It's lucky that when Sam leans over and kisses his brother, feeling the shape of the word Dean was halfway through saying against his lips, taste of chocolate and coffee lingering just a little, they're in Florida in the spring. Lucky because when Sam realises what he's doing and bolts from the room to the sound of deafening, accusatory silence and throws himself into the back seat of the car, legs draw up and arms wrapped around his knees, at least he's not likely to freeze to death overnight.
On second thought, maybe it's not so lucky.
Sam drops his head until it's resting on his knees. He knows he's being a coward, hiding out here, but he can't make himself move, can't persuade his legs to uncurl and carry him back to his brother. Not that he knows what he'd say, how he'd explain himself if he did.
How do you explain that after twenty something years, you decided that the best way to stop your brother from licking melted candy from his fingers and talking shit about some stupid TV show was to kiss him.
He bangs his forehead against his knees. He's not even sure where the impulse came from, just that one minute he was ready to throw something at his brother and then the next he'd been caught by the sight of those capable fingers, sliding into Dean's mouth, and wondering how that mouth would feel against his, what noises he'd make as Sam chased the taste of the candy from his mouth. And before he could wonder what the hell he was thinking, he'd leaned the short distance between their beds and pressed his lips against Dean's.
The bolt of want that the clumsy, brief kiss sent skittering across his body shocked and surprised him. He doesn't understand the longing that he's unleashed, can't pinpoint when affection and familial love become something else, something darker and deeper that he can't bring himself to name.
He half hopes that Dean will treat this the same way he treats anything he doesn't know how to deal with; by ignoring it and pretending it never happened. How can Sam explain this. How can he tell Dean that the idea was suddenly there, in his head, like it had been there all along, but he'd just never noticed it before. Howcan he admit that he wants to do it again, even though the thought makes his stomach twist in a way that he isn't sure is entirely pleasant. How can he confess that he'd like to do more than just kiss his brother.
The other half of him wants Dean to demand answers. It wants to bring this out into the open, so that Sam can push until Dean cracks, and he will, he always does for Sammy. Because Sam thinks that maybe, just maybe, Dean's had the same thoughts. And if he didn't before, maybe he is now. Maybe he won't push Sam away. Maybe he won't look at Sam with disgust and disappointment and pull away. Dean wouldn't leave, Sam knows that, but having Dean there, but distant, would be worse than not having him there at all.
Sam's so fucked.
He shifts in the seat, leather creaking quietly beneath him and there's a miserable irony to him hiding in the car that's been home and sanctuary and battleground for most of their lives that Sam doesn't want to examine too closely.
The sound of a door opening makes him look up. Dean's caught in the spill of dull yellow light from the motel room. Sam holds his breath, heart pounding so hard it's all he can hear. He can't see his brother's face, but it's obvious that Dean's looking for something; for Sam.
He knows the instant Dean spots him, because his brother's body tenses, as if he's preparing to take on something dangerous and the idea that Dean might think of Sam as something akin to the things they hunt feels like needles under Sam's skin. He watches Dean walk closer and the temptation to run again is an insistent beat in his head, warring with the frantic pulse of his blood. But he can't run forever, and the fact is that he just doesn't have anywhere else to run to.
Dean is all Sam has and despite everything, all the misunderstandings and conflict there's been between them over the years, Sam's damned if he's giving that up without a fight. There's a little bit of him that wonders if the reason he kissed his brother was because when it comes down to it, they don't have anyone else but each other. He's pretty sure that must be part of it, that and their fucked up childhood, but what he feels about Dean is too big and too complicated for those to be the only reasons. It's always been the same for Sam, everything he's felt about his brother is all tangled up and it's impossible to sort out just one emotion in the twisting, roiling mass that he feels when he thinks of Dean.
The back door of the car opening makes him start. It's not that he's forgotten about Dean, that would be next to impossible, given what's happened tonight, but he wasn't expecting Dean to come to him. He'd thought that once Dean had made sure that Sam hadn't run off, he'd wait Sam out. He realises that he should have known better. Dean's probably worried that Sam is going to leave again and that's pretty much the only thing that would make Dean actually consider talking about emotions and feelings and all the things he tries so hard to hide.
For a second or so, Sam thinks about hiding his face in his drawn up knees, but as nervous as he is, he needs to see his brother and know how much damage a moment's insanity has done to the relationship that they've started rebuilding.
