Chapter Seven: If You Could Only See
Notes: I am so very, very sorry for the past almost THREE months of no updates. Unfortunately, I've been working two full time jobs, 80 hours a week, whilst being a single parent, without days off. It has been difficult. Not only have I been unable to work on this fic, I have not been able to work on the novel I'm writing. HOWEVER, I recently left one of my jobs, and will have much more free time on my hands- thus the update! Finances will be rough but my wellbeing, children, and readers will benefit. Thank you for coming back for more, despite my apparently orphaned story. The boys are not done here- we haven't even gotten started! This is going to be a long, slow burn, with lots of angst, smut, and emotions. Let me know what you think of this one.
Dean, still sunk on his knees next to the cot, gently tugged one of the thin blankets from the tangled pile on the cot back up over Sam's lap, as if modesty still mattered at this point. Sam felt touched at the gesture, and clasped Dean's hand in his own before he was able to draw it back from the blanket.
"Can I?" Sam asked, a shy question in his eyes, caressing the back of Dean's hand with his thumb. It still felt surreal; Sam felt that if he were to fully break contact with his brother, he'd wake up, and realize this had all been a beautiful, torturous dream. To Sam's surprise Dean blushed and stammered.
"Yeah, uh, no need. I kind of already…" Dean gestured with his free hand down toward his jeans and cleared his throat.
"Seriously? How?" Sam wasn't trying to embarrass his brother but was truly flabbergasted. Dean, the sex god, creaming his pants over giving a successful blowjob?
"I don't know dude, I guess it was just a lot to take in." Dean replied. Sam snickered. "That's not what I meant." Sam chuckled. "I wasn't talking about…" Sam laughed out loud. "Dude shut up!" pulling his hand away from Sam's, Dean punched him lightly in the thigh, hefted himself up, and sat down on the edge of the cot. He stared down at the blanket covering Sam and smoothed away a nonexistent wrinkle. "Was that okay?" Sam's face settled into a serious countenance, and he hooked a strand of hair behind his hair unconsciously.
"Okay doesn't even begin to describe it. I think I'm going to realize any moment now that I did die on that beach and woke up in heaven."
"I get it. I'm going through the same thing here, Sammy." Dean searched Sam's expressive hazel eyes with his own, trying to secret out any trace element of regret or shame. All he was able to read, though, was giddiness and earnest honesty. Dean cleared his throat, stood up, picked up and shook out his jacket that had been left forgotten on the floor of the shack. "How about we blow this popsicle stand and go somewhere to talk?" Sam nodded, and glanced around the shed.
"Yeah Dean, that sounds good. But uh- where are my clothes?" A malicious twinkle lit up his brother's eyes, and somehow Sam knew he wasn't going to like the answer.
"You thought you were just getting off Scott-free after scaring me half to death and damn near killing yourself? Looks like you're doing the walk of shame back to our room in a blanket, kiddo. Hope you like being mistaken for a bum."
Back at the motel, a not completely uncomfortable silence fell over the boys. Their run back from the beach had been crackling full of ecstatic energy, Dean in the lead, shouting to every person they saw about the "homicidal bum trying to mug me, call the police!" while Sam could do nothing but shake his head, chasing after, alternating between hooting with uncontrollable laugher, and gasping for breath while his sides burned, and ribs ached. Both brothers were giddy with the relief of mutual discovery. Dean could swear his feet never made contact with the ground, he was flying the distance back, and nothing was going to bring him back down to earth.
When they reached the room they collapsed inside, gasping for breath and laughing, waiting for their hearts to still. The minutes ticked by as a calm finally began to descend, and the silence settled in, not heavy or thick, but light and warm. Finally Sam broke it, standing up from where he had collapsed into a chair, still wrapped in a scratchy gray lifeguard blanket.
