Second chapter is here! A little sexiness this time around. And Sam's still working on figuring out what's wrong, but there's something else the boys have to deal with first. A little more angst in this chapter and then onto the main problem :) Enjoy!
By that evening, both Winchesters were tired, and having only stopped to pick up a few protein bars at a gas station along the way, they were both also feeling hungry and irritable. Dean pulled into a diner in the next town over from their destination.
Inside, their waitress warmly greeted them, an older woman who seemingly felt it was her duty to welcome the newcomers and speak entirely too enthusiastically for either of the Winchester's tastes. Dean flashed her a grin and Sam managed a small smile, but between the long hours in the car and the rising strain between them, neither of the boys felt much like smiling or even talking for that matter. They barely said two words to each other the entire time and though the waitress tried to encourage conversation, she was defeated by the pressing weight of lingering anger and confusion, much of which was coming from Sam.
With the happier start they'd had that morning, Sam thought maybe Dean had gotten over whatever had been bothering him last night, thought that maybe Dean would apologize or even share with him what had sparked the sudden anger. Instead, he'd continued to receive grins and jokes from his partner like the night before hadn't happened. As the hours went by and Dean kept avoiding any mention or reference to what happened, Sam just became angrier.
He was trying not to jump to conclusions or read too much into Dean's refusal to talk to him, but it was hard and with every new joke or smile or dismissal of last night, Sam grew increasingly agitated. He decided he'd let Dean have his way for a while, let him feel like he was getting away with it, but Sam would confront him about it later. He wasn't going to ignore it for long – he couldn't, because every time they let something stew between them, it almost always ended up in someone, usually one of them, getting hurt, and Sam was tired of it. Sam would let Dean direct their next activity and the conversation for the evening, but after he unwound a little, Sam would strike.
Unfortunately, things didn't go exactly to plan. Though Dean had directed them to a local bar just like Sam expected, he didn't factor in his own anger and frustration. He wanted so badly for Dean to talk to him that the continued refusal had Sam so worked up, he ended up drinking much more than he originally intended. Not even midnight, and Sam was feeling pretty buzzed. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure why he had two drinks in front of him at one time, or was that three. He squinted down at the bar, watching as the number of glasses changed each time he moved his head. Fuck. This wasn't a good sign. And Sam didn't even know where Dean had ended up. He hoped his partner hadn't gone off with anyone but the odds of that in their current situation weren't exactly good. A large frown turned Sam's lips and he picked at a raised piece of wood on the bar.
"What's with the pout Sammy?" Dean asked him, appearing out of seemingly nowhere, his tone entirely too happy and upbeat in comparison to Sam's current mood. Sam looked up and tried to focus on Dean, noticing that if he tilted his head the right way, there was only one of his brother. He felt much better when he could only see one of Dean, one was more than enough – he didn't need three.
Clenching his jaw, Sam darted his hand out to grab Dean's collar. He dragged the older man against him and stared him in the eyes, daring his brother, his partner to pull away. When he didn't, just stared back curiously, Sam yanked Dean's face down to meet his, sealing their lips together in a wet kiss. After a long moment, where the brothers got lost in each other and half the bar turned to watch, some in curiosity, others in disgust, Sam released Dean. "You don't taste like anyone else," he mumbled, wide eyes searching Dean's face.
Dean stared at him with flushed cheeks, his open expression transforming to horror and hurt. "Don't taste– fuck Sam! Of course I don't taste like anyone else! Fuck!" Dean slammed his left hand down on the bar, the hand still holding his drink trembling. Pressing his lips together, he continued more quietly. "I didn't come here to hook up with other people Sam. I hate –." He shook his head and dragged a hand down over his mouth, setting his drink down on the bar. "Come on Sam. Time to go."
Dean helped Sam up and out the door, propping him up to prevent him from toppling over. Sam moved with his brother, awkwardly falling into the passenger seat of the Impala. He stared at his fingers in his lap, still pretty drunk but now ashamed enough of himself to start sobering up. He hated how hurt Dean was by what he said, hated himself for assuming the worst of his partner. Even though they'd only been together as lovers for a little less than a month now, Dean had taken to their relationship willingly and happily, never once going back on his promise to be with Sam only.
As Dean took the wheel, Sam looked over. "I'm sorry Dean." The older man just shook his head and gave him a sad smile.
"'S not like I gave you any reason in my past to think I wouldn't."
Sam's brows drew together. "Yes you did Dean. You did. When we started this relationship, we promised each other that we were it, no one else. You've kept your promise Dean." His lips turned down in a frown, eyes sad. "I'm jus' sorry I doubted you."
