The sound of the door closing as Sam leaves seems to be Dean's cue to start freaking out. He gets up quickly, and then stops suddenly, his head making him feel like he's on the deck of a ship. Fuck. And then, because it bears repeating, he says it out loud. "Fuck." Walking into the bathroom, he leans heavily against the cold porcelain of the sink and drops his head, not prepared to look himself in the mirror just yet.
"You stupid fuck, Dean. What the fuck possessed you into thinking you could tell him how you feel?!" The fact that he didn't actually say the words doesn't matter; in his eyes, what was said is tantamount to blurting out 'I wanna fuck my brother'. He slows his thinking for a moment as he reflects on that. To be honest, this whole thing isn't about sex. Well, maybe it's a little about sex. Okay…fuck…yeah, sex is a big part of it, but not nearly the most important.
Lifting his head to the mirror, he recalls Sam's last words; not words of anger, or disgust; words of hope and futility at the same time.
He runs the tap and splashes water over his face. Looking back at his reflection, water dripping off his lashes and jaw, he shakes his head slowly. Part of him wants to give in to his 'flight' instinct and put distance between them, but he promised. Besides, if he left now, it would be harder to come back, and he knows he'd have to. He can't be whole without Sam by his side, lover or not. They tried 'apart', and he doesn't ever want that again.
He must have been staring into that mirror longer than he thought because he jumps slightly as he hears the door open. "Dean?" He hears uncertainty in Sam's voice, and closes his eyes in a slow blink before pushing himself away from the sink.
"Yeah," he answers, sounding resigned, and turns off the tap.
Sam sighs in relief. "Got us both a double shot of coffee."
Dean walks into the room and sits on his bed.
Sam watches him, and the little bit of hopefulness he's holding onto takes a battering as he realises Dean can't look at him. "Here," he says, holding one of the take-away cups out to him.
"Thanks," Dean replies, not able to look at more than Sam's hand.
Sam gives Dean some space and retreats to the chair and table by the window. He removes the lid and takes a small sip, just to be doing something. Sam steals a look at Dean and catches a quick glance from his brother, before Dean looks back down at the suddenly-fascinating carpet.
Hating the silence, but not knowing how to start, Sam drinks his coffee. "Ugh," Sam exclaims with a little surprise, looking down into his cup. "I think this is a triple shot."
Dean lets out a small huff of amusement, and looks up again, quickly, at Sam. "Can't handle it, Francis?"
Sam looks up and cocks his eyebrows. "I'm not seeing you drinking." He may as well have said 'I double dare ya'.
Dean, making a point, removes the lid and takes a healthy drink. As he swallows, he makes a face and looks down into the cup like it personally wronged him.
Sam laughs, relieved to be able to.
"Okay, that'll grow hair on your chest." Dean says it to help ease the tension, but that only encourages an image of Sam's smooth, hairless chest. Sam, actually, is the one to snap him out of that thinking when two packets of sugar fly through the air, one at a time, to hit his leg.
"That'll help," Sam offers.
Dean busies himself with emptying the packets in his drink and moves over to the kitchenette for a spoon. He then leans his hip against the counter and looks down into his coffee like he's expecting answers to just rise to the surface.
"Do you need more time?" Sam asks tentatively.
Without looking up, Dean sighs. He's tempted to say yes, but that would only prolong the inevitable. "I don't know what to say. I want answers but I don't want to ask the questions."
"Let's see…is one of those questions 'how do I really feel about you'?"
Dean lifts his eyes to Sam's general direction, and makes eye contact for a second, before dragging his gaze back down to his coffee. "Yeah," he says softly.
"Do you really want to know the answer?"
"Oh jeez, Sam, I don't know!" Dean responds, not raising his voice, but letting the frustration show.
Sam sighs. "I love you," he says simply.
Dean squirms a little where he stands. "I know. Ditto."
Sam can't help but smile. "What's this, a scene from Ghost?"
Rolling his eyes, his finally looks at Sam. "You know I love you, Sammy."
"I know." He pauses for a moment. "But I meant that I'm in love with you." At Dean's startled look, he hastily adds, "Don't bother with all the 'it's wrong'…'we're brothers' blah blah blah…I've tortured myself with that for years."
Dean looks down again; Sam's face is dangerous territory right now. "We had a strange upbringing, Sam; we've always been real close, mainly 'cause we had to be. I've been everything from parent to friend, and you're just confusing that with something else."
Sam gives him a small smile. "Are you trying to talk me out of it, or you?"
"I'm trying to make you see reason. It's…"
"What's reason got to do with it?" Sam asks, cutting him off.