"I'm going to take a shower. I feel like a salt lick and I probably do look homeless. Maybe we can grab a bite afterward?" Dean nodded, an unreadable look on his face, and began searching through his duffel for a clean outfit. Sam stood rooted to the same spot, fiddling with the corner of the blanket, not looking up, and not making a move toward the bathroom. "I, uh… well, it's not like you're much better off. And it's a pretty big shower…" his voice trailed off, crimson staining his cheeks and neck at the implied invitation. Dean stood at this, the unreadable look in his face melting into a predatory smile. He dropped the clothes in his hand and slowly stalked, literally stalked toward his brother, looking every bit a feline cornering prey. Sam's blush spread, and his heart started beating faster. He had seen his brother like this before, but always in other contexts. During a hunt, when Dean was about to take down a monster. Or at the bar, when making his move on a willing bed partner. Dean had never directed the force of his predatory attention at Sam, not even during their sparring; that had always been a matter-of-fact approach, no intentional attempt to get the upper hand through intimidation. And Sam was intimidated. He had known his brother was sexy since the first time he understood what the word meant; since the first time he looked at him and felt something other than brotherly affection. But as Dean neared him, taut with the same energy of the hunt, Sam could feel his mouth go dry. Nobody had a right to be so ungodly beautiful, so brimming full of raunchy promises with one heavy lidded glance, so physically perfect. And it went beyond the physical perfection, with Sam, so far… but if all Sam knew in this moment was the physical portion, if he had never met the man in front of him before in his life, he would still be frozen to the ground, heart beating out of his chest, mouth dry, and heat pooling in his groin. It was no wonder Dean always got who he wanted when he wanted- in the bed, and even in the hunt. There was something in his aura and approach that screamed "you have no choice but to stand here and let me have my way with you" be it sex or death. When Dean finally reached him, nose almost touching his own, eyes gleaming, Sam felt a shudder wrack through his body. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt hot puffs of Dean's breath ghost over his lips, and his tongue darted out to wet the skin, as if subconsciously trying to taste the moist air bathing them. He felt a sharp tug on the blanket and he allowed it to slither off his body onto the floor, opening his eyes again as it hit the carpet with a soft whump. Dean wasn't looking at his face any longer, the predatory look melting off his face as his eyes roved down Sam's naked body. It was replaced with a look of awe, and the fingers of his left hand shook as he reached out and trailed them down his brother's tanned hip. Gooseflesh pebbled beneath his restrained touch, the slight tickle of barely-there finger tips dragging down the skin causing another shudder through Sam's body.
"I thought we were going to talk? Get something to eat? If we get in that shower together I kind of doubt either of those things are gonna happen, Sammy…" Dean stated in a low rumble, lips pursing in amusement, obviously teasing. It wasn't fair. Dean was curling him around his little finger with no effort. Sam wasn't just another one of his nameless bar skanks; he couldn't keep letting Dean getting away with the teasing while he responded like some simple girl who hadn't grown up with Dean and won his fair share of fights.
"Sometimes talking is overrated," Sam practically purred, determined to gain the upper hand. Enough of feeling like a passive bystander to the changing dynamic between the two of them. Grabbing a firm handful of the thick, prickly/soft hairs at the base of Dean's skull, he pulled his head back- not gently- so Dean was looking up into his face, forced to acknowledge the height difference. "Sometimes actions speak louder than words." And with that he crushed his lips against Dean's, not gently, full of loaded promises and a wild need. He felt Dean's lips curl against his own, as if determined to have the last word. "Shhhh." Sam encouraged, licking at the seam of his brother's lips. He physically felt it when Dean gave in, melting into him, mouth falling slack, tongue tangling with his own, a small groan spilling out of his mouth. "Shower now. Talk later." And with that Sam tugged on Dean's hand, drawing him into the bathroom.
Sam is taking control now, in a way I needed but never knew I needed. He's running his hands down my arms less than gently as he tugs me into the shower. One hand grips my shoulder possessively as the other turns on the shower. He holds his left hand under the spray of the shower head, testing out the heat, as his mouth returns to own mine. His kisses are like honeyed wine; my insides are turning to jelly while my dick is firming into a rock outcrop from the less than tender ministering of his mouth.
"Sammy. Jesus. Sam." I breathe, every expanse of my untouched skin prickling in anticipation. He grips my shoulder harder, an unspoken shut up. He backs me into the spray of the shower, a little hotter than I'm expecting, and my breath escapes me in a hiss that he swallows in his hungry mouth. How could I ever have thought he didn't want this? His every touch, movement, and action bleeds true to the love he is leveling upon me, less than gently. The hand he no longer needs to feel the temperature of the water with glides down my back tantalizingly, curling over the curves of my spine and memorizing the cords of my muscles, until it settles onto the dimples of my back, resting gently on the curve of my ass. I delve my tongue deeper into the hot wetness of his mouth, lapping into the dark recesses, determined to taste every bit of pure sammyness that I can. I am not disappointed, he tastes just like he smells, clean and musky and manly. I've never been turned on by a man before, but somehow the overwhelming masculinity of him is sparking new desire deep inside my gut, something I'm not sure I can control. Or even want to.
