Mr. Sensitive

Prompt: To cuddle or not to cuddle, that is the question. Dean has the flu and his skin is all painful/sensitive, but he's freezing and Sam is so freaking warm...

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Sam wakes in the night to a distinctive lack of cuddles. He spreads his arms across the bed and does not encounter Dean.

With a click of the bathroom lights he finds him. "There you are."

"Ngh." Perched naked on the edge of the tub, Dean flinches and slaps a hand over his eyes. "Bad."

"Sorry, sorry." Sam flips the switch and dips them in darkness. "Stomach bugging you?"

"Shh."

"Sorry." Sam shuffles forward and finds Dean's forehead with his palm. "Ouch."

Dean twitches away. "Agh. You can say that again."

"Headache back?" Leaning out into the bedroom, Sam peers at the clock radio. "You're due for some more meds." He hears a chattery inhale. "Dean?"

"Ain't exactly Hawaii in here, is it?"

"Nope." Sam feels for the first aid kit on the back of the toilet and digs out the right shape of pill bottle. "Better make it three this time. I'll get the crackers." He walks into the lamp, but finds the sleeve of crackers on the bedside table without knocking over the glass of water.

"What's the verdict?" He listens to Dean crunching softly in the dark. "Back to bed?"

Dean sighs. "I dunno."

"Seems like you've got a chill. If we don't warm you up, you could really spike."

"I guess."

"Or I could stay out here with you." Sam fumbles for one of Dean's warm shoulders.

"Ow! Stop it."

"'Ow'?"

"'Ow.' Everything hurts." There's a hollow sound like the jockeying of two smooth surfaces, then a smash. "Damn it."

"Uh. Don't move. I'm getting the lights... now." Sam brings them up and takes in the wreckage of Dean's water glass, a glittering wash all across the floor. "OK. OK. C'mere." He takes the sick man's hands and steadies him around the shards to the safety of the carpet. "There." He soothes back the damp hair from Dean's bunched up forehead, kisses the brows squiggled over slitted eyes. "So..."

"Door Number Two. Back to bed."

Sam settles Dean on the mattress, then kills the bathroom fluorescents. He stretches out carefully beside Dean and squeezes his fingers.

"No touching."

"Huh?" Sam withdraws his hand. "Sorry." He pulls up the covers, but Dean spasms and paws them off.

"Whoa, what?"

"Just stay there and don't move." The mattress jitters. Teeth clack. "Crap."

"You OK?"

"Listen. I'm gonna touch you, but you can't touch me. I'm serious. Feels like my skin got worked over with friggin' sandpaper."

"Oh. Oh, I... man, I'm sorry. Is that why you were-it really is. Ugh, I suck. So why are you-"

"'Cause I'm cold, and you're warm." The husky voice is right in Sam's ear, on a puff of sour breath. A thigh inches up against Sam's, an arm draping over his waist. One nipple pokes into Sam's ribs.

"This is kinda hot."

"There is no chance."

"Aw, babe."

"No touching!"

"I get it, I'm good. I promise." Sam lies perfectly still. "Man, that's a bad flu."

"Be fine." The leg slides over Sam's. A feverish belly presses against his side. The arm contracts into a hug.

"You need anything?"

"Just this." Dean sneezes into his shoulder. "And maybe a tissue."

"Ew," Sam snorts, passing some over. "Have two."

Dean blows his nose, wriggles closer and sighs a full-body sigh. "Hhhmmm."

The next time Sam wakes up, it's to an abundance of Dean. He nuzzles the warm hair and whispers a hand to the small of his back. There's no sign of protest.