Old Ghosts
Part Three
By Gillian
Dean fiddled with his pen, staring down at the notepad in front of him, but hardly seeing the names and numbers, figures and doodles. He'd spent the afternoon chasing receipts and spare parts and now the clock was ticking towards three and he couldn't keep his mind on his work for longer than a few minutes at a time.
Sam would be here soon.
A set of keys lay on the blotter and Dean's glance flicked to them and back to his pen. His nerves were stretched to breaking point and he was starting to think he'd made a huge mistake. It was too soon for this, he and Sam had only known each other for a week. They'd had sex a handful of times. Sam hadn't even stayed overnight at the house yet.
What if he took offence at this? What if he hated the car but he didn't like to say so?
Dean wished he was better at reading people, but it was a skill he'd never really developed. Nick told him he pushed too damn hard, switching on the charm like a 200 watt light bulb. For Dean it was more like a light to blind people to all the things he didn't want them to see.
Mostly he just did his job, picked up women occasionally and then went home.
Until Sam.
Dean looked at the clock for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes and exhaled noisily. At this rate he was going to go crazy before Sam got here.
Play it cool, he lectured himself, picking up the keys and pocketing them. Sam's a big boy, if he doesn't like the damn car he'll say so. Just relax.
All the same he was out in the shop's front lot, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Sam appeared, long stride eager as he hurried down the road. Sam had his backpack slung over his shoulder and the afternoon breeze stirred his brown hair. With careless grace he lifted one hand and swept it back off his brow.
Dean remembered those fingers stroking through his hair and he shivered. He had it bad.
"Hey!" Sam greeted as he turned in the gates. "Am I late?"
"Nah," Dean said, fighting to appear casual. "I just wanted to show you something." He gestured behind him with his thumb and Sam looked over his shoulder curiously.
"The Camaro?" he queried. Dean strolled over to the parked car with him, heart pounding. Sam ran a hand down the hood. "She needs some work," Sam commented.
"It's a fixer upper all right," Dean agreed. "But it runs, and the engines got a lot of life in it. I picked her up in trade for some work I did on the owner's Nomad."
Sam shot him a surprised look. "It's yours?"
Dean shrugged, then pulled the keys out of his pocket. "It's just sitting here, taking up space. I was gonna trick it out some and sell it on, but then I thought..."
Sam tilted his head curiously.
Dean shrugged, losing patience with himself. "I thought you might want to drive it." He thrust out the keys and Sam automatically reached for them.
"Me?" He looked down at the keys dangling from the leather key ring. "You're lending me a car?"
"Seems stupid to be taking the bus everywhere," Dean said shortly.
Sam half shook his head, looking from Dean to the car and back again. "Dean," he began slowly.
"It's all right if you don't like it," Dean said hastily. "I understand."
"No, are you kidding me?" Sam breathed. "I love it." He ran his hand over the front end again, fingers lingering. Dean took a deep breath and fought that spark of arousal. "It just seems like... too much."
"She's just sitting there taking up space until I have time to work on her." Dean said, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Think of the time you'd save if you didn't have to ride the bus everywhere."
"I could help you fix her up," Sam suggested. "On my own time, not work time. Kind of like rent."
"You don't have to."
Sam smiled at him. "Come on, it's a good deal for both of us. What do you say?"
Dean gave in. He had no intention of taking the car back and this way he could even help Sam fix her up, make her better.
"Deal," he said, holding out his hand. Sam took it, warm calloused palm sliding over his, long fingers closing, caressing.
"Deal," Sam said softly. "Thanks, Dean."
-666-
Dean gave himself a few lectures over the next week. To slow down. To stop thinking about Sam every moment they were together.
To start thinking ahead for a change.
Because really, how long could all this last? Dean didn't have any experience with relationships, but even the ones he knew of with everything going for them seemed to fall apart on a regular basis. And then there was him and Sam.
They were both guys, for one thing. Nick seemed to have taken it in stride, and although Dean had seen Gary give the pair of them some sidelong looks lately, the other man didn't seem too concerned. Dean couldn't help thinking though, if straight couples could fall apart, what chance did he and Sam have?
