Dean and Sam are on talking terms again, enjoying some respite from the endless push-and-pull and hot-and-cold cycles that ritualistically follow every sexual encounter they have.
It's Sam who goes out on a limb to make things work again after his son returns from 'exile at Bobby's' as Dean calls it.
His son has such a pull on him that Sam feels sick to his stomach whenever they're on bad terms. He knows like he knows that he can't give Dean what he wants, and that they keep going in circles—but he also knows (it has been proven time and again) that there's nothing Dean would do that Sam won't or can't forgive.
So Sam makes amends: he makes Dean burgers for dinner two nights in a row, and is generous with the onions, bakes him an apple pie, plus little things here and there. He also doesn't tear him a new hole for purchasing a classic car like the Impala instead of something safer and more teen-friendly.
Of course, he does go berserk behind Dean's back, and verbally flogs Castiel over the choice of birthday present. Castiel's excuse was that he faltered under the pressure of Dean's own rendition of the "puppy eyes" ("He got that from you," Cas complained. And Sam rewarded him with one of his finest bitch faces).
But Sam, in the end, does begrudgingly accept the '67 Chevy Impala as part of their family (a car which Dean not just loves, but apparently, endearingly calls "Baby" according to Castiel.)
Finally, Sam decides there's no way around approaching Dean and hitting the nail on the head.
He knocks on his son's door one afternoon and Dean lets him in … reluctantly, if his stiff shoulders and lukewarm demeanour are anything to go by. After unlocking the door, Dean goes back to bed, lying down on his side and giving Sam his back.
"Can I talk you for a second?"
"No one's stopping you, mom."
"What I mean is we need to talk, De. I need you to look at me."
There's a pause before Dean turns on his back, but still avoids meeting Sam's eyes.
"What about?" he asks.
"Everything. Look, I really hate it when we're fighting," Sam says, and he really, really can't take it, especially that Dean's birthday weekend is coming up. It's his 16th, a rite of passage of sorts, and he doesn't want them to have to mark this occasion when they're distant and cold to each other. Besides, he really wants Dean back. He misses him.
Dean remains stubbornly tight lipped for a minute before he relents and speaks.
"I hate it too," Dean whispers. "But I don't see an end in sight as long as—" Dean lets the sentence trail off into the unknown.
"Dean, last time—" Sam says, then pauses to breathe. He sighs deeply. He really doesn't want to go there.
He finds that he's still standing nearer to the door, so he crosses the distance between him and his son, and plops down on the bed beside Dean. He needs to feel close to Dean as he speaks the next words, "last time, we crossed so many lines that we shouldn't have crossed. I should've stopped you but I didn't. It's on me too. And I feel guilty as hell. Your father doesn't deserve this, Dean. He loves me. He loves us. It's a betrayal of not just his trust, but his unconditional love. Something tells me you must realize this as well as I do."
Dean stays silent and Sam can't read his reactions (His son has the best poker face. He can't tell if he's making headway and Dean is finally relenting, or if Dean is still being stubborn).
Sam presses on. "I don't want to fight you on this every other day, Dean. I need you to understand. Your feelings, they're very much shared. You're right. I was in denial. But we can't keep going back to each other, or go at each other like this every time things don't work. And they won't ever. Not the way you—or I—want them to."
"Mom—"
"—No, Dean, listen—we, uh, we don't have a shot, sweetheart. And I'm sorry."
Dean frowns but remains tight-lipped. Sam can't help raking his eyes across his son's body; Dean has grown so quickly recently.
His eyes keep flitting, stopping at Dean's broad chest first then his lean torso and finally, toned thighs and what lies between them. Dean's shirt is riding up and his thin sweatpants are not leaving much to the imagination and Sam can't help but notice that Dean is becoming thicker everywhere, hairier too, especially below his navel and around his groin. The contours of Dean's pectoral muscles are evident even when he's donning a shirt. Alphas usually grow bigger, quickly, once they hit puberty, but goddamn, his son is a stud.
Sam feasts his eyes for a bit, gulping audibly, and hopes Dean doesn't realise he's ogling.
Dean still avoids Sam's eyes anyway when he finally speaks. "You usually love talking things to death, mom, but this ... You get scared or confused or whatever, and bam, I get sent away to Bobby's for days without getting a word in. It all happens so fast my head spins. Do you realize how fucked up this is? And man, do I hate going away feeling like this," he says, then adds in a vulnerable whisper, "I hate how you make me feel."
"Sorry, Dean. It is what it is," Sam responds with a sense of finality and he's not just referring to those times when his son has to get far away from Sam's heat but to the future move Sam now knows he and Cas must take—Dean moving out altogether and parting with this family for a while.
But Sam doesn't bring this up now. He won't, not right before Dean's birthday. He doesn't want to sully it for Dean. Perhaps he'll even wait until after the Lupercalia. He wants his son to remember both occasions fondly.
They stay silent for a moment. Dean continues to stare down, picking threads off his clothes, and Sam looks at his own hands, lying idly in his lap—each avoiding looking straight at the other.
Sam huffs a breath and straightens his back as he lies down on his son's relatively small bed, and stretches out his long limbs.
They barely fit and now they're squished together shoulder to shoulder. Sam's face is next to Dean's with their heads lying on the same pillow, almost touching … close enough to turn to each other and make out or make love.
Sam takes it up a notch by putting an arm around his son and gently hauling Dean closer.
Dean goes with it, shifting to his side and laying his head on Sam's chest. Sam wraps both arms around him, trying to get even closer. This is familiar, Sam thinks. And he likes it. He misses being able to touch and kiss his son without worrying about getting carried away or taking it too far. He wants to worm his way into that place again, and enjoy his son as long as he's around — which won't be for long once the decision to send him away to a boarding school is made.
"The Impala, huh?" Sam says, still holding Dean.
A slow smile starts building on Dean's face, lightly smothered against Sam's soft chest, and Sam's own face floods with color at how close Dean's lips are to a nipple, almost brushing against it as he speaks.
"She's perfect, isn't she?"
Sam can't help rolling his eyes, but admittedly, he's more amused than annoyed.
"You have to actually shift the gears, De."
"If it's not stick, it's not driving."
"Whatever, Dean. I don't want you speeding with this thing," says Sam, squeezing Dean's shoulders, touching his lips to Dean's forehead and placing a soft kiss there.
Castiel tried to assuage Sam's worries by insisting that Dean's got great skills in the driving department. But that's exactly what Sam is afraid of: that Dean might be tempted to show off his exceptional driving skills, especially with a powerful muscle car like the Impala. Dean is a fearless yet brash and cocksure young alpha, and someone might throw down the gauntlet and challenge Dean to an amateur race. Knowing his son, he'd surely pick it up.
"It's not a thing, mom. I told you, she's got a name. And I wish you'd let me show you what Baby can do," says Dean, unknowingly confirming Sam's every fear.
"I think I'll pass. If I see what—erm, Baby—is capable of, I might hide the keys from you for good. Or hog the wheel, and drive us everywhere myself."
"As if I'd let you get behind my wheels," says Dean, a laugh bubbling out of him.
"And why wouldn't you?" Sam says, brows unfurling and shooting up
"Baby needs special treatment. Your driving—"
"—Don't even say it. My driving is impeccable, Dean Winchester!"
"You ride the brakes—
"I do not!"
