Sam was twenty-two, but he was crying like he was about five.
"I've got you, Sammy," came a hushed whisper against his hair. "I'm so sorry."
Dean was apologizing for Jess. He felt like it was his fault for taking Sam away from her, for leaving her without proper protection. But Sam wasn't crying over Jess. Sam was crying because he wasn't crying over Jess. Sam was crying because he was a horrible, cruel, awful person. Sam was crying because when he'd seen Jessica plastered to the ceiling and engulfed in flames, before the horror and shock and sickening ohgodJess set in, the immediate emotion flooding Sam's veins was invigorating, freeing (DeanDeanDean) relief.
But Dean didn't know any of that, and he kept right on comforting Sam, and Sam kept right on crying.
They stood that way for at least another half-hour, until Sam finally pulled away and wiped the tears from his face.
Dean stroked Sam's hair, bringing their foreheads together.
Sam didn't know if it was the lack of space between them, or all of the emotions built up in that one moment, or maybe it was just that Dean was finally putting down that wall that he was always guarding himself with, but that was when Sam felt it. Really, really felt it for the first time. That it wasn't one-sided. That it was there for Dean, too. It had always been this way, whether Sam really wanted it to be or not. There was nothing that he could do to stop it. It was an electricity. A magnetic attraction. It was the whole world whispering, "Dean." And now Sam knew that the world carried the soft, sweet murmur of his name to Dean's ears in just the same way, and that it was time to stop pretending they couldn't hear it and just give the fuck in.
Before Sam knew what was happening, Dean's lips were crushing against his with a bruising force, and he was kissing back just as desperately. His fingers hooked under the edge of Dean's shirt, and he heard himself growl, "Off," before realizing he'd actually said it.
Dean complied to Sam, always, and pulled his shirt over his head seemingly without ever separating their lips. "Wanted this for so long, Sammy," Dean breathed between kisses. "Wanted you."
"Wanted you, too, Dean," Sam gasped, his lips moving to trail down Dean's neck, mind reeling, attempting to grasp the possibility of this.
"How long?" Dean demanded, gripping Sam's waist tightly.
"Twelve," Sam responded vaguely, pressing his hand against the small of Dean's back to pull him closer.
Dean actually stopped for a second. "Sammy, twelve years?"
Sam began to shake his head, but paused. "Well, almost, yeah. But I meant I was twelve when it started. How long for you?"
Dean laughed nervously, running a hand through his short hair. "'Bout the same. Since you were twelve. Noticed the way you started looking at me, but I thought... thought it was just me convincing myself it was happening. Because it was what I wanted. I knew it was wrong. You were my little brother-"
Sam cut him off, a shiver suddenly and violently wracking his body.
Dean smiled. But it wasn't his classic, trademark, Dean-Winchester-can-make-your-panties-drop-without-ever-even-touching-you smile. It was a sugary, warm, sincere smile. All for Sam. "You like it when I say that? When I remind you who you are?"
Sam whimpered.
Dean grinned wider. "I'll take that as a yes. And that's good. Because I want you to think about it. I want to make sure you know that you're mine. My Sammy. My baby boy."
Sam's entire body shook, and a strained, "Dean," slipped from his mouth.
"You really like that one, huh?"
All Sam could do was nod.
Dean gently stroked his cheek and pressed their lips together again, this time more softly. Sam leaned into the kiss, caressing the back of Dean's head with his right hand and holding onto Dean's hip with his left.
"I don't think this is gonna work," Dean whispered, slowly pulling himself away. Sam's expression was shocked and terrified and hurt, but Dean placed a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. "Not like that, Sammy. I meant that you still have your shirt on and I don't. That doesn't seem very fair."
Sam breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Well, then, you're just going to have to do something about that."
Dean smirked, muttering, "Bossy little bitch," but removed Sam's shirt in one fluid movement, despite the height difference.
Once there was immediate skin-on-skin contact, Sam deepened the kiss a little, but didn't speed anything up. Dean was moving slowly, for once in his life, and Sam was going to give him all the time that he needed.
Eventually (Sam wasn't sure when it had happened, really) they ended up in nothing but their boxers, lying together in one of the full-sized beds in their motel room, holding each other so closely that anyone looking would've sworn it was a sin for them to let go.
Dean's breath was hot against Sam's neck, and caused his arms to flush with goosebumps. "Sam," Dean said, so quietly that he almost couldn't be heard over the rustling of the sheets.
"Hm?" Sam placed a kiss gingerly on the top of his head.
Dean slid his fingertips into the waistband of Sam's underwear, not pulling, not demanding, simply asking Sam for permission.
Sam understood and shook his head yes, mirroring his brother's actions.
