wait until after dinner tonight to give you a present, you want it now?” Sam asked through teeth that were still tugging at Dean’s earlobe.

 

Dean could barely think straight but managed to gasp, “Yeah, sure.”

 

Sam’s body peeled away from his slowly, and Dean groaned with the loss of heat and weight. He was about to complain but then he turned to watch Sam rustling in his duffel again, this time coming up with a small brightly wrapped box. Sam tossed it to him and then also grabbed a tube of lube from his bag. He rejoined Dean on the bed and waited for him to open it.

 

Dean unwrapped the gift, looking from the lustful anticipation on his brother’s face to the cheery Santa face on the gift wrap. He tore into it and tossed it aside, and held up the box to see the words Rimming Plug by B-Vibe. “Is it what’s on the box?”

 

“Yeah, it’s all charged up, and I have the controller,” Sam said, swinging the small vibe controller from his fingers. “You’re going to wear this, tonight, during dinner.”

 

Dean took the six inch long teal vibe out of the packaging and ran his fingers over the beaded rim teasing section, this thing was going to feel amazing. “Put it in me?”

 

“Thought you’d be up for it,” Sam teased.

 

“You know me so well,” Dean said, slightly embarrassed at how quickly his pants were undone and his bare ass was on display.

 

Sam was already warming up lube in one hand and applying it to the vibe plug, then his fingers entered Dean one at a time, stretching and thrusting slow and teasing. The vibe went in pretty easily, Dean was used to taking Sam inside after all, but then Sam turned the thing on and he almost lost his mind with how good it felt.

 

Before Dean realized what was happening, Sam had a matching cock ring wrapped around the base of his cock holding off any release until Sam let him. Apparently it was going to be a long dinner.

 

“I hope the seats in the dining room are padded,” Dean said through gritted teeth, experimentally moving his ass around on the bed.

 

“I hope your suit slacks are roomy enough, otherwise everyone is going to know,” Sam said, sliding his hand up and down Dean’s cock.

 

Dean groaned with the quivery feeling deep down at being denied the release and at the beads vibrating on his rim as well as the vibe pulsing on his prostate.

 

“C’mon, up and at ‘em, get changed into your suit so we can make it to the last seating for dinner,” Sam said, springing up from the bed and holding out a hand for Dean.

 To Be Continued...

 

Chapter Text

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

White Christmas Part 2 of 2

As they walked through the snow to the dining room, Dean couldn’t believe how good this thing felt inside of him, and he was pretty sure Sam had it on the lowest setting. Of course that didn’t mean Sam wouldn’t change the settings once they were seated at the dinner with all the other guests. He hoped the cock ring would hold him back, coming in his pants in public wasn’t really on his sexy to-do list.

It wasn’t until they were seated in the cavernous converted barn dining room with all the gaudy Christmas decorations that he realized that it was going to be a tough hour or so to get through. How was he going to concentrate enough to even eat? He must have been making a face because the vibration abruptly turned off and Sam looked worried.

“Hey, are you okay?” Sam asked, leaning across their small table to peer into Dean’s face. “It’s not hurting you, right?”

Dean didn’t answer, instead he leaned up and kissed Sam in silent thanks and settled back down into the thankfully well-padded seat. He concentrated on opening himself deep inside so that the vibe no longer felt like an intrusion, but a somehow new part of him.

Sam’s worried face got put away, and they ordered their meals and enjoyed the dinner show entertainment. Most of the movie’s songs were done, some more successfully than others. The vibration slowly cranked up randomly during some of the songs and he began to squirm, the pleasure of the stimulation, being kept on edge in public like this, of Sam having all the control, it was almost too much. And the whole time being surrounded by his favorite Christmas movie. Sam had really done it this time, this was going to be hard to top.

“You’re enjoying this way too much, dude,” Dean growled when he caught Sam’s grin during the final dessert number.

