Okay, it was hell alright. Dean must have done something really bad to deserve this job. And, yes, he certainly has done his fair share of bad stuff, but it really doesn't not justify having to go through this, he thinks. And it's not even the kitchen duty that's pissing him off, anyway. It's just... this case, Christ! Sam's got the trainer job while Dean had to serve food and clean dishes, but that wasn't the worst part. No! Having to feed those guys from the spa was nothing in comparison to having to watch Sam stroll around in those clothes... hell, even the guy from the kitchen (Dean's boss? What a joke, right?) had noticed.
“Hey, Novak, quit flirting with the trainer and keep scooping” the guy, Alonso, had said – and Dean was kind of glad, in retrospect, that the guy turned out to be one of the things they hunt and they got to off the guy. But could he really blame the guy? Dean had barely been able to keep from flushing hot all over and staring at Sam's ass as he strode off, his back all smooth skin and tight muscles peeking from that tank top... oh, god bless that tank top. Sam, the fucker, even had the audacity to put yoga images in Dean's head, telling him how Dean 'was not the only one who's ever dated someone bendy'. And with that look on his face, eyes narrowed and eyebrows coming up, full of subtext... he had to know what he was doing to Dean, because, Christ, was it working!
So, looking back at it, it was... a difficult case. Not hard, because hard makes Dean think about other things... things he shouldn't be thinking, at all, like the muscles on Sam's arms and chest and... what the hell is wrong with him? He was over these feelings, already. Except he had been over these feelings several times already, since he and Sam went back hunting after Stanford, and they always came back to bite his ass, screaming: surprise, bitch.
So, yeah, it was not news to him, these feelings, but this whole mouth-watering uncontrolled thing? Staring slack-jawed after Sam's legs and having to shake his head as if scaring away nasty thoughts? It was getting ridiculous.
A little later on, he was almost thankful to find Sam in a black tracksuit, except... not. The damn thing did hide his brother's incredible... no, not incredible, Dean, get a grip! His brother's... toned... body... but even like that, he only managed to look more delectable, and how infuriating was that? Instead of the bulging muscles, the look managed to make Sam look slim, his waist so damn slender Dean wanted nothing but to bend him over the nearest surface and thrust himself inside of him, messing him up so thoroughly Sam would never go back... argh. Dean rubs his eyes, trying to expel the thoughts from his head, but it's almost impossible. And Sam is right there, looking at him with worry in his every feature, so handsome Dean was having a hard time getting a hold of himself.
Dean wants to punch himself in the face. Not so long ago hadn't he got his wicked way with that actress from Casa Erotica? How was that image not carved into his mind, though, instead of Sam's slim waist and how good it would feel held tight in his hands as he drove his cock in deep, hard...
“Dean, are you okay?” Sam asks, his voice low and full of concern, back in the bunker. Dean had been nursing a glass of their good whiskey (the situation totally called for the good stuff) when Sam appeared there, shoulder propped against the doorway.
“Yeah, sure, are you going to bed?” Dean averts the question, taking a sip from his glass and looking at his brother, back in his regular clothes. They just didn't do him justice, Dean thought, and, yeah, the alcohol wasn't helping either. It used to, though. Dean stares down at his glass, feeling betrayed.
“No, seriously? Did something happen?” Sam insists, and Dean knows that tone of voice. It means they are 'talking about it', whatever it was this time, and he had no way out. He could, of course, grab his keys and take his baby far, far away from god-like little brothers, but, looking at the almost empty whiskey bottle he's been drinking from, he thinks better of it. It would do little good to get his baby totaled in an attempt to escape Sam. Whom he really couldn't scape, anyway, what with him being his fucking brother and all...
Dean shrugs, then, remembering Sam had asked him a question.
It's not enough, apparently, because Sam seems to find it necessary to come sit on the table, looming over Dean with that puppy eyes unnecessarily close, just the way he does when he wants Dean to talk.
“You know, we've been through a lot lately, Dean, but you can talk to me...” and then he lays. his. hand. on. Dean's.
