It wasn't an easy thing, getting all the groceries inside in one go. Even when Jess had lived alone, she'd been hard-pressed to manage it…although, to be fair, she'd also had a terrible habit of forgetting to run to the store until she had literally nothing left inside her apartment but half a jar of expired peanut butter. Between herself, Sam, and the planner she'd been gifted for their first anniversary, they did a much better job of maintaining a reasonable schedule now.

Of course, even when you went once a week, the grocery haul for a household that contained both Sam and Dean Winchester was more than Jess's haphazard once-monthly-if-she-was-lucky grocery run had ever been.

But two (or, god forbid, more) trips were for the weak, so Jess hiked grimly up the stairwell, got creative with her knees, hips, and what few fingers she could use despite their being locked into death-claws around plastic handles until the door finally swung open, and staggered into the apartment. With armfuls of paper sacks balanced on either hip and bulging plastic ones swinging from her hands in cotton-boll clusters, she was dead-set on getting to the kitchen, but she still managed to glance at the couch as she moved through the living room, frowning at its emptiness. When she actually made it into the kitchen, she couldn't help a deep sigh.

Dean's back was to her, sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up past his elbows, shoulders moving busily as he worked his way through the sinkful of dishes that had been left behind by breakfast. Jess knew he'd heard her come in, even though he hadn't acknowledged her. He'd probably heard her when she first opened the door to the building. He was wound so tight she sometimes wondered how he even got to sleep at night, a jumpy, feral, watchful quality layered over everything he did. It reminded her of how Sam had been when they'd first met, although his had been starting to fade by the time he'd come into her life.

Jess knew PTSD when she saw it. She hadn't been totally sure with Sam, had been afraid to make a snap Psych 101 diagnosis, but now she was graduated, had her license. She also knew better than to call it out.

She dumped the groceries, paper sacks gently on the table and plastic ones on the floor. The sudden absence of the heavy load had phantom spasms running up and down her arms, made her feel like if she just stood there, they'd float up on either side of her on their own. Instead, she planted her fists on her hip and demanded, "How many times have I told you that you don't have to do that?"

Dean cleared his throat. "I don't know, darlin', probably about as many times as somebody's got to have told you you're gonna hurt yourself, trying to do it all in one trip like that." Flatware clinked, muffled by water. "Seriously, do you even weigh a hundred pounds? Gonna give yourself a hernia."

Jess didn't move beyond arching an eyebrow. "Getting the groceries is my job," she said firmly. "This week, at least. Doing the dishes isn't yours." She held a hand out towards the sink. "I'll get to them. I'll take care of it. Or Sam will, when he comes home for lunch."

Dean snorted quietly at that. "Oh, I think we both know Sam's not gonna be doing much of anything at lunch 'sides eating." He turned back to the dishes, then paused, shooting a half-guilty look over his shoulder at Jess. "Sorry."

Jess exhaled through her nose. It had been about a week since Dean had broken into their apartment in the middle of the night, been convinced to stay for breakfast, and then convinced himself to stay a little longer. The stock sibling jibes that seemed almost like a reflex had pretty much trailed off, especially to Sam's face, but they still popped back up every once in a while. At least he felt bad about it.

"Sam feels bad he can't do as much housework as he used to," Jess said diplomatically, "but he helps out in other ways. And I don't mind. Cleaning's…" She searched for the best way to describe it. "Kind of meditative for me, almost. Not to sound too New Age-y, but sometimes I like it."

Dean's hands, busy in the sink, stilled. The clinking stopped, and he began, "You better not tell Sam I said this. But…I kinda feel the same way. I don't know. Sometimes."

"That's great." Jess came up beside Dean, ballet flats soft on the linoleum of the kitchen, and politely but firmly took the sponge away from him. "But you're a guest in our home. You really don't need to do any chores."

"So…" Dean pulled his hands out of the sink, picking up Jess's rubber duck print dishtowel (a gift from her mother) and drying them off as he turned to face her. "What? You just want me to sit on my ass all day and watch TV?"

As she pulled the plug to drain the sink of soap and water, since it looked like the few remaining dishes just needed to be rinsed and dried, Jess said nothing. Just raised an eyebrow again

Dean snorted a little, disbelieving. Jess looked at him. He really was pretty - because that was the word for him, not "handsome." It might come with age, but for now, his features were just a little too china-doll-fine for that, with his plush pink mouth, big green eyes, and the spray of freckles laid indiscriminately across his face. His ears stuck out a little, but it added to him rather than took away, made him look a little goofier, a little more approachable. She never would have picked him out of a lineup as Sam's brother, but now she'd spent a week with him, she could see the features they shared. The cheekbones and the jawline, the shoulders, the height…

Of course, she saw a whole lot of similarities to herself in Dean, too. Hair, eye, and lip color chief among them. Jess wasn't stupid, she knew why Sam had been initially attracted to her. His drunken confession six months into their relationship hadn't hurt, either.

It was probably just her imagination. It hadn't been long enough yet. But Dean looked just a little softer to her than he had when he'd first shown up, a little less rangy, a little less raw, a little better-fed and rounder in the face. It made Jess feel warm somewhere behind her navel.

She definitely wasn't imagining the shape of Dean's belly under his loose T-shirt, still bloated from breakfast.

"You gotta be kidding me," Dean stated, and Jess silently hoped she hadn't been staring as long as she felt like she had. "Look, you and Sam, you can do - whatever makes you happy." Jess wasn't even going to try and parse the knot of emotions in his voice there. "But that ain't gonna work for me."

"Really? 'Cause…it seemed to be working just fine for you, most of this past week." The kitchen, like most of the apartment Sam and Jess shared, was tiny. Jess didn't have to move much to get closer to Dean, stepping into his space. "Or were you just faking that for my benefit?"

Dean took a step back, and Jess took a step forward, the pattern repeating a couple times until he was in a corner. This close to him, Jess could smell him: a base scent that reminded her of vanilla extract, deeply sweet with an alcoholic burn at the back of her throat. Plus Sam's body wash and cologne, even though she'd very clearly heard him tell Dean not to touch his stuff.

Dean was both visibly uncomfortable and visibly excited, the two emotions warring for dominance on his face. The breath he sucked in stuttered, and it took a couple attempts for him to clear his throat properly.

"We, uh - we - " His voice had roughened up. Sam's did the same thing when he was excited. "We shouldn't be doing…this." He gestured awkwardly. "When's Sam coming back, did you say?"

Jess laughed a little. "We're not doing anything. And even if we were, the only thing Sam'd be mad about is that he wasn't here to watch." She leaned a little closer. "Or join in."

Dean cleared his throat again. "Yup." His eyes were aimed firmly upward, away from her. "I'd picked up on that."

Jess relented. Dean clearly wasn't in the mood (or didn't want to be); she could respect that quite a bit, actually. She headed for the other side of the kitchen, putting her back to Dean as she began to unpack the groceries, cold things first. Hamburger, sausages, bacon. Ice cream and frozen pizza. She preferred to cook when she could, but she liked having backups on hand, since she did work full-time and her schedule was unpredictable.

"Go ahead and get back on the couch," Jess invited, opening the freezer. "I'll make you a snack and get lunch going before I have to leave."

"Thought you didn't work today." Dean's voice was guarded. Jess leaned around the door with a smile.

"Picking up some last-minute OT," she said. "Don't worry, you're not forcing me out of my apartment."

"Oh. Uh, good." Dean leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he looked off into the living room. "But…about the couch-and-snack thing."

Frowning, Jess closed the refrigerator and turned to look at Dean.

"Look, you've been great, right? I really appreciate you letting me crash here." He put out a hand, as if to stop her from protesting. "But it's been a week. I know you're ready for me to stop leeching off you. I oughta get moving."

Jess couldn't help a scoff. "You're leaving already?" She cocked a hip, putting a fist on it. "You really think we don't like having you here?"

"Hey, I ain't going forever," Dean assured, then paused. "I hope."

Jess felt her eyes narrow. "What do you have to do that's so important?"

