The night was hot, and sticky with moisture. Dean hadn't even known that Minnesota could be hot, but then again, he guessed that they'd never been here in the summer before. It'd rained earlier in the day, and the ground had steamed when the sun came out, and then the steam had seemed to hang around. It seeped into clothes, making cotton and denim wet and heavy and uncomfortable, and clung to bare skin. Condensation beaded on everything more than a degree or two cooler than the air. It felt weird to breathe. Like there was more water than oxygen in every lungful.
Dean had spent the day sweating in places he hadn't been aware he could sweat. Behind his earlobes, between his fingers, inside his belly button. And then it hadn't dried, no matter what he did to cool himself down. He hadn't even been able to distract himself from the discomfort - there was literally nothing to do in Blue Earth, unless you felt like watching the two snowy channels Pastor Jim got on his ancient TV or listening to him counsel members of his flock about their boring problems. Which Dean didn't.
Sam read. And Dean might've been okay with just sitting next to him and letting the time pass, quietly enjoying his company, but Sam wasn't cooperative. Every time he'd slid in next to him on a pew in the empty church, or Jim's battered couch, or the damp ground outside, and tried to put an arm around his shoulders, Sam'd scooted away from him. That'd happened all day and he'd never offered Dean an explanation.
That, combined with the boredom, the weather, and the fact that Dad had dumped them here while he went on a hunt Dean was more than qualified to help with, hadn't made for a great day. Dean told himself that Sam just didn't want to risk Jim or anybody else seeing them. They were alone now, though. No one but the two of them.
Pastor Jim lived in a tiny apartment at the back of the church. So tiny, in fact, that Dean was convinced it'd been used for storage before he'd moved in. It was cramped with just one person in there (not to mention all his gear, both hunting and religious), so when Sam and Dean stayed with him, they bunked in the attic. It was a way bigger space, albeit one almost filled by cardboard boxes and old books, much to Sam's delight. And a couple mattresses made up with worn sheets, probably donated. Of course Sam and Dean only used one.
They'd have to rumple up the sheets some on the other one before they left so the good pastor didn't get suspicious, Dean reminded himself. He knew he wouldn't forget. He'd been doing this a while.
The attic had one window that wasn't blocked by boxes or books, and the mattresses were close to it. It was open to let in air that was only marginally cooler and drier than what they already had. Moonlight shone through it, too, picking out Sam's slim body next to Dean's. The covers had been kicked right off the mattress less than a minute after they'd settled in for the night, and they were both naked except for a pair of boxer shorts each. Dean would've just as soon as done away with those and gone fully natural, but Sam had been weirdly insistent. And Dean supposed it wouldn't be that far-fetched for one of them to see Jim on a midnight bathroom run, which was what he assumed Sam was worried about.
Sam's back was to Dean, and he was in something halfway between a normal sleeping posture and a fetal position: knees bent, ankles crossed, shoulders a little hunched, head tucked. Dean could see his shoulder blades, his spine, even a few of his ribs, all crisp shapes under skin that was milky-white in the moonlight, dotted with dark moles and silvery scars. He'd gone through a growth spurt recently, one that'd turned his puppy fat into muscle and height. Dean liked it. Made him feel like less of a pervert when things got hot and heavy between them.
Sam's side was rising and falling steadily, like he was asleep, but Dean was pretty sure that it was too hot and sticky for anyone to get any real rest. In a lot of ways, getting even hotter and stickier wasn't appealing, but they hadn't had any real fun in weeks thanks to Dad hanging around and it'd just been a shit day overall. They were both probably backed up all the way to their skulls. They needed this.
So Dean reached out and touched Sam's shoulder, the one he wasn't lying on. He twitched, like a fly had landed there, and Dean took his hand away. When he tried it again, the same thing happened, and Sam's breathing got a little faster.
Grinning to himself, Dean traced a fingertip along the bumps of Sam's spine. That made him roll onto his stomach with a soft grunt, the side of his face resting on the pillow. Dean could see now that his eyes were closed, his expression peaceful. His face scrunched with annoyance, though, when Dean ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. And when he tugged on one of his ears, he finally woke up.
"What're you doing?" Sam mumbled, bringing an arm up and rubbing it clumsily over his face. "What - whatsamatter?"
Looked like he really had been a sleep, despite how hard a time Dean'd been having with it. Sam had always been able to fall asleep easier than him, though, and in places were Dean just couldn't get comfortable. The car, chairs, boots at the bars Dad occasionally dragged them into...he seemed to need more sleep than Dean, too, so that might have something to do with it.
"Nothing's the matter," Dean replied. He put an elbow on his pillow and propped his head up on his hand, smiling at Sam's sleepy blinking. "Unless you count me being bored. And horny."
Sam groaned loudly and rolled away from Dean, who sat all the way up and reached for him.
"Hey, no," he said. "I'm sorry I woke you up. But just listen to me, okay? You can sleep in as long as you want tomorrow morning."
"The he - heck I can," Sam replied, and Dean felt himself frown. He'd started to say "hell" and caught himself, and he didn't get why. Sam hadn't been shy about cursing four a couple years now, when Dad and Dean had both given up on riding him about it. "Tomorrow's Sunday, and Pastor Jim's first service starts at seven."
"Not like he's loud," Dean pointed out. Pastor Jim was not a fire-and-brimstone kind of guy at the pulpit, and his congregation tended to be quiet and respectful while he delivered his sermons. Dean had to admit that he was a good speaker. It was all bullshit, but he sure made it sound nice. "You can at least take a nap."
He reached for Sam again, this time managing to get a hand on his bare chest. His fingers brushed one of Sam's nipples, and he could feel it hardening just from that half-second of contact. Usually Sam liked that, but tonight, he reacted violently, flinching and rolling away from Dean again. There wasn't a whole lot of mattress left for him to roll around on, though, so he wound up falling right onto the dusty attic floor. He sat up and glared at Dean, hair already messy from the twenty minutes or so of sleep he'd gotten and arms crossed defensively over his chest.
"Cut it out!" he snapped, and Dean rolled his eyes.
"We don't have to screw," he said. He got Sam was tired, but he was up now, and Dean was sure they needed this. The connection. It'd just been such a long time; he missed Sam, even though they were within a few feet of each other most of the day. He wanted him back. "You don't even have to do anything. I'll blow you."
Sam squirmed, obviously uncomfortable, at "screw" and "blow." His arms got a little tighter, so that he was more hugging himself than folding them. He stayed put on the floor instead of climbing back up onto the mattress, even though it couldn't've been all that comfortable. Maybe it was cooler down there.
"I don't want you to...do that," he mumbled, looking away.
"You don't wanna come," Dean stated, flatly.
"No." It was hard to tell, because the moonlight washed everything out, but he thought Sam might be blushing. "I'm just not in the mood.
"Really?" Dean asked, trying to make it clear, just through his tone, how much he didn't believe Sam. "Really. You're fourteen, Sammy. You're always in the mood. And your 'mood' is gonna last for the next four years, at least - I mean, I'm still in my mood. Might've cooled down a little, but not much."
"I guess I'm just weird, then, 'cause I'm seriously not in the mood," Sam replied. He finally got back on the mattress, but he stayed on the edge, as far away from Dean as he could get. "Leave me alone."
"Okay, so...you gonna tell me when you are in the mood?" Dean asked. "I mean, not like there's a whole lot else for us to do here 'til Dad comes back."
