Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly

You like? You don't like? Review and tell me why! (Constructive criticism only please, if you don't like the subject, don't read the story.) If you haven't read the FMFC series yet, you'll probably want to read those first or this won't make much sense…

Chapter 3

Sam stepped into the motel room, a cardboard tray containing two cups of coffee in one hand and a greasy bag of frosted donuts in the other – a peace offering for Dean, who apparently got some kind of illicit thrill from overloading on sugar for breakfast.

He stopped dead at Dean's panicked expression, eyebrows raised. Dean had obviously been sitting at the table in front of the laptop when he heard Sam unlocking the door. He'd shoved the chair back, half-standing over the open laptop with both hands on the lid. His face was the colour of a tomato. Sam's first thought was that he'd caught Dean in the middle of whacking one off to downloaded porn, but the older man's jeans were still zipped and buttoned, and not even a hint of a hard-on pushed at the material over his crotch.

"Dean? What's goin' on?"

"Nothing! Nothing, just…" Dean waved a hand in the air, the other slamming the lid of the laptop shut. "Checking emails, y'know?"

A smirk pulled at Sam's lips; Dean got so damn cute when he was flustered. "Emails, huh? Anything good?"

"Nah, just a load of junk-mail, free Viagra and all that shit." Dean cast his eyes about the room as he talked, a sure sign that he was keeping something from Sam.

"Mind if I check mine?" He took a step forward, was brought to a sudden halt when Dean's hand landed on his chest, physically holding him back from the laptop.

"No! No, I'm…not done yet."

"Okay, I'll wait." Sam sat on the bed, a clear view of the laptop in his sight. He pulled out a donut and started eating; watching Dean was an entertainment best enjoyed with sugary foods.

Dean's head swivelled back and forth between Sam and the laptop, a barely-hidden look of terror on his face. His mouth worked on soundless excuses, and finally Sam gave in. "Okay Dean, what is it?"

"What's what?" Dean's tone was one of over-contrived nonchalance. It always amazed Sam – Dean could stand in front of a room full of people and have them completely convinced he was a police officer, or an FBI agent, or a freaking NASA test pilot if he wanted to. Hell, he could look Sam straight in the eye and tell him he was going out for coffee, and then come back three hours later covered in blood, having killed the monster-of-the-week by himself because he didn't want to risk Sam in a situation he deemed too dangerous.

But when it came to stupid things, like who used up the last of the toothpaste, Dean was absolutely useless.

Finally Sam took pity on the older man. "What are you looking at on the internet, Dean? Because if it's the site with the all-girl orgy again…"

If possible, Dean's face turned even redder. "What? How do… Uh, I mean, what are you talking about?"

"Dude, I know you jerk off to porn on the laptop." Sam said, making sure Dean could see his half-grin. "It's not a big secret. Hell, I've walked in on you!"

"I thought you said you didn't… You know what, it doesn't matter." Dean looked like he wanted nothing more than to hide under the bedcovers. "I wasn't looking at porn, okay? Just…look, can't you go use the bathroom or something?" His eyes turned beseeching.

"Why? Dean, I really don't mind if you were looking at porn. I told you, I didn't expect you to give up jerking off, just 'cause we aren't having sex yet."

"I am not looking at porn." Dean's hands buried themselves in his hair. "I…look, I was just…doing some research."

Sam frowned, cocking his head. "For what? Do we have a new job?"

"No. It's…not that kind of research." Dean looked like he was close to strangling himself, his hands scrubbing over his face compulsively.

"Then…what?" Sam watched curiously as Dean shifted on his feet, his hands flying from his face to link fingers at the back of his neck. Whatever Dean was doing, it was…hell, Sam didn't even know. He'd never seen Dean so awkward and embarrassed before, not even the time he'd walked in on him in the bathroom in the middle of the night, stark naked and taking a piss sitting down. The memory still made him crack up, and he struggled to keep a straight face. The last thing they needed right now was Sam in hysterics; Dean would never get out whatever he was trying to say.

"I, uh. I was. Researching. Um." You said that part already, Sam opened his mouth to say. But Dean shot him a warning look, like he could hear his thoughts, and Sam snapped his mouth shut again. "I was researching, for, y'know. When we…do it."

"Do…what?"

With a frustrated growl, Dean threw his hands up. "Just go look." He gestured brusquely at the computer.

Sam pushed himself up, and then almost fell back down again as Dean stormed past him to the bathroom, a muttered "tell me when you're done. Or better yet, don't, and we can forget this ever happened."

Mystified, Sam watched him go.

And then turned to the laptop, half-wary now. If whatever Dean had been looking at provoked that kind of reaction…

He opened it up. Immediately the open web page sprung onto the screen. It took Sam a second to register what he was actually seeing, and then.

