Title: Everything
Author: nightrose_spn
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 2760
Summary: They honestly can't believe they get a happy ending after all this time telling themselves it was so wrong.
Notes/Warnings: Pointless little fic. Rated for language and somewhat graphic wincest. Dean's POV.
I should lie. I should tell him that he should leave, like he's offered to, that of course I still love him, but Christ, Sammy, you're my ibrother/i--
I can't. God, forgive me, Dad, forgive me, Sam, forgive me, I'm not strong enough. I step towards him. He's shaking, eyes lowered, bangs hiding his face. His body trembles as I reach toward him. "Come here, Sammy," I whisper. It's a second before he steps forward, still not quite touching me. I wrap my arms around him and pull him to me. He's tense, his thin from rigid in my embrace.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice broken and almost inaudible. "I've tried… tried so hard to stop it… I'm… I'm just sick. It's disgusting. I know…"
"Then I'm sick too," I respond quickly, unable to watch Sam in this kind of pain.
"What?"
"I love you, Sammy. iSo much/i. I want you so much. Thank God, I'm not alone."
"You don't have to pretend, Dean," he sighs. "I understand."
"No! Sam, no." I pull him closer, till he's pressed against my chest. "Oh, Sammy, please. You have to believe me. You can't go, not now, please. Can't tell me you want everything I've ever dreamed of and then leave. Please, Sammy." My voice is high and desperate, but he outdoes me, shrieking as he replies.
"Really?"
"Really. I want this iso much./i Have for iso long./i Since you were eleven years old, Sammy. And now you're saying I can have it." I close my eyes reveling in the feeling of Sam's heartbeat. "I never get the things I want, Sammy, that's how my life works. But now you… Sam… can I… can I kiss you?" I tilt my face up, my eyes closed.
Sam's voice is deep when he replies, a man's voice, as though the boyish squeal of a moment ago never happened. "Look at me, Dean." I do. There's a tear frozen on his left cheek. "You're sure? Dean, I won't leave, okay? You don't have to do this."
"I know." I smile then, confidence blooming. "Sam, I'm in love with you. I never told you because I didn't want you to hate me or be afraid of me, and I knew I would never hurt you. I trusted myself that much. But you're everything to me, Sammy. You always have been."
He breathes out a sigh. I feel him relax, finally, so stretch up on my tiptoes (he's too damn tall, and I will inever/i admit that I like the way I feel, protected against his broad chest) and kiss him. His lips are warm and soft, like anyone else's. A little more chapped than a girl's would be. But it's different. It's special because it's Sam. I'm kissing Sam. Sam wants me to. Sam wants me too.
His arms come around me and hold me there, so we're locked, body to body. I fist my hand in his shirt and he bends down to me, returning the kiss with sudden fervor. His mouth opens against my lips and, after a second, I take the invitation, slipping my tongue between his lips and tasting the roof of his mouth, the softness of his cheeks. He tastes like toothpaste and the alcoholic aftertaste of mouthwash.
Sam is absolutely melting against me. I feel like his hands around me are the only thing keeping him up. I also feel his persistent erection pressing against my hip. I flick my tongue against his lips, pulling away so I can talk.
"Sam," I whisper.
He brushes his fingertips, feather-soft, against my cheek, and I smile. My heart feels light, jubilant. I've never been so happy. I never get to be happy. I never thought I'd have this, my most forbidden dream, the one thing I knew I'd never have.
I kiss him again, gently, and he moans. I grin.
"Like that, huh?" I murmur against his lips. "Like me kissing you?"
"Yeah," he sighs.
"Can I… kiss you someplace else?" Okay, it sounds kinda like bad-porno dialogue, but I'm not sure how else to phrase it. I want to do it. I'm good with my mouth, enough people have told me that that I know it's true, and I can't imagine anything in the world that would be better right now than making him feel good.
He blushes a pretty shade of pink. "You… you mean…"
I decide that for innocent little Sammy to get it, I'm gonna have to make it pretty clear. "I wanna suck you off. Can I?"
"Fuck," he hisses. "iYes/i, Dean. Please."
"How can I say now? You ask so nicely." I always did tell him manners were important. "You ever gotten a blowjob before, Sammy?"
"No… no," he admits.
"I like that," I say. "Don't be embarrassed, Sam. I like being the first. You might want to go sit down on the bed, though."
He nods, adding, "Should I take my clothes off?"
"Can I?"