Dean's brain stops for a second, unable to compute what was going on, but when he gets back to earth he snatches his hand away as though he had been burned, his face heating up despite himself. Sam just stares at him until he meets his eyes. Dean feels Sam's gaze burn at his face and when he looks up, Sam's managing to look shocked and hurt all at once. It shouldn't, because Sam's been nothing but an asshole since the whole Gadreel thing, but it kind of makes Dean's heart ache.
Not his cock, obviously, his heart! The only thing his cock aches for is Sam's tight ass, and, no, not a good thought... Dean lays his head on forearms, hopeless.
And Sam finds the perfect opportunity to lay those big hands of his on Dean's shoulders, like he could coax some kind of confession out of him, rubbing slow comforting circles against his cotton clad skin, inching one hand towards the back of Dean's neck, the other grabbing his bicep, and, woah, that's a lot of touching, even for their standards. Dean's head whips around, looking at Sam as if he had gone nuts.
“What are you doing?” he asks before he can think twice, his voice rough.
“Geez, Dean, what's crawled up you ass, man?” Sam says, holding his hands up, and Dean can't help but track his movements. Sam's always had the best hands... big and strong and rough and at the same time so careful, long thick fingers that Dean wanted to pull into his mouth and lick and nip at...
“I'm fine!” he says, more aggressive than he intended, but it's too late, he knows. Sam's already seen it all.
“The way you've been looking at me, Dean...” Sam starts to say and Dean feels panic rise inside of him so fast he's up and about to bolt in a second. “Dean!” Sam calls after him.
“I told you: I'm fine...” Dean insists, already on the hallway, feeling Sam grab his arm and spin him around. Even drunk as he is, he could easily pull away from Sam. The reason why he doesn't is a different story...
“Dean, what's wrong?” Sam asks to his face, and when did they get this close? Dean's always a little put off when they talk too close. Having to look up at Sam's face is always weird, but this time it makes him feel all jittery and flustered. What was he? A schoolboy with a crush?
“Nothing's wrong, Sam!” Dean says to him, unable to avoid his eyes this close. “Told you! I'm fucking peachy! Stop-... look, just drop it, okay?”
Sam scowls at him, exasperated, but doesn't let go of Dean's arm. The grip he has on his arm turns gentle, though, his touch sliding up slowly. Dean's face heats and his eyes drop to Sam's lips, which start to curve in a smile. Sam knows and Dean is so, so screwed. How can a secret so well kept crumble completely in just one day? The stupid case, of course, Dean thinks to himself. The stupid case and Sam's stupid clothes and gorgeous everything, crawling into his personal space, under his skin, right there where he's the most vulnerable.
“I know what that look means.” Sam mutters, as if Dean wasn't already damned. Dean winces anyway, dropping his gaze, feeling ashamed and guilty.
Sam's hand doesn't stop, though, coming up to rest just on the side of Dean's neck, and it's warm and familiar and at the same time not at all. It should feel strange and alien, but it's just Sam, his little brother, whose touch Dean knew his whole life, and how fucked up is that?
“You want me, Dean.” Sam accuses, crowding Dean against the wall, and what could Dean possibly say to that? 'No'? They're way past the point of denying anything.
Sam knows him. Through all the shit they've been through together and even though Dean doesn't really want to admit, the son of a bitch knows him.
“Admit it.” Sam's so close now, his voice so low and raw it makes Dean snap:
“And then what? You'll leave again?”
Dean's words leave a cold trail in their wake and he wants nothing more but to curl into himself and wait for the disaster he knows it's coming, his worst fear said out loud and lingering in the air between them.
“No.” Sam says, slow and almost sweet, the bastard. Dean tries to resist the flicker of hope that makes his heart beat faster. “Then I might finally kiss you like I've been dying to for years now...”
Sam's words, said as lightheartedly matter-of-fact as if he had said coffee was bad for his teeth, take a few seconds to register. When they do, however, Dean has to hide his face behind one hand.
“This is so fucked up.” he says, halfheartedly.
“So is everything, really.” Sam shrugs, his hand heavy as the world still touching Dean, careful and reassuring.
“Was that supposed to be comforting, Sasquatch?” Dean say with a grin, trying to get his bravado back.