"We should probably wait until you're a bit more sober to have this conversation." Dean said glancing over. "And don't give me that bitch face. You're such a lightweight; we need to get you some water and then into bed."
With each new word that passed Dean's lips, Sam could feel the alcohol leaving his system. He hated how defeated Dean sounded and he knew it was his fault. He also knew this was his only chance to fix this.
"Oh right! So we can forget this ever happened and never actually have any important conversations! You do this every time we have something important to discuss, Dean. When I don't want to talk about something you don't give me a choice, but when you don't want to talk, well guess what, we never get around to it because you do everything you possibly can to change the subject."
Sam saw how uncomfortable Dean looked, knuckles white around the steering wheel, but he refused to let this go. "Well this time is different. I'm not letting this go. I hurt you and I'm sorry and you deserve to hear that and to know it's true. I hate that I hurt you…" Sam finished with a whisper. The Impala was now parked in front of a motel, but Dean's hands had yet to release the wheel, his eyes staring straight ahead. "Dean…" Sam tried again softly. He saw Dean's jaw tighten and his eyes close. "Please look at me."
Dean just flexed his fingers on the wheel and shook his head as if to shake off everything he was feeling. He got out of the car without even glancing at Sam and went to pay for a motel room. Sam sighed and waited for Dean to come back, pressing his lips together when all he got was the slam of the car door and the roar of the engine when Dean climbed back in and moved the car to their room number. Parked in front of their room, Dean went to gather their bags from the trunk and unlocked the room, again without any acknowledgment towards Sam. Feeling defeated and ashamed of himself, Sam got out and followed his brother inside.
Shutting the door behind him, Sam watched Dean fling the duffel bags and his jacket towards the nearest bed and felt his heart clench in pain, tears gathering once more behind his eyes. Two beds meant they were in much deeper trouble than Sam had even thought. For most of the last month they'd been together they had gotten one king bed everywhere they went, content to be near each other and enjoy the closeness no matter the implications to the outside world. By asking for two beds now, Dean had drawn a line in the sand, built a fortress between them, and Sam felt himself falling apart. How did everything go to hell so fucking quickly. It shouldn't have been possible with how freaking happy they'd been, but now everything was wrong and fucked up and Sam had no idea what to do.
He watched from the door as Dean walked the room and then grabbed the salt to line the window and the door. Sam stepped out of the way and dropped a hand to Dean's arm when he straightened up. Dean glanced at the hand on his arm and then pulled away, dropping the salt bag and falling onto the bed closest to the door. He settled into the pillows and stared at the ceiling, leaving Sam to fall apart where he stood.
Forcing himself to get it together, Sam sucked in a deep breath and went to the sink to drink some water. He needed to sober up a little more before anything else could happen tonight and knowing that Dean wouldn't be receptive to actual conversation, Sam knew he'd need to spearhead any form of talking that would take place.
Not ten minutes passed and Sam was feeling jumpy, his fingers drumming on his right knee and his skin itching, feeling too small and tight for his body. Dean was still staring blankly at the ceiling but Sam could see how rigidly Dean was holding his body, arms and legs tightly bound though they appeared at first glance to be perfectly relaxed, breathing forcibly even. Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes, measuring how he felt in terms of sobriety – his vision had improved significantly since leaving the bar, his hands were steady, he'd even been able to walk from the bathroom to his bed without any missteps or stumbling. Emotionally, Sam was feeling much less stable, but if he had a hope of fixing things with Dean, he needed to do it now.
Sam situated himself on his separate bed so he was sitting across from Dean's torso and saw Dean visibly tense, wishing more than anything that he could take back this night. Even more than last night where tempers were high, what he'd said to Dean at the bar had the potential to destroy everything between them and he would do anything to do it all over.
"Dean," Sam started, inhaling to steady his nerves, "You don't have to say anything right now, but I really need you to listen."
He paused, waiting for any indication in Dean's expression or his body that would tell him his partner was listening. All he got was the clenching of Dean's jaw, but it was enough; it had to be.
"I'm sorry about tonight. What I said…you didn't deserve that. Since we started this whole thing between us you've done nothing but prove how serious you are about it and…god, I never meant to hurt you – not like that. I've been so angry with you since last night, angry that you refuse to talk to me, angry that I never feel like your equal, and I let my insecurities about that affect what I said tonight. I never once doubted you before now, and even tonight I knew I was wrong to even think that, I hope you know that." He took a couple deep breaths, and then forced himself to continue. "I won't blame you if you decide to end things…I love you too much to want that for us, but if that's what you need, if you feel that's best…I'll-I…"
Sam shook his head and pressed his lips together, taking another deep breath as he tried to shake off the aching sadness settling over him. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he looked up to find Dean sitting up on his bed, staring back at Sam with pain in his eyes. Sam wanted to hurt himself for putting it there.