"Sam," Dean pleads, although he knows it's falling on deaf ears.
"How do you feel about me? Tell me. And if you lie, I'll know it."
Dean heaves a deep sigh. "There's no point…"
"Tell me," Sam repeats, a little more demanding.
"There's absolutely no point in answering that," Dean tries again.
"So, that means that you feel the same way."
Dean gives him a look.
"Just say it, Dean." At Dean's stubborn look, Sam tries another tactic. "Say it or I kiss you," he dares.
Dean's expression of surprise turns quickly into contemplation.
Pushing a little further, Sam adds, "Although, that may be motivation for you to keep quiet, instead of talk."
The tiny smile teasing the corners of Sam's mouth, along with his words, make Dean realise he's gotten himself between a rock and a hard place. It's a lose-lose situation. Tell Sam how he feels, or Sam kisses him. I'm screwed. "I can't. I can't say it out loud."
Dean looks so miserable at the moment that Sam takes pity on him. Getting up and moving over to the kitchen, he stands and leans against the faded counter, and looks at Dean. "Let me ask you a leading question, then." When Dean looks up at him, Sam continues. "I'll ask the question I asked about twenty minutes ago: do you want me as much as I want you?"
Dean squirms again – there's no other word for it – and turns away to pour the rest of the coffee down the sink; a good excuse to buy him a couple of seconds.
Sam rounds the counter and walks up behind him, determined not to let him escape the confines of the kitchen until he answers. He intended to also keep a reasonable distance from Dean, for his brother's sake, until he finds himself directly behind Dean, without any recollection of the last three steps.
When Dean senses Sam behind him, he jumps; he didn't even hear him. He has just enough time to turn on the spot before Sam pushes him back against the sink without even touching him.
"Getting rusty in your old age, Dean," Sam comments.
Okay, there's no way Sam's voice sounded like that by accident; all deep and smooth and…god, I was gonna say sexy. He takes a breath. "Sam…"
"Yes or no."
Dean takes another breath. "Can you step back a bit, then, and give me some room, Sasquatch?" Jesus. His head is screaming too close, but his body is screaming not enough, and equally as loud.
"No. Not until you answer the question. Unless you'd rather I skipped the question and went right for…" He lets his offer trail off and blatantly moves his eyes down to Dean's lips. He knows Dean understands; that was the point of the exercise.
Dean can't take it anymore and pushes Sam away. As he walks past his unresisting brother, he takes deep breaths, and they seem to actually reach his lungs this time. "Christ, Sam, can't you see how completely wrong this is?" He asks, turning and looking back at Sam, his eyes pleading for him to understand.
"Wrong according to whom? You? Or the rest of the world? 'Cause I don't give a fuck about the rest of the world, Dean, and neither should you. This is about you and me, no one else."
Dean is used to Sam raising his voice when he's trying to make a point, but this level-headed, soft-spoken Sam is different, and Dean realises it's because he has spent years thinking about this, debating with himself; at the same time that Dean was constantly pushing his feelings away. He wants it; God, he wants it, but he's scared.
Sam pushes his advantage and slowly advances on Dean.
In response, Dean – not trusting himself right now – backs away, feeling like a coward but needing to buy a few precious seconds to think. "Sam, please."
The plea in Dean's voice stops Sam in his tracks, and he stands where he is, just beyond reach of Dean. He sees Dean take a deep, steadying breath. "Y'know," Sam says softly, "you've told me that I'm confused, you asked me to give you space, you've told me that this is wrong…but you haven't once said that you don't want this." He takes a step closer and stops again. "If you can say that, and convince me that you're telling the truth, I'll never bring this up again."
Dean looks down, knowing that he couldn't convince Sam that the sky is blue at the moment. He closes his eyes in defeat. When he looks up at Sam again, he sees his little brother's sympathetic expression, and he takes a shaky breath. As Sam takes another step towards him, Dean tries one more time, but his heart isn't in it anymore. "Sammy, we…"
Sam interrupts him. "Just…shut up, Dean." With that, Sam takes a last step, until he's inches away from Dean, and he gets no further resistance as his hand lifts to the back of Dean's neck to pull him into a kiss.
Even so, Dean doesn't respond to the kiss; not until Sam's other hand winds around his back to bring him flush against hard muscles and warm body. With a hitch in his chest, Dean's final resistance melts into bittersweet sensation, and he moves to draw Sam's bottom lip gently into his mouth. His arms lift without thought and mirror Sam's, and he gives in totally.
Surfacing for air moments later, Sam moves his hands to cup the curve of Dean's shoulders. "Please don't regret that."
Evil, aren't I.