Chapter 4:
A voice interrupted Sam's speech before Dean could begin to guess what happened to him, a voice that disturbed the calm of the woods, silencing the crickets, and the creaking of the floorboards underfoot.
"I believe I can offer an explanation for that..."
The brothers turned at the sudden intrusion of the voice, gravelly and familiar, yet unexpected. The man was dressed in a trench coat, black tie loosened at the neck, slight perma-stubble on the face, penetrating blue eyes staring back at them, filled with compassion. Over his arm rested a pair of dark blue jeans and a faded black t-shirt.
"Castiel." Dean acknowledged as he approached the angel confidently.
"I thought you might need these." Castiel looked over Dean's naked figure as he tossed the clothing towards Dean. "You should get dressed before you catch a cold."
Dean quickly slipped the t-shirt over his head and zipped up the jeans, taking care not to catch himself in the zipper. A flood of emotions overtook him as he replayed the last few hours of his day. Weird premonition-type dream involving Ruby, a white light exploding from the wound given by Ruby's knife, killing a demon with his bare hands...none of this made sense. Confusion and fear added themselves to Dean's already clouded mind.
"What the hell is going on here, Cas? I mean, seriously... my hands were glowing in there. I felt weird. I even off'd a demon trying to save Sammy. Now, I'm no Zelda Rubinstein, but I think I know when something funny is going on."
"Dean," Castiel took a moment to sigh, brow furrowed, and began, "this is really hard to explain as there are so many unknowns involved."
"Castiel, I'm a big boy. Don't pussyfoot around the details. Just give it to me straight."
Castiel's look sent shivers down Dean's spine. It was a look of despair and regret. Emotions were rarely seen on Castiel's face, and they were often accompanied with bad news, so Dean allowed himself the luxury of being nervous as well.
A second deep breath escaped from Castiel's mouth before he began. "Dean, when you were in Hell, rumours surfaced. These rumours spoke of two brothers bringing the apocalypse to Earth, beginning with a soul given in sacrifice for another, breaking the first seal towards the path to the End of Days. When Heaven heard this, a few of us opposed to the end of the Earth exercised all our resources, desperately seeking a way to get you out of Hell, hoping to stop you before that first seal was broken. Many attempts failed. While digging through some of the Lost Books, I found mention of a soul being rescued from the depths of Hell by offering a sacrifice." Castiel paused.
Dean's mouth was open, while his heart beat rapidly and suspense tore at him. He never enjoyed the waiting aspect of life and this was hard.
"The sacrifice was a percentage of an angel's Grace, their essence, their very soul. It was a painful procedure, but I willingly offered it in an attempt to save you, and it's had some interesting results for both you and me, as you've noticed today. I'm sorry Dean, I'm so sorry."
Dean took a moment to process his thoughts, his mind whirling. "You mean, I've got your Angel mojo running through me?" Dean shuddered slightly, unsure if he wanted this confirmed.
"Do you doubt my words?"
"No, I guess not. I suppose the big question is, when do I get those wings? Someone torched my car and I don't have enough frequent flyer miles to travel around." His words were cold, still struggling to get over the damage to the Impala and the desire to stab Ruby repeatedly.
As often is the case, Castiel just looked at Dean, not quite understanding if he was supposed to laugh, or to explain further. Sometimes one of the most frustrating things about Dean was how often he could be sarcastic. Castiel knew that Dean was frustrated, and so he offered a change of subject and walked over to Sam.
"These wounds are quite bad. Would you like me to heal you?"
Sam, still caught up in his own discomfort, pain, and the sudden realization that he wasn't the only Winchester who's different, just nodded his head. Cas raised his hand and held it over Sam's forehead. Slowly, his hands glided over the wounds on Sam's face, along his arms and body, tracing over the scars. A quick flash of light burst from Castiel's hand, following his motions, illuminating the injuries with warmth. After a moment, the light faded, new pink skin replacing the various injuries that covered Sam's body. A contented sigh escaped Sam's lips, muscles flexing briefly, testing the healed flesh. Dean watched, observing his brother's face as it returned to its kind and youthful appearance, so distracted by the transformation that he didn't realize his body no longer ached.
"Dean, would you be inter...." Castiel paused, distracted by Dean's body and the lack of injury and blood. "I guess you've got greater ability than I suspected. Interesting." Dean just inspected the areas where his wounds were, feeling nothing but slightly tender flesh.