"Sammy," Dean whispered. His voice sounded so pained, Sam felt tears gathering again and blinked them back, refusing to let them fall right then. He didn't deserve to cry or even be upset – this was his fault.
"Fuck, Sam. How do we always end up in these situations?" Dean dragged a hand down his face and chuckled, but it wasn't a happy sound. In fact, Sam was positive that was the most depressing sound his brother could have made right then because it was anything but happy and did nothing but make Sam want to pull his brother, his lover into his arms and never let go, made Sam want to wrap him up so tightly that nothing would ever get passed him to hurt Dean again. Instead, he remained in his spot on the bed and felt the ache of not having Dean in his arms settle into his skin. Without looking up from his lap, Dean continued speaking. "I don't – I don't want that Sam. No matter what happened between us, I would never be able to tell you I want that; it would never be true."
Sam smiled a watery smile at his lover and fidgeted in his seat, looking back down at his lap. He wanted so badly to get up and go to his brother, but knew it was probably better to give Dean his space. "C'mere Sam," he heard, and looking up, Sam saw one of the best sights he'd ever seen – Dean holding out a hand to him in invitation. Sam leapt up and vaulted himself across the little space between their beds, the insurmountable chasm disappearing with the offer of Dean's hand. He crawled onto the mattress and tucked himself against Dean's side, pressing soft kisses against any skin he could reach and whispering apologies with each breath.
Dean stroked a steady hand down Sam's back and pulled the younger man's body tight against his side.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Sam whispered again as he kissed Dean's cheek and made his way to his lover's plush lips. When their mouths first met, Dean tensed against him, but within mere seconds, the older man's body relaxed into Sam's and pulled him closer, crushing their chests so close Sam felt the air press out of his lungs.
Pulling back to take a breath, Sam searched Dean's face, hoping to find forgiveness there. What he found was a deep love and growing lust, black spreading to leave only a thin circle of green in Dean's eyes. His brother's hands latched onto his hips and rocked them together, a moan slipping from his throat and igniting a fire deep in Sam's belly, the fire only growing as Dean rolled them over so Sam's back was flat on the mattress. He wanted nothing more in that moment than for them to just be together.
They stared at each other for a long moment and then Sam hesitantly lifted his head to press their lips together. Dean let the gentle caress continue for only a short time before he pushed harder, grinding his body down into Sam's and letting the friction of their lips ignite sparks between them. Sam dragged his hands up Dean's sides and cupped his brother's neck, digging fingertips into the tiny curls of hair at his nape and pulling him closer, closer, so close nothing could interfere in this perfect moment.
Dean dropped a hand to Sam's waist, lifting his shirt up to his chest and kissing a line down his throat. Sam panted and tilted his head to give his brother more space, a low moan falling from his lips when Dean's thumb swept over his nipple in slow rhythmic motions. "God, Dean," he nearly growled, sliding his hand to frame Dean's cheek and pulling him back up to his lips. As their mouths settled back into a familiar glide, Sam sat up, nudging Dean's thighs to straddle his legs. Their hips rolled and Dean whimpered, fingers digging roughly into Sam's hips and then releasing the skin in favor of Sam's shirt, finally finishing his earlier task and dragging it off over Sam's head. Sam watched his brother as the older man rocked against him, feeling himself grow impossibly harder at the flush creeping down from freckled cheeks to muscled chest. Dean threw his head back and Sam leaned in, licking at the base of his throat and relishing in the salty sweet taste of his partner.
Hands gripped Sam's shoulders tightly as they rocked and then Dean dropped his forehead to Sam's shoulder and reached down for the button on his pants. Sam kissed the side of Dean's head and once the drag of his zipper stopped, he fingered the bottom of Dean's shirt and lifted the well-worn cloth up to his brother's chest. His fingers had barely grazed the lowest rib when Dean's hand overlapped Sam's and stopped the motion, turning his face into Sam's neck and sucking hard, twining their fingers together.
Confusion filled Sam and even as he relished the rare show of affection, the twine of their fingers, Sam used his other hand to return to Dean's shirt. His partner pulled back smiling, his torso leaning sideways so he could reach the side table, shirt automatically falling as Sam's hand was pushed aside. Grabbing a small bottle of lotion left there, he popped the cap and smirked at Sam, the impish gleam in his eyes distracting Sam from noticing right away that his brother's hand was reaching for the lamp. Just before he was able to twist the switch, Sam grabbed Dean's wrist, murmuring, "Don't. Wanna see you."
