Sam was spending a long time in the bathroom. Like, the past hour. And it annoyed Dean, but at least it was better than Sam pestering him about when they were going to carry out Dean's promise. He understood that he wanted it, and Dean wanted it, too... But he wasn't sure yet. He thought maybe he should just get it over with, make his brother feel good then cut him off. Yeah, being cut off from touching Sam... That wouldn't go too well for both of them. He sighed and adjusted his seating on the bed, trying to watch the film on the small television the room provided. He thought he heard giggling, and he looked over at the bathroom door.
"What the hell is he doing in there?" Dean whispered to himself. He heard clatter and there was a soft groan, and he thought for a moment that Sam was hurt. Until the door came open and stumbled out a half dressed Sam, with an almost gone glass bottle of vodka gripped in his hand.
"Dean!" The younger teen said, smiling wide at his brother, teetering in his place before he made to get to the bed.
The other Winchester stared at him with wide eyes, a bit unbelieving of what he was seeing. Because really, when did Sam get alcohol? When did Sam even start drinking? The smaller teen haphazardly set the bottle on the nightstand, it almost falling off before he chuckled and moved it over without fully knowing.
"Sam, what are you doing? Where did you even get that?" He gestured to the bottle as Sammy climbed onto the bed, crawling up to him. He straddled Dean's hips, pinning him there.
"Who gives a fuck?" He licked his lips, eying Dean obscenely before his hands were on his belt, trying to get the buckle undone, "Oh, wait. I wanna."
"Sam, stop." The taller teen grabbed his wrists, but felt that familiar skin and the tug that was given.
"Mm, just like that. I love it, Dean." Sam leaned in and sloppily kissed his brother, moaning softly. The older teen's hands released him and he went still, fighting silently about what to do. He couldn't help how much he liked Sam's body weight and heat sitting on him, and those soft lips, now tasting of alcohol. That somehow made the guilt deeper, but made the kiss better. The younger Winchester grabbed one of his brother's hands and pressed it to his crotch, "Fuck."
"S-Sam," Dean warned halfheartedly, letting out a deep breath as his brother's clothed erection ground up against his hand. Sam placed drunk kisses on his jaw, and the older teen thankfully leaned his head back so he could get to more skin. He moaned, feeling the light stubble scratch against his cheek, and he pressed his hips tighter to Dean's big hand.
"Feels s'good, Dean. Want... I want you so fuckin' bad." He slurred quietly, then licked at the other's neck, finding the perfect place. He bit down. He got Dean to groan, and he sucked hard, hearing and feeling a growl. He released, and saw the already turning purple mark, smiling widely to himself. He looked up and moaned softly at what he saw. Dean's eyes were dark, and his face was flushed, lips parted and swollen. He moved both hands to the older Winchester's hair, tugging his head back. He leaned up and kissed him hard, pressing the rest of his body to his brother, carding his hands through his hair.
Dean kissed back, only for a moment to get his fix, and then he took Sammy by the hips and changed their positions, rolling them over so the smaller teen was pressed against the mattress. Sam tried to grab and push for Dean, but he couldn't quite get him. The older teen leaned down and caught his baby brother's eyes, and he stopped grabbing, hips rocking from being impatient.
"No more, Sammy. You need to stop." He said, trying hard to make his voice commanding, but was failing while he took in the other's appearance. He was a little sweaty, bare chest rising and falling, lips wet and hair pushed back. Dean dug his fingers into the bedsheets so he wouldn't touch.
"But, Dean. I want you inside me, like you said. Mm, like you promised." Sam seemed to be getting himself off while just thinking about it, and his hips rolled up and brushed Dean's. The other teen held him down.
"Sleep, Sam. Right now. Do not make me say it again," The younger teen opened his mouth to protest, but Dean put a hand over his mouth and tried to push back thoughts about how kinky it felt, "Do. Not."
Sam gave a lazy smile that was covered by the hand, and kissed his brother's palm. He relaxed, closing his eyes, and the taller Winchester waiting a few moments before moving. He opted crawling down his brother's body, more slowly than he should have, until he was off the bed.
Sam's head was pounding, and he opened his eyes, wondering if he should even attempt to get out of bed. When did he even get to bed? And why was he shirtless? Did he and Dean...? No, he'd be completely naked, and most likely sore again. He didn't feel any pain down there, just the massive headache and uneasy churning in his stomach. He didn't hear a television or radio, or even Dean making noise around the room. Was he alone? He sat up, and caught sight of Dean sitting silently at the table next to the window, staring glassy-eyed at nothing. His senses came back to him quick and he found himself feeling horribly ill. He made a run for the bathroom, and made it to the toilet just as he started hacking.
The older teen stayed put, sighing as he looked out the window, trying to block out the urge to go to Sammy's side and coach him through it. But he'd already looked out for him; taking care of his clothes, cleaning up the bathroom from things he'd knocked over or broken, and he'd taken the bottle. It was now sitting right next to him on the windowsill. When the smaller teen had stopped, he turned his head to look at the bathroom door. Sam emerged after a minute or two, having cleaned his mouth, but still had a towel pressed to it just in case. He met eyes with his big brother and instantly regretted it. He didn't look angry, just disappointed. And the worst part was that he didn't know what had made Dean this way. He slowly walked over to him, but didn't sit down.
"Dean-" He started, voice soft and fearful for a reason he couldn't remember.
"What were you thinking?" The older teen's voice was cold, and he hated using the tone, especially on his brother. But he just wanted to know why he would do something so stupid. It was one thing if it was a few beers with him, which they never did because Sammy would always turn him down, but it was a whole other thing if Sam got stupid, sloppy drunk by himself. No supervision, no limit, and no experience. He could have hurt himself.
