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Sammy's Shower Show

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“So Dean, I had this friend at Stanford…” Sam turns the shower on full blast, holding his paint spattered hand out to the gauge the temperature. Bobby’s house is old, but  because every hunter knows a thing or two about creature comforts  and the lack there of, the showers  in Bobby’s house feature  Niagra-force dare me to ride a barrel over this bitch pressure coupled with a bottomless hot water tank. “She was a woman’s studies major who did a semester abroad.”

Dean lounges against the door frame watching Sam, his Sammy; all 6’4” of bow-taught muscle coiled beneath silken skin the color of clover honey.  Dean’s mouth waters as his eyes rake over the broad planes of Sam’s chest and the sculpted groove where hip meets abdomen.  Dean imagines his tongue lapping at that tender skin, nipping and teasing along that trail down to Sam’s gorgeous cock. Dean loves burying his face in the course thatch of hair between Sam’s thighs and breathing in the sweet musky scent.  Sam smells of sunlight soaked into sheets that have hung in the fresh air to dry on a spring afternoon mingled with the sharp salty tang of the ocean at dusk in the height of summer; it clings to Dean’s skin after they make love and makes it impossible for him to think of anything other than climbing back into Sam’s arms and swaddling himself in the comfort of his one and only home.

“Earth to Dean.” Sam notices the hungry, possessive look playing across Dean’s features, couple that with Dean’s obvious arousal and Sam wonders if he is going to be able to contain himself long enough to try out the plan he’s been cooking up since Dean first said <i>shower</i> fifteen minutes ago.


I said; I knew this woman at Stanford who studied abroad in Amsterdam.”  Dean hand drifts up and down his bare stomach, fingers ghosting over the golden dusting of hair that starts at his navel and looses itself in the dark blonde curls that surround the base of his cock.


“Christ Dean, I’m up here.” Sam points to his face and Dean flashes Sam a devilish grin that tugs on his perfect, plump lips just the right and sends a jolt of desire straight to Sam’s dick.

“What Sammy, a man can’t admire his lover’s body? You’re so fucking beautiful I want to drown inside you.” Dean’s voice drops an octave and rumbles around his lower register, it’s a tone that promises mind-bending pleasure wrapped in scrumptious, extra-salty sin.  Dean’s openness about his passionate love for Sam still makes Sam’s heart clench and stutter. Sam did not know what to expect from Dean as a partner and lover. After all, Dean was his stoic, silent older brother who had endured a life time of loss and pain, replying to the constant and universal request for his unquestioning self-sacrifice with a grim, determined nod of his head.  And when it did become too overwhelming, when the pressure of loneliness, abandonment, heaven, and hell threatened to crush him, Dean opted for the ‘Ole Faithful method of emotional release; hold it inside until the pain is unbearable and then explode.  Sam and Dean’s union created an epic shift in Dean’s ability to give and accept love.  It is the thing about their relationship that Sam is most grateful for, the change in their lives that fills him with awe each and every day.

“Now what were you saying baby?”Sam feels his cheeks flush scarlet as Dean pushes himself off the door frame and swaggers over to him, running his index finger across Sam’s cheek bone.

Sam places a splayed hand on Dean’s chest and exerts a little gentle pressure, pushing Dean back toward the door with a soft groan. “I was saying that I had a friend at Stanford who studied in Amsterdam. She went to this show one night, said it was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen, I thought we might, you know, play a little.”

Dean’s mouth blossoms into a blinding brilliant sun glinting off a glacier smile. “Fuck yeah, Sammy. What did you have in mind? You know as long as it doesn’t involve a camcorder or small, furry woodland creatures I’m game.” Dean’s eyebrow arches and he tilts his head to the side in thought. “I take that back, I could be flexible on the camcorder thing now that I think of it, but small, furry things are still out of bounds.”

Sam laughs and steps into the warm spray of the shower, leaving the curtain open. “No Thumper and Daisy I promise. Just you and me and a little hot water.” Dean makes a move toward Sam and Sam shakes his head.  “No way dude, you stay over there and enjoy the show.”

Sam turns his face into the jets of water and cards his fingers through his hair, runs his hand over his chest and abs, taking a moment to touch his hardening cock. When Sam is drenched he leans his back against the tile and stares into Dean’s eyes.

Sam reaches into the caddy hanging from the shower head and pulls down the bottle of honey vanilla-bean shower gel and the oversized lavender shower poof and without breaking eye contact pours a generous amount of gel onto the netting.

Sam works up a rich, cookie scented lather and drips the foam across his chest and shoulders and tosses the poof back into the shower caddy. Sam caresses his chest with one hand, taking time to circle each nipple, working the buds into hard points, enjoying the slick feel of his hands against his own skin. He hears Dean’s breath hitch and then accelerate and Sam’s other hand drops to his shaft and begins to stroke, twisting when he reaches his cock head, the way he knows Dean enjoys to be touched.  Sam tilts his head back and shuts his eyes, luxuriating in the myriad of sensations rushing across his skin.

“Sammy.” Dean’s voice is hoarse with lust. “Harder, baby.” A flash of heat courses through Sam’s gut. The warmth of the water and the sensation of the water pounding against his body and the plain, unfettered need in Dean’s voice drive Sam toward his climax, too soon, too soon.  Sam squeezes the base of his dick to stall his orgasm and prolong the moment.

“No.  Don’t stop, please.” Dean’s voice is closer now. Sam opens his eyes, Dean is standing just outside the shower, one hand on the curtain rod, the other pumping his own dick in firm, quick strokes.  “I want to watch you come, will you come for me, Sammy?” The lover’s eyes lock and their breathing synchronizers and it feels to Sam as if he is looking at a mirror reflection of his own desire, the unrestrained lust in Dean’s eyes match the ferocious, unquenchable thirst in his own.  The love they share consumes them both; a living flame like that of a phoenix that surges through their bodies and wrings their emotions raw, licking  each man’s soul to ash so that they may rise in the silent seconds between breath and need, a joyful rebirth of spirit, a renewal that they experience whenever they touch.  The last coherent thought as Sam crashes toward his orgasm, is that the space between them is where God resides but then he hears Dean’s keening wanton cry and his own body draws in on itself and then releases like crush and grind of ice expanding and contracting as it breaks up in the spring.

The two men regard each other for a moment and then Dean reaches into the stream of water and smiles.

“Goddamn, it’s still hot, I love Bobby Singer.”  Dean chuckles as he steps into the streaming water and steam. He pulls the shower curtain closed and wraps his arms around Sam’s waist, laying feather light kisses across the bridge of Sam’s nose.  “Thank you.”

The two men finish washing up, laughing their way from the shower to their bed, where they curl around each other, sated and sleepy as darkness chases the sun below the horizon. Their dreams no longer those of blood and fire, but swirling palette of color and light, the other’s whispered name carrying each safely through to the dawn on the tide of the other’s breath.