And then there was the gulf between them. Pre-law Sam from Perfect Family, USA. And Dean Petrakos. Lately Dean Petrakos of Petrakos Auto, formerly Dean Winchester, The Gutter.
That was what Dean thought about mostly these days, when Sam wasn't there to distract him. Because Sam had told Dean all about his father and his mother and his little sister. About his dog, Buster, about his old school and even his old girlfriend, until he'd wisely decided that Dean did not want to hear about her.
And Dean hadn't shared one damned thing about his past with Sam.
Sam was the curious type. He always wanted to know why and how - it was what made him a good mechanic. Dean could only guess at how difficult it was for Sam now, to have so many questions and keep them all bottled up inside.
They were bound to come busting out, sometime soon.
-666-
"Hey, Dean?"
It was Saturday again, and Nick was out with some of his old buddies. They'd lasted an hour working on the Impala this time, before Sam had decided they both desperately needed a shower, and for the sake of water conservation they should have it together.
Water conservation didn't work when you spent forty-five minutes under the shower.
"Hmm?"
"What are we doing?"
Dean looked around at the tumbled bed and cocked a quizzical brow. "Basking in the afterglow?" he ventured teasingly.
Sam punched him on the arm. "C'mon, man, I'm serious. We fall into bed every chance we get."
"And the downside to that is?"
Sam shook his head. "You know what I'm saying."
Dean quirked a brow. "Actually, Sam, I'm not sure I do."
"I guess I'm saying, when I'm with a girl I know what I'm doing, you know? I know the difference between something that's going nowhere and something that might go somewhere. I know dates and flowers and meeting the parents."
"Hey, you've met Nick. he's the closest thing I have to a parent."
"Nick coming home and us jumping out of bed like guilty teenagers is not exactly an ideal first meeting."
"Sam, you are a teenager."
"Whereas you just act like one," Sam said in exasperation. "I just want to know where I am with you, that's all."
Dean shrugged and gestured. "I don't know what to tell you, Sam. I've never really dated... anybody, now I think about it."
Sam sat up, sheet falling to his waist. "You're kidding me."
"What can I say? I'm the no-strings-attached king. I've never even brought anybody back here before."
Sam quirked a small smile. "Really? I'm the only lover you've ever brought home?"
"Yeah," Dean mimed a punch at Sam's shoulder now. "And just to add the girly icing to the cake, you're the only lover I've ever had as well. The rest..." Dean shrugged. "It was all just sex."
Sam stared at him, dumbfounded.
"So that's where we are," Dean said, the silent stare making him uncomfortable. "I don't know what else to tell you."
Sam shook his head slowly. "You don't need to tell me anything else," he murmured. He leaned forward, his hair caressing his brow. Dean kept his eyes open as Sam pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then blinked as Sam drew back nestled into his side.
"That's it? That's all you wanted to know?"
"Yeah," Sam said comfortably.
Dean shook his head. "Dude, you're too easy." But he lifted his hand and slid his fingers through Sam's hair in a gentle caress.
"Oh, wait, there's one more thing." Sam sprang up and Dean sighed.
"What now?"
"I know we were joking before, but this is exclusive, right? We don't see anyone else."
Dean considered this. "Is that what you want?"
"Hell, yes!" Sam looked anxious. "Why, isn't that what you want?"
Dean couldn't imagine wanting anyone else while he had Sam. He tried to imagine how it would feel if Sam wanted anyone else and he found he didn't enjoy the sensation at all. "Exclusive sounds good," he conceded.
Sam sighed out a relieved breath. He settled back down, snuggling his tousled head under Dean's chin. "Good," he said in tones of satisfaction.
Dean caressed Sam's head again. "Yeah, you're all contented as long as you get your own way," he chuckled. "It's like sleeping with a big cat."
"Cat?" Sam murmured, one hand stroking down Dean's chest and onto his flat belly, blunt nails scritching. Dean's flesh tingled and quivered back to life under the firm caress, muscles in his belly contracting as Sam flattened the palm of his hand just below Dean's navel. Crisp curls tickled his fingertips and he scratched gently again. Sam chuckled under his breath. "If I'm the cat," he murmured into Dean's ear. "How come you're the one purring?"