"I guess it's one of the perks of being some sort of crazy angel half-breed. Now, seriously... when do I get my wings?" A modicum of humour escaped Dean's lips and for a moment, he was thankful that he hadn't lost his ability to be emotive like other angels he'd met in the past.
Ignoring the question, Castiel walked east, and beckoned the boys do the same. As they passed through the brush down a worn pathway, no-one spoke. To Dean, the world was suddenly very big and he felt alone. Different. He felt unique, and not in the good way. He was a freak. No wonder Sam had such a hard time when he was developing his demonic powers.
Dean's thoughts were cut short when Castiel led them to a clearing in the woods. On the edge of the clearing was an old broken-down jeep that had been used recently judging by the fresh mud on the tires. Castiel looked back at the boys: "Take this for now, and head to Bobby's in the morning. We've been discussing a few theories lately, and with Ruby's recent emergence in the world, I suspect Bobby would like to talk with you. I've got to go see what I can find out." With that, Castiel vanished from sight.
Dean was tired and suggested that Sam drive the first shift. Sam didn't argue. He simply got behind the wheel and started driving, brow furrowed in concern for his brother, remembering a similar situation a few years ago.
They drove through the woods, following the old path, beaten into the ground by 4-wheelers and off-road vehicles. Minutes flowed together; time became an idea, merely a suggestion to Dean. His mind felt full, stuffed to the brim with information he wasn't sure how to process. He didn't know where they were headed. In fact, he didn't even realize they had stopped driving until Sammy tapped him on the shoulder.
As he climbed out of the stolen jeep, the world seemed heavy, altered, as if he suddenly saw things clearly. The neon lights of the motel felt cheap and undignified, the gravel crunching under his shoes triggered a feeling of being able to crush a world with his bare hands. It was too much for him. He needed a break.
Checking into the seedy motel room #14, Dean surveyed the beds. "Sammy, I think I'm going to take a shower, check out and see if I have any bruises." Sam just watched with concern in his eyes, as his older brother shuffled into the bathroom. The click of the bathroom doorknob was audible in the silence, despite Dean's attempt to be quiet.
Dean slowly stripped off his clothing, tensing and testing his muscles, preparing himself for discomfort. When he found none, he stood in front of the mirror, inspecting his body. It was the same strong torso, the same light dusting of hair on his stomach, the same muscular thighs, same cock. Even his eyes...same colour, same shape, only a bit red from stress, looked back at him. He was still Dean Winchester on the outside, and with that realization he began to cry lightly into his hands, sitting naked on the edge of the tub. He felt so powerless.
There was a shuffling noise outside the door, followed by a knock. Dean quickly wiped his eyes and responded, only to hear the reply, "I'm gonna get some food. You want me to get you a cheeseburger or something?" The thought of eating something now seemed ridiculous, but Dean was hungry and it was rare he turned down food. "Sure, Sammy." He choked, clearing his throat as he continued, "see if you can get some fries too, huh?"
With that, Dean heard steps walking away from the bathroom and the room door close. He stood up, grabbing a towel off the wall, setting the flow of water to hot. Within a few seconds, the steam began to rise in the bathroom, and Dean stepped in. The warm water cascaded down his body, turning slightly muddied as it removed the dirt and dried blood from his torso and thighs, mixing with the suds from the cheap motel soap.
Dean drifted, trying to relax within the steam and heat. Soon he was gone, far from the shower, away from the events of the day, away from everything. He was at peace. He saw light, felt warmth, joy, and happiness. With his eyes closed, he could hear his mother humming a lullaby, watching over him, offering comfort. He was safe. His dad was there, Sammy was there, even Bobby was sitting in the background, all surrounding him with support. He turned to look at Sam, knowing this was a dream. Sam was smiling.
Suddenly, the smile, the face, the light darkened. A cold chill ran through Dean. Sammy's eyes shifted to the blackest black, soulless and evil. He raised his hand and John flew across the room, bursting into flames as he flew. His mother jumped in front to save him, but she was thrown into Bobby, both smashing through a nearby window, their screams echoing in the night. As Dean stood there, he felt helpless, watching the corpse of his father burn, watching his brother walk towards him, a look of pure demonic hatred in his eyes. Sam's hand sent him flying into the wall, smashing a mirror into pieces.
"Dean, you can't stop me. You're weak. You're nothing special, just some guy with a bit of angel funk in him." Sam's face twisted into a truly grotesque mask of hatred. It was a vision of pure evil. It slowly melted into Ruby's face, then Meg's, then Bella's, then Azazel's.