"I-I don't..." He held a hand to his forehead as he tried to think past the headache, "I don't remember. I'm sorry. What did I do?"
Dean stood and grabbed the bottle, setting it with more than a little force on the table. Sam cringed and made a move to cover his ears, but stopped to try to suck it up. He looked at the bottle for a moment before slowly picking it up, hearing the soft slosh of the remaining alcohol. He looked up at Dean, seeing he didn't look hungover like he'd seen before, and it clicked.
"Dean, did I? Oh, God. I did." He set the bottle down, expression horrific as he looked up at his big brother, "What else did I do?"
The older teen shook his head, not wanting to speak of what he did last night, but the smaller teen grabbed his arm when he started to turn away. He pulled away and grabbed the bottle, walking into the kitchenette and putting it in the trash. He heard Sam walking after him.
"What did I do?" His tone was so unknowing and almost ashamed, that it hurt Dean to hear. He sighed and turned back to him, not meeting his eyes as he pulled back his collar to show the dark hickey the younger teen had made. At the time, Dean sort of liked it. It gave him pleasure even though he felt bad that his brother was drunk, but now he realized that Sammy had drawn blood from being so rough, and it wouldn't be going away for a while. That brought about problems, like Dad being suspicious because Sam had one first, which was excusable, but now Dean had one, and they'd been in town one day with no one but each other.
Sam moved to get closer, but the older teen backed away, "Why did you do it? I know you want me to do things to you, but really? Getting drunk, Sam? You won't even have a beer with me. Do you know how irresponsible that was?"
"I-I just... I heard you talking to Bobby. You said that you weren't sure you wanted to go through with a promise you made. I know you meant it about us," Sam was starting to tear up, "Why don't you want to do this with me?"
"Sam.. I don't-" He stopped himself to rephrase, and lie, "I'm nervous that I'll hurt you. You're young and kinda small, and I'm just afraid something bad will happen."
Tears slipped down the younger Winchester's cheeks, "I can handle this. I-I can handle you. I-I can. We can have a beer and touch and kiss and hang out. I'm not that young, Dean. I can do this."
Dean sighed, reaching out and wiping a tear from Sammy's cheek, feeling how he leaned into it, "I want you to get dressed in some clean clothes, and you can use my sunglasses when we go outside. You should just be thankful Dad spent an all nighter at the library getting stuff for the next case, which you're working, too."
Before Sam could ask when their father was coming back, or for a hug, or forgiveness, the sound of a squeaky door that could only be the Impala's sounded. The older teen ushered his brother to the bathroom and handed him his duffel. The bathroom door closed just as the front door opened. John walked in the room, a bag and some coffee in his hands. Dean went and helped him, setting everything out on the table. He unpacked the bag, a few files for the case and breakfast for the three of them.
"I got coffee for you, and some hot chocolate for Sam." John said, setting down the tray of hot covered cups. Dean held back a comment about how Sam drank coffee now.
"Thanks, Dad," He said instead, "Sam'll be right out. He's getting dressed."
His father responded with a noise that meant he heard, and took off his jacket, putting it on the back of a chair before sitting down. The teen did the same, switching his and Sam's cups when Dad wasn't looking. Sammy could use the caffeine more than he did, plus he'd already had a cup earlier in the morning. He grabbed a muffin and unwrapped it, taking a bite. A few minutes later, the younger teen came out of the bathroom, wearing a believable expression of tiredness, not hungover and upset. His brother was a good actor, but he hated that Sam had to lie in the first place.
"Morning, son." John greeted with a soft smile, "Have some breakfast."
"Thanks." Sam rubbed his eyes before he sat down, taking a cup and sipping at it. Black coffee, just like Dean liked it. He was about to speak up that he'd chosen the wrong cup, but the older teen sipped at the cup in his own hand with a slight shake of the head. He understood. John handed his younger son a file, and he inspected it.
"There's a few holes, but I couldn't find much with the records office closed yesterday." John told him, and Sam shrugged.
"I'll go check it out today. I'll just say I was the guy's nephew or something." And God, Dean had a proud moment. He'd taught that to Sammy, and it actually stuck. He tried to repress the smile tugging at his lips.
Dean came out of the drugstore, plastic bag clutched in his hand. He'd bought some Ibuprofen for Sam, among other things. He got into the passenger side of the Impala and buckled up, "Thanks."
"No problem." John backed out of the parking space, and turned to get back on the road. They were heading to the house of the deceased, since they'd already been to the records office. Sam had done great there, acting and getting the information. Dean had gone in and observed, and held Sammy's hand even though they hadn't talked much after the little fight that morning. The younger teen had still accepted to hold his hand, and he leaned up for a kiss a few times, even though Dean wouldn't give in the first time.
That had gotten to Sam more than it should have. He wanted his brother to want him again, like they were before, like the night when they first did anything sexual. They were so close, but he also wanted the next day, when they kissed as they got dressed for school, and held hands on the bus, and how Dean kissed his forehead because he was nervous about a new school. He knew he was loved, but he didn't feel it as much as before. He didn't understand what Dean's problem was; they both loved each other, they both liked when they kissed and touched, and he thought Dean would love that he could take more of this relationship. He wanted to make his brother feel good, and if they felt good together, he didn't see a problem.
As they pulled up to the house, he looked out through the sunglasses over his eyes, then got out of the car. Dad took the lead, and the two teens followed behind, the older one's hand brushing the younger's. Sam looked up at his brother, and Dean gave him an almost apologetic look.
"I still love you, Sammy."