Sweeping Dean into his arms, Sam found his mouth and they kissed eagerly, feeding off one another with long ravenous kisses that left their lips swollen when they finally drew away.
"I want you," Sam growled, one lean thigh thrusting between Dean's legs. His hand swept down Dean's back, into the hollow at the small of his back and then down further, to the dusky crease of Dean's ass. "God, Dean, I want you."
Dean shivered as long fingers stroked him there. So far he and Sam had pleased each other with hands and mouths, and it had been more than enough for Dean. But now Sam wanted more, and Dean felt a sick jolt in his belly at the thought. He'd survived on the streets any way he could, and yeah, one way had been in alleys, public toilets, parked cars. But all that had gone only as far as he let it - no matter how empty his belly was, no matter how much they offered.
Dean didn't let anyone fuck him. He'd tried once, in the beginning, but had ended up puking all over the potential customer.
Sam was kissing him, murmuring in his ear, and Dean held him, let him kiss unresponsive lips, turn him on his side, press one finger to that tiny pucker.
Maybe he could, for Sam, he thought, wondering how he could feel so cold with Sam's skin burning his back. He closed his eyes, grimacing as that long finger circled, left for a moment and came back wet. Broached his body just a fraction.
He'd done everything else, hadn't he? Fought the old ghosts that rose up and threatened to smother him when he first went on his knees for Sam, when Sam touched him a certain way, pressed him down on the bed. Surely, Dean thought, he could get through this for Sam.
And then that encroaching finger left him and Sam's heat was drawing away and Dean could only lay there, cold and alone, shivering.
"Why did you stop?" he tried to say.
"Are you kidding?"
Sam's voice was cold, hard, and Dean closed his eyes, fumbling for the covers and drawing them up over him. What the hell was Sam so angry about anyway? Dean was going to let him, wasn't he?
"If you don't want me, Dean, just say so," Sam said harshly and Dean felt the mattress shift as Sam rolled off the bed. "Christ, you think I want you laying there like corpse?"
Sorry it's no fun for you, he wanted to say, but his jaw was clamped tight and he only realised why a moment later when he took a breath and it came out a sob. "Oh god," he mumbled, turning his face into the pillow. Just leave, Sam, he thought. Please, just fucking leave.
"Dean?" A tentative hand touched his shoulder and Dean shook it off, swung his feet off the bed, sat up. He was still cold, shudders wracking his body, but damned if he was gonna lay there shivering like some little virgin on her wedding night.
"Dean, are you okay?" The hardness had left Sam's voice and that was just so much worse. Dean clenched his jaw and opened his eyes. Sam had pulled on his shorts and he was squatting in front of Dean, all long legs and arms, face worried beneath his brown mop of hair.
"I'm fine. Maybe you should just go." And if Dean's voice was a little shakier than usual, he wasn't going to worry too much about it.
"I'm not going anywhere," Sam said quietly. He reached out to touch Dean's shoulder, but Dean flinched away. Right at this moment he couldn't stand the thought of being touched, he felt as if he were shrouded in ice and that he might shatter at the slightest contact. "Please, Dean," Sam pleaded. "Please tell me what I did wrong?"
A little of the ice melted at the naked pain in Sam's voice. He looked so young right now, and Dean felt so old. A thousand memories welled up inside him and he wanted to spew them out, expel that poison from his body once and for all. He wanted to feel clean again, worthy of someone like Sam, whose eyes had filled with tears of worry.
"You didn't do anything wrong." Dean swallowed hard but it was too much, the gorge had risen in his throat and he was on his feet, pushing past Sam, choking as he fled across the hall and made it to the toilet just in time. He retched, eyes filling with involuntary tears, belly cramping as lunch and two beers came back up the hard way, burning his throat, choking him, racking his body.
Finally the shuddering spasm stopped and he realized a warm hand was holding his head, and another was softly stroking his trembling belly. "Shit," Dean swore, spitting and gagging at the foul taste.