“Jerk.” Sam bites back.
“Bitch.” is Dean's knee-jerk reaction, but there's not heat behind his words. Sam's hand cups the back of his head as he says:
“Come here, asshole. I'm not gonna bite you...”
Dean wants to say something along the lines of 'oh, shame' but his words get lost against Sam's lips.
Sam tastes a little of blood and of the cinnamon mouthwash they keep at the bunker, and the thought makes Dean feel all warm and conten inside. Now that they have a permanent place to crash, Sam felt they could indulge in things like that, despite his initial reluctance in calling the place a 'home'. Dean lets out a soft sigh and kisses Sam back, enjoying the softness of his brother's mouth, trying to be careful with Sam's busted lip, but Sam only groans and kisses him a little harder, tilting his head, trying to deepen the kiss.
Dean fists his hands on the back of Sam's shirt when he feels Sam's tongue asking for entrance, licking at his lips. It's wet and messy and endless and sort of perfect. Dean can't get enough. Sam's got one hand still on his neck, keeping him just there, and the other spread open against his lower back, so solid and real it makes Dean moan softly. He has no idea how long they stay there, learning the shapes and tastes of each other's mouth.
Dean shifts forward then, feeling something hard and hot against his hip, and sneaks his hands under Sam's shirt, feeling, lightheaded, the way Sam's muscles move and flex under his fingers, his skin smooth and warm. The groan Sam lets out against Dean's mouth as he moves his hips, grinding against him just enough for Dean to feel him, is pure sin.
“I don't put out on the first date, dude...” Dean whispers breathlessly at Sam, smiling against his lips. Sam pulls his hips back, grinning playfully at him, but his hands go around Dean's waist, playing with the hem of his shirt, only the tips of his fingers touching Dean's skin so very, very softly.
“Yeah? We went to a spa today, doesn't it count as something?” Sam's lays his mouth close to Dean's ear, nipping his earlobe, making Dean shiver. “I could put some music on and light up some candles and woo you properly, if I thought for a second you were serious...”
“Oh, you hurt me, Sammy...” Dean starts to say, but Sam's mouth is right there against the side of his throat, trailing messy kisses up and down, moaning like Dean's skin is the best thing he's ever tasted. “What kind of man you take me for? Oh, God...” Dean grabs Sam's shirt for support when he feels a bite on his neck, his knees suddenly weak.
Sam laughs wickedly against his skin, his breath tickling, and brings his hips against Dean's again, not nearly hard enough, just teasing him.
“The kind with a boner and lots of time to make up for?” Sam challenges, and Dean's had enough. Grabbing Sam's ass with both hands, Dean pulls him flush against his body, angling his hips just so he can feel the hard line of Sam's cock against his own already painful erection; he's already dripping inside his pants and the way Sam's ass flexes under his fingers doesn't help the situation at all.
“Enough foreplay already? I thought... oh... you were all for roses and candles, geez... I feel cheap...” Dean mutters.
“Not cheap, Dean...” Sam tries to explain, hurried, unable to catch the humor on Dean's voice. “Just, God, want you so much... need to...”
“It's okay, Sammy... I'm right here...”
And then they're kissing again, and Dean, trapped between Sam's hard body and the wall, sincerely hopes Castiel doesn't decide to show up anytime soon, because there's no way he would be able to stop what he and Sam are doing to spare the angel's sensitive moral.
“I just really don't think it's smart to do this here when there are beds just... there...” Dean tries to rationalize with Sam's hands all over him.
“Okay...” Sam agrees, licking Dean's chin, and Dean doesn't even remember what he said in the first place.
“Okay?” he asks, helpfully. Sam looks at him with the softest look in his eyes and takes his hand, but his voice is liquid fire when he speaks:
“Fuck, com'ere...” and then they're walking through the empty hallways, stopping here and there to steal kisses like teenagers who can't keep their hands off each other, and it's just as weird as it is really, really good. Dean's shoes are lost somewhere in the way and Sam's shirt gets tossed into some random room, and walking and having all that smooth skin on display and being able to touch and look at it all he wants turns the walk to Dean's room a journey. When they finally make it there, they just kick their pants away and fall onto the bed in a pile of arms and legs, breathless laughter and needy groans echoing on the almost empty room.
