Sam tries not to draw attention to himself – being six four and sporting a glorious (Dean's word, not his) mane of brown hair tends to do the job well enough for him.
Then again, some days with the weight of the world hanging on his shoulders is impossible to ignore, making him stoop and seem much, much smaller than he actually is, the broadness of his upper body pointed downwards, eyes hooded in a kicked puppy expression that Sam does better than any dog Dean's ever seen.
For whatever reason, the last hunt had absolutely drained him, mentally and physically. Shifters were sometimes innocent, sometimes not so much. Sam just wishes this last one hadn't hit so close to home.
He'd been a grad student, Matthew was his name, young and hopeful and full of promise – like Sam a little over a decade ago, fresh faced and nothing but a backpack and eighteen years of history weighing him down as he'd strode into his freshman chemistry class. They had thought it was another shifter in the area, the one who looked like a beast in human form – as it turns out it was Matthew who'd been killing off professors, taking the form of a Rottweiler, of all things. And Sam had been the one who'd pulled the trigger and shot him dead, the last thing he saw being Sam's horrified expression. What scared Sam more was the fact he'd seen himself in more ways than one as Matthew had bled to death on the cold concrete behind the science building on his campus – that yearning to be good and do the right thing mixed with something inexplicably and unfathomably horrible and beyond his control.
Dean had held Sam extra close that night, didn't have to say a word to him to know what Sam had felt. Dean had always felt Sam's pain as much as his own, so tied up and integrated with each other that Dean's convinced that they got hit with a curse somewhere along the way that actually connects them on a deeper level – it's like the movie he'd dragged Sam to see, Pacific Rim, with the pilots being in each other's heads. Funny how fiction hits close to home, especially when it came to him and Sam.
Sam's trudge down the stairs into the bunker is weary, each footstep echoing loud against the twining staircase, like gravity is threatening to suck Sam right through the floor. Dean hates to see him like that, can't get past how each trod of Sam's foot sounds more and more resigned. It puts a vice on his heart, squeezing so tight that it makes his breathing stop.
Dean notices that Sam's stopped in the library, hands gripping the edge of the table and his head cast down and God he looks tired, so, so tired, his bag dumped next him on the ground, book bag on the table and it might be laying its contents (several weighty tomes of shifter research) on Sam's laptop but he doesn't care because he, in a way, killed himself two states and twenty four hours back and it's enough to freeze him in place right there.
Shit.
Dean's developed some awesome (to him anyway) coping mechanisms over the years – not the kind to deal with his own brand of crap but the ones that help Sam sort through it, the constant mess of their, dare he call it this, careers. It's hard to do some days because Sam's got this habit of retreating into himself to a place that not even Dean can draw him out of – Sam hates to be coddled and Dean gets that, he really does. Sam's a grown man who's beyond capable of taking care of himself (even if some days Dean thinks he grew up too quick – hell they both did and that's a psychological Pandora's Box neither of them have any desire to open.) Right now though Dean's not going to let Sam clam himself up when it's obvious he's hurting, physically (stitches across his side from where Matthew had gotten a good bite of him) and mentally. He can handle mopey Sam no problem but quiet, inward retreating apathetic Sam scares the shit out of him worse than any demon that's ever held a knife to his throat.
Sam's still as Dean's arms wrap around his waist from behind and he rests his head in between Sam's shoulder blades, the hard tension knots evident even through the fabric of Sam's thick jacket (the northern climes of Minnesota hadn't exactly caught up on the whole idea of spring yet and Sam hadn't taken it off since they left Duluth yesterday,) yet another sign that Sam was pulling back into his mind. It had always been that way, and Dean had watched him go through a lot of hoodies, jackets, blankets and long sleeve shirts – Sam sought warmth when he got like this, and not necessarily that of another human body, a desire to have something against his skin that he put there and could remove if he chose to do so. Dean guesses it has something to do with that ingrained stubbornness to be self-sustaining, independent. (Even if Sam's version of independence still includes Dean in the picture – he knows he couldn't give that up even if he tried.)
Sometimes Dean wishes to his core that he could give Sam that.
It's not until he feels Sam's shoulders reduce in size that Dean realizes Sam's been holding his breath – for how long he's not sure. He also hears the tremulous inhale, like Sam's gasping for air and can't get it into his lungs. Dean squeezes him a little tighter and reaches for Sam's hands, linking them together across Sam's stomach and pulling him into a more upright position.