"Hold on." Sam left his side and returned a moment later with a glass of water and a cool damp face cloth. Dean rinsed and spat, grimacing at the disgusting odor from the toilet. Sam pushed the lid down and wiped at his face with the cloth. Closing his eyes, Dean sighed under the gentle touch.
"Must have been a bad burrito," Dean said thickly. He staggered to his feet, Sam's long arm at his waist. Legs trembling he collapsed on the toilet seat.
"You had a sandwich for lunch," Sam reminded him quietly. "Same as me." He stroked the cloth over Dean's chin, eyes downcast. "Come on, let's get you back to bed."
Dean didn't want to go back to that tumbled bed, still smelling of their earlier love making. He wanted to get dressed and get in his truck and just drive until this whole afternoon was a distant memory.
But Sam's gentle arm around his waist reminded him of earlier that afternoon, how they'd squirmed and laughed together under the shower spray. How Sam had come in his mouth, then kissed him afterwards, his lips gentle, his hands tender. How they'd snuggled together under the thin sheet and enjoyed the caress of the afternoon sun on their bodies and the gentle breeze through the open window.
Dean collapsed onto the edge of the bed, feeling the burn of the vomit in his throat and the sting of tears behind his eyes. And now Sam would leave and all Dean had to do was get through that and start to get over it.
It had all been a pretty stupid dream anyway, hadn't it?
Sam lifted a folded blanket from the seat at the end of the bed and draped it around Dean's shoulders. He squatted back on the floor at Dean's feet.
"Want to tell me again that it wasn't my fault?" Sam said quietly.
"It wasn't," Dean repeated, just wanting to get this over with. "It wasn't you, Sam, it was me, okay?"
"You were fine until I... Why didn't you just tell me no, if you didn't want it?" Sam burst out and Dean winced.
"I thought I could do it," Dean managed, figuring he owed the kid this much explanation at least.
"You thought you could do it?" Sam repeated uncomprehendingly. "What?"
Dean lifted a hand to his head, it felt thick and fuzzy and he wondered if he really was coming down with something. "I thought if I just let you do it then it'd be okay," he tried to explain. "Like the other times, I didn't think I could, but I did. For you."
"Other times?" Sam was saying, rising to his feet. Dean looked up, realized what he'd said, closed his eyes. "What other times?" There was a dawning horror in Sam's voice but Dean was speechless, unable to think clearly enough to make Sam understand. "You've felt like that before, with me?"
"No," Dean managed, but Sam was backing up, stepping away.
"You were just gonna let me fuck you?" he said incredulously. "When you didn't want to? What else have you let me do that you didn't want? Jesus, Dean, I made you sick!"
"No, you didn't!" Dean leapt to his feet, swayed but kept his balance. His head was clearing and his chest was aching at the pain in Sam's voice. Suddenly it didn't matter if Sam left, if he blamed him, if he hated him. He had to make Sam understand.
"None of this is you, okay? I've loved everything we've done together, Sam, you know that."
Sam was looking at him in disbelief, face still a mask of horror.
"Sam, think about it," Dean said as firmly as he could manage. "You've been right there with me, haven't you? Do you think anyone could fake that?"
Sam's expression faded to confusion and pain. "No," he whispered. "But you... You looked... You hated it, Dean. Don't try to tell me that wasn't because of what I was doing."
"I swear to you," Dean said, taking another step forward. "I swear, this wasn't your fault. Sam?"
Sam reached out tentatively and Dean let him touch his shoulder, bracing himself as Sam's wide palm spread over his flesh. And then it was like the ice cracked and broke, and Dean couldn't help it, he stepped closer, into the circle of Sam's arms, forehead coming to rest on his wide shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sam."
Sam stood for a moment, then his arms curved around Dean and held him close. "I'm sorry too," he said back. Long moments passed and Dean felt his body slowly thaw at the warmth of Sam's skin, his touch, his scent. "Dean?"
Dean heard the question in his voice, knew it was time, hated the thought.
"Yeah," he said, resigned. This wasn't just about him any more. He'd drawn Sam into this, and for Sam's sake he could get this story out. Then if Sam wanted to leave, at least he'd know that none of this had been his fault. This particular die had been cast a long time ago.