"You'll probably ride the clutch too in a stick-shift—"
"Speculation—"
"—you always put your turn signal on at the last minute, and don't get me started on tailgaiting."
"Lies!"
"I'm just saying. Baby is too precious."
"Well, if that's not the most romantic thing I've ever heard you say."
"What, you jealous, Sammy? Don't worry. She is something else. But you're still my number one."
Sam doesn't scold him for using his nickname again. But there's a slight shift in the energy when Dean utters those words as teasing as they are meant to be.
Dean looks up at his mom and their faces are so close now, their noses are almost touching. Dean's eyes are soft, and his cupid's bow lips are slightly parted. Staring down at Dean, Sam is suddenly hyper aware of his own heartbeats. His mouth is becoming moist.
"Can I kiss you?" Dean says, eyes glossing over, voice raspy and low, and the hand lying on Sam's chest clenches briefly around Sam's soft pec, as if copping a feel. Sam reflexively thrusts out his chest and his nipples stiffen and tingle as a response to the heat from his son's touch. He's not wearing a bra (he rarely does inside the house these days) and he can feel the warmth emanating off Dean's skin through the fabric of his shirt.
Sam swallows and nods, giving his consent, eyes not leaving Dean's.
His son presses in and his lips are creamy-soft when they touch Sam's, and Sam can't help leaning into the kiss. Their mouths fit together perfectly. It feels right, and suddenly, all what Sam had been doing with Cas—the extra rough sex, and the pain experimentation—now feel like the real betrayal. If it were up to him, even the right of punishment would be Dean's, as his own body should be.
Dean tips his chin up, and slowly drags his lips over Sam's. Then he opens his mouth only slightly and catches Sam's bottom lip between his, suckling lightly before letting it pop free.
To Sam's surprise, the kiss remains closed mouth yet painfully sweet. It also doesn't linger as long as he'd like it to, though he's quite sure he would've popped wood if it had. When Dean pulls back quicker than expected and rests his head against Sam's chest, Sam's tongue darts out to lick his own lips and taste his son there.
Dean's hand—the one that's not tucked underneath him—runs slowly across Sam's chest and his thumb brushes lightly over one of Sam's perky nipples but then that's it. His hand stills and just rests there (warm and heavy) over Sam's breast.
Dean is breathing heavily, and so is Sam—fingers aching and lips tingling, nerve endings stirring and the restraint leaving his body almost trembling with desire.
Dean shivers once and his hand squeezes Sam's breast (probably impulsively), then his son shifts slightly and his hand goes down to hold on to Sam's waist instead. They remain still for a few moments, chests heaving.
When Sam looks down, Dean is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, but his breath is coming under control. His son doesn't initiate anything else.
Sam, flooded with warmth, hugs Dean tighter and kisses the top of his son's head. "Are we good?" He finally asks.
"Yeah, we're alright," Dean croaks from where he's buried in Sam's embrace.
….
Castiel can't be around for Dean's 16th birthday party.
Sam's nostrils flare, his jaw clenches in anger as Cas breaks the news to him. He exclaims "unbelievable" as his husband explains how he was forced to sign up for a week-long work trip that coincides with Dean's birthday. He tries to ease the brunt by promising a compromise: to take them all out for dinner and cake as a family once he's back. "Think of it this way: Dean will have two birthday celebrations not just one," Cas says, aiming to wipe the scowl off Sam's face, but fails miserably.
"Sam, I just can't skip this one," Castiel adds, shoulders sagging.
Cas sounds miserable and for a split second, Sam feels horrible about pressing this, but he has this nauseous fear that something bad will happen if Cas is not around.
Castiel's presence in the house calms him these days, and it's a perpetual reminder of who he belongs to, especially ever since they started experimenting with pain play in the bedroom. Whenever Sam feels a flare up of guilt or a surge of panic, or desire for Dean, he seeks out his husband to ground him — whether it's a spanking or edging or some wax play (they once experimented with urethral fingering and it was torturous and every bit as relieving as Sam wanted), whatever the 'punishment' of the day is, it seems to put Sam's mind at ease.
"Can't someone else go, Cas?" Sam persists. "It's Dean's birthday weekend we're talking about here. And I need you," he adds, hoping that Castiel will get it without Sam having to be explicit about what that need is in front of Adam who's nestled between them on the living room couch playing Clumsy Ninja on Dean's iPad, as they continue to argue.
"I'm already taking a break for 10 friggin' days for the Lupercalia, so no, I can't blow off this assignment. Sam, please understand."
"I'm sorry if I don't exactly appreciate the fact that we're bending over backwards to accommodate your father and his unreasonable requests. Requests that are forcing you to accept an assignment that happens to be in conflict with a big event like your oldest son's 16th birthday … which, in my books, happens to be more important than an archaic coming-of-age celebration, Cas."
"Please don't make this about my father. We can't skip Dean's first Lupercalia and we both know it. Whatever the protocol is Sam, we'll have to abide by it. As inconvenient as it is, it just so happens that my father is hosting this, and yes that means he does have an exclusive on the rules. I thought we already went over this."
"Not like I had any choice in the matter."
"To be fair, Sam, I told you that you can do whatever the—" Cas is about to swear then he remembers that there are little perky ears sitting between them, so he swallows the profanity and continues "—whatever you want with everything else. But the dates and the duration are non-negotiable."
"So are the dresses and the suppressants, and being around traditional, sexist, wrinkly old men with grabby hands 24/7," Sam blurts out, knowing that he's being very unfair, especially that the bad company is not something that Cas can control anyway, it comes with the package.
As well, Cas had told him that he should wear a kilt only if he's comfortable, and that he doesn't prefer pumping suppressants into Sam for a couple of weeks just to be able to get by — that they can always find a way around it and that he'll just have to stick to Castiel's side and no one will dare touch him then, not without Castiel's permission and consent (neither of which will ever be granted).
But right now, Sam is feeling a mix of disappointment, panic and anger and Castiel is the only target around, so … "It's interesting how your father refuses to fork over control after years of emotional abuse and neglect and is happy to start barking orders the first chance he gets like you haven't even left his house. And now, we're all bending over at his say so. Did it occur to you that I might not even want to come to the Lupercalia to begin this?"
"Then don't, Sam. Honestly? I don't care what you do anymore."
"What? And break my son's heart? Unlike you, I care about how Dean feels," Sam shoots back, all worked up, and seething.
"Listen to yourself. Are you hormonal or something, Sam? Getting a second heat this month?"
"Oh, go to hell, Cas," Sam says and he instantly regrets talking to his husband like this, considering … everything, really.
Cas facepalms, and it should be Sam's cue to ease the pressure and shut up but he doesn't. When Sam begins again, Castiel sighs heavily, pushes himself off the couch and cuts him off. "You know what, Sam? I've been tripping over my feet trying to please you lately but nothing ever works," says Cas, and it's the closest thing to an admission of their marital problems that Cas has uttered. "I had a terribly long day and I don't have time to listen to you prattle on about this. You seem to be in a foul mood and I wish I could humor you. But honestly, I don't have the energy. Let's talk again when you've wrapped your head around this."
How condescending, Sam thinks, and any compassion for his husband is now gone.
"Apparently, there's nothing to talk about, Cas. You've made your decision."