He moans again and bites his lip as he nods. I pull his shirt off, slowly, teasing one hand up the muscles of his chest. With an ache to touch I haven't felt since my first time, I lower my mouth to his neck, tasting the salty skin as I gently suck my mark onto my Sammy. He thrusts his hips against me and I laugh into his skin. "Easy, baby boy. "We'll get there."
"Such a fucking tease," he mutters.
Punctuating each word with an opened mouthed kiss down his chest, I reply, "It's only teasing if," here I reach a nipple and flick my tongue against it, provoking a loud groan, "I don't put out."
Another sound from Sam as I bite down, carefully, on his pebbled nipple. I decide I really like the noises he makes. I like everything about him, actually, and now I have it all.
I stretch back up to kiss his lips, hooking my hands in the back of his sweats as I do. When I start to pull them down, he stops me. "Wait."
I freeze instantly. Can't hurt him.
"Am I the only one getting naked here, Dean?" he continues lightly. I laugh and shrug off my tee before making a second move on Sam's pants.
He's… wow, he's huge. I've seen Sam naked before, but never turned on, and he's something. "Christ, how do you fit that thing in your pants?" I ask, honestly curious. He just throws his head back and whimpers, so I figure he's probably not up for talking. Nonetheless, I can't help the quiet words, "Gonna make you feel real good, Sammy, I swear. Gonna take care of you," before I lower myself to my knees.
I've done this before, of course. I've actually had about every sexual experience at least once. But it's never really mattered. Sam's the only thing that matters. I'm actually a little nervous before I remember that Sam's new at this and it's not exactly easy to give a blowjob that doesn't feel good. I'm still considering this, wondering how much inexperience it would take to make a mouth on my dick unpleasant, when I hear his voice, desperate and choked, "Dean, please," as he falls back onto the bed.
He's in pain. That's… just unacceptable. It's my job to stop him from being hurt, ever, and so his pain gives me the strength to lower my head, kissing the head gently. I spend a moment licking there, little laps right at the most sensitive places. I'm about to lower my head more, try to fit him into my throat, when I feel warmth flooding my mouth, taste the bitter saltiness, and hear him gasping my name.
I swallow around him, and the soft, whimpering, "De," that escapes his lips provokes a very embarrassing reaction from me. I'm quite grateful he's too far gone to notice me laying my forehead against his hip as I cream my pants like a thirteen-year-old who's just had his first make-out session. I strip off the new-soiled shorts and climb into Sam's bed next to him as he collapses back. Dad's on a hunt like always, so I'm not worried about him finding us—when has he ever come home iearly/i?—so I pull Sam into my arms. He's sticky with sweat, and obviously worn out, but he still offers, "You want me to—"
"I, uh, kinda came already."
"Like, in your pants?"
I blush.
"That's really hot," he says, voice trailing off so I can barely hear them.
"You should go to sleep, baby boy."
He nods and curls up so my head is tucked between his chin and chest, listening to the soft music of his heart. The last ting I hear before we drift to sleep is, "I love you, Dean."
When I wake up, he's gone. My heart clenches in my chest.
When I was fifteen and realized what was wrong with me, all the twisted things I wanted from the one person I should never want them from, I promised myself I'd never do this, never hurt him like this. He'll leave now. I'll never see him again. I'll be alone.
I deserve it. I was supposed to protect him, not… rape him. I imolested/i him, my baby brother, the one person I love. Oh, God. Oh, God, kill me now. I deserve it. I want it.
Now that I've lost Sammy.
I'm contemplating going for my .45 when I hear a quiet voice. "Dean."
"Sammy?" So he hasn't left yet. I look up to see him leaning in the doorway, dressed. He won't meet my eyes.
"I'll leave now," he says. "I'll be safe at Stanford, don't worry. Don't let me fuck you up any more than I already have." Yeah, I'm pretty fucked up. Fucked up enough to force myself on him. I'd say that qualifies as troubled. "I… just… just wanted to say…" I steel myself for whatever will come from his mouth. "I know this is pitifully inadequate, but I'm iso sorry/i, Dean. I really am."
"What do you have to be sorry for?"
"You thought… I let you think…" Sam takes a deep, gasping breath and turns away from me.
Oh. That's it. He's blaming himself for what I did to him. That's what's supposed to happen. After something like what happened—fuck, I should at least think the word—after a rape, the victim blames the victim, not the attacker. "Sammy, it's not your fault."
"Really?" He laughs coldly. "It's not my fault that I itricked/i you into having sex with me? I manipulated you in the worst way. What do you have, Dean? What in this worthless life, this damn world that loves nothing better than to screw Winchesters over, what do you have to live for?"