Sam laid down, folding in on himself again. There was clearly a problem here. Dean could hear it in his voice and see it in how he was acting, but he didn't know what it was. "I'm trying to go to sleep."
"How 'bout a goodnight kiss, then?" Dean asked, frustrated. "At least?" This wasn't just about getting off, and Sam should understand that.
He saw him hesitate, and even though he could only see his back, he could tell he was conflicted. Then he slowly, reluctantly shook his head. It was awkward because he was laying down, but that was definitely what he was doing.
"Jesus Christ," Dean said, slapping a hand down onto the mattress. Sam unmistakably flinched again. "Okay. Just what the hell's up with you tonight, Sammy?"
"Could you try not to swear?" Sam asked, turning his head some. Not enough for Dean to see his face, though. "Please?"
"Why do you care?" Dean demanded, enunciating each word carefully.
Sam mumbled something, and Dean leaned towards him to try and pick it up, what little patience he had left rapidly running out.
"Because we're in a church!" Sam suddenly burst out, sitting bolt upright and glaring at Dean again. He was so loud that, in the back of his mind, Dean was just a little worried about Jim hearing them, and he was shocked into silence for a couple seconds.
"So?" he asked when it wore off.
"So, it's a church, Dean. Don't you think we oughta be on our best behavior?" Sam wanted to know. He drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, staring down at his knees.
"Uh, no," Dean stated. "Why? Not like Pastor Jim seems to mind all that much." Sam didn't answer, and something occurred to Dean in the quiet. He shifted on the mattress, uncomfortable himself all of a sudden in a way that had nothing to do with the heat. "Sam." He coughed. "D'you...believe in God?"
Sam's silence had a distinctly self-conscious, almost embarrassed flavor to it this time. When he finally spoke up, he sounded a lot younger than he was. "Don't you?"
Dean swallowed, buying time to try and soften the answer he was gonna have to give. It still came out too blunt, though. "No."
Sam fired back with something just as blunt: "Why not?"
"'Cause I've never seen any proof," Dean replied. "And don't give me the 'we see impossible stuff every day, why can't God be as real as ghosts and werewolves?' argument. I've heard it before." Delivered by one of the hundred born-again hunters out there, to Dad, in a bar. "I've seen ghosts and werewolves. I've gotten rid of 'em, picked up scars from 'em. I know they're real." He shrugged. "Nobody's ever seen any proof of unicorns or vampires, either, and everyone accepts they don't exist. I just don't get why so many people make an exception for God."
Sam listened to him and, when he was finished, asked, "Have you been sitting on that one for a while?"
"Maybe," Dean said, grudgingly.
"Have you ever talked to Pastor Jim about what he thinks about all this?" Sam asked him. "Or listened to one of his sermons?"
"No." Dean knew Sam liked to sit in on those sermons every once in a while when they stayed here. He'd never asked him why, but he'd always assumed it was out of either respect or boredom. Or academic interest. Now, though, he wondered if there was another reason. "Look. I respect the guy, you know I do. He's a great hunter, and I can admit that I'm impressed he's managed to hang onto his faith this whole time. I know I wouldn't be able to do that." If he'd ever believed in God, he'd stopped when he was too young to remember it. "But I don't wanna hear that Jesus loves me." He could feel himself starting to smile, even though he wasn't at all happy. "I mean, He clearly doesn't. D'you think any of this shit that's happened to us would've flown if He did?"
The curse seemed to go under Sam's radar this time, because he didn't react. He actually looked kind of...relieved, like he was happy to be talking about this. Seemed like Dean had finally done something right tonight, and without even trying, too. He felt some relief of his own as Sam looked at him again.
"What scares you more?" he asked. "No God at all, or a God who made monsters and turned them loose, and either just let all the bad stuff happened or planned it out?"
If it hadn't been for the soft, serious tone in Sam's voice, Dean might've felt like they were playing Truth or Dare. Not that that was something they did all that much anymore at their ages, even in a sex context. The question, too, was pretty far away from their usual fare - way more disturbing. He wondered how much time Sam'd spent thinking about this.
"I'll worry about that if I ever get any major evidence that God's real," Dean told Sam. "Which, so far, I haven't. Nobody has. Nobody sane, at least."
Sam smiled, just one side of his mouth going up. "Are you calling me crazy?"
"No. No," Dean said, shaking his head. "There's...there's a difference between, like, faith and believing there are literally angels talking to you."
"Would you take angels as proof of God?"
"Sam thing. Never seen any proof of them, either."
"How 'bout demons?"
"They're just...smoke," Dean said, shaking his head. "I think we only call 'em demons 'cause they possess people. If they're real, Biblical demons, they should be fallen angels, but have you ever seen anything that makes you think they are? Granted, they hardly ever pop up, but when they do, they just act like people." He amended, "Psychopaths, but still people."
"So what d'you think they are?" Sam asked.
"I don't know," Dean replied. "Not fallen angels."
"You've got a real simple view of the world, don't you?" Sam laid back down, looking more relaxed than he had since Dad dropped them off this morning. On his back, he laced his fingers together across his sternum, looking up at Dean.
"You know me," Dean responded. "Just a dumb grunt. I don't have your brains, and to be honest with you, I'm actually kinda glad about that." Sam's pink little mouth pulled into a slight frown. He didn't like it when Dean called himself stupid, but he rarely contradicted him. "I've got more than enough to keep me up at night without worrying about stuff that might or might not be real."
"That's not a bad thing," Sam assured him. "It's...practical. It's smart." Dean didn't miss the slight emphasis on the last word. "I never really answered your question before." He took in a breath, and Dean's eyes went immediately to the shadows of his pecs as his chest swelled, and the suggestion of abs in his stomach. "I don't know if I believe in God or not. I'm like you: I've never seen any proof. But I've never seen any hard proof he doesn't exist, either, so..."
"You've sure got your panties in a bunch bout swearing in the attic of a church, though," Dean pointed out. Sam shot him a glare, but it faded quickly.
"It's not really faith," he said, staring up at the wooden beams above them, just vague shapes in the darkness. "It's just...playing it safe. I mean, I'd really like to believe in a benevolent God. Y'know? I used to, when I was little, and it was really comforting. And I still..." He looked at Dean all of a sudden. "Don't make fun of me, okay?"
"Yeah, all right," Dean said. Sam didn't look satisfied by that, but maybe he figured the conversation was serious enough for Dean to keep his word no matter how he gave it, because he continued.
"I pray," he said. "Sometimes. I don't think they ever get answered. Not in a way that couldn't be a coincidence. But it makes me feel better, and I don't think it can hurt anything." He shrugged. It was weird to see, since he was laying down. "But an asshole God seems more likely than one who wants to help me out. So it can't hurt anything to lay low in His house, either."
"So no swearing?" Dean asked. He laid down, too, close to Sam, wanting to put an arm over him but not sure how he'd react. Thinking about that helped him realize something. "Is this why you haven't let me touch you all day?"
Dean was laying on his side, so he could see Sam's eyes fall closed as he heaved a sigh. He brought a hand up to rub at his face.
"I'm sorry," he said, quietly. "I should've explained stuff to you, but I didn't want you to think I was being an idiot."