"Come with me Sammy." Dean realizes they're the first words he's spoken in almost three hours, the last leg of their journey home conducted in silence, Sam having turned to look out the window and curling up in the seat as much a man of his size could, putting up a wall between him and Dean that Dean hadn't dared try and break at the time – he understood the need for quiet more than anyone and if that's what Sam wanted he would gladly spare it to him for a little while.
The bunker had revealed quite a few surprises after they'd first moved in over a year ago – including an Olympic-sized swimming pool complete with a hot tub off to the side – Dean hadn't exactly been able to condemn the Men of Letters for having bad taste in well, anything. Normally time in the hot tub came with cold beer (or champagne when Sam was feeling romantic) and sex, Dean having put a small storage locker to hold silicone based lube and a couple other things necessary for carnal activities next to the step up into it so they wouldn't have to make the hike back up to their room for them. Then again, getting Sam naked for the purpose of sex isn't on his mind right now – this is about bringing Sam back from going walking dead on him for the next day to week, just depending on how quickly it took for him to… be okay, and that was about as close to a term for it that Dean had been able to come up with.
Dean's quick about taking off his clothes, Sam doing the same and taking Dean's hand as they settle into the water, the jets having been turned on as soon as Dean had lead Sam down here. Dean settles first, hid body held open in invitation as Sam sits between his spread legs – it feels completely natural, the two of them slotted together like this, would still be that way even if Sam were in Dean's position. It's warm here, and quiet, the only light coming from the lamps that halo the rim of the hot tub's interior.
Dean can already guess what Sam has to say but all the same he knows Sam needs to talk it out, even if he doesn't want Dean to do anything but listen. They're long past the point of not telling each other stuff, not after everything they've risked because of lying and deception and silence – Sam's far too precious to Dean to lose over not letting down the bullshit silent front that Sam's been able to punch right through all his life.
"Talk to me Sammy." Dean's got his head hooked over Sam's right shoulder, mouth right next to Sam's ear so that Sam can hear him loud and clear. "Let me in and let me help."
Sam sighs, pulling Dean's arms a little tighter around him, chasing the warmth he can only get from skin-on-skin contact with his brother. "Do I really have to say it Dean?"
Dean gives Sam shoulder a kiss that lingers for a moment, the hot water bubbling around them. "If you promise to not clam up and cut me off for the next week, then no, you don't have to. If not well… I'm all ears babe, you know that."
Sam shuts his eyes, his voice quiet, just barely audible above the sound of the hot tub's water jets. "Put long hair and another two inches on Matthew and what do you get Dean, think about it."
Dean nods, one hand coming up out of the water to stroke Sam's hair. "I know it Sammy, I do. But he wasn't you."
Sam's voice is quieter still. "Doesn't fucking matter he was still…. Just like me."
"No Sam, he wasn't. He couldn't control it like…." Dean feels Sam tense and immediately backpedals. "Sam, he was gonna keep murdering and killing and physical appearance doesn't matter a damn when that's what someone really is – a murderous, uncontrollable creature. You're not that Sam, and you never have been. He sure as hell didn't jump into the Pit with the fucking Devil for the sake of saving his two-bit, pain in the ass of a brother."
Sam remains silent for a long time, no sound save for the gurgle of fifty year old jets that still blow water just as well as the day they were made. Dean wonders if Sam's shut down completely or is looking for the right words but he's not moving or doing anything until Sam speaks first.
"I kinda like my two bit, pain in the ass of a brother though so I'd say it was more than worth it." Dean can hear the smile in Sam's voice return, slowly kindling a glimmer of hope that Sam's going to be just fine in his mind.
"Care to elaborate on what you like about him then?" Dean kisses Sam's neck, lingering for a moment as Sam shifts around so that he's facing Dean.
"Well for starters…." Sam's fingers are slightly pruned as they cup Dean's stubble covered cheeks. "He's a good guy, and I'd say he's worth at least three bits. Four on weekends." Sam leans forward to kiss Dean's forehead, a hint of a smile turning up the corner of his lips.
"I'd say five but that might be too much, bad economy and all." Dean's arms go back around Sam, his hands joining at the middle of Sam's broad back. "Anything else?"