Sam tried to put on an innocent look, but his eyes darkened when he saw Dean squirm again. His hand went to his pocket and the vibration changed to another pattern that alternated pressing on Dean’s prostate to circling pressure around the rim beads that were keeping him open. So open, so ready for Sam.

“I think we need to go—now,” Sam said.

“What, and miss the big finale?” Dean barely managed to say, red-faced and gasping.

Sam turned the vibration off completely and stood up, holding out his hand. Dean wiped the sweat off his face with his napkin, downed the last of his wine and stood up, taking Sam’s hand.

He hoped that most of their fellow diners were paying more attention to White Christmas being performed up on stage, and not the massive hard-on he was sporting. His suit jacket was not covering up a thing at this point, and he was painfully aware of the giant wet spot in the front of his pants as it rubbed across his oversensitive skin as they walked through all the tables. Sam’s hand on his lower back was the only thing he could concentrate on.

Once they were out of the dining room, Sam slowed their walk and pushed Dean back into one of the darker hallway alcoves. His hand pressed over Dean’s cock. Dean gasped at the feeling of the wet fabric of his boxers and pants being dragged over the head, and the pressure from Sam’s hand, his knees nearly buckled at the intense feelings along with the continuing vibration from the plug deep inside him.

“You got so wet for me, baby, want to taste you, can I?” Sam asked, beginning to sink to his knees.

Dean couldn’t speak, could only nod as Sam mouthed along the already soaked line of his cock, his fingers undoing just the zipper and pulling him out. He heard people in the hallway and almost stopped Sam, but then he was inside the wet and warm and oh so perfect suction of Sam’s lips and tongue and he no longer cared. His hands went to the back of Sam’s head and he thrust deeply down Sam’s throat. The cock ring wasn’t going to be enough, he could feel his orgasm coming on, spiraling up from his toes, about to blow his head off, but then there was a sharp tug on his balls, painful, but not incapacitating. That halted everything, but he felt like he’d never been harder in his entire life.

“Sammy, need to…you gotta,” Dean panted, embarrassed to be begging, but Sam was already taking care of him, tucking him away, zipping up his pants and getting them walking towards their cabin. His brother’s hand on his lower back was again the only thing he could concentrate on, he couldn’t focus on the fabric of his ruined and soaked boxers dragging over his cock with every step. And then the vibrations started again, along with a low chuckle from Sam.

“You’re doing so good for me, Dean, love you—love that you’ll let me,” Sam said, pushing Dean’s back up against their door and slotting their bodies together. Sam pressed his hips into Dean, grinding their hardnesses together and Dean let out a sound that he’d never heard himself make.

“Sssh, sssh, you’re okay, let’s get you inside, okay, Dean?” Sam said, opening the door and ushering Dean through.

Sam was a whirlwind of activity then, turning the heater on, pulling the covers back on Dean’s bed and getting them both completely undressed before Dean had even registered they were back in the room. He’d given himself over to the vibrations that were the strongest yet, writhing on the bed and gasping with the pleasure that coursed through his body. He finally noticed the sound of Sam moaning as he stood over him, stroking his fully hard cock with one shiny lube-covered hand.

“You ready, Dean?” Sam asked, kneeling up on the bed between Dean’s outstretched legs. Sam’s fingers were inside of him then stretching him even more while the vibrations continued, he couldn’t even make a sound, wordlessly gasping at how good it felt. But when Sam removed his fingers he couldn’t help begging.

“Please, Sam, feel so empty now, need it, need you in me now,” Dean said, feeling a hot flush of shame at begging, but Sam’s wicked smile wiped all of that away.

Sam entered him slowly, pressing the vibe even deeper for a moment, his hard length pushing Dean to the limits of what he could take. He lost track then, of how many times Sam thrusted into him along with the vibe, of how much noise he made or how much more he was begging. And just at the moment when he knew he couldn’t possibly take any more stimulation, Sam undid the clasp on the cock ring. Dean came, distantly he observed himself coming, gone into another realm of pleasure he watched himself writhe and howl and clench and claw at Sam’s body.