"Sammy, I will protect you, no matter what the cost." Dean blinked his eyes, preparing to fight back. When they opened, Dean was back in the shower. The steam had long since dissipated and the water was bordering on freezing. He quickly jumped out, cursing the cold water, and looked back into the mirror as he dried himself off, trying to work heat back into his skin.
Rather than see his own reflection in the mirror, he saw Sam's...Sam smiling at him, his eyes still black. Visions of having to fight his brother, stopping him when he lost control, flooded his mind. Before Dean knew it, his arm reacted instinctively, and his fist smashed into the mirror, shards of glass raining down into the sink, knuckles bleeding through chunks of mirror in his hand.
The door flew open and Sam was beside him in a moment. Dean just looked at his hand, angel abilities already healing the injury, pain subsiding gradually. "Sammy, how'd you get in?"
"Dean, we pick locks on a daily basis. It took me 5 seconds... anyways, I heard glass smash. What the hell happened in here? Are you ok?"
As the last piece of glass popped out, with new skin covering the wound, Dean found himself stretched to the limit. He could no longer handle this. It had all happened too fast. He looked up at Sam, stared into those kind eyes, not black, but green with hazel flecks, noticed the concern and fear in his brother and broke down. Dean didn't think Sam should see this, but it was far too overwhelming. As the tears began to flow down his face, he opened his mouth to speak, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, but unsure of how it would come out.
"No Sam, I'm not ok.... I can't HANDLE this shit anymore! I don't want to be a FUCKING angel! I don't want to save the world. I lost my fucking car today, got stabbed a few times, watched my brother get chopped up like a Virginia ham by his ex-girlfriend, and all I can do is think about the future and what all this new stuff means. I mean, Sammy, I'm a fucking angel/human MUTT! I get cut open and it heals! I get visions. Hell, for all I know, white light shoots out my ass when I take out a demon! It's shit, and I just want it to stop! I don't want to be a freak!"
Dean instantly regretted saying that last statement out loud but he couldn't control himself. He looked up at Sam, the one person he thought he could always count on, and hoped he didn't see disappointment or fear in his eyes. Instead, he saw forgiveness and understanding.
He opened his mouth to continue screaming, letting all his rage flow out in bursts, but was interrupted by a pair of strong arms that wrapped themselves around him, pulling him closer, pressing him against a broad, firm chest. It was Sam, always trying to help, understanding what others need. Dean felt himself melt a bit inside his own chest, but his rage continued on. He thrashed against Sam's chest, struggling to get himself loose.
Sam continued to hold on, hoping to comfort Dean until he was calm enough to speak about this rationally. He remembered a few years ago, when he had to confront a similar problem, as the demon essence inside him manifested and grew, altering him. Sam had no-one to hold him back then. There were nights where he'd hoped that Dean would come over to him, comfort him, and understand just how scary it was to be different. He wanted to be held on those nights, made to feel more like a human and less like a freak. And now, with Dean struggling against him, Sam felt a strong desire to comfort him, more than that...a desire to care for him. He wanted to make sure Dean knew everything was going to be alright. He did the one thing he knew would work, no matter how odd it seemed in his mind.
He kissed Dean.
Tenderly.
Slowly.
Sam wasn't exactly sure why he did this. It just felt like the right thing to do. All his life, Dean took care of him, and he felt this was the one thing he could do for Dean that would allow him to know he had the support of his brother. Dean's thrashing stopped the moment Sam's lips touched his own. As his lips pulled off Dean's, Sam began to think logically. He'd just kissed his brother. It wasn't a friendly peck on the cheek either. It was a tender, soft kiss, one that he used to share with Jessica when she was crying over the loss of her father. It seemed wrong, but it felt right. Sam hesitated, letting Dean go as he watched the reaction, his eyes red from crying.
When Sam's lips touched Dean's, there was no more rage for Dean. His world felt calm again. Dean looked at his brother in a different light, his face flashing through confusion and then understanding. Sam was someone who understood completely. He's part demon, or had been. He'd been through the whole experience and survived, still just as kind and caring as possible. When things got rough for Dean, when he needed someone to listen, Sam would be there to lend an ear.
But the kiss...what the heck was that? Dean wasn't gay, he knew that. There were many women in the world who could vouch for his love of fucking, women with smiles on their faces as they recalled wild sex and multiple orgasms with the eldest Winchester. He'd been with so many women, and loved it. It was part of who he was. Having said that, even though he was angry and ready to destroy the world a few moments ago, part of him was now strangely pleased and aroused that Sam had kissed him. The towel around his waist seemed just a bit tighter after that kiss.