Dean leans down slowly, until he can look in through the open door. He almost meets Sam's eyes, but at the last minute, his gaze slides away, fixing on a spot just to the right of Sam's left ear. His expression is pretty much neutral, but Sam's known his brother too long and even in the dim light from the motel, he can see the way Dean's eyes are darkened with nervousness and fear.
They spend what feels like an eternity like that, Dean unable to look at Sam and Sam unable to look away from his brother. Sam finds himself holding his breath, scared to even breath in case it pulls Dean out of his thoughts and sends him running from Sam. When he can't hold his breath any longer, he exhales as quietly as possible. Finally Dean sighs and moves, pulling his head out of the open door. Sam does panic then, ready to reach out and follow Dean, stop him leaving, but he's been sitting in one position too long and his body doesn't obey him as quickly as he's used to.
But Dean doesn't walk away, instead he climbs into the back of the car with Sam, pulling the door shut behind him.
Of all the possible outcomes, this was the one that Sam didn't imagine. He presses himself against the car door, the door handle digging painfully into his back. He wants so badly to reach out and touch his brother, to know that he hasn't fucked everything up beyond repair, but he's too scared, too worried that he'll be rejected. Fear and guilt make him feel queasy and he doesn't want to contemplate what it says about him that shame and regret aren't part of that nauseating mix.
Sam's more or less wedged into the corner, half facing his brother, one foot on the seat and the other jumping nervously on the floor. Sam's trying not to stare, but he can't help trying to read Dean's profile, trying to work out what they need to do to put this right. Dean's bent forwards, elbows resting on his knees, hands tightly clasped together.
The silence stretches between them, until Sam squirms a little, uncomfortable in more than one way. Dean's head turns his way, eyes skating over Sam's face. This time, Dean doesn't look away and Sam fidgets even more under the scrutiny.
Dean usually wears his emotions close to the surface. Sam's often wondered if Dean realises how much he gives away sometimes. The real problem with Dean is figuring out what or who has upset or angered him. Sam used to be able to read his brother's emotions with ease, although he didn't always understand them, or Dean. But either the time spent apart has dulled that ability, or Dean's gotten better at hiding what he's thinking, because right now Sam can't see anything in the deliberately neutral expression on Dean's face right now; even the worry from earlier has gone.
The fact that it is so carefully controlled gives him a little hope, because that means that Dean's trying to hide something, but it's not quite enough to counteract the way Sam's stomach flips and quakes.
"So," Dean says, and his voice sounds a little scratchy, like it does some mornings, "you want to tell me what the hell that was about?"
"I'm sorry," Sam blurts out, before he can think about it, because if he's screwed things up, he really is sorry. He didn't mean to do this, to put them both in this position.
Dean looks at him, like he's trying to work out how sincere Sam is. Sam works hard not to twitch under the scrutiny, trying to project his honest confusion.
"Yeah," Dean replies, which doesn't tell Sam whether Dean believes him or not. "But that doesn't really explain why you suddenly decided to kiss me." Dean's voice waivers slightly towards the end of the sentence and he hesitates very slightly before the word kiss.
"I don't know, Dean. I wasn't really thinking about it. It just kinda...happened." It sounds lame to Sam and from the way Dean's eyebrow leaps upwards, it sounds just as stupid to him.
"How does something like that just happen, Sam? Did you suddenly forget I was your brother? I mean, what the hell was going through your head?" Dean's voice gets louder and louder and that bland expression cracks long enough for Sam to catch a glimpse of what lies behind it.
His breath catches and his heart feels like it's literally jumping in his chest. Because underneath the fear and guilt and confusion that he expected, he saw just the faintest hint of longing, the kind of desperate, wistful wanting for something you know you shouldn't want, in Dean's face.
"Dean," he says, and he doesn't mean for it to come out as breathy or as reverent as it does, but it makes Dean hesitate and that's all that Sam needs. "I wanted to. I don't know why I didn't realise it earlier, but I won't take it back, I won't say I regret it."
"Sam, stop..." Dean's turned away now, trying to hide, but Sam's seen enough to know that he's not alone in this and he's damned if he's letting Dean shut him out. He doesn't care if it's wrong, doesn't care if the rest of the world thinks it's sick or perverted. Dean has been Sam's world for most of his life and even when he wasn't there, he was still a huge presence in Sam's life, watching over him. How can anything between them be wrong? How can it be perverted if they both want it?