Sam leaves a trail of soft kisses up the side of Dean's neck and they're the most perfect thing he's ever felt, countless orgasms caused by Sam notwithstanding. "He's a very caring person when he's not pretending to be a hardass. Has a real heart of gold more genuine than anything I've ever encountered, and he'll tell you – I've seen some shit." Sam's smile broadens a little more, his eyes adoring as he spreads his thighs a little wider to make himself comfortable.
"Bullshit." Dean doesn't even pretend to not mean it but he still has to say something out of principle – it's his job, after all. Sam simply ignores him and dapples kisses over his jawline.
"Definitely not bullshit. He's kind of awesome in bed too. He thinks he's a sex god and I'd say he fairly deserves to call himself that. Been riding my dick for years and I swear he finds a way every single time to blow my damn mind. Feels like I'm the one who's been fucked after it's all said and done." Sam's voice drops in pitch, slightly breathless and with more than a trace of desire.
Dean blushes and looks down, avoiding Sam's eyes but he's not going to deny a word – Dean bottoms ninety percent of the time. It's never once been something either of them have really questioned, simply taken for what it is – Sam likes to fuck and Dean loves to get fucked. Of course, if Dean ever wants to top Sam's more than willing to let him – no one's masculinity is ever affected. They've simply found that they have the best orgasms when Sam's inside Dean. Sure Dean has to do some kegels but it's worth keeping himself in shape – Sam's got a big dick and he loves to feel every inch of him as much as possible and he likes to keep himself tight because it's totally worth the way Sam moans and writhes under him as he sinks downwards. Or as Sam fucks him into the mattress, either way Dean's got no qualms about either.
"You don't have to say it out loud, you know." Sam tilts Dean's head up and kisses him on the lips, just a gentle brush that leaves Dean wanting so much more.
"But I do Dean. And there's something else too. He always knows exactly what to say to me to keep me here, in the real world. From retreating too far in and burying myself under my own crap. Because he sees right through me and knows how get me out of it, he always has. And I think that's what I love about him the most because no one else has other done that for me." Sam's got his arms wrapped around Dean's neck and shoulders now, sitting in Dean's lap and holding him close, his lips moving half a centimeter from Dean's; it's warm here, and safe, Dean's arms looped around him like a life preserver – Dean's got Sam and he's not going to let him go.
"Keep saying all this and he just might start to believe you." Dean's eyes are closed, lost in the feeling of holding Sam to him and intensely aware of how deeply intimate all of this feels, hearts bared in near darkness where it's safe to spill such words without fear of having to take them back later.
"I really, really hope that he does." This time when Sam kisses Dean it's like the warmest, most potent whiskey that's ever been, a slow, searingly warm trickle that soon turns into a full on deluge of warmth, Sam's tongue teasing Dean's mouth open and Dean shivers – Sam's kiss is like an elixir that Dean can't fathom not having. (And he does know what it's like to be without that blessed touch – that year of agony after Stull Cemetery was spent chasing the ghost of Sam's lips on his skin and it nearly killed him.) The memory of not having Sam makes Dean desperate and he goes from pliant and content to needy, trying to suck Sam's tongue down his throat and Sam moves right with him – he's used to these sometimes shifts in their intimate moments because each touch, each caress is loaded with history and memories and twinges of nearly having lost what is dear – Sam knows, God he knows. Sam wishes it weren't like that, that sometimes they could just be kisses and soft touches but they aren't – he also wouldn't trade what each one means for the world.
Dean's intensely aware of the fact that by now he's thoroughly aroused – Sam's touch has a way of doing that to him and he can feel himself pressing insistently against the juncture of Sam's thigh and hip – Sam's hard too, his cock lying flat against Dean's belly, heavy and to Dean anyway, warmer than the water bubbling and gurgling around them. Dean shifts his body upwards, Sam dropping down slightly so that his forehead is even with Dean's and he's not raised above him. Dean reaches into the water and wraps his right hand around both him and Sam – not a necessarily easy task because Dean's thick and Sam's thicker still but he manages – he's been doing this for a long time now and it's more than worth it to feel Sam quake with pleasure as his callused palm slides down slowly over the flared head of his cock – circumcised they both may be but there's still a lot of sensitivity and when Dean's hand catches on the ridge of Sam's glans he melts so Dean keeps his focus there for a moment, rocking his hand back and forth and feeling his teeth vibrate with Sam's (and his) moans.