He looked at Sammy, who looked scared and excited at the same time, and licked his lips. "Awww, what the hell," Dean thought to himself. He grabbed Sam's head and pulled his lips closer. The embrace was longer this time, more about passion than kindness. Dean began to lose control of his thoughts and gave in to the embrace. Sam lifted Dean slightly off the ground, wrapping his arms around his torso, while Dean's fingers found their way to Sam's hair, kneading gently, but with a hunger he hadn't known was possible.
As they kissed, Dean's towel slowly came undone, thanks to the growing erection underneath. Soon, Dean was completely naked, standing there, kissing Sam as passionately as he had ever kissed another person. He felt an urge and began to grind against Sam. A guttural moan escaped his lips into Sam's mouth as his fully erect dick rubbed against Sam's growing bulge.
Sam pulled back after feeling the hardness of Dean and his own cock, straining in his jeans, and looked at his brother. "Dean, what are we doing?" he asked breathlessly, as his eyes ventured down Dean's stomach, taking a quick glimpse at what looked like seven inches of hard dick pressed against his pants.
"I dunno Sam, but I need this."
With that comment, Sam's own lust overpowered his rational mind. He grabbed Dean's face and began kissing him harder, tongues rubbing against each other, each exploring the other's mouth. Together they stumbled back to the bed, Dean's naked body landing upon the mattress first, with Sam's following on top of him. Dean winced at the sudden weight landing on him, but didn't want to break the kiss. His hands caressed Sam's body, starting with his hair, then moving lower and ever lower, until they discovered a large bulge in Sam's pants.
Breaking the kiss for just a moment, Dean looked down. "Sammy, did you pack a gun in your boxers?" Sam just smiled nervously. "Nope, that's my dick, Dean. I'm kinda hard at the moment, in case you hadn't noticed."
Dean had noticed. In fact, a sudden curiosity blossomed in him. He'd never thought about Sam in a sexual way before, and he found himself turned on at discovering just how big his cock was. He'd seen him naked in the shower plenty of times, and he'd caught him with morning wood before, but this was different. This time, he was the cause of the hard-on, and he was curious to compare it to his own exposed member. "Sammy, stand up for a second."
As Sam lifted himself off his brother's body, standing at the edge of the bed, Dean's hands found their way to the jean zipper. He eagerly unzipped it, pulled the button open, and leant forward as he yanked both denim and boxer down. He tugged so fast that Sam's cock got caught and slapped Dean on the lips as it was released, accidentally rubbing a bit of precum on Dean's face.
"Well," Dean began, as he noticed Sam blush, "I guess that's what I get for being interested."
Without exactly meaning to, Dean began comparing his cock to Sam's. While Dean's dick was long and slightly girthy, Sam's dick was that much more. It had to be over eight-and-a-half inches in length, and looked like a real handful. Plus, Sam had foreskin, partially exposing the head of his cock, which made it look thick and shiny as his precum slowly oozed its way down.
He found himself wondering what it would feel like to have a dick that big in his hands. Dean paused, confused at this most recent thought. He'd never had an urge to touch another cock, let alone Sam's. Was his need to feel human so powerful that he just needed contact, any contact? Would he be doing this with just about anyone at the moment? None of this was making sense. He looked up at Sam again, losing himself in his eyes and realizing that he didn't really care. For some reason, being with Sam DID make sense. Having that support, however it came, made him feel whole again. It wouldn't work with just anyone. It HAD to be Sammy.
He smiled at Sam, then looked back down at the rigid cock in front of him. "I guess we know who the big brother is now, eh, Sammy? But don't forget --- you may be hung larger, but you're still a dick and I'm still better looking." Sam laughed and continued to look at Dean, silently wondering if Dean would offer his cock some release. He was so horny that it wouldn't take more than a few strokes before he came. He'd have to be careful.
Dean just stared, watching as Sam's cock stayed completely rigid, no sign of losing its hardness, precum continuing to bead and leak from the head. A hunger was upon Dean, he wanted to touch it. Hell, he wanted to taste it. He leaned forward, reaching out to take the base of Sam's massive dick in his hand. Dean applied some pressure, and slowly pulled Sam's cock towards him, his hand sliding along the thick shaft. He felt the foreskin move with him, now covering Sam's head completely, and noticed the large drop of precum land on his wrist.