Silence stretched out between them. Dean looked away from her again, and didn't answer. Sam was tight-lipped about a lot that went on (or had gone on) in his life, and Jess was used to it, had talked it up to natural introversion and childhood trauma. It looked like it ran in the family, though.

"Fine," Jess said eventually, shaking her head, "don't tell me. But are you seriously gonna duck out while Sam's at school?"

Dean shrugged, a full-body one that tipped his head and turned his palms out. "No use waiting around. It's law school, you know how he can get if he loses track of time at the library." Jess folded her arms across her chest.

"You're gonna break his heart." She stated it flatly.

"Yeah, well." Dean forced a smile. It looked painful. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Jess took a few seconds to study Dean again, and this time, tried to go deeper than just the pretty face. Since he'd shown up, living with him and Sam had been like babysitting a pair of middle schoolers. Ones who had just discovered crushes with the added benefits (and drawbacks) of hormones. They were shy, fumbling, awkward, especially when they knew she was watching them. The only time they really seemed comfortable touching each other, kissing, was when they were drunk. Or stuffed to the gills.

Jess frowned, opening another grocery bag with Dean still pinned under her eyes, and asked him, "What are you so afraid might happen if you stay?"

Dean snorted. "I'm not afraid."

"Right," Jess agreed dryly. "Look, Dean. I can be frank with you, right?"

"So long as I can still be Dean," Dean answered glibly, and Jess had to struggle not to roll her eyes. Dean could have had "humor as a coping mechanism" on a medical alert bracelet.

"Right." She turned back to the groceries, taking a box of Twinkies out of a bag. "You and Sam are embarrassed by what you feel for each other - "

Dean scoffed, a kneejerk sound.

" - and that's totally natural," Jess said, forcefully powering through.

"Y'know, I can see why he likes you," Dean muttered. The next time Jess looked at him, he'd hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands into his pockets. "He's real big on talking about my feelings, too."

"You don't have to be embarrassed." Jess removed a jar of pickles, another of green olives, then a can of pie filling. "And you don't have to be afraid. Nobody does." She glanced at Dean. "Not here, not with each other."

"Yeah?" Dean's eyes narrowed. "And what about you?"

Jess chuckled a little. "I don't know. What about me?"

"Why d'you want your boyfriend to fuck his brother so bad?" Dean challenged, and Jess paused with a party-size bag of Lays in her hands, trying to think about how best to answer that. Especially since it was the first time any of them had said it out loud since Dean had shown up. Eventually, she smiled.

"I want Sam to be happy," she said matter-of-factly. "I want both of you to be." Chips in the cupboard, a box of Fruity Pebbles pulled out of the bag next. "Look, you're suspicious. I get it, that's your thing. But I really do care about Sam. And he cares about you, so…"

She gave a little shrug. It pulled the lace cami she was wearing under her Stanford jacket tight. Dean didn't look convinced.

"What is your endgame here?" he asked, and it had the flat, heavy ring of a demand. Jess shrugged again, and shot him a smile.

"You're never gonna find out if you leave." She lifted out a bag of Jolly Ranchers. "Are you?"

Dean glared, very clearly not amused. After a second's standoff, Jess sighed, dropping the candy on the table.

"Fine, I'll make you a compromise."

"How's that?"

"Stay another week. If you still wanna go after that, I'll help you convince Sam."

Dean hesitated. Jess could see him wavering. She really didn't feel good about it, but she pushed his buttons a little, leaning forward and widening her eyes appealingly.

"Don't you owe him that much?" she pressed. "At least?"

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered under his breath, and then heaved an enormous sigh. "Fine. But you're gonna have to find something for me to do. I can't stand just…sitting around doing nothing."

Sam had told Jess his brother was lazy. She wondered if that had changed since they'd stopped speaking, or if there had been some misunderstanding. Or if it was only true when Dean felt safe somewhere.

"Oh, no." Jess shook her head. "You are going to treat this like a vacation. You're not lifting a finger."

"Oh, come on - " Dean began.

"When's the last time you actually took a break?" Jess challenged.

"Well, I went to Mardi Gras in New Orleans this year," Dean said with a smirk, and she rolled her eyes.

"Not like that. I mean, when's the last time you let somebody take care of you." She balled up a few empty grocery bags to go under the sink. "I know how you looked out for Sam when you guys were younger. You don't think you deserve to have somebody do that for you?"

Dean glowered at her, crossing his arms. "So, which is it? Do I owe Sam something, or do I deserve some kinda reward for doing my job?"

"Two things can be true," Jess answered promptly. "People are complicated. You and Sam…well, maybe a little more than most."

Dean snorted at that. "Yeah, ain't that the truth." His eyes wandered around the kitchen, falling on the bag of Jolly Ranchers that Jess hadn't put up yet. "He still only eat the red ones?"

"He only eats the watermelon ones now." Jess risked an eye-roll. "They don't sell bags of just those. I have to bring the others to work, but I think everybody's getting sick of them."

Dean chuckled a little at that. "He's been like that since he was old enough to chew candy. We'd buy a bag of gummy bears or whatever, he'd eat the red ones, 'specially watermelon. That was his favorite. I'd eat the others." He paused, then nodded to the bag. "I'll take 'em off your hands. I mean, long as I'm here."

Jess raised an eyebrow. "So you're staying, then?"

"For a week," Dean said, steel in his voice. "Then I really gotta go." He faltered a little, before adding, "But I'll - stay in touch, okay? Try and make it back every couple months or so. Don't wanna be like it was before." Jess was smiling even before he said, "I mean, forget all the crap going on with Sam, your cooking alone's worth it."

The smile widened into a grin. "Good boy," Jess said, in a tone of voice that was almost a coo. "Now, go get your ass on the couch so I can feed you."

She didn't miss the unmistakable dilation of Dean's pupils when she praised him and then delivered an order, or the slight hitch in the breath he sucked in before huskily saying, "Yes, ma'am." She'd been watching for both, because she'd already seen them so many times in Sam. She still remembered the first time she'd told Sam to clean his plate, when they'd been out at a restaurant.

"I'm not gonna wind up the size of a house, though," Dean went on sternly, pointing a finger at Jess even as he headed for the living room. "You can do whatever you want with Sam, but I gotta stay fit."

"What for?" Jess asked, half teasing, half genuinely curious.

Dean paused for a long, pregnant second, rocking back and forth on his boots as he looked at Jess, then finally just said, "Work."

Jess didn't push. Secrets seemed to be woven as deep in the Winchester DNA as a massive appetite, and much as it annoyed her…she assumed they'd tell her when they were good and ready.

Never mind that she would have assumed that, after almost three years together, Sam would have been good and ready by now. Whatever. She had bigger things to worry about.

Dean went into the living room and, after what he probably felt was a face-saving amount of griping and whining, kicked off his boots, dropped down onto the couch, and switched on the TV. Jess made nachos. Her homemade cheese sauce drizzled over a huge bowl of corn chips, with olives, tomatoes, jalapeños, sour cream, and some quickly-fried hamburger. She carried the bowl and a six-pack into the living room, depositing both on the coffee table in front of Dean.

"Son of a bitch," he complained, lowering his feet from the table and sitting up straight, but she could see the greed on his face.

"Sam will be home soon," Jess said authoritatively. "I'll text him so he can pick something up on the way. I want all of this gone by the time he gets here." She bent down, hands on her knees, so that she and Dean were level. "Understood?"

There it was again. Pupil dilation, stuttering breath. And a slight smirk as Dean nodded.

"Yes, ma'am," he said again, and Jess straightened, walking around the back of the couch to go get changed into her scrubs. She ran a hand through Dean's hair, catching a little on the gel, nails bumping along his scalp.

"Good boy," she murmured, and felt him shiver a little.

Of course, Dean didn't leave after a week.

It wasn't hard to see why, what with the eyes that he and Sam made at each other. The gentle touches. The way they were slowly relaxing around each other…and around Jess, risking things that were a little (or a lot) more than brotherly where she could see. They even kissed each other goodbye in the morning before Sam left for school, and though Dean grumbled endlessly about what he called "chick-flick moments," he was the one who bitched when Sam forgot or was running too late for a peck on the lips.