Well.

It definitely wasn't porn.

*****

Dean sat on the toilet, his head in his hands, feeling like he might actually erupt in flames. God, why did Sam have to walk in while he was looking at that particular site?

There were no sounds coming from the other room, and Dean ventured a peek up at the closed bathroom door. Maybe Sam had been so freaked out he'd left? Dean couldn't blame the kid if he had; some of the stuff he'd seen on that site had freaked him out, and he'd known beforehand what he'd been getting into.

He'd just wanted to be prepared. Surely Sam could understand that? Sam was always telling him to think ahead, to make a plan, and he had to get points for following advice. Right?

God, he was such a pussy, hiding out in the goddamn bathroom. Dean forced himself to his feet, reaching out one hand for the doorknob.

It swung open before he could touch it, and he leapt back, feeling jittery as a stray cat.

"Dean?" Sam's head appeared around the door. His face was strangely expressionless, and Dean wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.

"Uh, hey." He chewed his lip, wincing at the sharp pain as his teeth dug into soft flesh. "You, uh, you look at it?"

"Yeah." Sam moved all the way into the room, his face still blank of emotion.

Dean couldn't hold eye contact for longer than a few seconds, his gaze skittering away to the safe sight of a half-empty shampoo bottle on its side in the tiny shower cubicle. "So, can we forget about it now? It…it was just some stupid thing I was looking at anyway, it didn't really…it didn't mean anything…"

"Dean." Sam stepped into his space, his hand reaching out to turn Dean's face towards him. "You were looking at a site on how to have gay sex. A detailed site, with diagrams and step-by-step instructions."

Oh, god. That was it. Sam thought he was a total weird freak. Hell, Dean thought he was a total weird freak. He'd had known exactly what he was looking for as he typed the words into Google, but actually hearing them out loud…

"That is…quite possibly the sweetest, most disturbing thing you've ever done." It took Dean a minute to process Sam's words. When he did, his embarrassment dropped away for a second and he looked up in surprise.

Sam's smile was shy and hesitant, his eyes peeking up at Dean from under his bangs. His hand trailed down to rest over Dean's heart, fingers splayed in a star. "You're kinda…the most amazing person I've ever met, ever. And I know that's not really saying a lot, considering what I grew up with, but…I just wanted you to know."

"Sam…" Dean was quite literally speechless. Words deserted him, because Sam thought he was amazing?

The kid moved closer, his other hand tracing the lines of muscle along Dean's forearm, stroking downward until his fingers were curling over the skin of Dean's upturned palm. The touch tickled, sensitive nerves sparking and purring under the caress. Holding his gaze, Sam lifted the hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss in the very centre of Dean's palm. When he let it go, Dean could still feel the soft imprint of Sam's lips, like a brand, a permanent mark he would wear forever. His hand clenched involuntarily, holding that echo of a kiss in a tight fist as if he could protect it, and by extension, protect Sam too.

Sam was watching him through his dark hair, the stark elegant lines of his cheekbones a perfect contrast to the softness of his baby-pouted lips. The emotions swelled up inside Dean as his eyes hungrily devoured the sight, emotions he felt at least a million times each day, but every time they made his breath catch with the enormity of their meaning.

There was nothing he wouldn't do for Sam.

Sam smiled, his face breaking open like the first spear of sunlight cleaving the night sky. "Hey. I brought you donuts."

Dean smiled right back. It was him, and it was Sam. The kid was right; it was already pretty perfect.

*****

Smoke billowed from the open hood of the Impala like a dying man's last breath. Dean had his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow despite the sudden rainstorm that had hit as they were driving out of town. His hands were dripping grease and oil, but he didn't seem to notice, rubbing them through his hair in frustration and leaving big black handprints on his hips when he stood back to survey the damage.

Sam leaned out of the passenger side window, squinting through the driving rain. "Dean! Get back in the car, willya, you're gonna catch pneumonia if you stand out there!"

Dean shot him a look through narrowed eyes and yelled back. "No! I can get her started again, it's probably just the radiator overheating." He turned the look on the car. "Easily fixed, I can do it in five minutes."

With a sigh Sam was glad Dean couldn't hear over the rain, he pulled his head back inside, scrubbing the damp from his hair with the sleeve of his hoody.

Perfect, the older man had said. He wanted their first time together to be perfect. They couldn't stay at the motel while the storm passed over, Dean said, because it wasn't perfect. Sam shut his eyes, shifting irritably in his seat as he pulled his hood over his head. The heating had given up along with whatever had blown under the hood, and the damned storm had killed what little California heat hung around during the winter. Outside, something was dropped with a loud clang, followed by a stream of inventive curses.