The next thing Dean felt was Sam lifting him into the other bed, it was cool against his overheated skin, as was the wet cloth he cleaned him with. Sam folded himself into the small bed against Dean, pulling him into the circle of his arms and sighed a big contented breath into his hair.

“You good now?” Sam asked quietly.

“No, I’m awesome,” Dean mumbled. “Thanks, Sammy, didn’t know how much I needed that.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Sam said.

“Merry White Christmas, Sammy.” Dean answered.
                                                                                              ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Shoveling

Of course the snow storm had to arrive the morning after they’d had the epic New Year’s Sex-a-thon. Sam had refused to call it that, but it was an awesome name and Dean was sticking with it regardless. Just like he was sticking with the snow shoveling that needed to get done before it got too dark out. They’d gotten at least a foot already, which was a lot at once for where the Bunker was located, the plows sure as hell didn’t make out to their little dirt road either. If they really needed to go somewhere in this mess, they could take the four-wheel drive vintage jeep in the garage.

The shoveling he was doing was all about making sure they had a viable exit out of the place, just in case. After getting locked inside their own home by the British Men of Letters, Dean wasn’t taking any chances. Especially since they knew that Ketch psycho was still out there, he might have a way to lock them in again. The shoveling was tough going though, the snow was wet and very heavy, and there was so much of it in the Bunker’s sunken doorway entrance.

Dean felt something go ‘zing’ in a very bad way in his back and found he couldn’t straighten up all the way. He thought about calling Sam to come help him down the stairs, but didn’t want to get him out of their warm cozy bed. His brother needed the rest, they’d both used each other fast and hard several times over the last two days. He remembered fucking Sam up against the green tiled wall in the kitchen, how Sam’s body had slid along the slick surface with every single thrust. No wonder his back hurt before he’d even started shoveling.

He tried straightening up again and felt the ‘zing’ once more. It was all over for him, for today at least. He used the shovel as a cane and was barely able to get the door open. Once inside with the door securely locked behind him he managed to start hobbling his way down the stairs.

“You okay?” Sam’s voice floated up as through the metal staircase.

“No, snow shoveling got me,” Dean grumbled, pausing on the third step down.

“Hold on, I’ve gotcha,” Sam said, striding into view and up the staircase. He had on Dean’s dead guy robe, which was very loosely tied around his waist and god, Dean just wanted to drop to his knees right then and there and get day three of the New Year’s Sex-a-thon going.


Sam had him scooped up in a fireman’s carry and all the way down the stairs before Dean had realized what was happening. His brother’s strength was tested by carrying him through the bunker’s hallways, but it was worth it for the turn-on. At least it was until Sam went to lower him to the bed and cried out in pain.

“Oh no, not your back too?” Dean said, “Who’s going to finish the shoveling?” He kicked his jeans and boots off and rolled under the covers.

“So we’re stuck in bed for a while, worse things could’ve happened, right?” Sam asked, unwrapping the robe as he hobbled around the bed,  and gingerly climbed in naked on his side. He cuddled up to Dean under their pile of quilts and went quiet when Dean didn’t say anything.

“There is a lot worse, you’re right,” Dean said, serious about getting snowed-in and maybe trapped.

“Day three of the New Year’s sex thingy then?” Sam asked with a grin.

“It’s a sex-a-thon, Sammy, if you can’t say it, then you obviously can’t participate.”

“Guess you’re on your own then,” Sam said with an even larger, more obnoxious grin. He even had the audacity to waggle his eyebrows.

Dean decided that he would definitely do that at some point, especially since he was most of the way hard again, something about being carried and naked Sam in a bed that smelled like several days of hot sweaty sex had him going even though his back hurt. He sneaked a hand down under the covers and palmed his dick through his boxers. Yeah, a one-man show would work pretty well, it’d probably help him get to sleep and relax his back. He started stroking himself until he hardened all the way and finally pulled himself free of his boxers.