Sam could see a strange expression flit over Dean's face, something he couldn't identify. His older brother was often a mystery, nothing new there, but this time Sam felt like he was missing something huge, something important, and there was nothing he could do unless Dean talked to him. Opening his mouth to ask, Sam was cut off by plush lips slanting over his once more and between one blink and the next, the lights flicked off. Sam gladly moved his lips against his brother's but irritation started building in the back of his mind. He'd just told his brother not to turn the light off, and as always Dean did whatever he wanted. Sam just couldn't figure out what the issue with the light was, if it was Dean pulling an older brother power trip, or something else.
"Dean," he whispered, lips still brushing softly. "What'd you do that for?"
Dean hummed and licked at Sam's lips, hands returning to Sam's waist and fumbling with the bunched fabric of his jeans and boxers. Brows drawing together, Sam dropped his hands on top of Dean's, stilling his movements. One more gentle press of lips and Sam backed off. "Why'd you turn off the light Dean?" He could feel the rigid line of his brother's body, the tension radiating from every pore. "Dean," he murmured, nudging his brother's cheek with his nose and then dragging the tip of his tongue up the scruffy jaw-line. Dean's only response was a tilt of his head and a subtle lean into the caress – his brother, the closet cuddler. "De-ean," Sam sing-songed in a whisper, "why'd you–"
Sam was cut off by the abrupt removal of his brother's weight from his lap and the chill left in its place. In the sliver of light peeking through the curtains Sam was able to make out the scowl painting Dean's face and the hard line of his jaw from where Dean stood across the small space between the beds. Dean had apparently reached a limit Sam hadn't even been aware he was approaching. Not good. A hurt Dean was painful, an angry Dean was scary; but a combination of the two was downright devastating.
Pressing his lips together and licking them nervously, Sam scooted to the edge of the mattress, hand extended towards his brother. With a soft sigh, he settled for simply brushing the back of his hand along Dean's forearm, knowing anything more would send his brother running out the door. "C'mere." Dean turned his face towards the opposite wall. "Dunno why you won't just talk to me," Sam sighed under his breath. "Dean, please?" he tried again, this time snagging his fingers on Dean's wrist and employing his signature puppy-dog eyes, waiting for Dean to turn towards him.
He felt the slight tremble beneath his fingertips and rubbed his other hand over his thigh to rid his palm of its clamminess. He watched the struggle in Dean's eyes, fighting every instinct in him that told him to pull Dean close and tuck him tight against his chest. That's the last thing his brother would want right now.
Forcing himself to wait patiently, or as patiently as he could manage under the circumstances, heart pounding in his ears, Sam watched his brother finally settle, the sharp glaze of his eyes retreating and returning his cocky brother to him. "Just can't get enough of me huh Sammy?" The words felt forced, not making quite the effortless glide off Dean's tongue as Sam was accustomed to hearing.
Sam felt confused, worried, lost beyond belief, but then again, his brother rarely made leaps that made sense to Sam. "You bet," he growled, doing his best to ignore the waver underlying Dean's words and his own worries. He jerked Dean's body back towards the bed and between his knees, hands latching onto his lover's waist and dragging him down on top as Sam fell back. "So fucking hot. Want you." Sam groaned, rocking his hips up into Dean's.
Dean's panted breaths puffed hot against Sam's neck. "God, Sam. Yes." The words left goose bumps on Sam's skin and sent tingles up his spine. Fuck he loved to hear Dean's voice filled with pleasure. Sam shifted their bodies up the bed, rolling their cocks together through fabric and licking a stripe up Dean's throat. He'd ignore the light issue for now, let Dean have his way, but he'd figure out how to talk to Dean about it later.
Moments later, clothes were disappearing off their bodies and being flung off to land in haphazard piles around the room. Sam laughed as Dean's fingers dug into his sides, sealing their lips together again in a heated kiss. Fingers creeping to Dean's back, inching up under his shirt, Sam was pleased to find that this time Dean let him lift the material and drag it over his head. It also told Sam that his brother wasn't injured; he just had something else to hide. They fumbled through the familiar drag and pull of cloth over thighs and bumped knuckles over hardened flesh, lips brushing, biting, never enough, but always nearly too much at the same time.
