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Broken Things

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Dean's pretty sure Sam will regret this. In fact, from the way Sam's fingers are digging painfully into his hips, Dean is really fucking sure he already does.

It was the shorts that did it.

Those ridiculous, laughable, hot as fuck, shorts. Dean couldn't even hide how much he was affected by Sam strutting around in them all day. His bottom lip was sore from how many times he'd bitten down on it to stop a moan escaping his mouth.

All day long, stuck behind bowls of fruit and jugs of disgusting protein shakes, Dean let his imagination do what he knew he couldn't. And that involved laying Sam down in those sinful shorts and doing every dirty thing he could think of to him.

He would strip Sam out of everything but those shorts, grind against him until Sam was writhing, panting, bucking and coming against the stretchy fabric. He would push Sam against a door, kneel down and wrap his lips around his cock, run his hands up the legs of the shorts to tease the sensitive skin underneath. Fuck him breathless with them shoved around his knees.

It was only a fantasy. Sam wouldn't let Dean get close, not now. He was as mad as Dean had ever known him to be. Dean understood why, he wasn't an idiot, but he couldn't regret it. Sam was alive and Dean could function. He knew it was selfish, but Dean had a list as long as his arm listing his faults. He wasn't new to the knowledge that he was a grade A fuck up.

The end of a long day with the health freaks had not come soon enough at Canyon Valley. Seriously, Dean was desperate to just get back to his room, have a real drink or four and hopefully get a little shut eye. Sam had been put in the room opposite, something Dean was not happy about, but he couldn't really insist they shared a room so he dealt with it.

"You make any progress, Olivia Newton-John?" Dean considered humming 'Let's Get Physical' too, but decided it wouldn't do him any favours, so he just smirked instead.

"Everyone in the yoga class had suction marks on their skin," Sam replies, totally ignoring Dean's jibe about his clothing. Dean sighs, but they're on a case, he has to forget about his heartache and get on with it. Try to stick to Sam's terms on their new 'relationship'.

They walk together down the hallway where their rooms are located and stop outside their closed doors. God damn did Dean hate being so far away from his brother in this mad house. Wheatgrass drinking hippies.

"I checked the whole classes schedules, Dean, and get this, the cupping treatment is a mandatory requirement of residents. There's definitely something off about it."

Dean nods. "We'll check it out tomorrow, Sammy. I'm exhausted from dishing out slop all day."

He didn't mean to do it, a long sweeping glance of Sam's body, but damn, it should be illegal to look that hot in gym gear.

"Would you stop it?" Sam says huffily.

"Stop what?"

"You know what. Looking at me. Just stop."

Dean laughs, trying to cover himself. "I dunno what you're..."

"Dean!" Sam interrupts Dean by slamming his hand on the door by his brothers head. "Just because we're not..."

Not talking? Not brothers? Not lovers?

"I can still tell what you're thinking."

Dean shrugs, going for innocently ignorant, but Sam is pushing him into the room roughly and spinning him around before words can even form.

"Sam, what the hell?! Ah, fuck... wha..?"

Dean grunts when Sam's long fingers grip his cock through his blue slacks.

"Felt your eyes on me all day, Dean," Sam panted, unzipping and tugging Dean's pants and underwear down. "This what you wanted?"

Dean closes his eyes and nods. It is what he wants. Desperately. But he knows he's just adding to the distance between them too.

"Look, Sam... I shouldn't have. I mean, I didn't expect you to..."

A large hand presses Dean harder against the dresser.

"Just say that you want this. I need to know that before I..."

Sam's pause makes Dean shudder. Sam is going to fuck him like there's no tomorrow and Dean is going to let him.

"I want it, Sam. Want you."

"Don't move." Sam let's go and moves swiftly to Dean's duffle on the end of the bed. He rummages around for what feels like forever before he finds a half squeezed tube of lube and a condom.

He starts to strip, first his trainers and socks and then his vest. Dean cranes his neck around, pupils blown and skin prickling. He's sorry, he's so fucking sorry, but he can't stop.

"Fuck me with those on," Dean pleads, uncaring about what he must sound like.

Sam looks up into Dean's eyes curiously, his hands motionless on the waistband of his shorts.

"Please, Sammy..."

Sam moves closer, pulling his cock from inside and tucking the elastic under his balls. The sound of the lube opening makes Dean turn away.

"Spread your legs," Sam commands. His fingers pull Dean's ass cheeks apart and then he's there, slicked fingers pushing and stretching and it burns, but it's so good. Dean claws at the varnished surface as Sam opens him, deep, forceful, unyielding. It's too much and not enough. Not nearly enough.

"I'm ready, Sam. Please..."

The condom wrapper falls to the floor by Dean's feet. He keeps his eyes on it when Sam rams inside, inch by glorious inch, enough for stinging tears to speckle Dean's cheeks.

"Oh, fuck... god..." Dean's breath explodes from him. Pushed out by the thrust in, thrust out. The sweet, wonderful ache of Sammy.

Sam's fingers dig into the sharp cuts of Dean's hips. Pain is important now, for both of them, and each man relishes it.

Yes, Dean knows Sam will regret this, but when the whisper of his lips, the softest kiss, brushes against Dean's neck, Dean feels hope bloom in his weary soul. There is still something between them that can be fixed. In time, they can have this again.

Clenching around Sam's cock, Dean feels his brothers hips stutter and with a strangled cry, Sam comes inside him. The warmth flooding Dean tips him over the edge and he comes a few seconds later, hard, untouched, onto the side of the dresser.

Sam's breath adds to the dampness of sweat on Dean's skin, but it doesn't last. Sam is gone and the bathroom light flickers while Dean pulls up his pants and waits.

"This doesn't change things," Sam says when he returns, cheeks flushed and eyes lowered. "This was just..."

Dean knows.

"Go and get some sleep, Sam. It's ok."

Nothing is ok. They both know it.

"Night, Dean."

"Night, Sam."

The frown lines on Sam's head are back. Post-orgasm glow fading to the reality of their situation again. Dean wants to hug Sam so badly it hurts. He won't though. Sam gave him this and it's enough, and definitely more than he deserves, so he just watches until the door of Sam's room clicks shut.

The bed is cold when Dean falls on top of it. He doesn't mind. He can take all the punishments that are coming his way for what he did.

As long as he holds on to the fragile shard of hope that he felt in that one simple kiss, he can wait an eternity for Sam to come back to him.