"Unfortunately, I have," says Cas and he leans down to place a kiss on top of Adam's head and leaves Sam to stew in his own juice.
….
Cas and Sam spend the rest of the day in awkward silence, each waiting for the other person to speak first. But neither do. At night, in their bed, they give their backs to one another, and put as much space between them as they can.
The next day, they only exchange a few comments that completely fail to break the tension.
But then Sam, exhausted and not wanting to drag this longer with Cas, just lets his anger blow over, and has a proper sit down with his husband.
He's glad he does, because it really makes him realize how much Cas is both burned out, and bummed for missing Dean's birthday himself—Sam is guilty of misreading how his husband has been feeling about all this.
Soon after, Cas is back to his normal self, promising Sam over and over that he'll make it up to them, especially Dean.
Dean isn't thrilled himself when he's made aware that his father won't be around for his big day, but he eases a little when they go pick up the Impala from Bobby's garage. Dean drives them half way back home (because, no license yet) and Sam rides shotgun; he gets to experience, as Dean calls it, the "thing of beauty" that's the Impala. Sam is surprised that face-to-face, he actually likes the car—or more like, he can understand why Dean's fascinated with it. The Impala does have this classic charm.
They all end up having dinner together, and Sam bakes Dean another pie — this time a cream-filled one. (It's Dean's week so by default it's also pie-week).
Castiel takes off the next day, four days before Dean's birthday weekend, leaving behind a teary-eyed, anxious Sam.
….
Dean has long decided that he wanted a small home celebration, inviting only around 10 buddies, some of which will stay overnight throughout the entire weekend (the chosen three are Benny, Ash and Charlie).
Dean rarely ever has friends over so Sam is excited for him, and he quickly gets into super-mom mode, getting all his ducks in a row, and drawing up a list of all the things they'll need ahead of the party.
Sam will bake at home: a big cake, and three pies: apple, cherry and pecan. The finger foods, he'll order in (Ellen says she knows a good catering place). The weather is mild enough for an outdoor barbecue so they'll have hot food as well. He'll stock on crisps and munchies too. They won't need an entertainer; Ash will be their DJ (apparently, he's good at that), but they'll need to rent speakers and a mixer.
"What about booze, mom?" Dean says, leaning on the kitchen counter with a notepad as Sam is washing the dishes, and dictating a shopping list to Dean.
"You're not drinking, Dean."
"What the hell, mom?"
"Just hear me out. We'll have a civilized get-together. Don't forget that we're inviting Bobby, Fergus and Meg, Ellen, Jo, ehm, your grandparents, and your aunt Naomi. Coach Hendrickson and his wife. So you need to be on your best behavior."
"You're kidding, right? It's not a party for a 10-year-old, mom. I'm turning 16. It's not illegal. And I'm definitely not going teetotal in myparty. 'Sides, grandma and grandpa won't come. They never do."
"They very well might, Dean. This year's different."
"Right, even if they do, doesn't change a thing. I'm sure they won't mind either way. We're all grown ups. In fact, if it were up to Benny, we'd have a beer pong party. If I don't bring nothing, I can promise you people will smuggle stuff in," Dean says, putting down the notepad, approaching Sam and plastering himself to his mom's back, wrapping his arms around his waist like an octopus.
Dean brings his voice down a notch, laying on the charm thick, and adds: "But since it's here, and I love you and I want everything out in the open, we'll make it civilised, exactly like you want, and just stick to beer and punch. We don't even have to hire a bar. How does that sound?"
"As if I'd let you hire a bar for your 16th," Sam says, squirming a little with how Dean is wrapped around him. He just can't be 100% comfortable with these displays of affection anymore because it's like rubbing salt into a festering wound. Despite his fidgeting, Dean doesn't ease off his hold on him.
"Come on, beautiful, say yes."
"Ha! You think flattery will get you what you want?"
"Oh, I'm quite sure it will," Dean says, and plants a kiss on his shoulder.
"Ok, Dean, alright!" says Sam, huffing a sigh. As if he can deny Dean anything, with how he's wrapped around his little finger. "We can keep things above board and allow liquor. But I'll have to double check with your dad first."
"Oh come on, Sammy."
"Told you, it's mom," Sam says, remembering the boundaries he once set, while scraping a dish a little too furiously. He also remembers their kiss a few days back, and how frisky it made him feel.
Dean rolls his eyes. "Alright, mom," he says with emphasis, sarcasm lacing his voice.
"Dean, if your dad green-lights this, you still can't get drunk. Same goes for your buddies."
"First off, even if we do get a little drunk, you can't embarrass me in front of my friends. I'm not a kid anymore. Second, booze is non-negotiable so make sure you hash this out with dad. Besides, they'll be slightly older people. Not all my friends are 16, you know."
"Right, the boxing class crowd," says Sam remembering.
"Yup, and an older friend from school too."
"Hey, what about Ash. He can't drink. He's still 15, right?"
"Then I'll make sure Ash sticks to Diet Coke."
Sam's shoulders' sag. He can't win with Dean these days. "Fine, you can have beer and some light cocktails," Sam says, as he turns off the water tap, and turns around in Dean's arms to face him and pull back from the embrace a little, so that they're not glued together (Sam is always aware of where they're touching). "I'll handle it with your dad. I can whip up a few, you know, sherry cobbler, spiked Arnold Palmer and variations. I bet you know a few recipes yourself. We're not going to pretend you haven't been sneaking drinks behind my back."
"I actually don't know any. But I know someone who's really good at mixing drinks."
The mention of this "someone" reminds Dean of something he needs to give his mom a heads up about, considering their history.
"There's one other thing," Dean adds. He pulls Sam to him again and buries his face in the crook of Sam's neck, like a child hiding from something.
Sam can feel his son's hot breath on his skin, and tries not to let the sensation wake up other parts of him. Seriously, his brain needs to be rewired to register these simple gestures as what they are: natural intimacy between a son and his mother, and nothing more. His hormones are haywire for some reason; picking up on every little thing related to Dean and reacting accordingly. Reminds Sam of when he was a teenager and discovering sex and his own body for the first time.
Dean stays silent for a beat, and Sam begins to worry so he hugs Dean back. One hand comes up to rest on the back of his son's neck and he asks, "What? You're scaring me, De."
"Erm, remember Rhonda Hurely?" he asks, words muffled against Sam's neck. Sam's heart sinks. "The girl I used to, ehm, go out with?"
"Uh-huh," Sam murmurs. Is Dean seeing her again? Is that what Dean is too scared to break to him? Will she come over and sleep in his son's bed, perhaps fuck Dean, while Sam is under the same roof? But Dean just said he used to date her. Knowing Dean, he could be bending the truth a little, or saying it like this to try and ease the blow. Has Dean been sleeping with her while stringing Sam along all this time? Taking what he wants, what he can from both, like a typical knothead.
Sam hates that he immediately feels like an ex or a jilted lover instead of Dean's mom at the mention of this girl. It's like everything is stacked up against Sam; somehow every single encounter or conversation or comment is a reminder that what he feels for his son can't be shaken off that easy.
"Eh, I invited her too. I mean, I had to. After we broke it off, we stayed in contact. We've been talking and hanging out. We're not back together or anything. I mean we only kinda dated for 10 minutes anyway. But she's a friend, now. And she's kinda helping me cope with all what's happening between us."