He noticed Sam was watching him closely, so he decided to put on more of a show, maybe he’d decide to participate after all. He let out a few quiet moans and even brought his palm up to lick it nice and wet to make the glide better. Sam swallowed loudly and his big warm hand closed over the back of Dean’s. Dean almost came right then and there from the surprise of how good it felt, the added pressure, and that it was Sam always did it for him.

“Thought this was a sex-a-thon for one now,” Dean said in a gasp that was barely decipherable.

“Not when you’re in our bed it’s not,” Sam said, increasing the speed of the strokes and tightening the grip of his hand.

Dean wriggled his other hand between them and took Sam in hand, matching the speed and grip of Sam’s strokes. Sam groaned and came, hot and slick all over Dean’s hand and his own belly. Dean brought that hand over to stroke himself with, adding the slickness of Sam’s come was enough to push him over the edge.

They fell asleep together, sticky and sated for the moment, backs still aching and snow still un-shoveled. There was always Aleve and whisky and hot packs later, Dean told himself. Much later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Cuddling to Stay Warm

Dean tried to remember as he staggered back to the car with an unconscious Sam in his arms, but there wasn’t anything harder in his life that he had to endure than having to strip his near-unconscious brother of all his icy soaked clothes. Sam’s body barely resisted being moved, his arms and legs were limp and colder than the ice that had covered the lake.

“Flathead Lake monster, we had to investigate, in the middle of fucking winter, in the middle of fucking Montana,” Dean grumbled, as he removed his own soaked clothes.

The Impala was warming up a little now that the engine had been running. The three blankets he had wrapped around them smelled like the closets in the Bunker they’d been stored in. But thankfully they were thick wool and were trapping the heat between their frozen bodies quite well.

Dean’s hands were moving all over Sam’s damp skin, desperately trying to keep the circulation going in his brother’s body so he wouldn’t lose any vital body parts.

He tried to not think about where he was touching Sam, pretty much everywhere, or how damn good Sam smelled, even wet with the dank lake water that spicy Sam smell came through. Dean breathed in deep in the crook of Sam’s neck, willing himself to memorize it for later. It was embarrassing how much he was enjoying this, even though Sam had just almost died in the lake. But after all of these years, he couldn’t help it, he’d always had this need for Sam’s skin, and scent, his laugh.

Sam laughed and coughed in Dean’s face. “You’re enjoying this too much, dude.” He rearranged himself in the circle of Dean’s arms, his broad back pressed up against Dean’s chest. Dean tried to angle his hips away from Sam’s ass, but he had no where to go, the Impala seats weren’t wide enough.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered, feeling a hot flush of shame run through him, didn’t make him lose his hard-on unfortunately, because Sam’s ass was right there, wiggling against him. It could happen to anyone, right? That’s what Sam would hopefully be thinking, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.

Sam sighed in answer and rearranged them again, switching their positions so that Dean was now in Sam’s arms. The shock Dean felt at feeling Sam’s erection pressing against his own ass was complete and devastating. It could happen to anyone right, but both of them?

“You warmed up enough yet?” Dean asked into the soft skin of Sam’s bicep where his lips weren’t kissing, just resting there he swore to himself.

“No,” Sam said in a voice that sounded like he’d just been strangled.

Dean raised his head to look back at Sam and saw eyes that were as lust-blown as his own felt. He sighed and snuggled back against Sam, pressing himself against his brother’s now warm skin, relishing the feeling of the small shimmies of Sam’s hips into his own ass. If this was all he ever got to have with Sam, it would be enough, he swore (for the thousandth time) that it would have to be enough. He could never ask for what he really needed or wanted, it would be too much.

Sam’s lips were on the back of his neck now, and Dean couldn’t help shivering with the pleasure of it. They were moving, was Sam saying something?

“Did you say something?” Dean asked, he couldn’t help himself, he wanted to know what Sam would be saying in a moment like this where the world seemed to be holding its breath for what came next.

Sam’s lips stopped moving for a moment and then Dean felt them move into a wide smile. Dean almost came just from how good that felt, he’d never imagined what his brother’s beautiful smile would feel like on his own skin.