"Well..." Dean didn't think he was being an idiot, even if he didn't agree with his reasoning. He forgot, sometimes, how young Sam still was. Especially because he combined that little-kid view of things with hours and hours of overthinking, like he seemed to have here. "I do get what you're saying. I guess I understand." He frowned as he shoved an arm under his pillow, folding it around the shape of his head. "But, uh...jeez, Sam." He barely kept himself from taking the Lord's name in vain. "We talked this to death a couple years ago, didn't we? Talked us to death. I really thought that we'd worked everything out and got to a point where we could both feel good about this. So..." He lifted his free hand, helplessly, then let it fall back to the mattress. "D'you really still think that what we're doing is wrong?"
"No," Sam said immediately, eyes wide and earnest as he turned his head to look at Dean. "I mean, it is. Legally. But it's right for us. We need this. I've never felt better, worth more, than...when I'm with you." One of his hands twitched on top of his body, like he wanted to grab Dean's with it, but of course he didn't let himself. "I just think that any God who made the world we live in right now would totally be petty enough to send us to Hell for fooling around in a church. No matter how much we, y'know, love each other."
"So, if God exists, Hell does, too," Dean said, just trying to clarify.
"This God would definitely be petty enough to make a Hell," Sam confirmed.
"Yeah, I don't know, Sam," Dean said, wanting to try and make him smile. "From what I've read of the Bible, I don't think God would care all that much about the whole incest thing we've got going on."
He succeeded: Sam did indeed crack a smile. "No, it's not the incest. It's that we're both boys."
"Oh," Dean said. "Right. That." The fact that they were blood relatives loomed so large that it was easy to forget that they were also a gay couple.
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "That." He closed his eyes to yawn. "I'm sorry. I know you think this is really dumb. And I don't like it, either, but..." He brought up both hands and rubbed his eyes with them. "...it'd make me feel better if we could just put things on hold while we're here."
Dean didn't want to go along with this. Sam was right, he thought it was really dumb. He was, though, on board with making him feel better, no matter how ridiculous what it took happened to be. Still, he asked, "You sure about this?"
"It's just while we're here," Sam replied quietly. "Things can go right back to normal as soon as we leave, and we don't stay at Pastor Jim's all that often. This is the first time in a few years."
Dean nodded. Mostly just in his head, since he couldn't really do it physically in his current position. It was late, and the service would start early tomorrow morning, and it'd be easy to close his eyes, go to sleep, and leave Sam to his own particular brand of crazy for the rest of their stay. Dean's own particular brand of crazy, though, wouldn't let him relax without bringing up a couple of contradictions he'd noticed.
"If things'll go back to normal once we leave, then what's even the point of not being normal while we're here?" he asked. "Does us having gay sex only piss God off if we do it in a church? If that's true, it's great news for us gays, since I'm gonna bet that something like ninety-nine percent of our sex doesn't happen in churches."
Sam blew out a breath through his lower lip, sounding annoyed as his hair lifted off his forehead. "I'm just not comfortable doing anything with you in Pastor Jim's church. How 'bout you think of it like that?"
"I'm just saying," Dean said. "If you're already going to Hell - and I would be, too, if you are - it seems stupid to torture yourself for however long we're gonna be here. You'd be doing it for no reason."
Sam sat up, unlacing his fingers so he could put his hands down on the mattress, and looked at Dean. He seemed bothered, and the moonlight made it easy to see the betrayal in his expression. "I thought you got it!"
"I do get it," Dean replied. "I'm just not sure you do."
"I told you - " Sam ran the fingers of both hands through his hair. Dean watched him grimace as they got tangled. "I told you, I know it's dumb."
"If you know it's dumb, then how come you can't let go of it?" Dean countered. He knew that it was wrong to be enjoying this as much as he was, but it was rare that he got to have an argument with Sam where he got all worked up and Dean kept rolling out logical points. Even though he was four years older than Sam. "I think it's 'cause, down deep, you really, honestly believe that God's gonna get you if you let me lay a hand on you in or around this church."
"I can't help what I believe," Sam said, not denying it. Dean saw his mouth work and realized he was chewing on the inside of one of his cheeks. "I said I was sorry, too. So you don't have to be a jerk about it."
"I'm not trying to be a jerk," Dean said, then tacked on an automatic "Bitch." Maybe it was just his imagination, but he thought he saw a tiny bit of the tension in Sam's shoulders drain away when he played his part in their game. "I'm trying to help you out here. I'm trying to help both of us."
"How d'you plan to do that, then?" Sam asked, dryly.
"Well." Dean cleared his throat. "First of all, let's start by...saying I believe in God and Hell and everything. Just for tonight." It was starting to feel weird, laying down while Sam was sitting up. So he took his arm out from under his pillow and put his elbow on the mattress and used his hand to prop his head up. "And I believe that God's an asshole, like you said, and that I hate Him."
Sam was looking at him. Encouraged, Dean went on.
"Seriously," he said. "I really, really hate Him. I hate Him more than anybody else, ever, for all the shi - crap He's shoveled our way, and all I want's to get back at Him, in any way I can."
Sam dipped his head slightly when Dean stopped himself from swearing, like he was thanking him for playing along. Or maybe he was agreeing with how Dean felt about God.
"And about Hell," Dean continued, "say we do things your way and stay totally platonic while we're here. So we're not necessarily damned. Then who's more likely to go to Hell anyway, me or you?"
"Me." Sam answered with no hesitation at all.
"Why?" Dean asked. Sam didn't have an answer for that, instead looking away so the shadow cast by his hair fell over his face, but Dean thought he knew why anyway. Sam seemed to have this deep, internalized belief or whatever that there was something wrong with him besides just his feelings for Dean. That he was bad or evil or sick. Dean didn't know how long he'd thought that, since he couldn't get him to talk about it beyond little references and slip-ups, and he had no idea where he'd gotten it from. Definitely not from him. Or Dad. Or Uncle Bobby or Caleb or Pastor Jim or anybody else Dean could think of.
Dean sat up fully. He scooted closer to Sam, wanting to put his arms around him but afraid to drive him away. They were making progress. It felt like it, anyhow.
"In that case," Dean said, "I don't wanna have sex with you in this church 'cause I'm horny, or 'cause it's been a long time, or even 'cause I wanna show you how much I love you. I wanna have sex in this church so God decides to damn me, too."
"Why would you want that?" Sam looked at Dean again. It would've been another outburst if his voice hadn't been so quiet.
"'Cause I wanna be with you," Dean replied. "Moron. I always wanna be with you. If I had to choose between being in Hell with you and being in Heaven alone, I'd choose Hell. Hands down. No question."
"That's..." Now Sam was smiling, and it made Dean feel good. "...really girly, Dean."
"Shut up." Dean gave Sam a light shove and, much to his relief, it didn't seem to bother him at all. "That's not even the only reason I wanna make super manly love with you here."
"What's the other reason, then?"
"Stick it to God, who I think I mentioned I hate." Dean offered Sam a grin. "By sticking it to you. Since gay sex in churches gets Him so wound up, that seems like a really good way to get back at Him."
Sam was laughing now. Dean moved closer, then risked planting a hand on the mattress on Sam's other side, so that he practically had an arm around him. Sam looked up at him, grinning, and then the next thing Dean knew, they were kissing. It was soft and sweet and shy, like Sam's kisses usually were when he wasn't desperately horny. Dean melted into it, all the familiar feelings and flavors coming back to him instantly, and he honestly would've been okay with it going on forever. Sam broke it after only a couple seconds, though, looking down and away again.
"Sorry," he said, voice so soft Dean barely heard him, even though it was dead quiet up here in the attic. "I just..." He trailed off, slowly shaking his head.
"'S all right," Dean told him, struggling to hide his disappointment and feeling like he actually did a decent job of it. "Maybe tomorrow night."