They had, all three of them, settled into a pattern. Jess loved the soft domesticity of it. She also couldn't help thinking that her cooking might have something to do with Dean's staying, since he couldn't get enough of it…she definitely hoped so, at least.

Speaking of her cooking. It had been about six weeks since the conversation she and Dean had had, about him staying. And both of Jess's boys had been steadily growing that whole time.

Sam's rate had slowed down, even though he'd been helped along by Thanksgiving at her parents' place (sans Dean, unfortunately. That was going to take some time). Apparently, law school burned a lot of calories, even with all the snacking he did while he was studying. Despite that, though, he'd finally hit the milestone they'd been gunning for since Valentine's Day: three hundred pounds.

"Jess, c'mon." The words were exasperated, but there was a smile in Sam's voice. "Are you gonna look at the scale or not?"

"Mm." It was late, probably later than they should be up with both of them having to leave early tomorrow morning, and they were ready for bed. Sam in boxer briefs, Jess in panties and an old tank top. They were in the bathroom, Sam on their scale, Jess all but glued to his back. Her arms were around him, her hands roaming over his belly and love handles, breathing in the smell of him, and she wasn't terribly inclined to move. "You can't?"

"You know that I haven't been able to see it since two-seventy," Sam said dryly. "Even if I bend over."

"What, and it's my fault all your weight goes to this - magnificent beast?" Jess gave Sam's gut a shake, and kissed the nape of his neck. She had to go up on her tip-toes to do it.

"Well, considering you're the one feeding me, yes."

Jess checked. 302. Forty-eight more pounds, and they'd need a new scale - not to mention all the new furniture.

They'd been expecting it for a long time, of course, but that (and Sam's insistence part of it was probably water weight) was no reason not to celebrate. They stayed up even later for an impromptu ice cream party that left both Sam and Dean stuffed nearly solid, panting and belching. Jess was a bit disappointed that, though their bellies looked as if they ought to be cold to the touch with as much as they'd eaten, they weren't.

"Can't believe we're celebrating you becoming an official fatass by pigging out," Dean said roughly, cradling his swollen stomach with one hand. Sam snorted.

"Careful who you're calling a fatass. Fatass."

Dean had indeed plumped up. It made sense, considering that while Sam and Jess had been going to school and work, out of the apartment more than they were in it most days, he'd been doing nothing but sitting on the couch gorging away.

It took him a while to get used to that, to ease into it. But he seemed to have finally embraced his inner couch potato. Once he realized Sam and Jess had cable (one of the few perks that had come with their building) and he could start catching up on all the TV shows he'd never watched, he settled in nicely. He was helped even further along by Sam's insistence he read through his lovingly-tended collection of books, despite all Dean's bitching about what a nerd his younger brother was.

Sam had told Jess, even before Dean had entered their lives, that his older brother was a much bigger glutton than he was. If Jess had ever doubted that, she was seeing evidence of it every single day. She'd had to train Sam up, getting him used to eating grease and fat, help his body adjust to huge meals.

Dean's appetite demanded junk, and massive amounts of it at that, right off the bat. It had been weeks since Jess had come home without finding him laid out on the couch, stomach swollen from stuffing himself with whatever she'd left for him. Every time she handed him something or pushed a plate towards him, told him to eat up or to polish it off, he responded almost automatically with a grin or a "Yes, ma'am."

He'd obviously put on weight. When he first showed up, he'd been lean. Lean enough to climb in the window, and in the way that came from deprivation, hard work, sleepless nights, a mid-twenties metabolism - nothing at all like the hours of running and gym time that Sam had used to put himself through. Even starting out, there'd been a certain softness to Dean's belly. Given his tastes, Jess guessed that that had come from cheeseburgers, beer, and pie. Abs were made in the kitchen, after all.

Now, six weeks on (two past Sam's three-hundred-pound celebration), that belly had softened even further. Gotten larger. Dean's ass was spreading too, where he spent all day on it. His hips were getting wider, his face softening up, his thighs, his arms, his chest. But he was still mostly all gut, a nice potbelly sitting in his lap, sticking out in front of him round and firm when he moved, making new clothes a necessity.

He'd taken to playing with it almost idly as he sprawled on the couch. One hand crammed food into his mouth, the other rested under his shirt, rubbing at an overfull gut. Or squeezing at the increasing amount of flab, pressing fingertips into the fat, like it was a bone-deep comfort to be growing bigger. Jess absolutely loved that, could watch him touch himself for hours.

She also couldn't help noting that, despite how different they looked, Sam and Dean gained weight in pretty much exactly the same pattern. Sam's had hit his stomach very first too, followed quickly by his ass, then eventually the rest of him. His gut and ass still took the lion's share of new calories, though.

Jess hoped Dean would be the same; she adored that shape.

Today was Friday, and it was movie night. Between Jess's schedule and Sam's, they couldn't always do it on Fridays, the way they had when they'd first started dating…they'd gotten lucky this week, though. The stars had aligned. Jess didn't mind doing it on Wednesday or Sunday or whatever so long as they did it once a week, but Fridays just felt right in a way no other day did.

Dean had been incorporated, now that he lived here. Because he did, whether he wanted to make occasional noise about moving on or not; he'd even, at Sam's very firm insistence, unpacked his duffel bag into a drawer in their dresser, although there was a lot he still kept out in his car. Dean had begged off the first few movie nights, heading out to a bar, probably uncomfortable about third-wheeling on what was sort of a date for Sam and Jess. By now, though, he'd given up the ghost.

When Sam and Jess had a movie night, they went all out. That was even more true with Dean here. Sam and Dean had pigged out on pizza and beer before they ever even got started, and now there was popcorn. Movie theater butter and zebra, sitting in their own bowls. The Tupperware and Pyrex had been broken out and pressed into service to hold the other snacks, among them Oreos, M&Ms, and Sour Patch Kids, and more beer, rings of the six-packs expertly snipped, filled up the rest of the space on the coffee table. Plus a couple sodas, because Jess was on call and couldn't drink. She knew from experience that there would be nothing to clean up by the time everybody went to bed.

They were all three crammed onto their couch. Sam was in his usual place, where his weight had pressed a comfortable slump into the cushions, and Jess was squeezed in next to him, between his hip and the arm of the couch. With no space left over for Dean, he'd stretched out on top of the two of them - the casual contact probably a better marker than anything else for how comfortable he'd finally gotten here. His head and shoulders were pillowed happily on Sam's gut, legs slung over the same arm Jess was pressed up against and feet dangling, which meant that his ass was in her lap and she had full access to his increasingly well-fed stomach. She wasn't even going to try to keep her hands off him, rubbing gently at the swell of creamy, freckled flesh visible between hem of T-shirt and waistband of sweatpants. She could feel it churn, did her best to keep it from cramping as Dean occasionally belched or grunted.

Maybe they should get a bigger couch. It would be incredible to be squished between the brothers, Sam on one side and Dean on the other. But this was pretty nice all by itself.

Jess knew conventional wisdom held that men were hornier than women, but…squeezed in next to one Winchester, with the other bearing down on top of her, she was wet. A fire burned low in her belly, made her want to rock against the couch cushions, but she couldn't risk jostling Dean. He was so heavy on her lap.

Even more horny-making was how huge Sam's ass had gotten. Especially intoxicating that he was eating next to her: a carton of ice cream he'd let partially melt, down to soft-serve consistency, and then mixed a couple handfuls of candy into.

Jess could get drunk on the thought alone, sometimes. The realization of exactly how much of a pig she'd managed to turn Sam into…not that it was hard, not that he hadn't helped her out and enthusiastically matched her step for step. He had a sweet tooth that had been begging since childhood to be indulged. She wasn't sure which was better, Sam's slow slide into hedonism, or Dean's innate gluttony that had rampaged out of control the second he had the opportunity to gorge to his heart's content.

Good thing they were watching It's a Wonderful Life. Even if it had been something Jess hadn't seen a million times before, she wouldn't have caught a second of it.