He left the drop there, and chose to stick his tongue out, sliding the foreskin back as far as it would go, exposing the head of Sam's girthy manhood completely. Closer and closer, Dean's tongue continued forward, stopping an inch away, as he inhaled the scent that was overpowering his senses. He'd never craved anything so much as he craved this cock. The smell was a mixture of Sam's musk, and raw sex. It was intoxicating to Dean. He couldn't hold back any longer. His tongue darted forward, making contact with Sam's penis.
His first lick was tentative, running up below the head, along the back, tasting that droplet. It sent him over the edge. The next lick was pure desire. After the third lick, Dean added his lips, wrapping them completely around Sam's penis head, struggling with the thickness of the head. He didn't care though. Whatever Dean Winchester wanted, he made it happen. His mouth opened wider than he thought possible, and suddenly, Sam's cock was engulfed.
His tongue bathed over it, taking the time to caress every contour of the cockhead, running along the frenulum, swirling under the head. Dean was rewarded with a loud, erotic moan from Sammy, which only made Dean harder. Clearly he was doing a good job and Dean liked that a lot. It was time to step things up a bit.
Dean began to alternate his movements, switching between swirling his tongue and bobbing his head. As he continued to do this, Dean found hands on his head, guiding him, pushing him down a bit lower with each bob, encouraging him to take more and more of the cock. He was happy to oblige. Dean was always a big fan of getting a good blowjob, so he wasn't surprised that he also enjoyed giving one.
Pushing on Sam's thighs, Dean guided his brother down onto the bed, and spread his strong thighs wide apart so he could really suck. Sam's breath became faster and heavier as Dean explored the length. His hands found their way to Sam's balls and he began to fondle them as well, which resulted in a noticeable shiver from Sam. It was so noticeable that Dean stopped and gazed into Sam's eyes. What he saw, was no trace of evil. It was just Sam, licking his lips, brow wrinkled, looking back at him, eyes willing him to keep going.
"Sammy, I want you to do something for me." Dean lay on his side, as he ran his hands over both hard dicks. "I want you to fuck me. No...I NEED you to fuck me."
Sam was off the bed in a second, lust exchanged for worry and anger. "Dean, are you crazy? I mean, what if I hurt you? I mean, you've seen how big I am. I had a hard enough time with Jessica and we dated for a while."
"It's ok, Sammy. We'll just take it slow, and you can make me breakfast in the morning." Dean licked his lips suggestively at the thought of breakfast. "Trust me, I can handle it. Come back onto the bed."
Sam looked sceptical, so Dean got up and went to his bag, grabbing a small bottle of lubricant and a lubed condom. Walking back to the bed, his own hard dick bounced up and down. The sight of the cock wagging like a tail made Sam smile and he remembered how good Dean's mouth felt on his inches. He lay on his side and Dean crawled over to him, handing him the supplies. "These will help make it easier to take you," Dean said with a mocking grin.
As Dean laid back and spread his legs, Sam glanced down at him. Naked, slightly tanned, just a hint of hair that ran down his body to his light brown pubic hair, cock VERY erect and begging for attention. Sam found himself intrigued. He'd never done anything like this with another man. He'd never even fucked ass before.
He applied a small amount of lube to his fingers and started to rub around Dean's hole. It was slow and gentle, experimental for both brothers. The light touch on Dean's hole sent him back to a memory of a blowjob from this waitress in Texas, who actually fingered his ass, claiming it would be a rush while she blew him. While he forgot her name, he never forgot how it felt having a finger running around his hole, occasionally applying some pressure.
While lost in that memory, Sam added a bit more lube to his fingers and began to press directly on the hole. He stopped momentarily, added some lube to his other hand and began to massage Dean's cock as he continued to finger him. The combination of the two acts sent a rush through Dean, sufficient to make him leak a significant amount of precum. Sam took this as a good sign and began pushing, ever more forcefully, watching as the hole opened up for him, watching as two of his fingers began to work their way inside. As they entered his asshole, Dean inhaled sharply. But Sam didn't stop. He continued to push deeper, watching as the first knuckle disappeared, then the second one. Soon, he had two fingers completely inside. He held them there while continuing to stroke Dean's cock.
Dean was in ecstasy. This was better than anything anyone else had ever done. The sensation of being filled by something was overwhelming in the best possible way. He started to grind on the fingers, hoping Sam would take the hint and begin fucking his ass. It was a tight feeling, a warm sensation, but something that he was quickly learning to appreciate.