Sam unwound the window to call out to Dean again, but the older man's head appeared around the open hood before he could open his mouth, tension pulling his mouth into a thin white line. "Not a word, Sam."

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine. The car will be working again in two minutes."

Sam bit back his retort. Dean disappeared behind the hood again, just as the rain started really pelting down.

With another sigh and a longing look at the relative comfort of the inside of the Impala, Sam pushed the car door open, climbing out. A second look, and he snatched up Dean's leather jacket, holding it over his head like a badly-constructed tent.

Dean looked up as he rounded the front of the car, his eyebrows pulling together. "Sam, get back in the car. It's freezing out here."

"Yeah, I noticed." Sam's mouth twisted in a slight smile. "And yet, you're still outside."

"I'm fixing the car." Dean clapped both hands on the grill, like the combination of words and actions would make it magically fix itself.

Sam looked at the car, watching steam hiss from one of the…car parts. Then he looked up at Dean, who was seemingly transfixed by the same sight. After thirty seconds, the older man was still watching, making no move to try and fix anything.

Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, Dean?"

"What." The bitten-out reply didn't sound good, and neither did the tension whitening his knuckles.

"What…uh… I thought you said you could fix it. Easily."

"I can."

"Then, uh, why don't you…do that?" Sam took a tentative step towards Dean, holding the jacket-umbrella out to partially cover him too.

And then he took a reflexive step back as Dean sent him a dark look over his shoulder, jaw clenched. "Because."

"Because?"

Dean pulled a hand down his face, oblivious of the black skid-marks left smeared over his nose and cheeks. "Because… The radiator is overheated. It's an easy fix. If you have a bottle of water to pour in there."

"And we don't have a bottle of water."

"Nope."

"Great. Of course we don't." Sam didn't even try to hide his long sigh. "Just…c'mon, let's get back in the car while the storm passes over. We can go for a bottle of water when it's not raining."

Dean let out an enormous shuddery breath, finally turning to face Sam. He looked ridiculous; his hair on end and blackened with grease, smears of it on his cheeks and one corner of his mouth. It made Sam want to laugh at first, but he held it in – Dean probably wouldn't appreciate being the butt of a joke right now – and then something turned over deep in Sam's belly, a tightness that sucked all the air from his lungs. God, was he getting turned on?

He took another quick step back, like Dean would be able to sense the niggling arousal shortening Sam's breaths. But it didn't abate; the smell of Dean hung over him, deep and masculine, and it took Sam a second to remember he had Dean's leather jacket draped over his head, the scent of Dean so deeply ingrained in it that it made Sam feel giddy.

"Okay, kiddo." Dean didn't seem to notice anything wrong, didn't seem to catch the blush rapidly rising in Sam's cheeks. "Let's wait it out, then."

The older man turned back to the car, slamming the hood shut with both hands. He stepped back, into Sam's space, ducking his head under the cover of his jacket. The movement was natural; they'd been living in each others pockets for so long now.

Sam closed his eyes, willing his body to stay still, stay steady, and nodded. "Yeah, let's…let's get back in the car."

Dean reached over, catching his arm in a careless move, tugging him along to the driver's side. He opened the door, pushing Sam in front of him to get in first, and Sam had barely crawled into the car before Dean was following.

God, this was insane. Sam's blood was pounding through his veins, making him heat up from the inside out. His dick was hard in his baggy jeans, the head rubbing against his boxers and sending shivers through him. Dean was shivering too, his clothes soaked through with rain, and he barely glanced over at Sam before he-

Jesus. Before he stripped off his shirt, baring his broad chest to Sam's wide eyes. His nipples were tight and peaked, tiny goosebumps dotting his forearms and making the short hairs there stand on end. Dean looked down at his dirty hands, his lip curling as he tried to wipe the grease off with the discarded shirt. Sam watched as he screwed each of his long fingers in the material, focused only on the task of cleaning every spot of grease from the creases of his knuckles.

"Sammy? You okay?"

Dean's voice made him drag his eyes away, up to the older man's face. There was a tiny frown creasing the skin between Dean's eyes, and his gaze searched Sam's face.

"Huh?" Sam said stupidly, feeling his blushing cheeks darken further.

"You look all pink. You feelin' okay there, kiddo?" Dean leaned forward, reaching a hand out to touch Sam's face.

Sam jerked away before it could connect, feeling beyond idiotic. Christ, he'd been the one to insist on having sex, he'd been the one to push and push and push, and now that Dean had finally agreed, Sam was like a small child again, scared of his own body's responses. "I…I'm…"

Dean's hand landed on Sam's thigh, high enough to send a zigzag of heat up, up to Sam's eager cock. Fuck. It made Sam's heart race, and not entirely in a good way. He bit his lip, angry with himself. He was over this, damn it. Unexpected touches didn't make him flinch anymore, especially not Dean's touches, Dean's hands on him. This shouldn't be any different, just because the door was open for it to go further.