I don't understand what he's asking. "You," I reply simply. His answering smile is bitter and vicious.
"Exactly. And I used that against you. I used your love for me, the one good thing either of us have ever had in our lives, to convince you to lie, pretend you wanted it, while you got down on your knees? I told you I'd leave. Threatened to take away what you just said is the one thing you have to live for unless you let me…" he trails off.
"Let you what? Sammy?"
""Let me rape you," he chokes out, leaning back against the door. "I made you think that if you didn't let me, I'd leave."
I gasp and reach for him. He leans back, leans away, but I ignore it. He's pinned between me and the wall, so he retreats the only way he can, squeezing his eyes shut and clasping his hands over his ears. Shutting me out.
I know he can still hear me, though, so I speak low and urgently. "Sammy, you know the first thing I though when I woke up this morning?"
He shakes his head.
"I thought about when I was fifteen, which is about when I figured out I wanted to fuck my baby brother. My little Sammy, with his crazy too-long hair and too-big eyes and skinny little arms. I'd felt that way for… Jesus, for years. But that was when I put a name to it." My voice is matter-of-fact. "I grabbed my gun and pressed it against the roof of my mouth. I stood there for an hour, swallowin' steel, and asked myself a question. Would I hurt him? Was I weak enough that I could lose control and do something terrible in a moment of sick desire? In the end, I decided I couldn't. There was no way I could ever force myself on Sam. It was my job to protect him, and even though I was sick enough to want him, I wouldn't do that. So how do you think I felt when I woke up this morning and realized I had?"
Sammy's shaking. "No. No, I can't. It's not…"
"I thought I'd raped him. My beloved brother. The one person I care about. I was surprised he hadn't left already. Maybe he wanted to kill me himself instead of letting me do the job.
"Dammit, Dean!" he snaps. Finally, a reaction. "We both know you're bullshitting to try to make me feel better, okay? But it's not working. Do you know how much it hurts to hear you say those things?"
"It's what you're saying to me," I rejoin, furious. "Sam, I can't stand to have you talking like this. To know you believe that you hurt me that way." I sigh. "Sam, look at me, look in my eyes." Shaking, slowly, he opens his eyes and I stare straight into them as I whisper, "Sammy, I wanted it too."
His eyes widen. "You aren't… I'd know… you're… telling the truth." His voice is full of awe.
I smile. "Yeah, Sammy. I am. Love you. Love you so much."
He shudders, and I reach out to him. He comes readily, letting me wrap him in an embrace. He rests his head on my shoulder and whispers, "Love you too."
"So… you won't leave?" I ask desperately. "You'll stay with me?" I know I sound pitiful, but I can't bring myself to care. This is Sammy, and he knows my whole heart anyway.
"God, De. You think I could?"
"Yeah," I say. My voice is soft. "Sam, you're the only person in my life who's never left me. It only makes sense that you will, someday." I'm not good enough. It started when I was four and Mom left me, and all the times since Dad has… no one wants me. I don't deserve anyone. I bite my lip against the thought.
He makes a soft, strangled noise. "No. Fuck, no, I won't." I feel him hold me tight as I start to shake. Distantly, I feel tears in my eyes. How humiliating. "Shh, Dean, no. No, I won't, I promise. I love you, I love you so much, I won't ever leave you, I swear."
"Okay." I hesitate. "Sammy, do you want to go to school?" I can't let being with me keep him down.
"I don't want to be without you."
"I… I could come with you," I offer quietly. "I'm an adult, Dad and I don't even hunt together that often. I could set up a base at your school, hunt on weekends, rent a little apartment- we wouldn't have to worry about hiding us from Dad, so…"
His eyes widen. "You'd do that for me?"
"Sammy, I'd do anything for you. Going to school with you is not a huge sacrifice, given the multiple times I've thrown myself in front of a bullet for you, et cetera."
He laughs. "That means… so much," he says. "That you'd… that you'd… I'd like that, Dean. I really… thank you. You don't have to."
"Want to. Everything I want. You know, the day you told me you wanted to go to school, get away from all this, have a normal life, I realized I had a crazy dream too. I want to go with you. Share everything with you. Help you unpack, live with you, quiz you on your coursework, go to parties and be your overprotective boyfriend. Everything. That's my crazy dream. My happily ever after. Being with you."
"Well, you can have it," he says. "Everything you want. I'll find us an apartment if you call Dad?"
I smile. "Good deal, baby boy," and then grin as he leans in for a kiss.