That's when Sam's heart jumps in his throat, and he quickly pushes Dean away and holds him at arm's length to force him to meet his eyes. He asks, incredulous, heart pounding: "What the hell, Dean? She knows about us? You told her about what's going on between you and me?"
"God, no! I just told her I'm in love with someone I can't be with. An older boy," Dean says simply, pulling away from the embrace himself. "That's all she knows."
Sam lets out a deep breath and his heart breaks more for Dean if that's possible. Like him, he has to keep his feelings bottled up and it looks like he was itching to tell anyone. In love with someone I can't be with. Sam feels guiltily responsible for the somber statement that has become his and his son's reality.
It's not bad knowing that Dean has someone to talk to. Still, he's glad Dean didn't overshare.
"Yeah, ok " says Sam in a tone of great relief. "No one can know anything, De." No one can know Sam's robbing the cradle. They'd think he's another filthy omega taking advantage of his own son (and Sam's greatest fear is that "what if he is?")
"Give me some credit," Dean says.
"Right, I'm sorry. I just freaked out. There's a lot on my mind, and I can't think straight. I should've known better."
"So, about Rhonda. You don't mind having her around?"
"No, no, of course not," Sam makes himself say.
"K, good," Dean says. "She's not sleeping over though. She'll just be here for the party."
"Whatever, Dean. I don't mind either way," Sam lies and forces a smile. Dean nods.
"So, here's your list," says Dean, fetching the notepad with the supplies and handing it to Sam.
"Sure, thanks."
His son steals a quick kiss before taking the car keys out of his pocket and jingling them, telling Sam he'll go for a ride.
"Now? Isn't it late?"
"It's 7:30."
"Its night time. I'd prefer it if you go out during daylight."
"Mom, listen to yourself," Dean says, amused. "You gotta get used to me actually driving."
"I only approved of the car under pressure. If it were up to me, I'd just drive you everywhere. Besides, we agreed that without a license, you can't go too far, remember that little rule?"
"I won't, I swear," Dean says and he's already moving.
"Alright, be careful. Keep it in the neighborhood. If you get caught—"
"—I won't. I'm just going for a quick spin with Benny and Ash. They're meeting me nearby. We'll get ice cream and cruise around for a bit. Gotta show off my Baby," Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows. He turns, fetches his jacket and bolts out of the kitchen.
Sam follows, but Dean doesn't stop. "Just listen, be back in an hour alright."
"Mom!"
"It's an order, De."
"Argh," Dean groans, as he walks out of the door.
"Don't do anything stupid," Sam shouts after him. But Dean is probably getting into the car already. A moment later, Sam hears the engine's roar as the Impala fishtails out of the parking lot.
….
"We need more tupperware," Sam announces at lunch the next day, as Dean wolfs down his steak.
Adam, as per the new usual, is playing with his food and barely touching the meat, despite the fact that Sam had sliced it for him into tiny pieces. Unlike most children his age (including Dean when he was that young), Adam loves vegetables and hates chicken, meat and fish.
He recently started becoming obsessed with animals, always asking his parents or Dean to find him animal videos online so he can watch them on a loop. His dislike of meat began with some harmless curiosity; Adam asking his mom and dad where it comes from. And upon getting an answer, asking fearfully if meat is essentially a dead animal.
When Sam and Cas, after negotiating whether to tell the truth or make up a creative lie, ended up saying that, yes, indeed it is, they unknowingly invited an avalanche of questions about how animals are killed to be cooked, and why, and if they feel pain and whether or not they cry when people take their lives and if the "animals' parents or kids miss them after they're gone.
Sam almost broke into tears at his son's innocence and subsequent painful realisations as they enlightened him about the subject, watching helplessly as the truth was reflected heartbreakingly on his baby's adorable face.
It's easily one of the most difficult conversations he's had with a child.
In the end, Adam decides that he wants animals to be alive and happy, and not dead on his plate, essentially swearing off meat and poultry. If Adam wasn't so tiny and needing of nourishment, Sam would've probably gotten behind this. He's proud of his son but he can't help worrying. Being sensitive and compassionate (especially at such a young age) is a great thing but it always comes with caveats; including dealing with very harsh realities in a very broken world.
Sam can't humor his baby boy as well because at almost four years old, Adam still needs his proteins for development.
Sam did start researching alternatives and he intends to consult a doctor about how he could feed Adam less meat while still giving him all the proper nutrition he needs. But the jury is still out on whether this is a healthy option at Adam's age.
"What for?" asks Dean, in response to Sam's declaration about the need for tupperware.
"We're getting a lot of food for your party, I'm cooking a feast. But I don't have enough containers to store the leftovers. We also need a few other things. Napkins. Centerpieces. Disposable plates and cups. I'm not doing dishes after 20 people," Sam says. "Bottled water, too."
"We already jotted that down on the supply list," Dean reminds him. "I'll add the Tupperware and the other stuff."
"Do we need a disco ball?" asks Sam, in all seriousness, but feeling that he might already know the answer to that.
"You serious? Hell no," exclaims Dean, glaring at his mom.
"Alright, calm down. We'll need extra chairs and a table for the grill in our front yard. Mulling over pitching a tent. Or you know, one of those shade canopies. We can just rent those."
"Front yard, mom? Do you plan to smoke out the neighborhood?"
"It's tacky, I know, but our backyard is small, Dean. We need the space. What about balloons?"
"I'm not turning 10, remember?"
"You can have balloons in a grown up party, Dean."
"Sure, why don't you get a bounce house too and a slip-and-slide while you're at it? And you know what would be smashing? A clown!" says Dean in fake enthusiasm.
"Oh lord," Sam visibly shudders. He hates' em. "Got it! Okay. Did we write down trash bags?"
"Yup. What else, mom?"
"So yeah, trash bags. Lots of those. Oh, and an ice bucket."
"Cool," Dean says, feeling that his mom is going slightly over the top for a party with barely 20 people all in all. But Sam is taking the whole turning 16 rather dramatically, and Dean won't stop him. He's happy with the attention, if he's honest with himself.
"If your friends are sleeping over, let's get you a new set of PJs."
"Right, I'd love me one of those adult onesies with buttflaps," says Dean, wide eyed and beaming. "You know, Jumpin Jammerz?"
"Is everything a joke to you, Dean Winchester?"
"Mostly, yeah."
Sam rolls his eyes and continues to rack his brain, but he thinks they're all set.
"I think that's all, De."
"Wanna swing by the Woodcreek later and pick the stuff up?"
"Yeah, let's do that. There's a Walmart on the same street too. Two birds, one stone," Sam says, then speaking to his other son, adds: "Adam, will you be a good boy and stay with Auntie Ellen while Dean and I run a few errands after lunch?"
"Don't wanna," Adam says, miserably.
"What's wrong, sunshine?" Sam coos, guiltily realizing he hasn't been paying much attention to his other boy.
"Don't wanna eat this, mommy," Adam says. "Can I have some of your milk please?"
"But baby, haven't we talked about this? You're getting old for mommy's milk. You're my big boy now," Sam says, actively fighting his instinct to just pluck Adam from his chair and take him in his arms; save him the trouble of eating foods that he's obviously not a fan of. He's supposed to be weaning him, but it looks like he'll go traditional on this one and let Adam nurse until he's five or even 10; as long as he wants to.