"I need to know, Dean," Sam began carefully. "Have I ever hurt you, or done something you didn't want me to do?"
Dean shook his head. "No," he answered simply. "But you're the only male lover I ever chose, Sam. And at first some things... were difficult."
Sam nodded his head, pain flickering over his face. "That first time," he recalled quietly. "When I was laying on top of you and you pushed me away."
"Yeah," Dean said, frowning a little at the memory. At how long ago that seemed. "But that was just fleeting stuff, Sam, I swear. You held me and we kissed and it was all right because I knew it was you and not-" Dean broke off, trying to frame the words in his head. With a shock of surprise he realized he'd never said it aloud before.
"Not him?" Sam said and Dean jerked in surprise. "Somebody hurt you," Sam said flatly. "It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."
Dean could only stand silently in the circle of Sam's arms.
"Was it why you ran away?"
Dean bit the inside of his mouth and nodded. If he was lucky he wouldn't even have to tell the story, just let Sam guess what he wanted to. But Sam was already clamming up, tilting his head, looking at him.
"It was the last foster home I was at," Dean finally said when the silence had stretched to breaking point.
"The foster home from hell," Sam recalled painfully. "When you were thirteen."
"I was twelve, when it started," Dean said. "I-" He shook his head, hating this, wanting it to be over. He didn't want to tell this story, didn't want to put the old nightmares into words.
"It's okay," Sam said suddenly and Dean's gaze flew to him. "You don't have to tell me if it's too hard." There was pain in Sam's eyes and in his voice and Dean felt a shock of self loathing. He was already doing it, he realized. He was already spoiling things with Sam, robbing him of some of that innocence. Sam didn't need to hear a sordid story like this. Sam didn't need to be near somebody like him.
Dean pulled away and crossed to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer and grabbing a clean pair of shorts.
"Dean?" Sam's voice was puzzled, worried.
Dean pulled the shorts on, tugged a soft old t-shirt over his head, feeling better as he put a layer between him and Sam.
"Dean, you don't have to-"
"I think you should go," Dean said coolly, leaning back against the dresser.
Sam frowned in confusion. "What?"
"This isn't gonna work," Dean said calmly. "You don't belong here."
"Don't say that," Sam pleaded..
"I mean it, Sam." Dean met Sam's eyes, fought to keep his voice steady. "That ugly little story is just the tip of the iceberg."
"What do you mean?" Sam's voice was shaky but Dean ignored it, concentrated on keeping his own composure.
"I mean I made a mistake. I thought I could turn my back on the past and pretend it didn't exist, but I can't. It's always there, laying in wait, ready to trip me up."
"But you were a victim," Sam said insistently. "You were child."
"I'm not a child any more. I don't want pity or sympathy."
"I understand that," Sam said urgently. "But-"
"So maybe you should just-"
"Stop telling me to go," Sam interrupted angrily. "I'm not gonna go!"
Sam sounded older when he got angry, Dean mused. His voice got deeper.
Sam stepped closer, big hands clenching by his sides. "Why are you pushing me away?" he demanded. "If you don't want to tell me what that monster did to you, then fine. Don't. But don't tell me to turn my back on you and walk out. Because I won't."
"Sam-"
"And don't tell me not to feel pity or sympathy either," Sam continued, taking another step forward. "Because I would feel the same thing for anybody it happened to."
"I'm not just anybody!"
"No, you're my lover!" Sam bellowed. His chest rose and fell with angry breaths.
Dean blinked.
Sam took that last step forward and into Dean's personal space. "You said that yourself, Dean. Just a little while ago."
A lifetime ago.
"You said I was your first lover, Dean. You can't take that back now." Sam's voice was low and firm, his eyes steady.
"Sam," Dean whispered. He shook his head, gazing into Sam's eyes, willing him to understand. "There's so much you don't know. You deserve so much better than m-"
Sam leaned forward, laid his lips on Dean's, not kissing, not moving, just stopping the flow of painful words. "I don't want to go," Sam said simply, drawing back a scant inch, his breath cool on Dean's skin. "Do you want me to go?"
Dean knew he should say he did. Sam didn't know it all yet, not the whole dirty little story.