“Just giving thanks,” Sam said.

“For me saving your ass again?” Dean said.

“Yeah, that and this too,” Sam said, squeezing his arms even tighter around Dean. He went still after that, his breathing dropping off into the regular sleep pattern Dean knew as well as his own face in the mirror.

The Impala rumbled under them, and the bunker’s blankets weighed them down, pressing them together in the heat they generated, it was full dark outside, and his brother was safe now. That had to be enough.

“Happy New Year, Sammy,” Dean murmured, letting himself fall asleep to the sound of his brother’s regular breaths fluttering past his ear and the steady beat of his heart against his back.



Chapter Text

New Year Resolutions

Dean chuckled as he sat at Sam's desk to read the notebook he'd left open on the desk. What? He knew it was wrong to, of course he did. But brothers will be brothers, and they weren't supposed to be hiding shit between them these days, right? That's how he justified it to himself, until he got to the last page of writing dated 1/1/18:

2018 Resolutions and To-Do’s

 

    • Say NO more and stick to it

 

    • Complete the digitization of the MoL files project

 

    • Plant vegie/herb garden on hill behind bunker, ignore Dean about it.

 

What the heck would Sam be thinking he should be saying no to? Was he going to go back to the insufferable "no" era Dean could still vividly remember from when Sam was around eight.

The digitizing project, that was so Sam, so nerdy, but so useful. It had already come in really handy on a couple of hunts. He knew he needed to help more with it, he guessed that should go on his list.

A garden, oh man, guess who was going to get asked to build walls and beds and benches and watering systems. Well it would be something to do, and it'd get them outside. Why would he want to ignore me though?

 

    • Remember to wear the lingerie more often, not just when he asks

 

    • Learn two new languages - Aramaic and Japanese

 

    • Remember to buy ironing starch spray for Dean to use instead of beer

 


Oh he liked the first one very very much. There were a whole lot of possibilities there, and maybe he'd have to give Sam a few new things to wear. The next two on the list, eh, whatever floated his brother's boat.

 

    • Keep journalling daily, about current and past stuff  (Note To Me: It is really truly helping my memory)

 

    • Restock my Impala survival stash after every case (Order Lara Bars again)

 


Was Sam's memory really giving him that much trouble, or was he just worrying about it? Yet another thing to put on the list to worry about, probably why he should me reading this list. Oh god not more Lara Bars, those things gave him the runs last time.

 

    • Pray every day (it’s worth a try right?)

 

    • Find a better hiding place for my shampoo/conditioner (or buy in bulk)

 

    • Have copies of the family photos made, buy frames for my room

 


Something about Sam praying still bothered him, he knew it probably helped him, but he still hated to think that he was getting his hopes up about getting an actual answer. Chuck was long gone. The shampoo thing had just been a joke, didn't Sam know that? Although the stuff did smell really good, he didn't use much of it when he snuck it, really. And as if Sam could really find a better hiding place. Shoot, he should have thought of the photos thing, that would have been a good Christmas present, better than the skin mags and beer.

 

    • Ask Gina for the cherry pie recipe next time we’re in town and learn to make it

 

    • Always Remember Why I’m Still Hunting (hint starts with a D)

 


Pie, yeah it'd be really nice if Sam could learn to make that cherry pie. But this last one, did he read it right? D could be a lot of things, Dad, Dead Family, Determination, Drive, or his name. Before he could really decide or delve into what that might really mean, he heard a noise at Sam's doorway and his stomach fell in dismay. Sam was back early from his run, and his face looked as stormy as the weather outside had when he'd checked earlier.

"Catching up on some reading, huh?" Sam asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway.

“Uh…’m sorry,” Dean said, not meeting Sam’s eyes. “It caught my eye when I was bringing in your laundry.” He gestured at the full laundry basket with neatly folded clothes sitting on the floor next to him.