"How about some more veggies?" asks Sam, out of motherly duty, anticipating the protesting.
"Please mommy?" Adam says, and his voice is small, and cracked, eyes wide and pleading, and Sam can't resist.
"Alright, darling. Come here," Sam says, opening his arms wide, and Adam nearly stumbles off his chair, and runs to into his mommy's embrace. Sam puts him over his lap and lifts one side of his shirt up, making sure to only bare one breast, and immediately Adam buries his chin in his mommy's chest, taking a big mouthful of his nipple and areola, latches on and he begins to suck.
Dean clears his throat, and Sam realizes that his older son is flushed and visibly uncomfortable, and by extension, it makes Sam a little uneasy too. He feels a little too exposed all of a sudden, with Adam hanging off a naked breast, and Sam's shirt all rucked up like this and showing his belly.
"You OK, Dean? We can move to the living room," offers Sam.
"It's fine, mom," Dean says, not looking up from his plate, and gulping audibly.
Sam can't help notice that Dean sinks in his chair a little, spreading his legs, and his eyes shift from time to time to eyeball Sam's breast hungrily, as if he's wishing it's his own mouth suckling Sam. It ends up being one of the most awkward breastfeeding sessions Sam's had. All through, Dean's eyes would close a little, he'd lick his lips or chew on his lower lip making Sam feel wet and naked.
By the time Adam's done and dozing off, Sam's skin is tingling with the attention from Dean, his own eyes are half-lidded, and he's semi-hard between his legs. Frankly, he wants to be rolling in bed with his older son right now instead of pretending everything's normal.
Dean probably feels the same; his son adjusts himself down there, before pushing the chair back and leaving the table, practically running out of the kitchen.
"I'll quickly hop in the shower before we head out," he calls out as he climbs the stairs to the upper floor, and Sam is sure it's code for "I'll have a quick jerk in the bathroom".
And honestly, Sam might just end up doing the same.
….
Dean feels cornered. He once had total control over his mom, and could swing him this way or that with a look or a word or a small action, but now he feels that he's the one being manipulated.
Sammy, refusing to give him what he wants unless Dean snatches it forcefully, has brought them to this rut: where they're neither mother and son (not exactly) nor lovers.
Following Sam's last heat, Dean initially felt like he had planted a flag and had meant to persist, give his mother the silent treatment until he submits completely, until Dean can flip him over any time and fuck his ass and make him come all over himself, but so far his small plan hasn't been working.
He has a blind spot for Sammy. His mom is being sweet, Dean was missing him and soon Dean found himself back in his arms again — though still unable to have him.
Besides, how could Dean stay mad when Sammy is so adorably eager to please? Busting his back setting up his birthday, and pampering him with lots and lots of pie all week.
On their way to the mall, they make a stop at Walmart and stock on all the things they need. The mall, Woodcreek, is mobbed, and by the time they are done placing their orders at the party rentals store and making it across the mall to where the sleepwear shop is, it's well after 5 PM.
But at least, they're both relaxed now, having bought all the essentials.
The nightwear store is huge, catering to men, women and there's a big section for male omegas, selling everything from silk and satin PJs and robes to delicate nighties and frilly babydolls and various types of omega-fitted lingerie. Sam goes straight to the men's section, bypassing the omega racks and mannequins without even a side glance. Dean, of course, doesn't let it slide.
"Mom, slow down, it's not like the omega rack will attack you," Dean says, sarcastically.
"I just need to get this out of the way, De. Your brother must be getting grumpy by now," says Sam.
"Nah, he's probably sleeping, or cuddled up with Jo. He loves her."
"Well, I sure do hope you're right and that he's not pulling a tantrum as we speak," Sam says.
"Wanna phone in and make sure everything's alright? You know, put your heart at ease?"
"It's fine, Dean. I don't wanna bug Ellen."
"Then relax, mom, and let's have fun with this, alright? Wanna buy matching jammies?" he asks playfully, and it coaxes a smile out of his mom.
"Come here," Dean adds, and he takes one of his mom's hands and laces their fingers together, rubbing his thumb across the back of Sam's hand to help him unwind. "Just breathe for me, alright?" Sam inhales deeply.
"Thanks," Sammy says, inhaling again and squeezing his son's hands. Dean is like a drug, Sam thinks.
They stroll leisurely through the men's section, sifting through the merchandise, still holding hands like a couple, when they're approached by a young but stout sales assistant with ginger hair, and nerdy thick-rimmed glasses. "Hi there, how may I help you today? Are you looking for anything in particular?"
"Yes, please. I'm thinking a bathrobe for me, nothing too fancy though, and Dean here is looking for PJs," Sam explains, with a polite smile.
The sales assistant's eyes flit quickly to Sam's chest. Sam's bra is slightly outlined under the shirt he's wearing (he's only donning a jacket with a shirt underneath it), and Sam knows this look too well (it's why he's not a big fan of shopping for clothes). It's that look that Sam gets when the other person is trying to work out where Sam fits on the alpha-omega spectrum, considering his clothing is very manly. The store assistant seems to make up his mind quickly, though.
"If you'll come with me, we have a wide selection of bathrobes, and morning gowns at our omega section. We have hooded and regular bathrobes, in a variety of fabrics; cotton, velvet, cashmere or if you're looking for something more delicate, we have silk kimonos, wonderfully soft, and lace dressing gowns," he says, with a fake smile, as he starts leading the way back towards the omega section.
Sam begrudgingly follows but his nose flares in anger. Just as he's about to school the assistant for assuming that being an omega means he's automatically interested in the fluffy, feminine stuff, Dean squeezes the hand tucked in his and says, "Sure, show us what you've got."
"Dean," Sam protests, unbelieving, and Dean gives him this heated look, all dominance and control, and strangely, it shuts Sam up, albeit begrudgingly.
He's practically being dragged back to the omega section by Dean, and as much as he wants to pull his hand away and run in the other direction, he doesn't.
The store assistant proceeds to showcase the different styles, and Sam is barely looking. Dean takes over completely and starts giving his opinion, coaxing Sam to take interest. Finally, Sam looks and he votes down all the super feminine stuff in favor of a classic, cotton bathrobe. White, straightforward, not exactly masculine with a bit of silk lacing its collar, but neutral enough. They settle on it, and Dean doesn't look exactly satisfied.
"Can we also look at some silk gowns?" supplies Dean.
"Dean, do we have to?"
"Got nothing to lose, Sammy," Dean says, and the nickname flusters Sam; it's like Dean is challenging him.
To make it worse, Dean brings their interlaced fingers to his mouth, and places a kiss there. He probably wants the store assistant to think they're a couple or something. The age difference is significant, but it's not unheard of for young alphas to date older betas or omegas, or do whatever the hell they want for that matter, Sam thinks. He should rectify this, and make some reference to them being mother and son, but he doesn't want to embarass Dean.
He also hates to confesses that he gets all tingly when Dean takes control like this; he can't stop it.
"Sure, this way please," says the assistant, with a smile. He leads them to another rack full of silks and frills. Dean has his eye on this short little thing; a black satin dressing robe lined with lace, that will probably ride up and leave Sam's butt hanging out. It's totally inappropriate and Sam cheeks heat up just imagining himself donning it.
"Feel the texture. See how soft it is?" says the assistant, proud of the number like he'd sewn it himself or something.