Sam tries to wrap his legs around Dean's waist, Dean getting the picture and pushing himself slightly off the wall of the hot tub and more towards the middle, both of them floating and bobbing as Dean jacks them off, one arm around Sam's lower back to hold him up and Sam's fingers tangled and moving through Dean's now wet hair. Dean hadn't intended for their time here to become sexual but he's not complaining it did, especially since Sam's feeling better, given the way he's playing tonsil hockey with Dean like he doesn't have any other concerns in the world. Dean grips them a little tighter and slides his fingers all the way down to the bases of their cocks and then slowly back up, feeling as much as hearing Sam's breathing slow down – a sure sign that Sam's upstairs brain had shut off and his body had taken over.
With a soft kiss Dean asks "That feel good Sammy?"
The pet name makes Sam gather in impossibly closer, the affirmative made by Sam's hips bucking up and his cock sliding against Dean's – that feels fucking fantastic for both of them, the slow drag of Sam's body against his and Dean swears he can feel the veins of Sam's cock against his. Sam kisses him again, hard, Dean repeating the slow motion of his hand and it's almost too much but Sam holds on tight – there's no rush here, no one to make them stop and even if there were they wouldn't do it, not when they're tangled together and in a place that only they know about.
Sam gets one arm from around Dean's neck and puts it under the water, his hand finding where Dean's gripping them together. "Link your fingers together with mine baby."
Sam feels Dean's practiced digits lock with his, as much holding Sam's hand as much as forming a tight bond on their cocks. Sam squeezing back and smiling at him, dimples dark and deep in his cheeks.
"Like that Sammy?" Dean kisses his chin and then goes back to his lips, not moving and simply holding himself there with Sam.
"Fuck… yeah, Dean, yeah. " Sam starts to move his hand, Dean right in sync with him and their mouths seal against each other's, licking deep over teeth and gums and trying their best to scoop the taste of each other out – like they don't already have it committed to memory for ever but that doesn't mean they're going to stop drinking from the fount of each other – it's too good to quit and if one called the other a junkie for their body neither would deny it in the least.
They try to go slow but they need this – the last hunt hadn't allowed for too much time to be together, even if it was only a couple days. All the same it was too long and it's a burning need to feel each other, to chase bliss wrapped together and fall into it hand in hand – it's as much about pure physical pleasure as it is deep, abiding connection, and it always has been for them, nothing casual or easy to forget the morning after. Of course they don't remember every orgasm or kiss they've given each other but Sam thinks that he could remember each of them if he really tried because every single one has been a blessing in a life of things denied and cut short, the one unchanging constant between them and it's always there, really always has been.
It's not long before Sam feels the pull of orgasm low in his gut and it spreads like a fire through dry brush, the smoke of arousal making his eyes feel like they're burning and it's almost too hot but he steps into it willingly, Dean right behind him and sucking Sam's bottom lip into his mouth and worrying it gently between his teeth, the one button that needs to be pushed and it sends Sam right over the edge that he's been dangling on, come spurting warm and sticky underneath the water and getting all over he and Dean's locked fingers. Dean follows a bare second later, motions becoming fast and uncoordinated as he uses his and Sam's hands to pump his orgasm out of him, his release as copious and fulfilling as Sam's, panting hot into Sam's mouth and holding on tight.
It's some time before they even consider pulling apart and even then it's just far enough away so that they're still able to trade slow, lazy kisses, not at all yet ready to break away from each other's touch. Sam's okay with that because right now he needs as much as wants Dean's touch on his flesh and he's pretty sure Dean feels the same. It might be close to 3 am and they're in a hot tub in a place that only two other people know about but it simply doesn't matter, not with this thing that's settled like a warm blanket over their shoulders, surrounding and joining them together.
"We have to get out eventually" Sam says after some time, more or less in Dean's lap and laying his head on his shoulder.
"Says who?" Dean's sleepy and sated, warm as much from Sam's body heat as the fact he's in a hot tub.
"Says me because I can feel myself starting to prune. And I'd like to go to fall asleep not covered in chlorine." Sam nuzzles Dean's cheek, warm air huffing against his skin and Dean leans into it a little simply because he can.
"If you turn into a prune I promise to keep you up somewhere so that the elderly can't eat you." Dean doesn't think it's that funny but it makes Sam giggle anyway.