"Sam, what's wro-" The older man was cut off mid-sentence, his mouth suddenly occupied.

He sputtered a bit into Sam's mouth, twisting away far enough for the words to escape – "Sammy, Jeez-" – and then Sam reattached, climbing monkeylike into Dean's lap to prevent any further attempts at talk. His arms curled around Sam's waist, an automatic gesture that made Sam moan into his mouth. Better, this was better. Better to do it fast, before he had time to think, to question. Dean was finally, finally, getting with the programme, tentatively returning Sam's desperate kisses.

When Dean started to kiss him back with the same passion Sam felt it was almost too much. Too much of Dean, all around him, bared skin at his front for his fingers to roam restlessly over, bare arms encircling him and holding him close, and still that heady scent of wet and male and the beginnings of sex. Sam's hips lurched forward, ungainly and sharp, and Dean's hands settled on the points of his pelvis.

"Sam…Sam, what…what is this?" Dean stuttered out between long kisses, the words caught against Sam's mouth.

"Want you. Want you now." Sam said insistently. Any doubts he'd been feeling were slipping away with Dean's touch, the sensations shorting out his brain before it could process, and now all he needed was more, more sensation, more touch, more Dean. He rolled his hips again, experimenting with the unfamiliar angles and pressures, and gasped when his hard dick came into contact with Dean's flat stomach. The feeling was muffled by the thick denim of his jeans, and his hands flew to his zipper. "Dean, please, feels…good, more…"

"Sam! Sam, we're not," Dean tried to catch hold of Sam's wrists, wriggling under him as Sam pushed against his grip, "we're not doing this here!"

Sam ignored him, leaning down to suck bruises into the thin skin at Dean's bared throat as his hands worked at his fly.

"Sam! Slow down, willya, there's no rush!" Dean's hands caught hold of his arms at the elbow, pulling them away from his body. A whimpering sound escaped Sam's throat before he could catch it and reel it back.

Dean's face was flushed, but his expression was set as he all but hauled Sam backward on his lap. Sam felt the steering wheel at his back, uncomfortable and hard. "Dean," he said in the smallest voice he could manage, "don't you want to?"

"Not when you're freaked out and trying to prove something to yourself, kiddo." Dean said, his face softening around the edges. Sam couldn't hold his gaze, guilt fluttering through him and tainting all the good feelings Dean's touch had brought to the surface, and he turned his head away before the older man could read it in his eyes.

Dean let go of his arms, a gentle hand reaching out to touch Sam's chin, turning it to face him again. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Sam's in a soft, chaste kiss. "It's okay, Sammy. It's okay if you're scared. You just…you gotta talk to me, man. We can't do this unless I know what you're thinking and how you're feeling."

The rain thundered down outside the car, rattling on the roof and windscreen like a drum roll, and Sam shut his eyes for a second, breathed through his nose and let the sound calm some of the urgency in his body. Dean helped, his hand slipping from Sam's chin to the back of his neck. His fingers threaded through Sam's thick hair, a hand span almost too huge to be real cupping Sam's head like he was a newborn baby, Dean supporting his fragile body until it was strong enough to hold together on its own.

"I'm scared." Sam admitted, his gaze fixed on Dean's chest. "But…I don't want you to think we shouldn't do it."

"Kid, we're not doing anything until you're a hundred and ten per cent sure that it's what you want. No fear, no pretending."

"Well, what am I supposed to do then, Dean?" Sam threw his hands up, anger rising up and allowing him to meet Dean's eyes. He let it wash over him, pushing aside all his nervousness and confusion. Anger was good. Anger he could deal with. "I don't know how to make it go away! I want this, us, together! I'm not letting some…stupid thing that happened to me years ago get in the way!"

"It wasn't a stupid thing, Sam." Dean said quietly. "It was attempted rape. You can't just push that aside and act like it didn't happen."

"Don't!" Sam jerked away, rolling off of Dean's lap in a messy tangle of limbs. He didn't stop until he was pressed up against the passenger door. "Don't…say that."

But Dean was insistent. "That's what it was, Sam. Gareth tried to rape you."

"But he didn't! You were there, you stopped him! Nothing happened!"

"He still touched you!" Dean's jaw clenched around the words, like he was trying to hold them back. He sucked in a tight breath, letting it out slowly before he continued speaking. "And you need to deal with that before anything can happen between us. I don't want him in bed with us when we finally have sex, Sam. I won't let him…force you into something you're not ready for."

Sam pressed his lips together, turning his face away from Dean. He heard the older man sigh loudly from the other side of the car.

They sat in silence until the rain stopped.