“You taste so good...” Sam confides in an adoring voice, trailing wet and messy kisses along Dean's collarbone. Dean can do little but lay on his back and let his hands tangle in Sam's hair, encouraging his touches.
“Fuck, Sam... yeah...” he mutters. Sam smiles against his skin, leaning down and experimentally licking one of Dean's nipples. “Oh, fuck... what are you even... ah!”
Dean feels Sam scrape his teeth over his chest, licking and nipping in between bites. His nipples aren't even that sensitive, but Sam's mouth is so hot and he seems to be really enjoying himself when Dean looks down at him, his eyes shut and mouth closed over the sensitive flesh, flicking his tongue and making the most amazing sounds. Dean covers his own mouth with his hands, trying to bite back the loud sounds he can't really help but make.
“No, Dean... wanna hear you... lemme hear you” Sam asks him, pulling his hands down and holding them against the bed, going back to exploring Dean's chest at an agonizingly slow pace. After a copious amount of time is spent with Sam's mouth sliding across his abdomen and sides, Sam sits up, looking around, a little lost.
“What?” Dean asks him, and is that really his voice? He's no newbie to sex, but his voice sounds so unfamiliar: anxious, urgent, and not sure and sex-rough like he's used to.
“Lube... condoms?” Sam answers, still looking around. Dean makes a face, his voice shy when he answers:
“I... don't have any?”
“Oh, god...” Sam says, exasperated, starting to get up, and he's just the most gorgeous thing Dean's ever seen, and he's seen his fair share of naked people, okay?
“Lube's in the drawer, though... what, it's not like I've been planning this...” Dean defends himself.
“Shut up... how can you not have condoms?” Sam wonders out loud, searching the bedside table.
“What do you mean by that? Of course I have. Just not here, bitch. What? You think I intended to bring dates here?”
“So I'm not a date?” Sam asks, picking up a small bottle, and Dean sits up, feeling his cock complain about the lack of action. He reaches down, palming himself just because.
“Oh, shut up...” Dean snarls and Sam looks at him, his gaze heated and Dean feels his cock pulse under his hand and his heart leap in his chest. “Not a date, Sammy... you're...”
“I am?” Sam insists, eyeing Dean. Sam is so beautiful, just standing there, naked in the middle of his bedroom, hair a complete mess, face flushed, his cock hard and angry-looking.
“You're everything...” Dean says, honestly, the words leaving his mouth before he can even decide what to say.
“Fuck, Dean...” Sam groans, and then he's back on top of Dean, the lube forgotten somewhere. Sam's body is heavy and hot pressing Dean against the mattress, his cock spreading a wet mess between their bodies, and Dean finds himself not at all put off by the position he's in. Not when Sam is panting, his hands rough against Dean's body, trying to be everywhere at once and keeping him close.
“I know...” Dean murmurs in a calming voice before kissing Sam again. It's all too much, and it's okay. Dean wants Sam to know it's okay to touch him.
“I love you... so fucking much...” Sam mutters, parting Dean's legs with strong and sure hands, sliding right against him.
“Yeah...” Dean responds, guiding Sam's hand down between their bodies. But Sam doesn't touch him where he needs it the most, instead, his hands slide under Dean, cupping his ass and spreading him, exposing him. It should be uncomfortable, but Dean only manages to feel hot all over and stripped raw, Sam's fingers digging uncontrollably into the soft curves of his buttocks.
“Can I?” Sam asks, dropping his head to pepper kisses on Dean's chest, just above his heart.
“What? Yeah... yes...” Dean answers and then everything goes so much faster. Sam reaches over him for the lube and dribbles it all over his fingers and some of the mattress. Dean couldn't care less as he feels Sam's hands slide right back to their previous position, one finger rubbing against his entrance as if investigating.
“Does it feel okay?” Sam asks, feverishly, the tip of his finger sliding in. Dean feels hot and cold inside, out of control, and he answers in a shaky voice:
“What? Being fingered by my little brother? It's kind of a new thing...”