"C'mon, seriously – I'm bone tired and since you made me come I'm kinda liking the idea of our memory foam mattress. Besides, I think morning sex is in order if we're in bed within the next, oh, thirty minutes?"
Dean practically ends up dragging Sam out of the water, splashing it all over their clothes on the ground but hey, they've been through worse.
Chlorine water comes out a lot easier than werewolf blood anyway.
. . .
When Dean's eyes open the next day, his internal clock tells him it's well past his normal wake up time of 9 am. (non-case time, of course – he's always adjusting for that in the field.) He can't be too angry about Sam letting him sleep in until what feels like almost noon, especially since whatever Sam's doing at the moment was partly responsible for his coming out from under the warm pall of thankfully dreamless slumber.
He thinks about looking over at his watch just to rub it in later to Sam about how he's wasted half the day sleeping but it doesn't even make it past the half-formed idea stage, not when there's a suspiciously Sam-shaped mass moving under the covers gathered at his waist. Dean stretches for a long moment before reaching down to lift the five hundred thread count sheets (Sam had only complained about Dean splurging on them once – he hadn't said a word after about it after sleeping under them that first night) and sure enough, there's Sam, slowly kissing up the inside of his inner right thigh and slowly looking up at Dean, faux guilty look in his eye and his lips forming a very proud of himself grin.
"Having fun down there?" Dean's voice is scratchy from disuse but he figures Sam's been hearing it that way long enough to understand him.
"Just getting warmed up Dean – you mind if I keep going?" Sam's going to anyway – for once he's the one who woke up hard and leaking, only one objective in mind upon waking – have sex with Dean. Which, to be fair, he had promised last night during their small hours of the night hot tub tryst.
"Not at all Sammy – not often I'm the one who gets woken up to sex." Dean throws the blankets off of them, both as naked as they were after showering last night.
Sam rolls his eyes and keeps kissing up Dean's thigh. "Because some of us actually like to sleep in the morning."
Right as Dean's about to fire back some witty retort about getting up at noon not being morning Sam mouths at his balls, pulling one into his mouth and sucking just hard enough that Dean's cock goes from interested to deeply involved, his breath catching in his throat and hanging there for a second, exhaling as he slides his hands up Sam's arms and settles them on his neck and head, rubbing as Sam laps at Dean's heavy sac. Dean loves it when Sam sucks on his balls because Sam's damned good at it, always knows just the right amount of pressure to keep up on them – Dean's come more than once from Sam doing that alone and as nice as that idea sounds right now he can already tell he wants more than just Sam's mouth doing wonderful things to that particular spot of flesh.
Sam doesn't move though – he's got Dean exactly where he wants him – that and if Dean wanted to move, he's sure he would have by now. Sam moves a little closer, sucking as much of Dean's sac into his mouth as he can, Dean hissing through his teeth and gently tugging at Sam's hair. Sam figures he can give Dean another minute of this and then he's going to have to move on to something else –that's no problem, given that they don't have anything to do that day that's considered pressing. Sam sucks a little harder for a moment, getting Dean that much more worked up.
Dean's high on lust by the time Sam comes up and makes himself at home over Dean's body, reaching for Dean's hands and pinning them over his head as he gives him a long, deep kiss – Sam tastes very faintly of toothpaste and Dean – Dean knows exactly where Sam's just been but he tries not to think about what exactly kind of… perspiration he's tasting. Sam doesn't seem to care, intent on playing tonsil hockey all the same and Sam's very, very good at this game, of course. Dean kisses back just as eagerly, because kissing Sam is pretty much the best goddamn thing in the world.
Sam pulls away after another moment, panting for breath. "Don't think I'll ever get tired of doing that."
Dean's muzzy with pleasure and he's got a grin on his face as he looks up at Sam. "Tired of what babe?"
"Kissing you."
"Want to do it again?" Dean injects a tone of hopefulness into his voice.
"Duh." Sam kisses a little harder this time, reaching down in between them and putting his hand between Dean's spread legs. Dean moans into his mouth when he feels Sam's fingers touch at his hole, forefinger and middle finger tracing a slow circle around the tightly puckered rim. It's like a magic button of some sort every time Sam does that – Dean will spread his legs really fucking quick for Sam, always has – he's hooked on the way Sam touches him down there because Sam can and will give him exactly what he wants.