"No, look, I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, but I wouldn't change what I did. Dean, I don't care if it's wrong, if you don't." Sam knows he's taking a gamble, that he might end up pushing Dean too fast, but if he gives Dean the chance to over think this, he'll lose the opportunity and he may never get another one.
"How can it be anything else?" Dean asks, but he sounds despairing, as if he's trying to convince himself as much as Sam.
"Out of everything we've ever done, all the things we've seen, all the evil, twisted shit, how can you look at what we are, what we could be and think there's something bad about it? You don't care about what the rest of the world thinks and I'm an adult, Dean, fully capable of consenting to whatever the hell I want. And I want this, I want you." Sam holds his breath, sick with fear but buoyed by the fact that Dean hasn't walked away yet and that he's not throwing out reasons why they can't do this.
"Sam..." and if the way Sam said Dean's name earlier was reverent, then the way Dean says Sam's is downright worshipful. Sam edges across the back seat, until he's close enough to reach out and rest a hand lightly on Dean's thigh.
The muscles under his hand are tense and there are fine tremors wracking Dean's body and Sam hopes that he hasn't misread this really badly, because Dean's never been able to say no to Sam and if this isn't something he really, genuinely wants, Sam realises that he may never say so if he thinks Sam wants it enough. Dean's heart is a fragile thing and Sam won't be able to forgive himself if he damages it any more than he already has.
"Dean, tell me you want this, please. I need to know you do, I need to hear it. Please."
"I can't..." Sam pulls back, horrified and devastated.
Dean moves suddenly, and Sam forgets sometimes, just how good Dean's reflexes are. Dean's hand curls around Sam's wrist, fingers digging in, almost painfully. Sam doesn't move, waits to see what Dean's going to do.
"Don't fuck with me, Sam. I can't... Don't make me think I can have this and then decide to take it away," Dean sounds broken and Sam hurts so much for his brother.
"I'm sorry Dean. I won't, I promise. I'm not going, I'm not going to do that, I swear."
Sam leans closer, slowly, giving Dean time to back away if he doesn't want this. But Dean stands his ground, like he always does and when Sam finally kisses him again, Dean's only still for a few seconds.
Dean's hand cupping the back of Sam's neck sends a shiver of lust through Sam and he groans softly into Dean's mouth. Dean moves closer, and when he can't seem to get the angle he wants, he pulls away, huffs with annoyance and then moves, somehow, in the cramped space of the back seat, managing to end up in Sam's lap, his thighs spread across Sam's.
This time, it's a full body shudder that moves through Sam and he pulls Dean down so that he can kiss him, except it's less kissing and more like fucking with their mouths. Dean is just as ferocious, just as aggressive as Sam is and having a lapful of horny, willing Dean is like the biggest aphrodisiac ever.
Sam has vague ideas of getting them both back into the motel room, maybe getting naked and taking this to a bed, when Dean squirms in a disgusting obscene way in Sam's lap and somehow gets a hand down Sam's pants. Sam jerks as Dean's hand wraps around his cock, the motion knocking Dean's head against the roof of the car, which makes him tighten his grip on Sam's cock and mutter curses and threats that Sam can't seem to pay any attention to. Sam can't do anything but drop his head back against the seat and shake and try not to give his brother a concussion.
Dean's hand is knowing and even though the angle must be fucking awkward, he still manages to make it good. Or maybe just the knowledge that it's Dean's hand jerking him off that makes it good; Sam's kinda fuzzy on that. He manages to get Dean's jeans open, wanting to feel the warm weight of Dean's cock, wanting to make his brother feel as good as he does.
It really is awkward and his wrist starts aching within minutes, and his left leg's starting to cramp, but he isn't prepared to stop for anything. They're kissing again; short, shallow kisses and long, deep ones that make Sam feel like his mouth is hard wired to his dick.
It's over far too quickly. Sam comes first, and when he does, his hand tightens on Dean's dick and that's all it takes to bring his brother along for the ride. When it's over, they're sweaty and sticky and panting. Sam hasn't felt this good, this sated for a long time, not since he lost Jess.
Before the silence becomes uncomfortable, he pulls Dean down for another kiss, slow and calm and filled with all the things that he knows Dean will never let him say aloud. He still doesn't really know what made him kiss Dean, but he's glad now that he did.