Even as Sam polished off the ice cream, he was feeding Dean. Grabbing things, a few pieces of popcorn, a couple Oreos, off the coffee table, handing them to his brother, who stuffed them into his mouth apparently without even thinking. Jess could literally feel him growing bigger, heavier, as she rubbed his belly. Her eyes weren't on the movie at all…especially after Dean abandoned any pretense of feeding himself, and just let Sam drop candy and popcorn into his mouth, occasionally sipping from a can of beer his younger brother offered him. He growled and grumped about being too full, or having eaten too much, but he didn't move except to chew and swallow.

The movie was drawing to a close, George Bailey rushing home, when Dean closed those plush lips of his around Sam's index finger, right after Sam had dropped an M&M into his mouth. Jess watched his tongue appear, lapping up to Sam's first knuckle; Sam crooked his finger, tip rubbing along the inside of Dean's mouth before he slowly drew it out, bringing a gossamer strand of saliva with it. Dean caught Sam's wrist with his own hand, and they stared at each other, up and down, and Jess practically heard the crackle of a moment of heat.

Sam and Dean were both obscenely full after hours of overindulgence, bloated bellies spilling free of their soft, comfortable clothes. As Dean moved to get up, grunting with the effort, Jess had to help him along, putting one hand under his thigh and the other at the small of his back. She slipped out from under Dean, giving him and Sam more room as they met each other in a very enthusiastic kiss, hands squeezing each other's shoulders, running up through each other's hair.

Jess moved to the only free piece of furniture, a secondhand armchair. She never took her eyes off of the Winchester brothers, lit up by the silvery light of a black-and-white movie. Her nipples were hard against the fabric of her T-shirt, one that had been Sam's about eighty pounds ago, and as soon as she could, she slipped her left hand inside her pajama pants. She could have read her heart rate in her clit.

Sam and Dean were peeling each other's shirts off…with no small degree of difficulty, even though the fabric mostly just covered their chests at this point in the night. Even from over here, even over the sound of the TV (gone to commercial now, the silver light turned blue), Jess could hear the gurgle and slosh of both Winchester guts as they rubbed and squished against each other.

She could have heard better, though. She leaned forward, picking the remote up off the coffee table where it had almost gotten lost among empty dishes and cans and wrappers, and hit the mute button.

Sam and Dean kissed. Their hands roamed over each other's bodies, backs and chests and bellies and hips and love handles, rubbing, squeezing. Dean pulled back, panting, and his voice was all smoke and gravel as he muttered, "Son of a bitch, are you ever fat."

"Speak for yourself," Sam replied breathlessly, and Dean's head blocked his face, but Jess could hear the grin in his voice. His hands moved down, to Dean's ass, and he squeezed appreciatively, chuckling as Dean jumped - not much though, weighed down like he was. "You're catching up."

Dean wound his fingers through Sam's hair, pulled him into another kiss that ended with a husky, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Gonna blow right past me in no time at all." Sam squeezed again. "I mean. No wonder, since all you do's sit on this…" A third squeeze, this one slower, more exploratory. "Stuff your face, and watch TV."

"Thought you liked that." Dean's mutter sounded almost sulky. Sam pecked his lips.

"Didn't say I didn't."

Jess's hips rocked, practically a reflex. This, what she was watching right now, was the furthest Sam and Dean had gone so far…unless they'd been getting it on when she wasn't around, which she somehow doubted. They'd been dancing around the idea of actually consummating their relationship for all six weeks Dean had been here. There'd been a lot of touching, a lot of kissing, a little dry-humping, but no blowjobs, no handjobs, definitely no sex. The closest they'd gotten was Dean watching Sam and herself while he jerked off, and even that had taken a near-fatal amount of whiskey and a very late night. Honestly, she was getting a little impatient with them, but she'd never say that out loud.

She couldn't really see herself telling anyone, even Sam and Dean, that they shouldn't have any hangups about fucking their blood relative. No matter how much they needed it, no matter how hot it was.

Speaking of, they were getting more heated, tugging each other's pants off now past round, wide asses, well-fed hips, plush thighs. Dean's pelvis turned a little, affording Jess a glimpse of his cock, hard and straining against his boxers. Sam's, of course, was hidden by the considerable overhang of his gut, but she knew that they were both very, very proportional. A lot of good things ran along the Winchester family line, hand in hand with all the bad.

They moved against each other, led by Dean, the rutting impatient, almost desperate. The kissing was hungry, though Jess would have expected something more languid, what with the calorie overload inside them. It was like they wanted to devour each other. Jess knew the feeling.

She sucked in a deep breath. It hitched on its way past her pounding heart, an excited little stutter. Her voice came out more sultry than she'd intended as, hand still down her pants, she murmured, "Maybe we ought to take this to the bedroom, boys."

She knew it was a mistake the second the words were out of her mouth. The mood changed, like caramel cracking in a cold pan, and Dean froze. A second later, he kissed Sam again, but it was lifeless, perfunctory. It had the same feeling as trying to stir up a fire that had already died down past coals. A second later, even with Sam's hands still on him, Dean pushed himself slowly and laboriously up off him, getting to his feet.

"Dean," Sam said quietly, though he let go of him.

Dean cleared his throat, didn't respond right away. When he did, it was an awkward, "I'm gonna go…I gotta go take a shower."

"Dean," Sam said again, sitting up. This time, Dean didn't answer, just grabbed his clothes off the floor. With the shape and heft of his belly, how ponderous it was, he had to squat down to do it, like a pregnant woman.

Once he had shirt and pants in hand, he left the living room. Jess watched him go, swallowing down the guilt that kept rising. She could feel that Sam wanted to call Dean's name one last time, looking over the back of the couch, but he didn't. A second later, she heard the bathroom door click, the lock thrown after a brief hesitation, and the shower start up with a whine of aging pipes. She wondered if the water was cold, or if she'd already killed Dean's boner.

Jess looked at Sam. She didn't want him to have to comfort her, but she couldn't keep the stricken expression off her face. She swallowed again, past what felt like a lump in her throat.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to…"

Sam shook his head, a gentle interruption, and heaved a massive sigh. It made his belly sag, even as full and bloated out as it was. He dragged a hand back through his hair before muttering, "It's not your fault." After a second's pause, he looked at her, then gestured to the cushion (or half-cushion, rather) next to himself. "C'mere."

Jess did. As she settled herself back into her spot, Sam leaned forward, grunting with the difficulty of it, and picked up the remote. He switched off the TV, and they sat there in the darkness. Now the only light was the streetlamps outside, and the warm, distant, near-holy glow of the string of Christmas lights their neighbor had wrapped around the fire escape.

They sat in relative silence for a while, neither of them looking at each other. Sam was warm, and it felt good, even though it was fifty degrees outside and warmer in the apartment…thank you, California. Jess, a good Midwestern girl, missed the snow so much it hurt. She leaned up against Sam. He was the first to speak.

"So, you…know what happened," Sam said, before clearing his throat. Jess somehow knew that he wasn't talking about just now. "I told Dean how I - y'know, how I-I felt, when I was eighteen. And he said he didn't feel that way about me. But he was lying. 'Cause he wanted me to be able to go to college. To leave him behind."

Jess nodded, head bobbing against Sam's soft shoulder. Between what Sam had told her outright and her own observations, she'd put that much together.

"It never occurred to him he could…come with you?" she asked softly, and Sam scoffed out something too bleak to be a laugh.

"Course not." He settled back against the couch, and was quiet again for close to a minute. "I think…part of him still doesn't believe he deserves this. Us. Me. O-or maybe he thinks our dad's gonna jump outta the closet the second we do something we can't take back."

Jess said nothing. Sam didn't talk about his father much, and when he did, his tone tended to be bitter, mocking, hateful. Wrapped around pain he'd been carrying for most of his life, and would probably keep until the day he died. Jess never pushed him for more details, but she could extrapolate plenty. She could recognize somebody's Rosebud.

