Jesus Christ is this mushy and 1200 words please forgive me.

Dean doesn't like to admit it, but he's a romantic.

Not in a grand gestures or constant gifts kind of way. Especially with Sam, he cringes at the very thought. But definitely in the way that made Dean want to spend all day in bed with his brother, watching TV and snuggling into the comfy warmth of Sam's body.

Or in the way that made him want to come up behind Sam when he was eyeballs deep in books and research and give him a massage, working the stiff muscles of Sam's back until he was relaxed and leaning back into Dean's touch.

He was romantic in the way that made him pull Sam close to him when they were driving down long stretches of boring road with hours to go. He'd tug on Sam's shirt, make him slide over on the bench seat until they were hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and Dean could rub mindless circles over Sam's knee with his thumb while Sam draped an arm around his shoulders. Or sometimes Sam would lay down sideways across the seat, his head pillowed on Dean's lap and Dean would stroke his hair until he fell asleep.

Mostly he was romantic in a way that made him want to do things for Sam, just because it was something that made Sam happy, or made his life easier or more comfortable.

Stopping at a Salad Works instead of a greasy burger joint. Letting Sam pick the movie. Giving him first shower after a messy hunt. Letting him sleep in while Dean made breakfast, then bringing him coffee in bed to wake him up.

It may not be other people's definition of romance, or how they portray it in the movies; but for them, acts like that could be as good as a bed of rose petals and champagne by candlelight.

"I like it when you're like this," Sam confessed once, spooned up against Dean's back in the middle of the afternoon and some cowboy movie they had seen a hundred times playing low in the background.

"Hm?" Dean asked, half asleep. He was full of pizza and beer from lunch, and the warmth of their bed was lulling him fast toward a nap.

"I like this," Sam said again, soft and quiet, "I like it when you just want to spend time with me."

"Sammy, all I do is spend time with you," Dean chuckled, "We've lived together for almost 30 years, remember?"

"You know what I mean," Sam murmured, pressing his face into the back of Dean's shirt and Dean's heart tightened.

"I know, Sammy," he answered, putting his hand over Sam's where it was wrapped around his waist and interlacing their fingers. Sam's fingers flexed tightly around his for a moment, "I like it too. You know I do."

Sam nodded, pressing a kiss to Dean's back; Dean shivered a little at the hot puff of breath that clung to the fabric of his shirt.

"Come 'ere," Dean murmured, shifting around, and Sam loosened his hold to let Dean wiggle onto his back, "Come 'ere, Sammy."

Intuitively Sam understood, moving over him, and Dean spread his legs to let Sam settle between them.

Sam's arms slid under him and Dean sighed contently at the way his hands curled over the top of Dean's shoulders, holding tight and occasionally squeezing in a gentle massage.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's neck in turn, pulling him down for a thorough kiss.

It was so easy to get lost in it; sharing breath, sharing a kiss, sharing the warmth and the feel of their bodies. Barely any time at all for Dean to start aching with want, his hips pressing up into Sam's answering hardness. He fumbled for the hem of Sam's shirt, hiking it up until he could feel bare skin and tracing the beautiful stretch of muscle that was Sam's back.

Sam helped him get it completely off before returning the favor, getting them chest to chest with nothing between them.

Dean smoothed his hands over Sam's hair, taming the tasseled strands, just looking at each other. Sam pressed in close again, his mouth hovering over Dean's, their lips just barely touching.

Dean shivered as Sam worked one hand down his side, thumbing the jut of his hip bone before moving inward toward Dean's cock. He squeezed it gently through the fabric of Dean's boxers, and Dean's breath hitched in his chest.

"Can I?" Sam asked breathily, hand dipping lower, and Dean shivered when Sam traced his hole with his fingers; a firm pressure that made Dean's hips jolt.

"Fuck. Yeah, Sammy, do it," Dean panted, reaching down and pushing at the elastic waist of his boxers. Sam helped, and between the two of them and some shuffling, they managed to finally get naked together, the feel of skin-on-skin blissfully good in its simplicity.

"Do you need…?" Sam's fingers traced his rim, sending sparks through his nervous system, but Dean shook his head.

"M'good, Sammy," he encouraged, "Just want you, c'mon."

"Yeah," Sam breathed, pressing their lips together in a messy kiss, "I got ya, Dean. I got ya."

Sam reached for the lube on the bedside table, flipping the cap and angling it with one hand to tip some into his palm. He brought the hand to his dick, slicking it up and Dean pressed his mouth to Sam's neck distractedly.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean encouraged again, "M'ready, c'mon."

Sam guided himself to Dean's hole and pressed in in a steady push. Dean trembled at the feel of it, panting against Sam's neck. His body was still relaxed and eager from the first round several hours ago, and the slide in was nothing but good.

"Ok?" Sam asked anyway, holding still and waiting for Dean.

"Don't stop," Dean answered, wrapping his legs around Sam and pulling him in eagerly. Sam groaned as he sank in to the hilt, and Dean squeezed his muscles around Sam encouragingly, "Don't stop, Sammy, give it to me."

"Yeah," Sam breathed, pressing their mouths together as he finally started to move, sliding his arms under Dean and holding tight as his hips picked up a steady rhythm.

Dean loved it like this. Plastered tight together, able to feel each breath in Sam's lungs, the beat of his heart, their skin getting slick with sweat and his cock rubbing dirty and eager against Sam's abs. He could never be close enough to Sam; could never satisfy the aching, deep need for his brother that sat deep in his chest and just wanted everything. But in moments like this, they came close.

Then Sam just shattered him, made the chasm of Dean's love break open in his heart when he freed one hand and grabbed Dean's own, lacing their fingers together and pressing their joined hands into the pillow right beside Dean's head.

It was such a simple gesture, but in the moment it was like Sam had reached inside his chest and took hold of his heart instead, and he just came apart. He gasped and groaned against Sam's mouth, shaking his way through orgasm and Sam followed in an instant; pushing in deep and hard and unforgivingly good.

They didn't move for a long time. When they did, their hands were the last thing they let go.