Sam kicked their jeans the rest of the way off and rocked against Dean, rolling to situate himself slightly over his brother, nibbling the fucking sexy-as-hell bottom lip as he grasped their cocks together in his fist. Dean seemed to fight the roll of Sam on top at first, but then his head fell back to the pillow, mouth dropping open in a soundless moan. His hands gripped the sheets, twisting the motel-rough fabric between his fingers as Sam's fist finally started jerking them, a strangled groan forced from his throat at the pull and glide on swollen red flesh and the sweeps of Sam's thumb encouraging pearlescent drops to spill from his tip. Sam grinned against Dean's lips, sucking them between his teeth and nipping at the sensitive flesh.
His brother's hips jolted roughly, angles of his hipbones cutting into Sam. The heat of Dean's body was intoxicating, the tension stretching the older man's body taut, and Sam squeezed just a fraction tighter, pressed his thumb just a bit harder. He shuddered at the moan that erupted from his brother, a sound Dean would never let out of his mouth under normal circumstances. An answering groan tumbled from Sam's lips. Quickening his pace just enough and squeezing at just the right moment, he felt Dean's body go rigid against him, back arching. Dean's hands flew to Sam's shoulders and gripped tight, his mouth dropping open to gasp out Sam's name, cock twitching as it spurted out his release in sticky white streams over Sam's fingers and his own belly.
Sam's fist never let up, continuing the rhythmic pull on their cocks. He loved watching Dean come, the pure bliss that overtook his features, feeling the tremors that jerked through Dean's body in the aftermath. As Dean started to relax, arms falling pliant to the bed, Sam dropped his mouth to Dean's pulse point and bit down. The resultant moan that shot out of Dean's kiss-swollen lips sent Sam over the edge.
Moments later, body going lax over Dean's, Sam reached to the nightstand for some tissues to clean them up. He wiped his fingers and then gently swept the tissues over his brother's abdomen. Dean was already fighting sleep, eyes heavy, but obviously struggling to stay open and Sam smiled. "I am sorry Dean," he whispered. "Love you." After tossing the soiled tissues to the floor, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Dean's lips. There was barely any movement, only a soft brush of lips and a quiet hum from Dean. Sam dropped to the side and settled with his back to the mattress, curling an arm under Dean's neck and shoulders and rolling him to lie against his chest.
Sam listened to Dean's breaths even out and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, closing his eyes. Even as his body relaxed, his mind started whirring. He ghosted his fingers in a light pattern up and down Dean's sweaty back, soothing him into a deeper sleep and settling his own need to comfort his brother. Following the earlier outburst, Sam was feeling rather unsettled and needed to offer some kind of support, even if it had to be while his brother slept.
Really though, Sam had to figure out what was bothering Dean so much lately and how to fix it, because with tempers flaring the way they had been, their relationship wouldn't survive much more. Sam breathed deeply, thinking back. In the past two days alone, Dean hadn't allowed Sam to join him in the shower and then turned the lights out during sex when Sam had told him not to. They weren't exactly alarm raising all by themselves, but together in so short a time, Sam was definitely worried.
Now that he thought about it though, Dean and he hadn't yet showered together since their romantic relationship had begun, and whether that was because the opportunity had never presented itself or because of something else, Sam wasn't sure. And as for the light, he'd never put much thought into it, but now that he was trying to draw an image of his naked brother from the last month, the only memories he could conjure were either cast in shadows or from long before they'd started their relationship, maybe not even in the last year or two. In the month they'd been together, Sam couldn't think of one time where he'd seen his brother unclothed with the light on. He knew they'd had sex a lot, and there were definitely times where the light was on, but strangely enough, Sam was realizing that every one of those times, he'd been on his hands and knees or had his face to a wall with Dean pressed up behind him.
How had he not noticed this before now? Sam dragged a hand down his face, the arm around Dean tightening its hold.
Sam knew his brother better than anyone and yet this was so hard for him to process, he felt tears starting behind his eyes. Why would Dean feel the need to hide from him? And that was just it – Why? Why? Why? The question seemed to pulse in Sam's head; he couldn't figure it out.
Anxious and with worry building, Sam stared at the ceiling. He had a feeling he wouldn't get much sleep that night. What Sam hadn't taken into account however was Dean's rhythmic breathing and the patter of his heartbeat, the one harmonic lullaby that never failed to put him out. From the time they were children sharing a bed across from their father in motel rooms, to now, situated on top of each other as lovers, those two sounds created the safest and most peaceful environment Sam could ever imagine. He fell asleep with his fingers curled into the hair at Dean's nape.
So the boys had to deal with a relationship issue before they could really move on. This part actually surprised me when I was writing, but it seemed to work, so here it is. Hope you liked it :)
side note: this story is cross-posted on Sinful Desire and Archive of Our Own under the same pen-name.