“Oh, my god, shut up...” Sam scowls at him, his finger sliding in more easily then, twisting and turning inside Dean.
“You asked!” Dean manages to say, moving his hips against Sam's hand. He has to reach down to stroke his cock a few times, on edge with the heat of Sam's gaze on him.
“You're such an asshole...” Sam laughs against his chest, his tongue darting out to taste the skin of Dean's abs as he slides a second finger in, prodding and searching, making Dean bite his lower lip.
“You love it...”
Sam huffs out a laugh, but doesn't deny it. Dean smile is brushed away by the way Sam's strokes inside of him, teasing him. The shivers wrecking his body have little to do with how forbidden is what they're doing and everything to do with how right he feels letting Sam have him like this.
“Feels good...” Dean admits, letting go of his cock to fist the sheets, way too close to coming already.
“Yeah?” Sam asks, and he looks at Dean with such delight and adoration Dean feels his breath escape him.
“Yeah... keep going...” he assures and pleads, moving his hips, trying to pull Sam deeper.
“You feel so good, Dean... so hot...” Sam breathes, teasing a third finger against Dean's rim. It burns a little, but it feels too good to stop.
“Keep talking...” Dean begs. Sam crawls up his body, putting his mouth against Dean's ear, his fingers moving relentlessly inside Dean, driving him crazy. And then he talks:
“Can't wait to be inside you... want to make you come...” a kiss on his throat, a shift of Sam's fingers inside him, and his voice thick, whispering poison in his ear: “Can I? Will you let me?”
“Fuck, Sammy... stop teasing... come here...” Dean pulls Sam up, looking him in the eyes.
“No condom?” Sam insists, trying to be responsible, and Dean feels proud of him for a second.
“I'm clean, I swear...” Dean says, sliding his mouth against Sam's chin, grabbing the lube and slicking up Sam's cock, feeling it pulse, hard and huge, in his hand, and he could spend the entire night just touching him, feeling him tense and shiver at his touch, but he has to save that idea for some other time. He just really wants to feel Sam inside. “I know you've got this image that I'm a man-whore, but I'm careful... can't have any more Winchesters fuck up the world, right?” he jokes, reaching down to align Sam so he can slide right in.
“Idiot...” Sam breathes, nudging just the head of his cock inside and moaning. “Fuck, that's hot...”
“You've never?” Dean asks, conversationally, trying to relax around Sam. It burns in a weird way, having Sam entering him, but it doesn't actually hurt. But, then, for them, most things don't hurt anymore.
“Without? No... or, you mean with a guy? Not that, either...” Sam's face is all concentration, like he's trying to keep himself from thrusting all the way in, moving his hips in small shifts. He huffs out a laugh: “We only know assholes and weirdos anyway...”
“Well, good thing I'm one of the assholes, I guess...” Dean wonders out loud, feeling Sam slide very slowly all the way in. Dean tries to adjust. It feels so odd to be that full, but Sam slides easily out, thrusting back in carefully.
“You're...” Sam starts to say, moving a little faster, kissing Dean's face, his nose. “Perfect...”
“Oh, you're such... a sap... in the sack... fuck, just like that... c'mon...” Dean grabs Sam's hips, as narrow in his hands as he knew they would be, even if their roles were somehow reversed in his mind. Sam's thick cock inside of him feels like heaven, touching him in all the right places, sending electricity thrumming across his groin, little shocks of pleasure he's never really known.
“You... love it...” Sam says, dropping his head beside Dean's on the bed, licking the sweat from his skin, and Dean's cock rubs against their stomachs, wet and hot and Dean lets go of Sam's hips to grab his ass, pulling him harder, faster.
“Oh, Christ, stop talking...” Dean begs, his breath escaping him in soft moans.
“Fuck, Dean...” Sam moans against his ear, shifting against him for better leverage, and then wiggles his hips just right and Dean can't help but shout:
“Harder... yes...” Dean feels more than he sees Sam planting his feet on the mattress, driving powerful thrust after powerful thrust deep inside of him, and he doesn't even know whose voice it is making which sounds anymore.