"Maybe," Sam agreed. He sounded about as unconvincing as he had when Dean had first asked him, point-blank, if he was in love with him, years ago. He'd tried to do the right thing by lying then, too.
This close to Sam, Dean could feel the heat coming off his body. It wasn't unpleasant, even though it was so stuffy already (even with the window open) that both of them were glistening with sweat in the moonlight. He could smell him, too. His shampoo and body wash and deodorant. Some mild B.O., of course, because of the sweat - but Dean had never minded that smell too much, especially when it came to Sam. Then his brother's own unique, signature pine-y scent, too.
Dean swallowed, staring down at Sam's shaggy chestnut hair, which looked black right now. Between all that and the kiss, his boxers were starting to get pretty tight. At this point, though, anything really could've set him off.
"So what d'you figure God thinks about whacking off in a church?" he asked Sam, voice just a little rougher than it'd been before.
"Uhh..." Sam looked at him, shock plain on his face, then looked down at his groin. The shock morphed into something that was almost annoyance. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, seriously," Dean replied. "And don't give me that. How many times have you woken me up by poking me with yours? At least I'm not asking you to take care of it."
This time, Dean saw it just fine when Sam blushed.
"Masturbation's technically wrong, according to the Bible," he began, avoiding Dean's eyes. He really didn't seem all that bothered by his burgeoning boner, though. He wasn't moving away from him or asking him to get back over on his own side of the bed. "Not that I put a whole lotta stock in the Bible itself. But it says that jerking off's wrong for the same reason man-on-man sex is: there's no chance anybody'll get pregnant, and according to God, that's the only reason you should ever have sex. To reproduce."
Dean ignored how stupid that was (if God only wanted people fucking when they had a baby in mind, then why the hell did He make it feel so good?) for the moment. "So which one's worse?"
"You mean between gay sex and masturbation?" Sam asked, the skin between his eyebrows crinkling in confusion. "Uhh, gay sex, I'd say...because only one person's sinning with masturbation."
"Think God sends people to Hell for rubbing one out?" Dean asked.
"I told you how petty I think He might be, right?" Sam replied, looking at him again. "And it's still happening in a church."
"'Kay, forget God," Dean said. He hoped Sam didn't bring up how he'd promised to believe in God tonight. "Which one'd bother you more? Which one'd make you feel worse? The two of us doing it, or me beating off?"
"I guess the two of us doing it, bu - "
"Great." Cutting Sam off, Dean scooted away from him and flopped onto his back on the opposite side of the mattress. Head on the pillow, he spread his legs and put a hand on his crotch, working his dick out through the flap in the front of his boxers. Sam let out a little gasp as he wrapped a hand around it and started stroking himself out to his full length, and Dean rolled his head to the side just in time to see him look away. "What? You've seen it before."
"What part of 'in a church' do you not understand?" Sam hissed out.
"Want me to go do it outside?" Dean asked, raising both eyebrows. He was still holding his cock, swollen and thickened all the way, but he wasn't doing anything with it.
"Jeez," Dean said. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, especially not right after he'd tried to see things from Sam's point of view. But he was just way too easy to mess with sometimes. "Make up your mind."
"Just put it away," Sam told him, frustrated. "You're not gonna die if you don't take care of it. I've seen you ignore them 'til they went away before, in the car with Dad."
"I'm not gonna be able to sleep if I just leave it," Dean answered reasonably. "It'll be quick, though. I mean, you got any idea how long it's been since I even did this? I'll be quiet, too. You can just ignore me." He tightened his grip on himself. "And then maybe we can watch TV together tomorrow. Don't worry, I'll leave room for Jesus if we sit on the couch."
Sam sighed testily, and the mattress creaked under Dean as he laid down. "You're just such a..." He trailed off, probably unable to think of an insult that wouldn't get him on his version of God's shit list. "You just such so much sometimes."
Dean wanted to tell him that he really wasn't trying to piss him off. It was just that nothing got under his skin like when someone was making Sam's life more difficult than it needed to be - especially when that someone was Sam himself. He elevated getting in his own way to an art form. Like he honestly believed he didn't deserve nice things or to be happy, for whatever stupid reason he'd cooked up.
As far as Dean was concerned, this whole God thing was just a slightly more adult version of when Sam'd been nine years old and terrified of the boogeyman in his closet. He'd been irrationally scared of something he couldn't see, hear, or feel then, too. And while Dad had eventually gotten him over it, Dean wanted to try and handle this better than just giving Sammy a pistol and turning him loose.
He also wanted to make a dirty joke based on the last thing Sam'd said to him. He didn't want to push his luck, though, so he didn't say anything, figuring he'd just let Sam get a good night's sleep and go back to helping him work through this in the morning.
To do that, he needed to sleep himself, too. So he was going to try and come as quickly as he could and generate as little sweat as possible, and then he was going to bed as soon as he cleaned up.
He'd been at this for six or seven years, so he was old hand at it by now - pun intended. Usually, if he was concentrating and the reservoir was full, and he didn't actually want to draw it out, it took him five minutes or less to finish. Unfortunately, this time turned out to be an exception.
He was hard, obviously. And it felt better to have his hand on that hardness, moving up and down, using his own sweat as lube, than it did to have it off. That was pretty much it, though, which was frustrating as hell. He wasn't going to come anytime tonight like this.
Tipping his head back and closing his eyes, he gripped himself a little more tightly. That helped some. So did rubbing his slit with his callused thumb - he even managed to coax some pre out that way. But nothing was like it usually was. Maybe he was just too stressed after everything he'd talked about with Sam.
He could hear Sam's breathing nearby, not quite even enough for him to be asleep yet, over the sound of his own skin moving quietly against itself. He thought about the few times he'd let Sam blow him. Pretty pink lips wrapped around his girth, inexperienced throat jumping and fluttering as he tried to control his gag reflex, hair hanging into his eyes and bouncing with every bob of his head. He looked so damn innocent when he had Dean's cock in his mouth, expression almost confused as he concentrated. Dean knew he liked it. They both liked it, but he always felt guilty after he'd finished. Like he'd spoiled something pure. And he'd probably feel guilty after he'd finished this time, too, because picturing Sam sucking him off was what got him going for real.
Dean brought his free hand up and cradled the back of his head with it as he sped up. The small sounds that the motion of his palm on his dick was making got a little louder, but Sam must not have minded, because he didn't say anything. Dean bit his lower lip, pulling it into his mouth as he threw a little flick of his wrist into the mix. It was getting good now. It was probably still gonna take a while, but at least Dean could see himself reaching the finish line.
In his mind, Sam's face morphed seamlessly into his ass, small and tight, as Dean pumped in and out of him. He saw the nub of Sam's tailbone right above his shaft, the straight, clean cut of his spine through the developing muscles of his back, the tiny dimple right above each buttock. Dean saw his own hand planted firmly between the two of those, and imagined himself going up on his knees and pulling Sam with him. In the fantasy, he reached underneath his brother and took hold of him. Sam wasn't even all the way through puberty yet and he was already hung. He was still smaller than Dean, but he was catching up fast, which made him worry his little brother would wind up being bigger than he was. At least he was staying tinier than him everywhere else.
Fantasy Sam pushed back against him at his touch, grinning and panting as he looked over his shoulder. His hair was in his eyes and, screw it, Dean was gonna imagine it longer than it was in reality. He loved Sam's hair. And he loved his hands, too, big for the rest of his frame, so he had him grab the headboard so he could see them. A cheap motel room was rapidly forming around the two of them; he was going whole hog on this.