It kindled a kind of warmth in her, the sort that made her eyes sting with something that was almost tears, when Sam was this open with her. Gave her this much trust. He'd been honest from the beginning, of course, about parts of his life, about how he felt about his brother…but that first confession had been angry, an act of self-sabotage, trying to scare her off. She hadn't gone, of course. And this was very, very different.

She wondered if either of them would ever have the same thing with Dean.

"I know what he's going through," Sam went on quietly. "It's the same thing I went through. The same thing I'm still going through, some days. I know he feels the same way I do. I know he wants what I do. I just…don't know if he's ever gonna be able to go through with it. To let himself have…" He gestured to everything, the two of them included in it. "I mean, half his shit's still out in the car."

"And you don't wanna force him," Jess said softly. Sam shook his head.

"No. I think pushing's the fastest way to lose him." He chewed on his lower lip. "He's good at following orders…" And there was a hint of the same bitterness that Jess heard when Sam talked about his dad. "But not unless he wants to."

Jess made a soft noise of understanding. After a second, she straightened, cupping the much-softened line of Sam's jaw so that she could kiss him. He tasted like beer and ice cream, and like his brother. Serious as the situation was, that sent a little pulse of heat down between her legs.

"It'll be okay," she assured gently. "He'll come around. He just needs time." She didn't know Dean anywhere near as well as Sam did, but she was almost positive, from what she had seen, that that was true. "After all, he stayed here, didn't he? With us?"

"Yeah." Sam huffed out a soft chuckle. "Still can't believe you managed that."

"Please." Jess shook her head, looking up at Sam in the darkness. "I think we both know he didn't stay for me."

A month after Christmas, as February dawned, Sam and Jess pulled the trigger on their gift to themselves, each other, and Dean: a new apartment, and new furniture to go in it.

They could afford it. Sam had landed a paid internship at a criminal defense firm that kept dropping hints about hiring him on for real after he passed the bar, and Jess had a nursing contract with a private psychiatric hospital that catered to the overworked and under-rested of Silicon Valley. It wasn't exactly what she'd envisioned herself doing when she got her license, but…the pay and benefits were hard to turn down, and she had plans for volunteer work once they got settled.

Dean had made some noise about getting a job, at a bar or a garage or in construction, his insecurity about not pulling his weight rearing its head again. But he'd relaxed once it became obvious that Sam and Jess didn't need him to work. He was getting comfortable: with his role in their relationship, with his place in their home, with the weight that he was gaining.

Still nothing entirely X-rated between him and Sam, much to what Jess knew was Sam's dismay. But maybe this new place, picked out and furnished by all three of them, would help with that. Maybe Dean wouldn't feel so much like a guest anymore.

It was easily the nicest place they'd had so far. Ground floor apartment, so no stairs, much to Sam and Dean's relief. Open concept, with more than twice the square footage of their old one. The kitchen was enough to make Jess swoon, with the included fridge, oven, and microwave all top of the line - and a dishwasher, so no more walking in on Dean trying too hard to make himself useful - not to mention plenty of space for a new, much sturdier dining set. The living room was roomy too, the master bathroom luxurious…it was perfect.

It also had two bedrooms, meaning Dean wouldn't have to sleep on the couch unless he ate too much to lift himself off it. They hadn't bought a mattress or a bedframe for the second one yet, though. Hopefully, they wouldn't have to at all, could use it as an office for Sam. They hadn't told Dean yet, not in so many words, but…he and Jess were both hoping that Dean would move into their room. Into their bed.

After all. They might not have discussed it, but Jess was sure that every single one of them knew that this apartment was probably just a little too big for her and Sam alone. That it was a new step. A permanent decision. That it meant that Dean was staying, rather than just hanging around and cooling his heels for a few months, the option of leaving still on the table but pushed back further and further.

They'd spent the entire day moving in, with the help of their friends, then treated everyone to dinner and drinks at the group's favorite bar. With everybody so busy, heading into postgrad programs and masters degrees and high-intensity jobs, and all that even without the holidays, it was the first time in months they'd actually managed to get together. Jess hadn't missed the careful, speculative looks that had been aimed towards Dean, where he sat practically glued to Sam. She could only imagine the conversations everybody was now having at home, but no one had asked. It was California.

Jess, once again on call despite having let her supervisor know weeks in advance she was moving today, had spent the evening grudgingly nursing sodas and waters. Sam and Dean had both hit the booze pretty hard, though. She had noticed that Dean didn't drink nearly as much as he had when he'd first shown up, but when he did get up close and personal with some whiskey, he could really put it away. Same went for Sam, although his tolerance wasn't quite so dramatic. Jess imagined it was part size, part genetics, and part practice.

Along with all the liquor, they'd both gorged themselves on plenty of bar food, most of it fried and dripping with grease. Nachos, burgers, loaded fries, jalapeño poppers, mozzarella sticks…most of it ordered without any encouragement from Jess. They'd reached the point of panting and belching long before they'd headed home.

Now, with midnight closer than not, Jess led the way back into their new apartment, flipping on lights as she went. Both of her boys waddled in after her, audibly sloshing. She didn't even ask before, in the kitchen, she preheated the oven, uncovered the pies she'd thrown together earlier (at Dean's request…he loved her baking), where they'd been sitting on the counter, and slid them in to heat up.

"Oh, c'mon," Dean complained, even as he slung himself into a chair at the kitchen table with a hiccup. "You trying to kill us or something? You see this?" He gave the side of his gut a light smack, then burped. He was drunk, or at least tipsy. His eyes were unfocused, and he wasn't even trying to hide that he was ogling Jess's chest…not that he did when he was sober. "We've been pigging out all night."

"Sorry, Jess," Sam agreed, half-heartedly muffling a burp of his own with the back of one hand. The other was on his stomach, rubbing at the flesh where his gluttony had bloated it out of his clothes. He'd joined Dean at the table. "Don't think we can manage any more."

"Hmmm…" Jess leaned over the table, feeling first Dean's stomach with her left hand then, swinging to the other side, Sam's with her right. Both of them grunted at the touch, but the noises were at least half pleasure. "I still feel a lot of room."

Sam huffed out a soft laugh. He knew the game, knew exactly what was coming. "You sure about that? 'Cause I think we're a little overfed."

Jess had turned to get out the vanilla ice cream and the ground cinnamon, but now she turned back around, arching an eyebrow at the brothers as she folded her arms across her chest. The smell of the pies, tart fruit and sweet crusts, slowly filled the kitchen.

"Excuse me?" she asked, tone playful but authoritative. "Who decides when you're fed?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other, the near-telepathy Jess had noticed between them on full display. Then Dean glanced to her, cracking a wide, lazy grin, like a cat full of cream.

"S'pose you do," he drawled, before tacking on a flirty, "ma'am."

"Right." Jess smirked. "That's more like it."

She wasn't worried, she knew what she was doing. She'd managed not to ever make Sam sick (not so bad a couple antacids and a belly rub couldn't cure it, at least), and after months of pushing Dean's limits, she was starting to think that he might as well not have any. He was a near-perfect pig.

Jess took the pies out, filling bubbling up between the latticed crust, and set one in front of each Winchester. Cherry for Sam, apple for Dean. She didn't bother cutting them into slices before dolloping ice cream on top, following it up with a dusting of cinnamon. Heat fluttered low in her stomach as she turned her back on Sam and Dean to make a cup of tea for herself, and heard them almost immediately reach for their forks and start eating.

The two of them had undone their belts back at the bar, and it wasn't long, as they worked their way through the pies, before the flies of their jeans followed. Sam was coming up quickly on being too big for anything that didn't have an elastic waistband; only his height had kept three hundred pounds from being as big of a life-changer for him as it was for most people, but with three-fifty probably in sight before March, Jess was already planning a shopping trip.

"Don't make yourself sick," Sam warned Dean, staring across the table at his brother, who was plowing through the apple pie at least twice as fast as Sam was the cherry. Dean's tin was already half-empty.

Jess didn't miss the burr of arousal in Sam's voice.

"Can't help it." Dean belched, wiping a dollop of ice cream off the corner of his mouth with his thumb and sucking it clean. "Couldn't stop if I wanted to. Your girlfriend's too damn good of a cook, Sammy."