But he didn't want Sam to go, and Sam saw that in his eyes, his own eyes fluttering closed for a second in relief. He pressed forward again, a real kiss this time, just for a moment.
"You don't have to tell me," Sam said. "But if you want to I'll listen."
"You might want to go, once you hear it." Dean's chest clenched at the thought.
"Try me," Sam challenged.
"I was..." Dean broke off, throat tight. Sam's hands came up and caught his arms, held him still and only then did Dean realize he was swaying unsteadily. "He raped me," Dean got out, and Sam's face crumpled, but he was nodding, and drawing Dean closer.
"I've got you," Sam murmured.
Dean held tight, rode out the tremors of pain that racked him. He swallowed hard, throat still raw and then it was coming out of him, rising up and pouring out. "He came into my bedroom every night," he panted. "Touched me. Made me touch him. It went on for months, but when he..." Dean broke off, choked, couldn't say it again. Sam nodded, soft brown hair stroking his cheek. "That's when I ran away."
"Couldn't you tell anyone?" Sam asked, hands stroking his back gently.
Dean shook his head automatically. "I didn't trust anyone," he muttered. "I never did, until Nick. And Renie." Fresh grief racked him and Sam held him closer. "Sam," he keened, gripping Sam's arms tightly. "I didn't care about anything for such a long time. I did things, Sam, to survive. You... I..."
"Shh," Sam said, pulling Dean's head into the crook of his neck. "Enough, Dean, enough. I understand, okay? I get it."
Dean shook his head, pulling back. "No, Sam, you don't. You don't know what I did, what I was."
"It doesn't matter what you did," Sam said intensely. "And I know what you were."
Dean froze in surprise.
"A victim," Sam continued firmly.
"I hustled for money," Dean said baldly. "That's when I wasn't stealing, or rolling drunks, or eating other peoples leftovers."
Sam nodded, eyes sad. "Yeah," he said softly. "I figured."
"You did?" Dean said blankly.
Sam sighed. "Dean, you were thirteen. I didn't think you survived investing in dot com companies."
"You understand what I mean," Dean faltered. "What I did."
"There's a reason it's against the law to have sex with minors." Sam lifted his hand, cupped the side of Dean's neck tenderly. "It's because they're not able to give consent. They might think they are, they might feel like they're making decisions, but bottom line? You were a victim of every creep who laid a hand on you." Sam's face, usually so young and open, closed up, his lips pressed together until they were thin line. For a moment he looked brutal, primal. "I'd like to find every one of them and kill them for you."
And Dean shivered, not because he felt an ounce of threat from Sam, but because he believed him.
"You shouldn't have to hear any of this," Dean said fiercely, hating that he put that look on Sam's face. "You deserve so much better than this."
"You said that before," Sam said, frowning a little. "Dean, I wanted you the minute I saw you. I wanted to be with you, make love with you, stand by your side. But I never for one moment thought that meant only rainbows and flowers. If you're in pain, I want to be here to help you through it."
"I never wanted you to know all that stuff."
"And I wish none of that stuff had ever happened to you. But it did, and now I know about it." Sam smiled gently. "I want to know everything about you. The bad and the good."
Dean let Sam hold him, draw him back to the bed, even lay down beside him. But he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow it had all been spoiled. Tainted.
Things would never be the same between them again.
-666-
It was full dark when Dean opened his eyes again, and he blinked in surprise, not even realizing he'd fallen asleep. The window was closed, the curtains drawn and Dean didn't need to grope for the lamp to know that Sam was gone. He was alone in his big bed.
Dean dressed slowly, pulling on warm, grey sweatpants and a hooded sweater. He wondered how it would go. Would Sam keep coming to work and just avoid him? Or would it go slower, would he pull away a little at a time?
The second, Dean decided, pulling on warm tube socks but not bothering with shoes. Sam was too kind to just walk away.
Nick had the TV blaring away but Dean walked right past the living room, not bothering to remind him to turn his hearing aid up. He didn't want to see Nick right now, didn't want him asking about Sam. Walking down the hall to the kitchen Dean could hear a pan sizzling on the stove and he hurried to the door, worried that Nick had graduated to absent mindedness now. Had he put something on to cook and forgotten about it?