Maybe it was a little depressing that, even in his own fantasies, all he could imagine was a tiny room in a monthly-discount place. But that was where they had most of their sex.
Dean let go of himself and tucked it back inside his boxers, but only so he could shuck them down around his ankles without the waistband getting caught on his erection. He moved as fast as he could while still trying not to shake the mattress and bother Sam, eyes tightly shut as he did his best to hold onto the image in his head. Once he was all out, he brought his left hand back down, gave his sac a tug, and then teased at his own entrance with a couple of fingers, leaving his dick alone for just a second.
He had to fight not to make the little grunts and moans that were pretty par for the course for him, or to breathe too hard, since he was really trying not to disturb Sam at all. And he wasn't even hardly moving, but it still felt like he was drenched in sweat. The cotton sheet underneath him was damp and rubbery, chafing when his ass rocked slightly on it. Maybe he'd move to the other bed when he was done, much as it would hurt him to be away from Sam. At least his imaginary God would be happy.
When he grabbed himself and started to stroke again, he imagined himself doing the exact same thing to Fantasy Sam. Fantasy Sam gasped with pleasure. And then Dean's eyes popped open, because he's actually heard that, and not just in his head.
Both of his hands stilled as he twisted his neck to look over at Sam's side of the bed. He'd rolled over in order to face him, and his eyes were open. He was biting his own lip and was curled up, his legs crossed as best he could manage while he was laying on his side. Both of his hands were buried between them, like he was trying to cover himself even though he was wearing boxers. Dean would've assumed he was enjoying the show, but his hands weren't moving.
"Sorry," Dean said, breathing the word out. "Want me to move somewhere else?" If Sam said yes, he didn't know where he'd go. He'd probably still be able to hear him over on the other mattress, and the rest of the attic was full. He couldn't go into Jim's rooms or outside, and Sam'd probably have a conniption if he even suggested the church proper.
"It's okay," Sam replied. Dean watched his throat swell and then shrink as he swallowed. "Just pretend I'm not here."
That was gonna be difficult, but Dean would certainly do his best, so he looked away from Sam and back up at the rafters. He sounded uncomfortable to him. That could just be the heat, though. Or the fact that his brother was masturbating next to him while Sam himself was all but paralyzed by the fear of God.
Dean started moving his hands again, first one, then the other. He closed his eyes and tried to get the fantasy from earlier back, but it wasn't coming, so they popped open again a few seconds later. All he could fix in his mind was Sam as he'd just seen him. And, somehow, that image seemed to work better for him than the other one. He got so into it, really going to town on himself, that he wasn't even aware of Sam moving across the mattress until he felt a soft, wet kiss on his shoulder.
He didn't stop this time, but he did slow down as he moved his head to look at Sam again. He was only a few inches away now. His own head was resting on Dean's pillow, expression nervous. When Dean made eye contact with him, he only held it for a second before glancing away. His mouth had been hot, but the slowly-drying wet spot on Dean's shoulder felt mercifully cool.
"Hey," Dean said. He wasn't sure what else he could say to him right now.
"Hey," Sam replied softly. He was in kind of a ridiculous position: twisted at the waist so his ass was up in the air. Both of his hands were, for some reason, under his pelvis. It didn't look comfortable at all.
Dean looked at him for a while longer, hand moving up and down his own length at a glacial pace. He wasn't exactly uncomfortable. He could never feel that way while looking at Sam. But it was definitely weird, and getting weirder as the moment stretched on. Eventually, he asked, "Can I help you with anything?"
"Yeah," Sam replied, taking him by surprise. He'd expected him to get embarrassed, say no, and go back over to the other side of the mattress. "I've got a question for you." His legs were spread. One of his feet was almost touching Dean's calf. "Would you really go to Hell just to be with me?"
"Absolutely I would." Dean didn't waste any time answering. "In a heartbeat. Did you not believe me when I told you before?" It seemed wrong to be jerking off while they were having this conversation, so he reluctantly stopped and took both hands off his junk. He folded them on his stomach.
"I love you," Sam replied. His voice was raw with honesty as he pulled a hand out from underneath himself and laid it on Dean's bicep, and his palm was hot and sticky with dampness.
"Is God gonna get mad about us loving each other?" Dean asked.
"Fuck God." Sam did not sound at all comfortable saying that. He was tentative and quiet, and it almost came out as a question. But at least he said it.
"Wow, really?" Dean asked with exaggerated surprise, and Sam snorted.
"Dude," he said. "Take me seriously."
"I'm trying, but it's hard," Dean responded. He made a show of lifting his head and looking at his erect cock. "In more ways than one."
"I know." Sam took his hand off of him so he could push himself up onto his knees, and for the first time, Dean saw the serious tent that he was pitching in his boxers. They were dark, so it was hard to tell, but he thought he might've leaked a little wet spot onto them, too. "I've been thinking about what you said. And...watching you." He took a deep breath of the still air. "And you're right. It's stupid to be afraid of God smiting us just for making love. Plus, even if He is real, He definitely deserves a poke in the eye. And it's better to be damned together than just one of us alone."
"So what're you saying?" Dean asked.
"I wanna do it," Sam said clearly. "It's been a long time. Too long. So long I'll be surprised if I last more than a couple minutes. But I wanna do it anyway. Here. With you."
Dean didn't point out that, when it came to romantic partners, Sam's choices were limited to him and him alone. Especially here. He just reached out to put one of his own hot, sticky hands on Sam's bare thigh, thumb landing on a mole, then asked him, "You sure?"
"Thought you'd be excited," Sam said, sounding kind of put out.
"I am excited," Dean assured him. There was something undeniably kinky about fucking in a church. Kinkier than normal, considering Sam was fourteen and they were brothers. Especially now that he knew about Sam's hangups when it came to churches. "I just wanna make sure that you're excited, too. And that this isn't gonna be one of those things where you're super into it right up until we finish, which is when you freak out and cry." That was pretty much how it'd gone the first time they'd made out for real. They hadn't done anything else for a long time, because Sam's obsessing over Dad and how he'd clearly corrupted Dean had brought Dean's own doubts back to life.
"I don't cry!" Sam snapped. When Dean just looked at him, he snorted again. "Right. Like you never cry."
"Are you gonna be okay or not?" Dean pressed him.
"I'm gonna be fine, De," Sam replied in an annoyed tone. He glared, but after a couple seconds had passed, he dropped his eyes and the irritation left him with a sigh. "I think I...need to do this."
"All right." Dean understood. His hand was still on Sam's thigh, and he brought it up to his shoulder as he shifted into a sitting position. He pulled him towards himself and slipped the fingers of his other hand under the waistband of his boxers. "Let's get this show on the road before we get struck by lightning, then."
"No, no. I want this to be special. Let's go slow." Sam moved his hips back so that Dean's fingers slipped free. Dean studied his face, but didn't see any signs of renewed hesitation. Just a blossoming grin.
"You mean give you plenty of time to change your mind? I don't think so." Dean grabbed for Sam's underwear again, and missed for a second time when he broke his grip on his shoulder by falling back against the mattress. He was starting to laugh.
Dean kicked his feet free of his own boxers and lunged at Sam, but only succeeded in knocking his pillow onto the floor when he scrambled out of the way at the last second. Dean went after him, even though jumping around on a bed with a raging erection that was steadily dripping pre wasn't easy. He caught up to Sam at the foot and had to pin him against the sheets so he couldn't get away again. From there, it very quickly turned into a wrestling match.