Sam stepped into the room and stood behind the desk chair, he set his hands heavily on Dean’s shoulders. “It’s not okay with me that you’re snooping in my stuff. But, it’s not like it was top secret or anything. I mean, you probably knew all this stuff already, right?”

Dean was surprised that it sounded like he was getting a free pass on this one. He leaned back and looked at his brother from the upside view. This instant forgiveness meant he had to repay it to Sam somehow to keep it fair. “I like the garden idea, want some help with it?”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, which looked really hilarious from upside down. Dean tried and failed to control his giggle.

“You laughing about helping with my garden?” Sam asked, eyebrows now drawn together in confusion heading towards worry.

Dean’s giggles tapered off as he watched the storm clouds start to return over his brother’s brow. He reached up and tugged Sam down for a kiss that turned urgent all in a heart-stopping rush. “Just laughing at your upside down face,” Dean murmured against Sam’s lips, delving in for another deep kiss.

Sam sighed into Dean’s mouth and spun the chair around, situating himself between Dean’s spread legs. Dean’s arms were around Sam’s back at waist level, his face pressed into Sam’s hard belly. He rested there for a moment, eyes closed, just feeling the desire and need spiral up through him, familiar as his hands on the Impala’s wheel. Sam’s hands were in his hair then, pulling his head back, tipping his face up so that he could be kissed breathless again.

Dean’s hands automatically began undoing Sam’s jeans, pulling his hard length out, his mouth already watering. Sam’s hands relaxed on his head, stopped pulling his hair, letting him take his time licking and suckling. Dean smiled around the weight of Sam on his tongue at Sam’s moans. He flicked his eyes up to see Sam looking down at him in astonishment.

“How is this always so damn good?” Sam asked, his eyes sparkling with some combination of lust and maybe…yeah probably, love.

Dean reluctantly let Sam out of the suction of his mouth. “One of my resolutions, Sammy,” Dean said, sucking him back inside and taking him even further into his throat as he chuckled. He had to hold Sam’s ass more tightly as his brother’s knees seemed to buckle at that. Sam’s hips began to move in a quick rhythm that told him it had worked, he chuckled again and swallowed down his brother’s release.

“God, you’re…” Sam said, not finishing his sentence, but diving down to kiss Dean deeply, tasting himself with another moan. “Got any other resolutions I need to know about?”

Dean stood up into the circle of Sam’s arms and sighed as they melded together. “About that lingerie thing, yeah,” Dean said.

Sam laughed out loud at that and Dean soaked up the feeling of the vibration in his ribcage of that sudden joy. “What about it?”

“I’m gonna get you something new to wear, saw something about a vinyl catsuit, with access panels in the back of one of my magazines,” Dean said.

Sam’s laughter continued until his whole body shook with it. It was utterly glorious to be held by him as he laughed. “Good luck finding that in my size, but if you do, I’ll totally wear it.”

“Damn right you will, that’s not something you’re saying no to,” Dean said, remembering the first thing on Sam’s resolutions list.

“That was more of a work related resolution by the way, not having to do with this,” Sam said, circling his hand between them.

“You mean our relationship? Thought you couldn’t have one if you couldn’t even say it, Sammy,” Dean teased.

“That another one of your resolutions? Using words that I don’t expect to hear?” Sam teased right back.

“Damn right,” Dean said, pushing Sam backwards towards the bed. “Especially if it gets me this when I want it.”

 

                                                            
                                                                                        ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One Second After Midnight

Sam’s phone rings at exactly one second after midnight on the first New Year’s Eve he’s ever spent apart from his brother. After four months of silence, his phone is finally ringing.  He’s alone in his dorm room, most of the two dollar bottle of champagne is gone and he’s not picking up, goddamnit—just, no.

He flops back on the bed and crosses his arms over his chest, painfully aware that he’s actually pouting as the phone finishes ringing for the tenth time and thankfully goes to voice mail. Damn—he forgot about that possibility. Does he want Dean to leave a message? Yeah honestly he really really does and he might or might not reply to it. Depends on what his brother says.