"Christ. Baby… how long have you wanted this?" If I could take those words back, I would. I don't want him to feel shame or embarrassment, and I certainly don't want to know if this is some random near-death experience out lashing.
Sam studied Dean gently for a moment, hands stilling, eyes soft and open. He didn't seem upset by the question, but took a moment to mull over his answer, knowing it was important.
"This isn't a want, Dean. This is a need. Nut I guess I've wanted it, consciously, since the summer I turned thirteen. I don't think that's when it started but that's when I realized what my feelings meant. We just… I knew it was wrong, and we were always staying too busy for me to really have to confront it, you know?"
"yeah... I know." That seemed to be all the answer Dean had in him, but he looked floored and gratified by Sam's response, as if he had been steeling himself for something else and had instead been handed a gift. "So, you've got me where you want me. What now, Sammy?" In answer, Sam walked him backward to the standing shower of the room and matter-of-factly reached for the waist of Dean's jeans but fumbled once or twice; his fingers trembled. Pausing, he looked up, and saw his brother's face suffused with a light blush. Sam smiled reassuringly and tugged both jeans and boxers down to his ankles, where Dean kicked them hurriedly off and under the sink. Sam turned the shower spray on, adjusted the temperature, and stepped under the falling water, enjoying the feeling of salt and grime melting from him. HE stepped away, silently letting Dean get under the water, and hurriedly began sudsing himself up with shower gel.
"What's the rush?" Dean inquired, watching.
"I have other things I'd rather be spending my time doing," Sam grinned, shoving him aside to rinse off his body. "I'll let you wash my hair for me after."
"After what?" Instead of replying, Sam visibly steadied himself, and then reached to Dean's waist, where his member was already at half mast with the view and anticipation of the last few minutes. Dean let out a choking gasp when Sam's soapy hand closed around him, and he swelled further in response. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, seeking his brother's mouth with his own. Sam tentatively stroked his hand up and down the shaft; encourages when Dean moaned low into him. He firmed his grip and increased the pace. Their kiss deepened; Sam felt Dean's tongue unconsciously matching the pace his hand set, and his heart soared with the feeling of love and total rightness melding the two men together. He swept his thumb under the crown of Dean's cock, rubbing over the slit, and Dean thrust into his hand, meaning louder this time. Sam was emboldened by the reaction, realizing how responsive Dean was to his touch. Letting out a groan of his own, Sam grabbed a handful of his brother's ass with his free hand, reveling in the silken skin and firm muscles. He kneaded his hand while he continued to work Dean in the front, faster, harder, with each man now panting into the others mouth more than they were actively kissing.
"Jesus, Dean, I fucking love you. I love you so much." I've broken away from him to express, my voice embarrassingly quavery. It's the second time this day I've said it in /that/ romantic way. I'm not expected to hear it back, not really. Hopeful, but not saying it for the reply. I'm saying it because I need him to know, to understand, just how deep this goes for me. This is it. He is my all. My everything. I'm lost in the sensations of what we're doing, lost in the heady ecstasy of it. My head is swimming even though I'm not the one receiving pleasure. Well, I am, but in the "give and you shall receive" sense of the word. Dean cries out a moment later.
"Sammy, I…" and shoots into my hand, back quaking under my other hand, cum pulsing hard onto my hip, his forehead sinking down to rest on my shoulder. I kiss the top of his head, pivoting to let the shower head wash away the evidence of our incest from my skin, and embrace his with all my strength. Right here, right now, this is enough, I give him a minute to recuperate before I ask,
"Okay, speed race, are you read to wash my hair?"
If you could only see the way he loves me -lyrics slightly doctored to fit the story line**
Then maybe you would understand
Why I feel this way about our love
And what I must do
If you could only see how big his eyes can be when he says
When he says he loves me