Sam's lips are still on Dean's as he speaks. "How d'you want it baby?"
Dean lets himself enjoy the feeling of Sam's teasing fingers for a moment before answering. "Nice and slow Sammy, nice and slow."
Sam had been hoping Dean would say that because it's been a few days and he wants this to last as long as he can make it. "Anything else?"
"Not at all. Just work your magic baby boy, I'm not going anywhere." Dean gives him another long kiss and they end up getting lost in that for a bit, tongues sliding against each other and lips sealed together until Sam's red from it, pulling away and sucking a series of marks down Dean's torso, a road map leading downwards, running his fingers over them until he has his hands on the sides of Dean's ass.
Sam's mostly careful about tilting Dean's hips upwards – mostly. Trouble is he's horny and Dean's looking at him like he's the answer to all his prayers and well, finesse and tenderness be damned. The injury in his side doesn't hurt that bad after a good night's rest and Dean's not exactly asking him to slow down. Sam bends Dean almost in half, Dean ending up with his cock pointed straight at his face and his toes touching the pillows – not that he minds at all because it's kind of hot the way that Sam can bend him like this (he won't say he's glad for the yoga he grudgingly does with Sam but it has made their sex life a lot more interesting.) Dean's gaze remains fixed on Sam's face, jade locked with hazel-blue, seeing each other in the reflection of their pupils, just like they always have, two halves of the same whole.
Sam opens his mouth wide as he sticks out his long, pink tongue and licks over the space right behind Dean's hole, light over that tight pink pucker and then up his perineum – he goes slow enough to where by the time his tongue lifts Dean's pulse has jumped another ten beats and he's already desperate – then again, too long without Sam's tongue anywhere on him is torture of the highest order and he's never liked being without it. The trouble is he can't figure out if he wants Sam to go fast or slow.
Sam makes the decision for him.
As it turns out that first lick was just a tease to get Dean wanting it. The second one is a lot more intense, Sam closing his eyes and burying his face in Dean's body. Dean whimpers because Sam's using the slightest hint of teeth and that feels fucking amazing, the soft warmth of his tongue swirling and dipping into him – Sam's gotten lots and lots of practice over the years and Dean's never once said no to Sam eating him out – he simply doesn't pass up something that shuts down the thinking parts of brain completely and right now they're well on their way to off, Sam growling and licking and if Dean had to choose another word, devouring. Then again he doesn't mind nor is he really thinking about it, mostly moaning Sam's name and carefully balancing himself so that the doesn't go toppling backwards.
Sam leans forward a little more, hands holding Dean's bottom apart, opening him up a little more, warm velvet skin under his tongue and judging by the way Dean's swearing and moaning already he's doing it right, licking at the soft inner skin and being infinitely thankful Dean loves this – Sam's a giver in bed, always has been and Dean's more often than not been the one on the receiving end of that desire to pleasure. Sam smiles as he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out as much as he can, making a real show of it and letting Dean see the contrasting pinks, Dean groaning loudly as his fingers dig in and wrench the sheets – Sam's tongue is rough in the right places and it's heaven.
Sam spends a long time opening Dean up, licking until his chin is wet and there are stubble burns around Dean's hole – Dean for his part is a wreck, eyes half-hooded and grinning like an idiot up at Sam, dragging him down for a sloppy kiss that's more teeth and desperation than tenderness – it's alright though because neither of them are thinking with any sort of coordination, Sam's dick achingly hard and Dean's belly wet with precome where his cock had laid against it. Dean tries to take as much of the taste of himself as he can from Sam's mouth, legs already tangled and wrapped with Sam's, rocking his hips against the solidness of Sam's body as if to convey what he wants – Sam knows and is more than willing to give, reaching for the bottle of lube that Dean conveniently forgets to put back on the night stand under the pillows, making a note to get more soon as it's three quarters empty.
Dean lays back as Sam decides to use the rest of it in one go, both of them needing it to last without reapplying midway through, Dean drooling as Sam slicks his cock up real slowly, circumcision scar glowing red by the time he reaches to finish prepping Dean. Two coated fingers slip inside easily, Sam making it as smooth and quick as possible because he needs to be in Dean now as much as Dean needs him inside – they're both stupid with lust, the tension so thick that Dean's convinced he's breathing pure hormones at this point.