"Ours."

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

Jess hid a smile by taking a sip of tea. She barely tasted it, most of her focus below her hips. Her middle moved, rocking her pelvis gently, rubbing against the unyielding surface of the chair below her.

Sam finished his pie pretty much all on his own. He leaned back in his chair, kaleidoscope eyes sleepy and smoldering, and let out a long, slow belch. His stomach was in his lap, straining flesh overflowing, and he had both hands on it, rubbing gently, mimicking the motions that Jess knew she made. She scraped the last couple gooey forkfuls up out of the tin, filling and crust and ice cream all mixed together in a sweet mash, and ferried them into Sam's mouth before everything went into the dishwasher.

Dean, on the other hand, still had a pretty good chunk of his pie left when he dropped his fork with a clatter and slumped in his chair, groaning loudly. He tipped his head back, eyes shut. Jess turned towards him, scooting her chair over, and laid a hand on his belly, touch gentle, fingers spread. The chubby, freckled swell of it forced his thighs apart, and a lightly-furred trail ran from his navel down into his boxers. She bit her lip hard enough to scrape off what gloss was left.

"Oh, don't even think about it," Dean grunted when Jess picked up the fork with her other hand, cracking a baleful eye. "You put one more bite in me, I'm gonna pop."

"Ignore him." Jess turned to look at Sam, tossing her hair over one shoulder. His expression was lazy, but his eyes glittered. "He needs more. And he - " He interrupted himself with a hiccup and a wince. "Asked for pie."

"Bitch," Dean grumbled, and Sam smirked.

"Jerk," he murmured, and then followed it up with a pointed, "Pig."

"He's right," Jess said before Dean could retort, and when he eyed her, she added, "About needing more. Growing boys with greedy bellies need to be fed so much…" She gave his stomach a very light squeeze, prompting a grunt. "And I think this is greedier than most."

Dean was panting. A flush had crept across his face, nose and cheeks pink, and Jess could feel a slight tremble in his belly when he breathed in. When she brought a forkful of pie to his mouth, instructing, "Open up," he did without complaint.

Sam wasn't in any shape to move much, but he managed it, slowly scooting around the side of the table with his chair in tow so that he could sit closer to his brother. Within touching distance. Every time one of them took a breath, his gut brushed the other's, and their knees were pressed together. Jess fed, Dean ate, and Sam watched.

By the time Jess was finished with Dean, the chairs beneath him and Sam, supposedly so much sturdier than their old dining room set, were creaking. From the standpoint of someone who had just fucking bought them and didn't exactly have money to burn, Jess was rather dismayed. From a different standpoint…she had to reach down and grind the heel of one hand between her legs, biting her lip again so she wouldn't moan.

Dean was panting, grunting, hands on his stomach and an expression of pained bliss on his face. Jess stood up, removing the dirty dishes, and Dean turned to look at Sam. From behind her, Jess heard the click of Sam swallowing, then a huskily murmured, "Told you you needed more."

"Uh hunh." Dean hiccuped. "How was the…" Another hiccup. "Cherry?"

"Good," Sam replied.

"Lemme taste."

When Jess turned back around, they were kissing, bodies squashed awkwardly together. It was probably a good thing they were both so swollen, because if one had tried to climb into the chair with the other, they definitely would have broken it. Jess leaned against the counter in her sweater and her jeans that felt like they were about to start dripping, crossing her arms over her chest and one Converse-clad foot over the other, and felt an odd sense of déjà vu. The kitchen was bigger, but this was more or less exactly the same place they'd been on Dean's first morning with them, back in November.

"Dean," Jess said quietly, after swiping her tongue over her lips, "why don't you give Sam's hair a little pull?"

Dean absolutely did not need to be told twice. He reached up and wound his fingers through the shaggy, coffee-colored curls and waves at the nape of Sam's neck. When he tugged, it prompted a weak, breathy little cry from his brother, alongside a deep shudder.

Three months, and Dean had never pulled Sam's hair. Go figure.

"Oh, you fucking like that?" Dean half-growled against Sam's mouth. "That why you let it grow out so long?"

"Shut up," Sam panted back. "Like you're not…sensitive anywhere."

"I'm sensitive in the normal places. Non-bitch places."

The ribbing sounded a lot less gentle than it was, but the two of them were clearly enjoying it. They were practically glowing under the kitchen lights. Jess wasn't entirely sure what it said about her, that the sheer…brotherliness of what was probably dirty talk had her even wetter.

She wanted to touch herself, wanted it badly. Instead, she walked forward, feeling the rub of her soaked underwear against her swollen clit, and took hold of Dean's shirt, tugging it up over his head. He let her, apparently only too happy to have his bloated gut and budding tits on display. As she moved around the chairs to do the same to Sam, she bent a little to murmur in his ear: "Try his nipples."

Sam did. Jess was pretty much just operating on a hunch, one based off how many times she'd seen Dean touch his chest when he was full and therefore horny. But Dean rewarded both of them with a grunt, a twitch, and a blush so angry that Jess couldn't help a breathless chuckle.

They took every single one of her directions to heart. Fully pressing their bellies together. Groping for each other's asses. Dean biting at Sam's neck, Sam running candy-pink marks down Dean's pale back with his fingernails. Definition was disappearing on both of them, from behind. Spines and ribs and shoulder blades slowly vanishing under steady-growing layers of blubber.

Sam and Dean's movements got more impatient. Sweat shone on their skin as they gasped and panted and swallowed down belches. The chairs creaked louder with the motion of heavy bodies, and there was a wet, burning knot of pure need between Jess's thighs.

There were still dishes that needed putting in the dishwasher. An empty ice cream carton on the counter, trash can not set up yet. Sam, neat freak that he was, probably would have bitched about that if he didn't have his tongue halfway down his older brother's throat right now. Jess left it. The moment felt like a hinge, a crossroads, and she did not want to waste it cleaning up.

So, too horny to care about the consequences, she tried for a do-over of that movie night from a couple months back. After all, even if this particular swing was a miss, the worst thing that would happen was Dean taking another cold shower.

He was on the lease, and he'd put on a good fifty-plus pounds. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Unless you two feel like fucking on the kitchen floor," Jess whispered, putting her hands on the table and very consciously pushing her breasts up with her biceps, "it's probably time to go to bed."

Much to her joy and relief, there was no instant cooling of the mood this time. There wasn't even any hesitation. The brothers just pulled back from each other, kiss breaking with a wet pop, and stared at each other, panting. Dean nodded, green eyes bright and glazed, and roughly agreed, "Yeah."

He and Sam rose to their feet. It took a lot of effort, and Jess's help. Once again, she led the way, heading into the master bedroom with her boys waddling along behind her. With the way they had their hands all over each other when she glanced back over her shoulder, she was pretty grateful one of them didn't just shove the other up against the wall and do him right there.

Their hunger for each other was palpable, enough to make her drool herself. She couldn't believe they'd let each other, themselves, starve for as many years as they had.

Sam and Jess's bed frame was still leaning against the wall in its flat-pack box, so their brand-new king-sized mattress, recently unwrapped and with enough bedding to get them through a couple of nights, was resting on the floor for now. Jess waved a hand at it.

"Go on," she encouraged, turning to look at Sam and Dean. A second later, she added authoritatively, "No clothes in bed."

That obviously wasn't a problem. Sam kicked his shoes free, peeled off his jeans, his boxers. Even as full as he was, his belly still hung too heavy for Jess to catch more than a glimpse of his hard cock, disappointingly enough. He lowered himself down onto the bed with a grunt then, as soon as Dean was finished undressing, pulled him down beside him.

Between both how bloated they were and how fat they'd gotten, it was obviously hard for them to get down. Jess thought about helping, but didn't want to risk disrupting what was happening here. Instead, she just walked a slow circle around the mattress, nipples so hard they literally hurt, staring down at her boys in the light coming in from the hall. Every fold, every roll of flesh, every freckle and mole was on display. Sam was marshmallow-soft, rounded, still pert and firm despite his size. Dean's ass, aimed up as he pressed his mouth to Sam's again, was huge, and the well-fed gut hanging under him was beautiful. There were a couple jagged red lightning lines on his love handles, though. Stretch marks. Jess made an almost automatic mental note to pick up some lotion; she and Sam could apply it.