Sam was standing in front of the stove with a kitchen towel wrapped around his narrow waist. He turned as Dean hurried through the door and flashed him a grin.
"My mother always said the smell of bacon could rouse the dead." He poked at the fry pan with the metal spatula. "How you feeling?"
Dean stared for a moment in surprise.
"I'm making BLT's," Sam said, flicking him a glance. "Butter the bread, will you?"
"I thought you were gone," Dean said blankly.
Sam lifted the pan and turned the stove off. "I told you. I'm not going anywhere. Bread?" he said pointedly.
Dean gave it up for the moment, opening the bread box and pulling out a loaf. Sam was probably just doing what Dean had thought he'd do. He would pull away slowly. Dean buttered, Sam assembled sandwiches and plated up.
"I'll get Nick," Sam said. "Pour the beer, okay?" He paused by the door and caught Dean's eye again. "I'm really not going anywhere," he said again.
"Right," Dean muttered, putting three beers on the table. A moment later he jumped as wide hands encircled his waist and he was drawn back against Sam's body.
"I love you," Sam murmured in his ear.
Then Dean was just left standing there with the kitchen door swinging and his mouth open in surprise.
"What?"
-666-
After dinner Nick went back to his TV and they sat out on the porch watching the stars. Sam was sitting comfortably on the swing, long legs braced in front of him and rocking gently.
"You're quiet," he observed.
Dean grimaced. "I feel like an idiot."
Sam tilted him a glance. "Why? Because you were vulnerable in front of me?"
"Well, duh." Dean kicked at the porch railing he was leaning against. "Dude, I cried like a baby. That's just weak." Dean could feel the flush of embarrassment under his skin. He hated feeling like this with Sam. Like they were suddenly less than equals.
Sam just shook his head. "Yeah, pathetic."
"I'm being serious here."
"Seriously stupid. Man, if I got hurt, I mean like fell off a roof, or hit by a car, I'd cry, right?"
"It's not the same."
"Why not? Cos sex is involved? You were hurt, you were scarred. Dude, you get to cry. And I'm not saying you go on Oprah or anything and cry in front of the whole country."
Dean snorted.
"But with me? In our bed? It's okay to cry."
"Our bed," Dean mused and Sam rubbed his cheek with an embarrassed gesture.
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I guess it is our bed now," Dean said honestly. "You asked me before, where we were going, Sam. Man, I think I'm lost. I've got no map for this one."
Sam patted the seat next to him and on impulse Dean sat down next to him, letting one long arm draw him close.
"We're not lost as long as we're together," Sam whispered in his ear. Dean tilted his head, just a little and they looked at one another in the moonlight.
Sam's eyes were so beautiful, Dean thought. Creased and gleaming when he smiled. Dancing when he grinned. And now, soft, serious, crinkling a little at the corners as his lips tilted.
"I love you," he murmured, and it wasn't dark and intense. It was sweet and gentle and it sounded so true that Dean's heart clenched in his chest. Sam leaned forward and kissed him and Dean just closed his eyes and gave himself to it. He wanted to believe in that love. In that small confession.
Maybe if Sam kissed him for long enough he would.
"Come to bed," Sam invited, standing up and pulling Dean to his feet.
"You're staying over?"
"Yeah. I already asked Nick."
Dean had to huff a laugh wondering how that conversation went. "You asked Nick?"
"He was cool." Sam lifted his hand and cupped Dean's cheek. "You want me to stay?" he asked again, and there was that intensity, that seriousness.
And like last time, Dean could only nod.
-666-
In the bedroom, standing by their bed, Dean felt like it was all new again. When Sam stood naked before him, Dean could only stare, tongue tied and nervous. He waited for Sam to take charge, sure that he'd make the first move, but Sam only stood, chest rising and falling, eyes calm.
"Sam," Dean whispered, and it was a plea, a longing, but still Sam only stood there, and then Dean understood. Sam wanted him to make the moves, set the pace. Fingers trembling he reached out, laid his hand over Sam's heart, closed his eyes in a moment's relief as he felt it thunder under his touch.