They twisted against each other, grappling and laughing. They both worked up a sweat almost immediately, which just made everything harder to hold onto but at least Sam's underwear hit the floorboards a few minutes in. Dean counted that as a victory.
They hadn't even play-fought like this in weeks, since they both knew what it could lead to. They'd sparred, but always with their dad watching, so they'd had to be careful about how close they got and where they put their hands. That wasn't the case right now. Sam's body, narrow and hard and slick with sweat, felt like it always did against Dean's as they rolled around on the mattress and knocked the other pillow off: so perfect that it was like a puzzle piece he'd been missing his entire life without even knowing, up until a couple years ago. The next time he pinned Sam, he dropped his head so that he could kiss him.
Sam kissed back eagerly, no lingering hesitation whatsoever. Dean tasted salt and musk on his lips, and Sam brought his arms up to drape them across Dean's back in a loose embrace. They made out furiously for a few minutes, sticky and wet, desperate to reconnect. Their chests heaved against each other whenever they broke to gasp for air, and Dean felt Sam's hard little nipple poking into him. His cock throbbed. When one of Sam's arms slid off his back and he felt fingertips teasing almost hesitantly at his meat, he broke off their kissing and practically launched himself at his duffel, which he'd dumped next to the mattress earlier in the day. "Lemme grab lube and a condom."
"No," Sam said. Dean stopped rooting frantically through his bag and stared straight ahead for a second, then looked at him over his shoulder. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but some of what he was feeling about Sam apparently changing his mind again must've showed on his face, because Sam was quick to try and explain himself. "I mean, grab the lube. But no condom."
"You sure?" From what Dean had heard and his own personal experience, sex could get messy and uncomfortable fast without a condom. Especially this kind of sex.
Sam nodded firmly in response, face a mask of determination. "I want you to..." He sucked in a breath. "Come inside me. F-fill me up." He might've stuttered even if they hadn't been in a church. He was fourteen, they'd only been having real penetrative sex since his birthday back in May, and Dean knew he'd been his first everything. He was blown away by how innocent Sam still was. "After all, if we're gonna piss God off, we might as well go all the way. Don't you think?" He raised his eyebrows and offered a smile.
"Makes sense to me." If the point was to be as perverse as possible (something which sent an electric thrill tripping up Dean's spine from his balls to his brain), forgoing the condom was a good idea. As Dean pulled his quarter-full bottle of lube out from under a pile of questionably-clean T-shirts, he had another good idea, as long as they were experimenting. "I'm not gonna come inside you, though."
"But I want you to," Sam said, like he wanted to make sure Dean understood that.
"I know. But I got a better idea." Dean climbed back up onto the mattress, still panting softly from the wrestling and the making out. "Sounds like you wanna try new things tonight, so..." Dean handed Sam the lube, then grabbed the pillows off the floor and stacked one on top of the other. He laid down, leaning back against them and spreading his legs, then grabbed his balls and lifted them just to make sure Sam had an unobstructed view of his entrance. "I want you to come inside me."
"Uh..." Sam was blushing again. Kneeling at the end of the mattress, the bottle of lube hid his groin from view, and he twisted it almost nervously in his hands. He shone in the moonlight and his hair was sticking to his head. "Seriously? Are you sure?"
"Hell yeah I am," Dean replied, figuring he'd been giving free license to swear again. Considering what they were about to do and all. "Your cock's definitely big enough. And it's about time somebody popped my backdoor cherry."
Sam's eyes widened a little. "You mean you've never - ?"
"I don't bottom." Dean cut him off flatly. "Not usually, at least. Never even wanted to, never even thought about it, 'til..." He trailed off, meeting Sam's eyes and letting him fill in the blank. "I was gonna wait for Christmas, since it'd be a treat." For Sam, at least, who'd never had his dick inside anything but Dean's mouth. As much as his brother seemed to enjoy being fucked in the ass, Dean couldn't help remembering their awkward first time, or being afraid it would hurt. Especially with how impressive Sam was getting. Even right now, he was nervous, but this wasn't really about him. And he wasn't about to tarnish his try-anything-once reputation. "But tonight's a special occasion, too."
Sam didn't say anything, eyes fixed between Dean's legs. He didn't do anything, either, and Dean couldn't tell if this was the bad kind of hesitation or more of a kid in a candy store kind of thing. He hoped it was the latter as he held out his free hand to him.
"C'mere, baby boy." Sam responded to that, at least, crawling up the bed and bringing the plastic bottle with him. Dean stroked his hair once he got close enough, then wrapped his arm around his waist and pulled him close. Sam immediately cuddled into him. It probably would've been better if they hadn't both felt like they'd just hopped out of a particularly-gross shower, but it was still nice. "Sorry. Too much?"
"No! No. I just..." Sam let out a laugh. "How does me doing you piss God off more than you doing me?"
"Think about it." Dean looked away from Sam and down at his own dick. As horny as he was, he could only stay hard so long, even at his age. Eventually, his body would decide he wasn't getting any and throw in the towel. Again, though, it wasn't about him. And it couldn't possibly be that difficult for him to get it up again if he did go down. "I've been inside you something like two dozen times. God's seen it so much He's used to it. It still makes Him mad, but it's boring now. But you putting it in me? That's new. It'll shock Him all over again."
Sam laughed again, then looked at Dean seriously and said, "I think you're really pushing it."
"Oh, and you weren't?" Dean challenged. "With your whole 'God's gonna get us for being gay, but only if we're gay in church' thing?"
"Shut it. We've established that it's stupid." Sam lightly smacked Dean's flat stomach, then kept his hand on him and dragged it slowly down to where his dark pubic hair cropped up. "I don't know how to start."
"Just do what I do with you," Dean replied, voice getting rougher the closer Sam's hand crept to his dick. He definitely didn't have to worry about going flaccid anymore. "Remember? It hasn't been that long."
"Walk me through it," Sam replied, pushing himself up off Dean and reaching for the lube again.
Dean suspected Sam didn't actually need help and just wanted to listen to him describe how to fuck him, but he went ahead and gave him what he wanted anyway. "Okay, first of all, squeeze about a silver-dollar-sized amount out. I use less with you and this is probably gonna get all over the place..." Actually, might be a good idea to be proactive and put a towel under his ass. He got up again and went back to his duffel to grab one, hearing the bottle squelch as Sam started squeezing lube into one hand. "...but you're used to taking a dick and I'm, uh, not."
Sam laughed. "Don't worry, the first time's the hardest." Dean rolled his eyes at the obvious pun as he spread the towel out and settled his hips onto it. he leaned back against the pillows and, as soon as his legs were open again, Sam basically slapped his handful of lube directly onto Dean's asshole. Dean jumped and swore. "Sorry! Was that not step two?"
"Step two's usually warming it up between your hands so you don't give anybody a heart attack when you put it on," Dean said, calming down, "but that's okay. It actually feels kinda good." That was probably the sweatiest part of his body right now, and even the room-temperature lube was cooler.
"So what now?" Sam knelt between his legs, putting a hand on either of his knees. One was still slippery.
"Finger me," Dean ordered, and Sam's breathing sped up. "Just put one in, for now. And go slow."
"Okay." Sam took one of his hands off Dean's knees and went in under his balls. Before he touched him, Dean quickly added, "Don't just shove it in. Kinda like...rub me some first, to loosen me up and get me nice and slippery. Y'know, like I do with you?"