Just like the bed frame, most of their stuff was still boxed up, but she knew exactly where their lube was. The tube, almost new, was still plump and heavy with fullness - oddly appropriate. Jess handed it to Sam, feeling how fever-hot he was when their hands brushed, and murmured, "Work your brother open for me."

That, Dean balked at. "Whoa, whoa, hey." He grunted, pushing himself up on one elbow. He tried to muffle a belch that the movement jostled out of him, but only got his hand halfway to his mouth. His belly shone. "I don't…look, sweetheart." He was panting, frowning, so full he was struggling to keep his train of thought in sight. "I'll try just about anything once, but Dean Winchester doesn't bottom."

Jess cataloged his choice of words, how they seemed to suggest this wasn't his first time with another man (shocker, although he'd probably deny it if pressed). She didn't comment on them, though. Just put the toe of her shoe on the mattress, leaning on it as she stared down at Dean, hands on her hips.

"He does tonight," she said pleasantly, "and whenever else I tell him to." Slowly, she tilted her head, raising her eyebrows. "I decide. Didn't we just have this conversation?"

"Yeah, but - "

"I know what you need." Jess's voice sharpened. "Don't I, Sam?"

"Think we both do." When Dean shot him a betrayed look, Sam just smirked. Jess nodded her agreement.

"Yeah," she said, "we do." Staring down at Dean, she asked him, "Who decides what you do? What you need?"

Dean had been conditioned pretty well by now. "You do."

"I do, what?"

"You do. Ma'am."

"That's better." Jess straightened, and ghosted her fingers through Dean's hair. "Good boy."

He was pouty about it, sulking. But Jess knew him more than well enough by now to tell the difference between an act and actual protest - just like she did with Sam. She would have backed off in a heartbeat, apology already in her mouth, if he'd actually dug in his heels. But Dean liked being told what to do, his eyes practically lighting up with the need for it when it happened.

Plus, he wasn't nearly as fat as Sam, so Jess had a good view of his cock. She'd been able to see the precome dripping out of him as she unequivocally told him he was going to get fucked by his younger brother.

"Don't worry," Sam murmured, and pulled Dean into another kiss. "I'm gonna take care of you."

As Sam popped the cap on the lube, Jess crossed the room. Her knees were watery with arousal, thighs beginning to tremble, but she managed not to trip. They'd stuck a little armchair in here for reading, since they had the space to do things like that now. She adjusted it a little, to give her a perfect view of what was happening on the mattress, and dropped into it. She popped the button on her jeans, nudged the zipper open, and slipped a hand inside her underwear. She touched her lower lips, fingers resting against the close-cropped golden hair there, but didn't go for her clit. Not quite yet.

Her other hand was on the arm of the chair, nails digging into the fabric. She started to rock, rubbing herself against the cushion, little bursts of pleasure running up hot inside of her. Her eyes didn't move from Sam and Dean.

Dean was on his back, every pillow on the bed stuffed behind him for comfort. His legs were spread, and he panted, grunting every once in a while, as Sam worked one finger into him, then two. When he got up to three, Jess cleared her throat to get their attention, then instructed, "Put him in your mouth. It'll relax him, make it easier, and…" She touched her hood with her middle finger, felt her core shudder. "You want him fully hard." She swallowed, adopted a more serious tone as she added, "Don't let him come. If he does, you're both in trouble."

Sam nodded. His voice was rough as he gasped out, "I can handle him."

Can you? Jess trapped the words, and the tip of her tongue, between her teeth. This was their very first time. The balance was so delicate. Teasing could wait.

She watched Sam bend over (not without a lot of difficulty; he had to move one of the pillows beneath Dean's hips so he didn't have to go as far), take Dean's cock into his mouth. His fingers moved, working inside of Dean, and his head bobbed against his brother's soft, bloated underbelly. The noises were obscene, and not at all helped by the ones coming out of Dean's mouth.

Jess's feet tapped furiously on the floor before she hooked one ankle over the other, and the hand down her pants shook with the effort of not rubbing herself. She didn't want to come too soon, either.

"Okay," she breathed out, once a few minutes had passed. "I think that's enough. He's probably ready." Sam drew his mouth off and his fingers out with a double wet slurp, and Jess told him, "Fuck him, Sammy."

Dean rolled over, going up onto all fours. He spread his hands and knees automatically to take his weight more comfortably. As Sam got into position, Jess told him, "Your belly's gonna be in the way. Lift it up, and put it on Dean's back."

"Use him…like a table?" Sam asked, throwing a dimpled smirk in Jess's direction, and she grinned, delighted as much by the question itself as by the belch that had interrupted it in the middle.

"Exactly."

"Son of a bitch." Dean groaned it out as Sam gingerly settled his gut on top of him, shuffling forward to press his hips against Dean's. His arms and legs shook with the weight, but Jess suspected that that was more for show than anything. "How are you so fucking fat?"

"Watch it." Sam delivered a smack to one of Dean's love handles that was more noise than pain. Jess saw the expert cupping of his hand. "You're not exactly slim anymore yourself." He bent down, much as he could, squishing chest and full stomach into rolls. "Are you, piggy?"

Jess was in an ideal position to see the bob of Dean's Adam's apple as he swallowed hard. The rapid fluttering of his eyes. The way the blush across his rounded cheeks deepened.

Sam straightened, and huffed with every movement, hand between himself and Dean, as he eased into him. Dean sucked in a sharp breath, followed by panting. Jess allowed herself to rub at her clit, slow so she wouldn't go over the edge before she meant to.

If she could, she'd like to time it so they all came together.

"Have you ever had anybody fuck you before, Dean?" she whispered, just loud enough he could hear it over the sounds of Sam sheathing his cock in his plump ass.

"No." Dean grunted it out.

Jess arched an eyebrow. "Don't lie to me."

"I - fine." Dean glanced up at her. "Once. Got real drunk, and just…went for it."

Sam glanced over at Jess. He was in Dean, but just sitting there, so she gave him a nod. Sam started to move, motions slow and gentle for now. With how much they'd had to eat tonight, both he and Dean would need a long buildup, if he ever reached a punishing pace at all. Dean panted, groaning, and Jess asked him, "What'd he look like? The guy who fucked you."

Dean's eyes rolled to one side. He would have been looking at Sam if he'd turned his head. "What d'you think?"

"Tell me."

"Tall." Dean huffed. "Y'know, dark hair."

Jess let a purr roll out of her as she rubbed at her clit. "Yeah." She shared a quick grin with Sam, one that made Dean roll lust-blown eyes. "Thought so."

The soft slap of flesh, as Sam rolled his hips in a slow and steady rhythm, roughened Jess's breath on its way into her lungs. Her hair had fallen into her face, and her eyelashes were catching on it as her lids fluttered; she swept it back over her ears with her free hand. Then she went back to squeezing the arm of the chair with it, fingernails digging divots into the fabric.

Dean was groaning. It was one long, continuous sound, since Sam wasn't thrusting into him so much as moving inside him. There was nothing to punch out air. Sam steadily built up a little more speed, then bent again, grunting as he reached around both his belly and Dean's to find his dick. Jess spread her legs. Denim and cotton pulled tight across her knuckles.

"You don't need to do that," she told Sam. "I think he's fat enough now for his belly to be…rubbing pretty nice on his cock." When Sam glanced at her, face flushed, sweaty strands of hair hanging in dark eyes, she prompted, "Remember when I do you with the strap-on?"

Dean let out a distinctly unsexy squawk of surprise. "Dude, she…you seriously let her do that to you?"

Sam let out a soft snort. "You need to watch us fuck more often. It's, like, every other time." He squeezed Dean's love handles. Sam got aggressive sometimes during sex; Jess loved it, and suspected Dean would, too. Sam pressed himself down closer to his brother, belly folding again, and muttered, "Might not need her to anymore, though. Now I got the real thing here."