"No way, Dean."
Dean kisses Sam's cheek and says, "Shh, you'll look perfect in it," and it's just above a whisper, spoken so close to his ear. It's like Dean and his alpha pheromones are nuzzling him with those words.
"Would you like to try it on?" asks the assistant.
"Yes!" "No!" say Dean and Sam simultaneously.
"He'll try it on," confirms Dean, with an air of finality.
Sam, who's clearly tense, might as well be invisible, because the sales assistant blurts out "of course" and points them towards the fitting room with the offending item in hand. His son is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.
To make it all worse, Dean joins Sam inside the fitting room, and sure, it's big enough to fit both of them and three other people. It's also empty save for a wooden stool. But Sam is not sure that taking his clothes off in front of the son he can't keep his eyes or mind or hands off is a brilliant idea.
"Dean, what the hell are you doing?"
"I wanna see you wear something nice for a change."
More like ogle my naked bits, Sam thinks.
"I'm not comfortable with this, De."
"Just humor me. Know what? Consider it a birthday gift," says Dean, batting his eyelids.
"You already got one, Dean," says Sam, and he's thinking of the Impala. But he's already snatching the damn thing out of Dean's hand. "Fine, just turn around," he growls.
"It's not like I haven't seen you naked before."
"I don't care, Dean. You either look the other way, or I'm walking right out."
"Fine, have it your way," Dean says and gives his back to his mom.
Sam strips out of his clothes and his skin gets covered with goosebumps as the cool air meets his naked skin. He's wearing a non-padded full-bust cotton brassiere and even Sam has to admit that it's unattractive and in quite contrast to the silky thing he's trying on right now, so he takes it off.
He does keep his underwear on to maintain some dignity, because he's sure the short number won't do much to hide his dangly bits and his behind. He slips his arms into the sleeves of the robes and folds it around him, and God, does the sumptuous fabric feel nice, softly hugging his frame and caressing his skin.
He takes a quick look in the mirror and suddenly, his hairy legs, lanky figure and wide shoulders stand out more when he's donning this. He turns around, and his butt cheeks are peeking out, covered in the grey cotton of a pair of plain-looking briefs. Sam doubts he looks attractive at all. He feels out of his comfort zone, awkward and weird. Too damn naked, too. He ties the robe snugly so it doesn't slide open, and spins around. He clears his throat and tells Dean he can look now.
Already on the horny side of things, Dean's nether regions stir once his eyes land on Sammy. The robes are barely hiding his modesty, and under the harsh fitting room lights, they're a little see through.
His mom's erect nipples are poking through, and Sammy is blushing prettily, biting on his lower lip when he meets Dean's gaze. He looks down quickly to try and avoid Dean's eyes, in obvious embarrassment. And the whole sight is rather obscene.
Sam's own stomach does a flip at the way Dean is staring at him. In a hoarse, small voice, he asks if Dean is done looking.
"Don't think I'll ever be, mom," he says, and he takes a couple of steps closer until Sam's barely a feet away.
One of Dean's hands come up, and he starts caressing the skin right above the front folds of the robes, dipping into the deep V and teasing at the hidden treasure underneath. "You look so pretty, mom."
"Dean, we can't," Sam pleads in a whisper. "I've done what you wanted, you've had a look. Let's just stop here."
"Don't wanna," says Dean, and he takes another step forward and now their bodies are almost touching. He slips his hands inside the robes and grabs Sam's breasts and starts teasing his engorged, sensitive nipples, and Sam almost jumps at the intrusion. Dean brings his lips closer to his mom's, not kissing, just hovering, breathing the same air, his eyes seeking his mom's. "Best pair of tits I've ever seen."
"Dean," whispers Sam, and their lips are almost brushing.
"Gorgeous. Unbelievably gorgeous," says Dean, and he opens the flap of the robe to reveal a tit. He stares at it, his eyes half lidded with lust, then he bends forward and takes the tip into his mouth, and starts suckling.
His fingers toy freely with the free nipple, squeezing lightly and tugging. Sam moans wantonly despite his shame. He really, really wants Dean, and in this moment, he can't bring himself to care about anything else—least of all the fact that they're in a public place, with a thin curtain separating them from anyone else who could walk into the fitting room area right now.
Dean's mouth travels upwards licking its way up to Sam's lips. He locks his mouth over them, his tongue darting out to invade and conquer.
Sam opens up to him, and Dean licks inside his mouth, and sucks on his tongue, until Sam's knees almost give, and his slick starts pumping between his legs. He parts his thighs a little, and Dean wedges himself in between—his own hard-on rubbing against Sam's, one hand still squeezing a boob possessively and the other now grabbing Sam's hair.
"Is everything alright in there? Do you need any further assistance," comes the sales assistant's voice from behind the curtain, and it almost feels he's in the same room, witnessing this. He is practically is in the same space, except that he can't see, but Sam fears that he can perhaps smell their arousal.
Dean's lips are still glued to his, and for a scary few seconds Sam heart pounds violently as he thinks that Dean might just continue eating at his lips and ignore the assistant altogether. God forbid, the assistant might just pull back the curtain, and peek inside to check and ends up seeing them like this: chest to chest, embracing and making out passionately, with Sam's soft, spit-slick tits spilling out of his robes, and his juices leaking between his spread thighs.
The sound of their smooching is already too loud, Sam thinks.
Dean disengages for a second, lips popping, and Sam's face is flushed with both shame and desire.
"Everything's peachy," Dean says, breathless from the kiss. He unknots Sam's robes and opens the flaps. "Do you mind getting my boyfriend a couple of panties to try on with this?"
"Any particular fabric or style in mind?" asks the assistant.
"Let me think," Dean says, pretending to think.
Sam can't tell if the man's already figured out what's happening or not. Dean, meanwhile, is keeping up the conversation like everything is normal, like he's not grabbing his mother's waist in a vice-like grip and rutting dirtily against his groin as he talks to the assistant.
"Hmm, just choose something sexy," says Dean, one hand circling around Sam's waist and without preamble, sliding underneath the robes and the waistband of Sam's briefs all at once. He runs a finger down the spread of Sam's ass. "Surprise us," he adds, as he roughly thrusts his finger up Sam's asshole, without warning, making his mommy whimper audibly.
Sam's head falls back, resting on the wall behind him and he tries to breath through the intrusion, lips wet and parted, and arms coming up to hug Dean to him.
If the sales assistant didn't know what they were doing before, he most probably knows now with all the desperate moans and groans Sam can't keep in.
Shortly after the assistant's gone, Sam hears the click of heels on ceramic as someone new enters the dressing room area and approaches, and it eerily feels like they're gonna get walked on. The insistent steps bypass their room, however, and Sam can hear the curtain being drawn in the fitting room right next to them — another customer slipping in to try something on for sure. The risk of discovery gets dialed up 10 fold. Dean keeps thrusting.
"Sammy, you're soaking wet," Dean whispers in his ear. "Can't believe how good you are for me. So filthy, so fucking easy, wet all over, tits and cock bouncing as you fuck your cunt on my finger in some random fitting room, where anyone can hear or see. Best birthday present ever, by the way," he says and he goes back to mauling Sam's mouth.
Sam moans like a whore, bearing down, sucking Dean's finger in—his warm slick dripping and soaking it.