"Uh huh." Sam was panting, and Dean didn't think it was because of the heat anymore. His hair hung into his face, hiding his eyes, as he followed Dean's instructions. When he touched his pucker through the lube, a tiny tremor went through Dean. Of course he was sensitive down there. He put a hand on Sam's head as he started massaging the rings of muscle, feeling his heart begin to pound again. Dean just stroked his sweaty hair at first, then buried his fingers in it and got a good grip. Sam gasped softly.
"Sorry." Dean forced his hand to relax. Sam shook his head as soon as he wasn't holding onto him anymore.
"You're okay," he assured him. "Hold onto whatever you need to."
He moved his free hand from Dean's knee to the ridge of his hipbone, gripping that as he worked to get a finger inside him. Dean spread his legs and tried to focus on relaxing. Deep breaths, sexy thoughts. He played with his hole all the time while he was jerking off, and he had had his fingers inside himself before, rubbing his prostate. Having another person do it was different, though.
The muscles of Dean's stomach jerked as Sam's finger popped into him. Just the tip. It felt weird, but at least he didn't have to worry about his nails. They both kept them clipped short so they didn't wind up with dirt and blood caked underneath them. He heard Sam suck in a breath.
"Oh, wow," he said. "You are really tight."
Dean closed his eyes and chuckled. And he'd never known ass muscles were involved when he laughed, but sure enough, he flexed around Sam. "Told you."
"No, seriously." Dean opened his eyes again to see Sam looking up at him. "I'm not sure we're gonna be able to do this tonight."
"You're kidding," Dean stated. Shit. Maybe God really did hate the idea of them having sex.
"You're really tight," Sam repeated. "I'll keep trying, though." He wiggled his finger and made Dean's legs tremble. "Any tips?"
"Hell, I don't know," Dean said, a second before he remembered something. "Sometimes when you're locked up tight, I'll play with your junk a little. Just to let your body know it's time to have sex."
"Oh," Sam said. "Right. So that's why you do that." He took his hand off Dean's hip and placed his pointer finger on the head of his cock, pressing on the slit. Pre welled up around his callused fingertip at the touch. "I think your body knows it's time for sex, though."
"Just give it a shot," Dean said. "And try not to make me come. If this doesn't work, we can go ahead and do our usual thing."
"Well, try not to come, then."
Sam ran his finger down the underside of Dean's dick from the head to the base, leaving a trail of wetness. Then he wrapped his hand around the shaft, squeezing gently even as he kept working at his hole. Dean dropped his head back onto the pillows, sending a rush of dust motes up into the beams of moonlight. He felt himself begin to loosen. Then Sam leaned down and put his wet mouth on his head, tongue flicking over his slit, and Dean gasped.
That was exactly what he'd needed. Sam's finger easily slid in the rest of the way, and Dean felt him pull his mouth off him. His head felt cold as soon as it was exposed again. That wasn't a bad thing.
"There we go," Sam said encouragingly.
"Told ya," Dean said breathlessly. "Works every time." He winced as Sam began to blindly feel around inside of him. "Okay, so, my prostate's gonna be right around - yyyyeah." He bucked his hips when Sam finally found his sweet spot, lids fluttering closed as his eyes rolled back.
"This little bump here?" Sam pressed on it like it was a button, and Dean grunted, cock twitching.
"Yep," he said. "That's what you're gonna try and hit with your prick. Haven't you ever felt your own before?"
"That's what I've got you for," Sam said, and Dean laughed.
"We're definitely going to Hell." He tilted his hips some. "How 'bout you try and put another finger in me?"
Biting back on gasps and groans and grunts, and sending his thoughts straight to the whole tedious process of cleaning and loading the gun Dad had given him whenever he felt like he was getting a little too into it, Dean talked Sam through putting his middle finger in his hole alongside his index one. He told him to stay away from his prostate for the moment, instructed him on how to scissor him, and had him keep his hand on his cock.
"I know you wanna touch yourself," Dean ground out, "but don't. I'm gonna be mad if you finish before we even really get started." Sam was barely out of eighth grade, so he might shoot his load early even if both hands stayed on Dean, but they could at least try to avoid that.
Sam put a third finger in him, at Dean's urging. It hurt, but not like he'd been expecting it to. Considering the size of Sam's hands, he was pretty confident he could take him for real now. So, heart galloping, he said, "All right, take 'em all out. Then put it in."
"Are you sure?" Sam asked. Dean's hole made a sucking sound as he pulled his fingers out, like it didn't want to let them go. Dean felt him wipe them on the towel, and Sam had the good grace not to say anything about what was on them. "You're ready?"
"We're gonna find out, aren't we?" Dean asked. He pushed himself up, opening his eyes and reaching for Sam. He'd lost his grip on his hair sometime after he'd mouthed his cock, so now he ran his fingers through it again. It was matted and rubbery with sweat. Dean fantasized about taking a cold shower together when they were done, even though he knew they couldn't. The one bathroom with a tub was in Jim's apartment. Cleanup would be socks and Kleenexes. When Dean's hand reached the back of Sam's head, he used it to pull him closer. "Now hurry up and fuck me before God gets bored."
Sam was laughing before and after Dean kissed him to lick his own precome off his lips, though he fell silent during. It sounded nervous to Dean, but he still wasn't pulling out. "You're the worst."
"We're the worst," Dean corrected, then pulled back to flip himself over onto his hands and knees. He'd been fully planning to do this with them facing each other, but as long as they were trying to offend God, might as well pull out all the stops and do it doggy-style. He still kept the towel underneath him. "Whenever you're ready, Sammy."
Sam sucked in a breath. The mattress creaked and shifted under Dean as he went up onto his knees. Sweaty hands came down on either side of his waist, and then Sam just...stopped. For way too long to be lining himself up. Dean was just about to ask him what the hell he was doing when he spoke.
"Your freckles are really pretty," he said.
"Nail me," Dean replied, managing to keep exactly none of the night's frustration out of his voice.
The next thing he knew, Sam's head was resting against his slick entrance. He barely had time to get used to the feel of it before he was pushing in. Dean felt his lashes flutter involuntarily and his heart rate pick up. Sam slid into him easy. That was how it felt to Dean, at least. No pain, no difficulty. Sam dug his short fingernails into the skin of his stomach, though, and hissed through his teeth.
"T-tight," he said, voice shaky but also reverent.
"You gonna be able to last?" Dean huffed out. It was weird to have something that wasn't fingers inside him, but Sam was on his prostate, and that was nice. Plus, he could feel his brother's rapid heartbeat. Which made sense, considering all the blood that went into the cock, and was just super cool. Between that and the talk they'd had beforehand, he felt closer to Sam than he had in weeks.
If God really did exist, how could He hate this?"
"Iono," Sam replied, the words slurring together as they came out of his mouth.
"That's okay," Dean assured him. "We weren't sure about either of us going into this. Just do your best." All he really wanted was for Sam to bust a nut inside him and hopefully get over his God-phobia. He could finish himself off just fine afterwards.
"'Kay." It came out as little more than a breath. Sam'd bottomed out inside of him, hips pressed against Dean's ass, and now they twitched backwards. Then forwards again. He started out with tiny, weak thrusts that barely tickled Dean's prostate, but then he slowly started to get more confident, going faster and putting more of his strength into it. He began to shake Dean with his own movements, and their mattress. Dean groaned as the attic floor creaked quietly.