The way that Dean whistled in a breath and squeezed at the sheets under his hands was delicious, but Jess reprimanded, "Boys." They both looked at her, and she instructed, "No more talking. Focus on the sex. After all, you two aren't exactly in…great shape. Gonna need your breath." She rutted against her own hand as she said, "Sammy, let's pick up the pace a little, huh?"

Sam did. The slap of flesh got a little louder, a little faster, and every impact sent ripples jiggling through both his body and Dean's. Jess's hips rolled. Her breath stuttered. Her finger moved fast on her clit, rolling it where it was hot and hard between her lips, and her other hand squeezed the arm of the chair until her knuckles looked like pearls under the skin. Trying hard not to come.

She'd told Sam and Dean to be quiet, so she had to fill the necessary dirty-talk role herself.

"You're both getting so fat." She purred it out, arousal turning to voice to barbed velvet. "Sam…setting such a good example for your brother…" She arched slowly, thighs spreading, pressing herself down into the firm cushion. "Dean, I'm so proud of you. Just look at the gut you've built up letting us take care of you. The ass. You're getting - so greedy, so lazy, even more than Sam, hope we haven't. Hope we haven't spoiled you too much - "

"Jess." Sam's voice was a gasp. The rolls of his back, just barely coming into shape at his current weight, shook and shone with sweat. "C-can I - ?"

"No." Jess surprised herself a little with the sharpness of her own voice. "You can't come yet." She pressed hard on her clit, and pleasure flared through her stomach, made her face prickle coldly. "Not 'til Dean does; you're fucking him. He needs you hard."

"So I'm good?" Dean grunted, looking at her with eyes so lust-darkened they were almost black.

She nodded, a sharp jerk of her chin. It wasn't too long after that Dean came with a loud cry that might or might not have been Sam's name. He practically shouted, voice bouncing off walls that didn't have anything on them to muffle noise yet, and Jess was glad that this new place had so much more space between apartments than the old one had. Come dripped from between his belly and thighs.

"Now?" Sam all but begged, even as he fucked his brother through the tail end of his orgasm.

"Uh-huh," Jess told him shakily.

She was peaking herself, a delicious curl of fire sweeping up from clit to sternum, nipples diamond-hard and eyes fluttering shut. She came as Sam did, hearing his cry, letting out her own as she frantically rubbed and rocked herself through it. It was all heat and liquid silk, a hot, wet gush bursting free of her, and the aftershocks had her weakly rolling her hips for a good minute or two beyond when her clit became too sensitive and overworked to rub.

Jess loved sex, but she couldn't help feeling, albeit guiltily, that sometimes her orgasms were better when she brought them on herself. This had been one of those. It wasn't like she memorized her climaxes or, god forbid, wrote them down in a journal and ranked them, carefully curating the numbers as the data changed. (Her roommate her freshman year had done that. Jess was still three-quarters convinced she was a serial killer.) But she knew when one was better than others, and this, brought on by her own fingers, had been pretty excellent.

But, of course, she hadn't exactly done it alone, had she?

Sam and Dean, covered in come and sweat, had collapsed to the mattress beneath them. Sam had pulled free of Dean and they lay beside one another, bellies and sides heaving as they struggled to catch their breath. They reminded Jess somehow of lions after the hunt. Satisfied, exhausted. Well-fed.

She was panting herself, a soporific wave crashing down on her once she'd milked all the pleasure out of her body that there was currently to be had. Her underwear felt slick against her, beginning to cool off, probably a sopping mess. Even her jeans felt a little damp, although that was probably more from sweat than anything else. She needed to get up, but every motion sent unpleasant twitches of overstimulation through her still-swollen clit.

"You've just fucked your brother," she whispered to Sam and Dean. She wasn't talking to either one in particular. "How's that feel?"

Dean responded first. His eyes had been closed, but he cracked one open with a grunt. "Feels fucking fantastic."

Jess laughed, loose and breathless. Her active hand's fingertips had wrinkled in the moisture. She dragged the other one back through her hair.

They cleaned up in the afterglow. Or Jess did, at least. She imagined they were all three content to let Sam and Dean stay on the bed, like beached whales. She changed into clean underwear and a T-shirt, wiped the majority of the come off the brothers, and got a towel between them and the wet spots on the sheets, which was the most difficult step. She didn't even bother trying to talk them into putting any clothes back on. The heat of exertion radiated off them like pavement at noon.

Jess turned off all the lights in the apartment. Every time she took a step, her legs shook. Finally, she got into bed, lying down between the Winchesters. Head on Sam's soft shoulder, one hand on Dean's belly. She slotted in perfectly.

What little hairspray she hadn't sweated out crunched in her hair as she turned to look at Dean in the darkness. She blinked at him, then softly asked, "Are you happy, Dean?"

Dean groaned. "Ugh, I hate this. How chicks always gotta talk after."

Sam snorted. "Shut up. Like you don't love it." His head turned, too. "You're the fucking king of pillow-talk."

"Fuck I am. Whatever, dude." Dean was quiet. His breathing was so slow and even Jess was starting to wonder if he'd fallen asleep when he admitted, "Yeah, I am. Happy, I mean. Real happy."

"We're happy you're here," Jess told him. Sam put an arm over her middle, and she heard and felt him grab Dean's hand.

"Think it goes beyond 'happy,'" he murmured. Dean shifted, moving closer to them.

Jess wanted to go to sleep every bit as bad as Sam and Dean both probably did, but she kept her eyes open in the dark, listened to the breathing of her boys, felt their heat, felt Sam's heartbeat.

She hadn't been quite sure what to feel, or how to think, when Sam had first admitted to her he was in love with his older brother. There were times, especially when it became apparent how much like her said older brother was, when she came so close to leaving that she was looking for apartments. It had taken a lot of internal reflection, a lot of soul-searching and compromise and long conversations with Sam, to come to terms with all of it. To reassure herself that she wasn't just a stand-in. To adjust to the idea that the man who was the butter to her margarine, everything her boyfriend had ever wanted, his soulmate, was staying.

It wasn't like the insecurity had gone away. But Jess was glad she was still here. Glad they all were.

She wanted to tell Dean about something she and Sam had been dancing around for the past few months. Discuss with him how badly Sam wanted to pay him back for their childhood, wanted to take care of him. How Sam was going to hit an upper limit, weight-wise, if he wanted to be able to work, which he absolutely did. How that didn't have to happen for Dean. They could wait on him hand and foot, pamper him, spoil him, feed him, and just let him get as big as he could. He could do his part in the household, in the relationship, just by doing that. Fulfilling all the fantasies Sam couldn't.

But Jess knew that bringing that up now wouldn't be a good idea, would sound like they just wanted Dean to stay for the sex aspect. Which wasn't true. So they could discuss it in the morning, when things could be a little more…rational.

For now, she asked, "Do you want to sleep here? With us?"

Again, she thought Dean had fallen asleep, but then he let a hand fall on top of his own stomach with a heavy smack and muttered, "Gonna have to."

"No," Sam said softly before Jess could. "Not just tonight. Permanently."

Dean didn't answer right away. Jess imagined she knew what he was thinking: that a move meant they weren't Jess, her boyfriend, and his brother anymore. They were Jess and her boyfriends. Sam, his boyfriend, and his girlfriend. Dean and the same.

Dean sleeping in their bed from now on was a decision he couldn't take back any more than he could the sex he'd just had with Sam. It meant he was committed, and so were they. That he wasn't leaving and they weren't letting him go.

"We can put a bed in the other room, if you'd rather," Jess said quietly, after the silence had stretched on just a little too long. "Either way, you're not sleeping on the couch anymore."

"No." Dean blew out a massive breath. "I wanna…I wanna be in here." His leg moved across Jess's, and tangled with Sam's. "Long as you want me to, at least."

Jess heard Sam's smirk as he told his brother, voice tender, "We're not gonna stop wanting you."

"No," Jess agreed, and then fell asleep.