"I think that I may have just the item for you," says the assistant a minute or so later from behind the curtain. Sam shudders when he hears his voice; still can't believe how close the man is to them while they're doing this.
Dean slips another finger inside Sam's hole and starts pushing in and out more roughly, his mouth pulling away from Sam's. "Yeah?" he says, his voice choked. Then he leans in to whisper to Sam's ears only, "Would you like me to invite him in to watch? I don't mind. As long as he doesn't touch what's mine." He finishes the sentence and locks their lips again.
Sam opens his eyes, and realizes, as if for the first time, that they're surrounded by mirrors, and takes in what he looks like. His robes are wide open at the front, briefs soaked in precum, his son is rutting against his groin, sucking on his mouth like it's a pacifier, and simultaneously fucking him with a finger. Sam can feel his rim fluttering under the assault.
This is what the man will see if he walks in: Sam, a man in his thirties, falling apart for his 16 year old lover (not knowing he's Sam's own son).
He'll see a slut. A filthy omega slut.
"Sir?" asks the assistant.
Sam quickly pulls away from the rough kiss and buries his face, red and burning in Dean's neck, wanting to hide away from the obscene image they're making and huffs, "no, please don't."
"Just reach out from behind the curtain, please, and I'll take it from you," Dean tells the assistant, and the man obliges. Dean reluctantly walks them backward, fingers loosely wedged inside Sam's passage, and snatches the items from the man's hands.
"Thanks."
"Anything else, sir?"
"Not right now. I'll holler if we need you again."
Dean slips his fingers out of Sam's hole. Sam takes a step back and his body slumps against the mirrored wall behind him.
Dean takes it all in. The sweaty skin, the heaving breaths, the nakedness, and the hot mess in Sam's briefs.
"Take your underwear off, Sammy," Dean says, authority bleeding into his tone.
"Dean, please," he says, biting his lip.
"Want you to try one of these on," he says, shaking the items in his hands for emphasis. Sam's eyes flick to them, and they're a couple of frilly see-through girly panties, one is pink and the other is red. And despite fantasizing about wearing such things for Dean, and flaunting himself in them, he just can't imagine doing this now; in reality, he can't. His eyes well up with tears of humiliation, and he just looks away.
"Hey, hey, look at me," Dean says, coming closer and depositing the panties on the fitting room's stool. He holds Sam's chin up with one hand and forces their gazes to lock, "It's going to be alright. Just breathe."
Sam's eyes fill with more tears. Dean leans forward and places a soft kiss over Sam's lips then licks them lovingly. "Shhh," Dean whispers against his mouth, just as he hooks his thumbs in the hem of Sam's briefs and tugs them down slowly until they pool around his ankles. Sam gives a small whine. "It'll be alright, I promise," Dean says and he's laying another kiss on Sam's lips, then another. "Just let me do this," Dean says between kisses, and now, Sam can't help a single tear from falling.
Every time Sam thinks he's hit rock bottom, he surprises himself.
Dean helps Sam step out of his briefs, picks up the red number and he slowly, torturously slips them on Sam, tucking his hard-on inside the soft fabric.
His son goes down on his knees between Sam's thighs. And Sam can feel Dean's warm breath on his shaft, now wrapped in the delicate lacework. Dean's mouth ghosts over his dick for a few moments, savoring and scenting, then he starts peppering small kisses along the length of it, whispering filth in between as he palms his own erection. Sam is blushing furiously, his mouth gaping.
"I should buy you a bra to match, something soft and girly to cup those pretty tits of yours. You gotta accept who you are Sammy." Kiss. "Your boobs, your cunt, your pretty omega cock, the fact that you wanna be fucked and owned by a real alpha, someone who'll put you in your place, and make you comfortable in your skin." Kiss. "Don't hide, Sammy." Kiss. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. You should never hide. Your body should always be wrapped in beautiful things, nothing rough." Kiss. "Silk, satin, lace. You're born for this, sweetheart."
Dean gets a grip on Sam's hips and starts mouthing over Sam's cock, clearly enjoying the slide of the texture against his own lips and the wetness he can taste through the lace. Sam's hips involuntarily gyrate and he grinds against Dean's mouth.
"Keep them wet so you won't chaff. Wanna see you cum in them," Dean says, now tilting his head and rubbing his warm cheeks along the front of Sam's panties, where his cock is beginning to stain the fabric.
"Dean, I'll ruin them," Sam says, breaths coming in deep bursts, his cock hiccuping a copious amount of precum already rendering his fears obsolete.
"Do it. Cream your panties for me, Sammy," Dean says, lips grazing Sam's trapped dick, and his voice vibrates against it.
Dean's lips are spit-slick and swollen from all the kisses and the rubbing, and Sam bets his own are too. They're throbbing and they feel hot.
"I can't," says Sam, voice breaking, feeling the maddening pressure against his swollen dick from the inside, pulsing and pushing more precum out of the head that has escaped its lacey confines and is now leaking against his belly.
"What? Afraid the guy will see them and know? Realize that you came all over yourself as I played with you, that he'll see you're mine?"
"Oh God. Dean, please, please, please don't make me do this," says Sam, but he's still shamelessly rubbing his cock against Dean's cheeks, tumbling towards his climax.
"Come on, do it. Wanna taste you through the lace."
"Dean," Sam says, and he's going out of his mind, repeating Dean's name like a prayer. He's writhing beneath his son's attentions, hips jackknifing and his balls drawing up. "Dean, I'll come. Can't-can't hold back."
Sam's body trembles and seizes as he finally spills into his panties from both his dick and asshole at once.
It hits him, mid orgasm, that they're in public, that he's doing this as people come and go outside of their curtain, and that discovery is inevitable. He's moaning and wetting a pair of panties that he doesn't even own, covering his thighs and Dean's cheek with glops of his release.
Dean moves back and looks Sam up and down like he's an artist admiring his handiwork.
When their eyes meet, something primal trembles within Sam, and he just can't: the urge to submit to the alpha who owns his heart is too strong, he's overcome.
So Sam pees himself ... and it's the strongest show of submission he's let anyone have.
It's a slow trickle at first, his dick squirting urine shyly, then when he hears the soul-deep groan coming from Dean as he realizes what he's happening, Sam soaks the panties and the clean floor with his piss. As his bladder empties, what Sam's just done finally hits him. He feels lightheaded and his vision tilts. His body goes limp and he fears he might pass out.
Dean stands up from his kneeling position and quickly catches his mom then attacks him like an animal, mouth hot and urgent, as Sam sways between consciousness and awakening.
His mouth, his face, his stomach and tits are being kissed savagely and ravaged and it feels like Sam's being eaten alive. Dean slips his hands inside his panties and grabs Sam's wet, semi flaccid cock painfully. He fondles and grabs and pulls hungrily, feeling everything. There isn't a part of him that Dean doesn't kiss, or run his hands along. Dean french kisses Sam's navel. He sucks on his neck and collarbone. He rubs the rim of his hole and dips his fingers inside Sam's wet passage, curling them, and forcing more slick out.
Sam's pliant and easy like a rag doll in his son's arms. He sobs in pleasure and he doesn't care anymore who hears. Dean's his alpha, and he owns him. If he wants to take him in a public square, in the light of day, as everyone watches, Sam will probably let him right now.