For a while, there was nothing but their breathing, the wet slapping of skin against skin, and the sounds the mattress and the floor were making. Dean stared out the window, at the moon, and the grass and trees around the church, sweat dripping off his chin and onto the pillows beneath him. This felt good, but honestly, not as good as Sam had made it seem all the times Dean had pitched. Sam stroking over his prostate with his dick was new and exotic, but he couldn't see himself coming from that alone.
It was like Sam had read his mind, because he all of a sudden took a hand off his waist and reached underneath him, taking a firm, no-nonsense grip on his cock. Dean jerked a little. Not only had he not been expecting it, but he was already feeling slightly raw down there after everything he'd done with his own hand and no lube.
"Sorry," Sam panted.
"'S fine," Dean replied. He looked under himself, watched Sam adjust his hold and put a thumb on his head. Behind that, he could see the movement of him fucking him. Their balls swinging. He lifted his head again. "Long as you got me, though, might as well make me come now." He snapped his ass back on Sam's next stroke, so he met him halfway, and purred his words out when he spoke again, lids automatically dropping into "bedroom eyes" mode even though Sam wasn't even looking at him. "C'mon, Sammy. Make God mad. He's watching - give Him a show He's not gonna forget.
Sam let out a grunt that became more of a back-of-the-throat whine at the end. Dean recognized that sound: he was trying not to come. Probably reciting spells and rituals to himself. Dean had the gun, and that was Sam's trick.
"Are you seriously - getting off on the - God thing?" he asked haltingly, after he must've gotten control of himself again.
"Aren't you?" Dean returned. Sam didn't reply, just started jerking him off more or less in time with his thrusts. Between the sweat and Sam's calluses, he was going to wind up chafing something awful, but he knew from experience that it'd heal quick. Plus, combined with Sam hitting it from behind, it felt so good he didn't care.
It was less than a minute later that Sam grunted again. He squeezed Dean's waist and his dick more tightly. "I'm gonna - De, I'm gonna - "
"Hold on just a couple seconds," Dean panted. "I'm close. Almost there." Sam growled. Dean growled back. Soon, he felt himself hitting his own climax, warmth and tension knotting up in his lower stomach, so he quickly said in a rush, "Okay okay okay - "
Sam moaned, then cried out, presumably letting go. They were so connected right now that Dean could feel the muscles of his legs shaking, so he assumed he'd be able to feel it when he actually started spilling seed inside him. He wasn't quite there yet. Neither was Dean, despite Sam's manic handling of his meat. When he'd asked him if he was getting off on the God thing, Sam had given him all the answer he needed by staying silent. So Dean took a chance, looking over his shoulder at Sam's slowly-blossoming O-face.
"We're going to Hell." It was hard to think, let alone speak, but Dean had spent years honing his dirty-talk skills to the point where he could manage it even at the brink of orgasm. "Both of us. Together. Fucking look at us, brothers, screwing in a church, you're gonna come in me, we're filthy and we - we offend God so goddamn much He hates us - "
Sam yelled at the same point Dean's finish hit and his language started to crumble. He did feel it when he came inside him, hot and liquid. His channel spasmed and clenched around Sam, the way Sam's sometimes did when Dean was inside him. Come spattered onto the towel, practically milked out of him by Sam's hand, which was still moving. He'd closed his eyes to ride out his orgasm, but when he opened them and looked down at the towel, there was less there than he would've expected. The climax itself had gone pretty quick, too, but he felt satisfied anyway.
Sam's hand dropped off him as he began to go limp, and pulled out of him as he started shrinking himself. He sat down heavily on the mattress behind him, and Dean turned himself around and settled down, fighting a yawn. Sam's eyes were closed and his chest was heaving. He gleamed in the moonlight, which'd grown brighter while they were busy, and sweat dripped out of his hair and ran down his face and neck. Dean thought he'd fallen asleep sitting up until he opened his eyes a slit.
"That got kinda weird there at the end," he said softly, voice rough from yelling. Dean really hoped Jim hadn't heard him. If he asked in the morning, he'd tell him Sam'd been having a nightmare.
"You seemed to like it," Dean pointed out. He knew he should get up and grab a wad of tissues to wipe them both off, but he didn't want to move. "Freak."
Sam groaned, then crawled slowly forward, laying himself in Dean's lap. He was hot and wet and gross, but Dean didn't kick him off. "You can stop now. Don't call me that."
"Sorry." Dean stroked his hair. As usual, he seemed to enjoy it. "How d'you feel?"
"Um...I don't know. Okay." Sam was pretty much speaking directly into Dean's thigh. Good thing it was so quiet, or he wouldn't've been able to hear him. "I'm not gonna have a panic attack tonight, if that's what you're asking. And, y'know...I don't think that was the best we've ever had, but it was pretty great anyway. I never would've thought you'd let me do that."
"Be on top?" Dean asked. He wanted to clean up and go to sleep, and he was sure Sam did, too, but they needed to talk. Much as he'd rather not. "Figuratively speaking? I'm probably gonna let you do it again. Felt better than I thought." There was a lot to be said for prostate orgasms.
"I'm definitely gonna sleep good. 'Til Pastor Jim gets started, at least." With what looked like heroic effort, Sam got up, crawled down the mattress, and collected a huge wad of Kleenexes, plucking them one by one out of the slightly-smashed box in Dean's duffel. As he returned to deliver them, he almost casually said, "Wonder what Hell will be like."
"We're not going to Hell," Dean said, after stifling a groan. "You're not going to Hell. I'm not going to Hell. Hell's not real."
"You don't know that." Sam laid down on the other side of the mattress. Dean pushed himself up some and handed him a sweaty pillow.
"You don't know anything, either." Dean passed some tissues to Sam and started cleaning himself up. When they were both as not-gross as they were going to get, he wadded the used tissues up in the towel and set the whole thing aside to be dealt with in the morning.
Dean laid down, pretty sure he was going to be just as sweaty when he woke up as he was now but still glad they'd done what they had. Sam's eyes were closed. Dean really wanted to go to sleep. And he never let a "feelings" talk last longer than it absolutely had to, but there was a first time for everything.
"You mentioned Pastor Jim earlier," he said. Sam's eyes opened. "Y'know, when we were fighting about God. And I've never talked to him, and you know I don't pay attention to his sermons. So what's he believe?"
"Well, he explains it a lot better than I can," Sam started. Thankfully, he didn't seem pissed about Dean not letting him turn in just yet. "But, basically, God's, like...in us. Everybody has a little God in them. Kindness, charity, love - they're all divine. And the opposite's true, too. Cruelty and greed and hate are Hell." He twitched a shoulder in a shrug. "When you feed the good and do good stuff, God grows, and you feel better. When you do bad stuff, you feel worse." He tucked his arm under the pillow. "That's what Jim thinks demons are. Humans who were so bad that the light in them disappeared for good and only evil was left. Which is depressing. But, then - the opposite of that oughta be able to happen, too. Which would make angels. People who're so good they're totally divine." He smiled slightly. "I think that's kinda comforting."
Dean studied Sam's flushed, wet face, then reached across the mattress to take hold of his free hand. He loved him so much, sometimes, that it was like standing on the edge of a bottomless pit, and he wasn't sure that he was going to be able to stop himself from falling. He knew Pastor Jim wouldn't agree if he knew about them. But with his logic in mind, Dean felt very close to God right now.
"Yeah," he said. "That'd be okay."