"C'mon Sam, fucking need that cock." It's moaned and growled more than anything, trying not to fuck himself on down on the fingers Sam has in his body.
"Just a sec Dean, don't want to hurt you – patience, baby." Sam gives him as reassuring of a smile as he can, hoping Dean gets the message as he slides in a third finger, Dean swearing and thrashing his head from side to side. He's already so full but it's not enough, it's not Sam's cock, perfectly angled and curved to slam into his prostate with every thrust.
"Shit, Sammy." Sam had brushed his prostate, making Dean shudder bodily. Sam can feel that hard spot inside him, swollen in spite of their time in the hot tub last night – Dean's libido has not slowed down with age or wear, especially when it's with Sam (which these days is always, after all they've been through) and Sam's kind of proud of that, the intimate knowledge of exactly what buttons to press and when to get Dean so hot and bothered.
"Right here babe." Sam leans down to kiss Dean on the lips, brief but hard as he takes his fingers out and immediately presses the head of his cock to Dean's hole – Dean grabs onto Sam's hips and pulls forward, taking Sam by surprise as he slides in a quarter of the way, Dean's eyes rolling back into his head with just how fucking thick Sam is – he knows they have to take this slow but he needs Sam in a bad way, needs to feel that connection, both emotional and physical.
Sam takes over and eases himself inside, getting two-third of the way in before Dean puts a hand to his chest, stopping him as he adjusts to a week of not having Sam inside him, eyes closed as they breathe together, hearts beating in sync as they come together in a dance they've been practicing for over a decade and a half now. Sam knows Dean needs a minute when it's been a while – so does he. Dean's fingers grip Sam's biceps, Sam's arms planted on either side of Dean's head, their faces a bare couple inches apart, breathing each other's air as Sam pushes the rest of the way, Dean's fingernails leaving crescent moon shaped red marks on his skin, both of them breathing at the same time because it's like their bodies were made specifically for the other, those puzzles pieces locking together for the thousandth or ten thousandth time (Sam lost count of how many times he and Dean had come together like this sometime after Stanford – they'd done a lot of catching up in that year after everything that happened there… happened. That's far from his mind right now, instead focused on just how good it feels to be back inside Dean's body, Dean shifting his hand from Sam's right arm up to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the shock of impossibly soft hair and pulling Sam down for a deep kiss that's equal parts tender and desperate.
Dean hooks one leg over Sam's lower back and the other around his waist, Sam moving at his urging – he can feel Sam inside him no problem but he wants to feel him, now and for a long time after. It helps that Sam does this fantastic thing where he sucks on Dean's tongue and bottom lip one after the other as he starts to thrust, making Dean's toes curl in so hard that they'll hurt later. Sam does it again, knowing the same trick will work twice – Dean's not that hard to figure out in bed and Sam's had the answers to that particular code long enough to variate to where it's never routine or boring – so long as he can keep a few smoldering kisses in the mix Dean's good to go, knowing that that's the number one way to turn Dean to putty. Dean will swear he's not into that deeper sort of intimacy but Sam sees right through it, knowing that slow and sweet gets Dean off a lot harder than fast and rough (not that he doesn't enjoy it.)
Sam's lips are still on Dean's, one arm cradling Dean's shoulders, the other between them and jacking Dean off, Dean's arms curled around Sam's upper back in the effort to hold on and not fly apart since Sam's dick is splitting him open with each long, deliberate motion, all white heat whose flame drives a little higher every time. Dean's warm right now, the best kind of warm, lit from within (and that's a metaphor he'll never spill to Sam) and it's incredible, always is, overwhelmed and consumed by just how fucking glorious the feeling of Sam's giant cock inside him. Dean moans into Sam's mouth on one thrust where Sam finds his prostate directly, his orgasm having been looming and now coming more out of the shadows and even going slow like this he knows it's not going to be long – a week (or at least it feels like that) without Sam in a carnal way is torture that he wants to end sooner rather than later and given his chances there will almost certainly be a second or third round of this later – if Sam's the one who initiates this first thing Dean knows that they aren't getting anything done that day.
He's more than okay with that.