Firm skin rippled under his fingers as Dean took another step closer, feeling his confidence trickle back as Sam's breath hitched in his chest and his eyes slitted. Sam trembled, between strong thighs his cock twitched with his heartbeat and Dean's mouth watered at the sight. Sam could barely stand still now as Dean's hands explored his body, slid down his rib cage, found his waist, gripped his hips.
Almost drunk on the sensation Dean took a step forward, and now his hardness was touching Sam's cock, making them both shiver and jerk. Blindly Dean leaned forward, lips touching Sam's cheek, the curve of his jaw, the smooth skin of his neck.
"Dean," Sam groaned, voice rumbling. "God."
"Touch me, Sam," Dean invited into the curve of Sam's throat. Sam's Adams apple bobbed under the caress. "Don't you want to touch me?"
"Always," Sam moaned, lifting his hands and stroking over the wings of Dean's shoulder blades.
"Kiss me," Dean ordered and Sam complied, lips blindly finding Dean's mouth, shuddering as Dean pulled him closer. Now their bodies were touching from neck to knee and they kissed as if starving, hands bruising, mouths twisting, tongues stroking. Dean thrust his thigh between Sam's legs, the light dusting of hair rasping against the smooth skin of Sam's inner thighs and Sam moaned into his mouth.
The bed was behind them and Dean found the edge of the mattress with his knee, toppled them both and then the firm mattress was underneath them and Dean was on top of Sam, pressing his body into its softness with his weight.
"Sam, Sam," he muttered, kissing Sam's face as Sam kissed him back, they rolled, grappling like wrestlers, kissing like lovers, then Sam was on top of Dean and all of a sudden he reared back, eyes wide, pupils dilated.
"Dean," he panted.
"It's okay," Dean muttered back, and it was, it was sublime, to reach up, grab Sam's muscled arms, feel him shudder and jerk at the touch. Automatically he spread his thighs, cradling Sam between them, feeling the sheer masculine power of holding so much strength against the very heart of him.
Sam's eyes were glazed as his cock found the crease of Dean's hip and he thrust blindly against its smoothness, hands planted on either side of Dean's head on the mattress, arms extended. Throwing his head back Dean moaned as his cock leaked against Sam's hard belly.
"Uh uh," Sam was grunting, eyes almost feral as he gazed down at Dean and drove his body towards completion. A drop of sweat dripped from his brow and splashed onto Dean's lips, salty and clean, like Sam's come on his tongue and Dean arched against the bed, pushing into Sam's thrusts, feeling his own sweat blinding him. Sam threw back his head, shuddering as he climaxed, warm wetness pulsing between them.
Dean caught wide shoulders, pushed Sam over and crawled on top of him and now he was thrusting as Sam panted and quivered beneath him. Wide hands caught his hips, long, lean thighs parted, wrapped around him and then Dean was coming and collapsing on top of his lover with a juddering sigh.
"God," Sam panted.
"No, just me," Dean managed, then rode out the last aching moments of pleasure as Sam shook with laughter beneath him at the lame joke.
"Oh, stop, man, stop," Dean begged, over-sensitized flesh tingling as he rolled away, collapsed back onto the sweat-dampened sheets. "Too much."
Sam's chest was still rising and falling and he swallowed hard and turned a wide, weary grin on Dean. "What, you're not ready to go again?"
"Gimme a minute," Dean said weakly, eyes fluttering closed.
"Sure," Sam slurred, rolling onto his side and pressing against Dean. "Mmm," he hummed sleepily.
"Sam," Dean whispered, turning on his side, gathering the lax body to him. Sam hummed again, snuggling close, nuzzling into Dean's neck. Dean wrapped his arm around him and rubbed his cheek against Sam's soft hair, contentment filling him. "I love you," he whispered, and just for a moment it was as if he'd said it a thousand times before, and not for the first time.
He thought Sam was asleep, but a moment later long lashes fluttered against his neck and warm breath caressed him.
"I love you," Sam breathed back.
Smiling gently Dean's eyes drifted closed and he slipped into sleep.
End of Part Three