"I can't believe you did this for me, you're mine, mine, mine," Dean says, breathlessly, between frantic kisses, now rubbing his rock hard cock against Sam's softening member, still trapped in the now sodden fabric.
"Yours, only yours," Sam repeats, in response.
…
Coming down from their high, Dean tells his mom not to worry about the mess they've made. He'll handle it.
When Sam finds that he can finally stand up straight, he shyly steps over the puddle of come and pee, and puts his clothes back on — save for the wet briefs. He's red in the face with embarrassment, and can't begin to stomach how humiliated he feels. Somebody shoot him right about now.
His ears perk up when he hears Dean casually explaining "the accident" to the sales assistant on the other side of the curtain like it's the most normal thing in the world. Sam pretty much wants to melt into the floorboards.
"So, we kinda got carried away and ruined the red panties," he hears Dean says, and it sounds like his son is beaming. "We'll pay for it, of course. We'll also need the white cotton robe, and the black satin one, and oh, the other pair of pink panties. The one that's not ruined."
Outside of the fitting room, Dean gives the store assistant a wink and adds, "We'll come back for the PJs another day."
…
Still jacked up, Dean blows Sam while they're driving back, and Sam can barely drive in a straight line or keep the car within the lane. So he pulls over and parks on the side of the road before he runs them both off it and until he shoots his load, then jerks Dean off hurriedly.
….
"We're both ripe and sticky with cum. Shower with me," Dean says when they get home. They shower together, soldered to each other from head to feet and making out passionately under the spray. Dean, rock hard and leaking, tries to fuck him under the shower. "I wanna be inside of you so bad. Wanna breed you," he says. But Sam cries hot tears and begs him not to, tells him he's not ready and that they'll regret this. Dean hugs him tight and doesn't force it. They end up frotting until they come.
...
Sam locks himself in his bedroom and bolts the door that night so that Dean wouldn't sneak inside and try to have him again during the has to go, Sam's mind keeps repeating on a loop. But until then, he knows this won't stop.
Part of him blames Castiel for this, for going away and leaving him vulnerable and open. If Castiel was here, this could've been avoided, Sam thinks, though it feels like a big lie.
At 4 AM, he tiptoes out of his room, goes down to the kitchen, and opens a whiskey bottle from his and Castiel's secret stash of liquor. Sam sloshes the whiskey down until he can barely stand. An hour later, as he's lounging, he texts Cas telling him he wishes he were here ... and that he wants to be spanked. "When you're back, I want you to bend me over your knees and punish me, Cas" writes Sam, remembering how delightful and well-deserved the painful sting was the last time they did this. He adds: "Then I want you to fuck me on all fours, giving it to me rough". Until he wiggles and squirms in agony, and sobs uncontrollably, Sam thinks, his brain in a fog. He waits for 10 minutes and when he doesn't get a text back from Castiel, he goes up to his bed, and collapses on it.
The next day, Sam wakes up hungover to a message from Castiel reading, "Have you been bad, baby?" It takes Sam a moment to remember what this is about. Scrolling back to his own 5 AM texts, he gets the picture. But the moment is gone, so he doesn't bother texting back. He's definitely not in the mood for playful sexting with a husband he's cheating on.
...
In the afternoon, Dean sits behind Sam on his bed, takes his sweatpants and shirt off and fondles him while he's on the phone with Cas. "What's wrong?" Castiel asks when Sam's breathing becomes uneven and hitched.
"Uh, talking to you ... it's making me hard, Cas," lies Sam, as Dean presses kisses over his shoulder and neck, and gropes his naked chest.
There's a pause at the other end, and naturally, Castiel thinks Sam is feeling riled up for him. His husband seems ready to get on with the program.
"Why don't you touch yourself for me, baby," Cas says in a whisper, and Sam can hear the echo of Castiel's steps, even through the line. Looks like he's moving somewhere more private.
"Cas," Sam moans weakly, as Dean's hands slide down his torso, exploring the curve of his belly, and the hair below his navel. He runs his hands further down, and caresses the thatch of pubic hair over his cock.
"Come on, baby boy, put your hand on your dick for me," Cas says.
As if tuned in, Dean takes Sam's cock in his hand and gently strokes it, sliding his hand up and down the shaft, smearing the pre-cum spilling from the head with a thumb, and only removing his hand briefly when he feels that Sam is prematurely edging closer to orgasm.
Sam himself is barely able to string a few sentences together as Cas spews filth in his ear on the other end of the line, thinking he's the one getting Sam off, thinking that these sounds of pleasure are for him. "Are you close, baby?" Cas asks, and Sam nods. Then remembering that his husband can't see him, makes his mouth move and tells him that he's close. From the sound of Castiel's breathing, it looks like his husband is also bringing himself off on the other side.
Dean's hand abandons Sam's cock and slithers down and disappears between his legs, past his aching penis and taint, until the tip of his middle finger ghosts over Sam's asshole. Sam breathes heavily, parts his legs and arches his back in invitation. Dean stabs his finger inside. His son uses his other hand to fondle a breast, taking a nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezing. A minute later, Dean adds another finger.
They keep at it, Dean massaging the hard lump beneath his prostate, and playing with a tit, until Sam can't take it anymore, and starts coming untouched, moaning in abandon; Dean's fingers drawing out every last drop of come as they continue to circle and rub his insides. Sam struggles to catch his breath. Castiel comes too on the other end of the line.
….
Dean asks Sam to wear the panties and the robes around the house for him, but he categorically refuses; Sam still pretends that the feminine lingerie is not actually in his possession, and he tries to forget about the humiliation of coming and peeing all over himself in the dressing room (Somebody had to clean after, and they must have guessed that someone came undone in the dressing room. The store assistant might have even exposed him as the culprit, as the slutty omega who has no self-control, who pisses himself in submission, in public, at the whim of his little alpha. Perhaps he pointed him out to his colleagues on the security cameras, and they all had a laugh about it).
Sam doesn't think he'll set foot in that store again.
…
One evening, Dean tugs down Sam's pants and looks freely at his junk, while they're at the kitchen table, having dinner, with Adam sitting across from them, oblivious to what's happening right under his nose, to how Dean is pushing his mother into depravity. Sam tries to keep his breath steady all through, as Dean watches his mom chub beautifully under his eyes.
The same night, Dean leaps into the shower with him and fucks his ass cheeks, as Sam begs him not to penetrate him. Dean comes on his crack and lower back.
If they keep this up, Sam knows that they'll end up rolling together in Sam's marital bed sooner than later, that Dean will make on his promise and breed him, put babies in his own mother, and ruin his family, and his own future.
….
Talking has proved futile, but unfortunately, Sam currently knows no other way to curb Dean's sexual appetite for him, so he tries again, and royally, fails again.
Following the foiled attempt at reasoning with his son, Dean and him end up cuddled together on the living room couch with Dean nursing from his breasts, drinking up his milk and sucking him, as Sam, lithe and supple, leisurely fucks himself on three of his son's fingers, running his hands across Dean's back and down over the mound of his butt as he does.
When they're done, there are dark patches of drying cum spotting the couch.
Sam waits for the inevitable moment, and counts the days until he can put a stop to this near-fatal addiction.
The hard bottom line is that their days together, living under the same roof and cheating their loved ones, are numbered. Soon, Sam will have to drop the bomb.