Sam lets himself imagine the things he’d like to hear on a New Year’s Eve voice message from Dean, his deepest darkest fantasy is his brother’s rumbling voice telling him how much he wants him and misses him and is coming that night to claim him. But that’s not going to happen and he’s tried his best these last four months to forget all that. But years of pining are hard to just stow away and pretend they didn’t ever happen. Like it’s still happening and will never stop.

Mostly he just wants to hear something along the lines that Dean can’t deal with life without him. That would make it better somehow, knowing that Dean had a hard time with his absence. That it wasn’t a one-way thing, at least about the just brothers part. Because he knows that’s the only way Dean feels about him. He’d had to leave because of it, he’d come to close to telling him so many times that last summer together. It would have ruined everything. (like leaving for Stanford didn’t? yeah right)

The you-have-a-message buzz sounds on his phone then, interrupting his thoughts. So Dean did leave one, that’s a nice surprise, Happy Fucking New Year to me, maybe he still does care, he snarks to himself. Who knew champagne would make him go so dark?

Given all that, would it be better for both of them to just not communicate at all? Listening to the message is the first step to deciding, it all depends on what Dean actually says on the thing. Sam finishes off the last glass of champagne and keys in his lock code. His thumb hovers over the listen to messages button and he closes his eyes in a quick prayer, Please, let him at least miss me. I don’t want anything more than that, I promise, please.

Dean’s voice is washing over him then, familiar and deep, rumbling with emotion and humor as he describes the bar he just left in Reno, Nevada.

“Shoulda seen it, Sammy. Uh—sorry, Sam, gotta get that right, blame it on the booze, alright? There were three girls up on the bar, dancing in barely anything, guys were throwing money at them like it was a strip club. And the girls didn’t even work there, the owner came back from a smoke break and kicked them all out. The customers all just started throwing punches and tearing up the place. I had to get outta there, and then I saw it had just gone over midnight.”

Sam hears a familiar squeak and thud of the Impala’s driver door, the sounds of Dean settling into the driver’s seat.

“Now I’m back in the Impala, thank god it’s quiet in here, that bar was way too loud, some new music I didn’t like was playing, Pearl Jelly or something like that. Anyway…I just wanted to call, since we haven’t talked in a while.”

There’s a long pause, where all the unsaid stuff lay, sparkling and sharp in the darkness and distance between them.

“I wish you’d picked up, it’d be nice to hear your voice, I wanna know if the squeak is finally gone from it or not, I’m betting it is. I’ve been trying to come up with an excuse to come visit you that doesn’t sound too lame. But it always just comes down to I want to see your stupid face. And…I’m pretty sure you’re busy, obviously you are since you didn’t pick up.”

Sam hears his brother’s voice trail off as he imagined the reasons why Sam wouldn’t have picked up the phone. He laughs to himself about how exactly wrong Dean is and how if he calls Dean back and confesses he’s alone with an empty bottle of cheap champagne, Dean would think he was even lamer than he’d ever imagined.

“I hope you’re at a great New Year’s Eve party tonight, Sammy. And that you had someone to kiss at midnight. You deserve that, I want that for you. Not being stuck in a motel room alone with me somewhere watching the stupid Dick Clark thing for the millionth time.”

Sam hears something that is either a sniffle or a gulp from his brother then, either option makes him immeasurably sad, that Dean thinks he wouldn’t have wanted that more than anything tonight. The tv countdown leading to the traditional head-nougies at midnight that always turned into epic tickle battles, his brother’s hands on him, his attention and care focused just on him.

“Anyways, happy new year and everything, Sammy, I wish…nah, never mind about that now, ’s not important. I just hope you call back sometime when you get a chance.”

The message ends there with all that false cheer and lightness. Sam’s heart feels like it’s being squeezed inside his chest, just at the thought of what Dean had stopped himself from saying. He’d never know now, unless he calls Dean back. And that's the last thing he has time to think before he falls asleep, phone still in his hand, decision still unmade.