Sam began to work the fingers in and out of Dean's accommodating asshole, making sure they were well lubed, while Dean began to moan loudly, closing his eyes. As his moans increased, so did the speed of the finger fucking. Sam found himself unable to contain his desire to fuck Dean, and actually positioned himself so that his cock was rubbing against the crack of Dean's ass.
"How do you feel, Dean? Are you ok?"
"Sammy, stop being a little bitch. This feels amazing! Don't stop."
Sam slid his fingers out of Dean's ass and paused. Dean opened his eyes long enough to see Sam reach for the condom, gently apply it to the tip of his cock, and roll it carefully down his shaft. Dean's eyes grew wide as he realized he was really going to get fucked, and likely fucked deeply. The anticipation was almost too much for him.
"I'll show you who's being a little bitch, Dean," Sam said, while covering the condom in lube. Dean sat up, nervous for the first time, finally realizing that Sam had a very big dick, and that it might be a bit ambitious to try for the first time.
"Ummm, Sammy....maybe we sho....." Dean was cut off mid-sentence as Sam pressed hard against his hole; so hard that he forced himself halfway inside Dean. The air was sucked out of Dean's lungs. It hurt, and was much bigger than the fingers he had inside him moments ago. Sam just watched Dean, silently amused as he adjusted to this new size filling his ass.
"What were you saying about being a bitch, Dean?" Sam asked, cockily.
Dean just mumbled and inhaled deeply as Sam started to push again. Now that his cock-head was inside, it was easier for both of them. Sam found less resistance as he worked his way slowly within him, running over Dean's prostate, which caused Dean to moan far louder than he expected. Dean found pleasure in the sensation of being opened wide, stretched out, and explored. Just when he thought there couldn't be any more cock left, Sam stopped pushing forward. Dean could feel Sam's balls pressed against his cheeks. He was ready. So was Dean.
With nothing more than a glance, Sam started thrusting in and out of Dean, slowly at first, then increasing speed. Each time he thrust, Dean felt a jolt of pleasure rush through him as Sam's thick cock-head teased his prostate. It was a sensation he hoped never to forget. As Sam grew more eager, Dean found himself matching the thrusts forward with thrusts of his ass back onto the huge cock that was invading his ass. Sam's eyes closed, lost in the moment of fucking something so tight, so desirable, and for a moment, all that could be heard was the slapping of flesh on flesh, balls against ass cheeks, and heavy breathing.
Lifting Dean's legs onto his shoulders, Sam found this new position allowed him to penetrate Dean even deeper, resulting in a volley of grunts of pleasure from both of them. With friction building, arousal nearing its peak, it wasn't long before Dean realized he was going to blow his load. Each thrust pushed him closer and closer. He looked up at Sam hovering inches over him, wrapped his hands in Sam's sweat-laden hair, and pulled him close. As their lips met, Dean felt an electric surge rush through him and he knew he couldn't contain himself any longer.
Crying out into Sam's mouth, Dean began to cum. It started as a tingle, then gained momentum and force until it shot out of his cock, all over Sam's torso. Dean felt the urge to stop Sam from fucking, but knew that if Sam stopped, his orgasm wouldn't be as intense. This orgasm was powerful. Sam felt the wetness, and realized that the tightness of Dean's ass post-orgasm was too much for him. He thrusted hard, bodies rocking back and forth, becoming one sexual being; and at that moment, he forced his raging hardness as deep inside as he possibly could. The resulting rush was so intense that Sam began to shoot his load inside the condom. He continued to pump hard, feeling wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure wash over him. And he kept on kissing Dean, their lips together, never breathing apart, breathing through their noses.
Eventually, the thrusting slowed, the kissing became tender and Sam slid his cock out of Dean's well-fucked asshole. A moment of emptiness came upon Dean, but then it was gone. Sam threw the condom in the trash and wrapped his arms around Dean's naked body, holding him close, kissing Dean's neck and earlobe. Dean had never felt more alive, more human. He was happy, he was carefree, and for that moment in time, nothing else mattered to him. They both fell asleep within mere moments.
The next morning...as Dean awoke, he felt strong, scarred arms around his shoulders, holding his naked body tight against a firm and muscular frame. His first reaction was to struggle, to figure out why he was naked in a strange room with a nude someone pressed against him. Then he inhaled and smelt the musk. A mixture of cotton, cinnamon, and sun invaded his nostrils, and he felt safe. That familiar scent, one that he'd had in his life for years, equalled comfort, trust, and protection. He was home. He was safe. He was human.