Sam, to his credit, does try to go slow but he can't help but speed up a little – not that Dean seems to care, given the way he's taken over jacking himself off so that Sam can focus fully on fucking him. Sam obliges his brother, hands splayed wide on Dean's shoulders, and panting against his full, kiss swollen lips. Dean's reduced to a litany of moans that vary in pitch every time Sam's cock pushes back inside, hand around his cock not quite in time with the motion of Sam's hips but it's close enough – he can feel his orgasm already starting to build, knows that Sam can feel it too, given the way his hips stutter as Dean starts to tighten around his dick.
Dean pulls Sam's hair down for a kiss and all it takes is that one perfect, warm contact of Sam's lips against his as he nails him right in the sweet spot and Dean comes, spurts of white coating his hand and stomach all the way up to his chest, Sam's attempts at thrusting as aborted he releases deep inside Dean, both of them exhaling each other's name on their breath, constellations forming and dissolving just as quickly behind their eyelids, completely, unadulterated bliss achieved before Sam's body gives out and he collapses on top of Dean, the air leaving Dean's lungs in a rush but he doesn't care in the slightest, Sam pulling out and a warm trickle of come running out of Dean's ass. Dean trieS to shift and move but he can't, not when Sam is currently a sated pile on top of him and he doesn't want to actually move, not when he feels like he's floating on euphoria.
Sam does roll off of him after another moment, only to pull Dean on top of him and bury his nose in his hair, Dean's face half hidden by Sam's chest, breathing deep and inhaling the warm musk of Sam's sweaty body. They both hum their contentment, the sheets a tangled mess somewhere around their feet, Sam's arms wrapped securely around Dean's body in a grip that's more like home than anything else in the world, nothing but the sound of their ever slowing breathing feeling the air.
Eventually, Dean breaks the tranquility, his voice low and rumbly on Sam's skin. "Look in the top drawer of my nightstand underneath the Bowie knife." Sam turns over, Dean moving with him so that he can watch, kissing Sam's neck and securing an arm around his middle as Sam sifts through the drawer and produces a small box, made of wood and with a hinge on one end.
Sam lays back against the pillows, Dean at his side as he hands it to him. "What's in there that's so important as to interrupt post sex... basking." Sam won't call it cuddles, even though that's what it is.
Dean smiles and kisses Sam's neck, setting the box on Sam's flat stomach. "Well… I've been kind of kicking it around for a while and uh, it's not exactly legal or even able to be recognized where it is but…." Dean's voice trails off, opening the box. Inside are two silver rings, one slightly larger than the other, nestled in what appears to be black leather that if Sam didn't know any better came from the Impala's interior.
Sam grins wide, laughing and closing his eyes as his head falls back against the pillows. "Dean, are you proposing to me?"
"You know, college did teach you something – stating the obvious." Dean tries to conceal his excitement behind sarcasm but he doesn't miss the way Sam's arm tightens around his shoulders or the excited flush on his cheeks.
Sam rolls over, taking the ring box in one hand and using the other to cup the back of Dean's head and draw him in for a long kiss, tongues sliding and lips stuck together, after which Sam simply says "yes."
Dean has to almost pinch himself and if he didn't feel like he was floating before he definitely is now, Sam's forehead resting against his, mouthing "yes" over and over again against Dean's lips and he finally gets the picture, taking the rings out of the box and moving by feel to put it on Sam's finger, Sam taking the other and doing the same. It doesn't feel odd, doing this, simply right, like it was the inevitable event in their long, sometimes rocky relationship but this… this feels unbreakable, solid – as solid as anything in their lives and Sam immediately decides he's beyond content with this, excited, giddy – he doesn't have a word to describe it, for all of the words and phrases he knows.
"Dean are… are we married?" Sam's smile is a million watts of white on the last word.
"Looks that way Sammy. Say, you don't mind if I keep my last name do you?" Dean tries to tease but just ends up snuggling closer to Sam.
"So long as I get to do the same. That okay?"
Dean moves to where he's straddling Sam's hips, aware that he's still sticky with drying come. "Whatever you want Sam my….. husband." Dean's body thrills from saying the word, gooseflesh breaking out from head to toe.
"Really loved the wedding by the way – when's the reception?" Sam wipes a tear of happiness from his eye, looks up at Dean and puts his hand on his hips.
"In the bathroom. Under the shower. You already know the place, right?"
Sam can't help but laugh at Dean's goofy grin, all charm and giddiness and warmth, kissing Dean before pulling him off the bed and heading towards the door in the opposite wall, Dean rubbing the metal on his ring finger that already feels completely natural.
. . .