“Oh... like this?” Sam asks, grabbing one of Dean's thighs and withdrawing almost all the way before sinking right back in.
“Oh, yeah... c'mon, I'm not... gonna break, goddammit...” Dean grumbles, squeezing Sam's ass and pulling him hard, spreading Sam's ass with his fingers.
“Don't do that...” Sam pleads, his rhythm faltering, but it doesn't sound at all like a protest.
“What? This?” Dean does it again, spreading Sam's cheeks and sliding a finger between them.
“Fuck... not gonna last...” Dean gives himself a mental high-five and keeps sliding his finger up and down, testing the waters, feeling Sam's movements turn frantic and uneven, his voice shaky and loud.
“It's okay... c'mon... lemme feel you...” Dean encourages him and Sam suddenly lets go of him.
“So fucking bossy... fuck... turn around...” Sam says, sliding out and sitting on his heels, slapping Dean's ass playfully. Dean just obeys (can't even think of protesting – would do anything if it got Sam back inside of him), laying on his stomach, and then Sam is all over him again, his mouth hot on the back of his neck as he spreads him and slides back in. “You're so fucking hot... Oh, god...”
Dean's not even processing what's happening anymore, all his senses overloaded with Sam's presence, his smell, his touches, the sounds he makes against his ear, the dirty sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the room.
“Oh, fuck, Sammy... yeah, like that...” he moans, completely out of it. “Hmm, you've been holding out on me, little brother...”
“Shut up, jerk...” Sam thrusts deep and slowly inside Dean, licking the shell of his ear, his shoulders, biting down on his skin.
“Or what?” Dean challenges him, turning his head just slightly, brushing his lips against Sam's.
“You're gonna make me come...” Sam admits, shifting just right and it's almost too much. Dean's cock is rubbing against the sheets underneath them, and the pressure inside Dean is building up despite him doing anything.
“That's... kind of the point... here... Sammy... fuck...” Dean drops his head down and Sam sits up on his heels, one hand on the small of Dean's back and the other holding Dean's hips in a vice-tight grip. Dean raises his hips, offering himself up.
“No... you first...” Sam insists, his voice dirty and completely fucked out. “Wanna feel... wanna feel you come on my cock... fuck, Dean... yeah, like that... let go... lemme have you” And Dean's got no fucking chance. His balls draw up and he's coming just like that, without even touching himself, Sam's voice talking him through it. It seems to go on forever, making his toes curl and his head turn as his release soaks the sheets under his body and he can't even make a sound.
Behind him, Sam's laying back on top of him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, waiting for him to come back.
Sam's still hard inside him, though, so Dean thrusts his ass back against him, hearing him moan against his ear.
“C'mon, Sammy...” he says, his voice rough.
“Fuck, Dean...” Sam is saying. “Can I? Can I come inside you?”
And damn if his brother being polite during sex isn't the most awesome thing ever. Dean just nods, too weak to even mock him, and just like that Sam's back to business, only this time he's taking everything he wants. The hand on Dean's back forces his shoulders down while the one on Dean's hip forces his ass up and he never felt more vulnerable and more comfortable in his life. Sam's chanting his name among a litany of curses and promises and thrusting hard and fast, and then he thrusts one last time, his hand grabbing Dean's ass hard enough to leave bruises, and stills. The feeling of someone coming inside him is the weirdest feeling Dean's ever had, and he knows his weird, okay? But it's Sammy, and the thought of being filled with his come makes Dean's cock throb despite being completely spent.
Sam takes a long time to pull out, like he doesn't really want to, and Dean shares the feeling, but Sam's freaking huge and heavy and his back isn't what it used to be. He still winces at the empty feeling inside him, nevertheless. Sam tries to clean them up with his underwear, too tired to move any time soon, and Dean can't find it in himself to protest.
“What?” Sam asks, after a few minutes.
“What what?” Dean supplies, frowning.
“What you're thinking?”
“Did we throw away those clothes from the spa? I sure would love to see you on those shorts any day, now...”
Sam throws a pillow at his brother's grinning face.