When Dean looked up at Sam, his eyes were dark. "Of course, Sammy. Don't ever have to ask."
They stripped their last remaining articles of clothing off, until all that either of them was wearing was a necklace draped around Dean's neck.
Sam took it between his fingers and met Dean's eyes, his own wide with awe. "You... you kept it."
Dean cupped Sam's neck with his hand. "It was the only thing I had when you left. I never took it off. Not for anything."
Sam felt a tear slip from the corner of his eye. "Dean, I'm so sorry I did that to you. I was just so mad at Dad for everything he said, and I was tired of him pushing me around all the time, so-"
"Shhh," Dean interrupted. "It's okay, sweetheart. You don't have to explain anything to me. I understand."
Sam had left out the part about not being able to stand being around Dean because he was afraid that he would end up unable to keep from jumping him, but Sam thought that, somewhere deep down, Dean probably knew that, too.
His thoughts were interrupted when he felt Dean's eyes gliding over his body and stopping when they reached his cock, which was completely, painfully erect. "So fucking beautiful, Sammy. You're so beautiful."
Sam silently lavished in the praise, but shook his head, replying, "Not compared to you, I'm not."
Dean didn't speak, but Sam could feel the disagreement in Dean's gentle fingertips as they glided down his tall frame.
Suddenly, an overwhelming urge hit Sam, and the words left his mouth without thought. "Want you inside me, Dean."
Dean sucked in a sharp breath. "Fucking Christ, Sam. Gonna kill me."
Sam could feel his face turning a deep shade of red. "I... Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't even mean-"
But before he could finish speaking, Dean's lips were on his again, a new urgency behind them. His tongue flicked against the opening to Sam's mouth, asking, always asking, and Sam opened to him without hesitation.
"Sammy," Dean breathed. "God, Sammy."
Sam moaned softly into Dean's mouth, their breath and their tongues mingling. Sam wasn't afraid now, and made sure to clear up any uncertainty that Dean may have had. "Need it, Dean. Need you. Please."
Dean nodded vigorously. "Yeah, baby boy. Anything for you. Anything."
Dean Winchester being, well, Dean Winchester, a bottle of lube was just a basic essential, and it took him all of about two seconds to dig one out of his bag on the floor. Then he was right back on the bed with Sam, holding him as closely as if he'd never moved a muscle.
"Dean, is this... okay? I mean, do you... If you don't want... You don't have to just... just do thisbecause I... I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't even-"
"Sam." Dean's voice was gentle but firm. "There is nothing that I want more in the world. Not a single thing."
"Really?" Sam asked skeptically.
Dean placed his right hand over his heart. "I swear."
Sam gave a sharp nod, indicating that he believed Dean, and pressed his lips to Dean's forehead.
Dean cleared his throat. "So. Gotta get you ready for me, okay?"
Sam's breath hitched, but he forced himself to speak. "Yeah, okay."
Catching the slight hesitation, Dean backed up a little, pushing Sam's hair out of his eyes. "Hey, Sammy, you okay?"
Sam looked down. "Nervous," he admitted.
Dean let out a hard laugh. "Me, too, baby boy."
Sam's expression rearranged into a playfully shocked look. "What? The great Dean Winchester is nervous?"
Dean gave him a small smile. "Just 'cause it's you. Want everything to be perfect for you. And I'm not too good at perfect."
"You are perfect," Sam assured him, running his thumb over Dean's lips. "It couldn't possibly be anything less. Just 'cause it's you."
Dean just gazed at Sam for a long moment, before finally asking "You ready, Sammy?"
Sam began trembling, but parted his lips and breathed, "Yeah."
Dean soothingly stroked his arm. "It's okay. Not gonna hurt you, I promise. Look at me."
Sam did.
Dean's eyes were full of patience and calm and comfort. "Trust me?" he asked, his voice low.
"Of course," Sam answered automatically.
"Alright," Dean said. "Here we go."
He flipped the cap on the bottle of lube and coated three of his fingers, then closed it and placed on the table beside the bed.
Sam trembled harder, but shamelessly spread his legs for Dean, who let out a long, slow breath before lowering his hand to Sam's ass and moving the tip of his middle finger in small, slow circles around his entrance.
Sam gasped, tensing, and Dean lifted his left hand to Sam's hair, petting it with a touch that was almost as light as air. "Gotta relax for me, baby," he murmured, letting his words blanket Sam before he continued. Sam allowed his muscles to release their tension, but held onto Dean's left wrist with a steel grip.
Dean pressed as gently as he could against Sam's rim, giving it the pressure that it needed to open to him, but not forcing anything. Soon enough, he was allowed entrance, and slid his finger in, just to the first knuckle. "Okay, Sammy?"
Sam was breathing too rapidly to respond verbally, but shook his head yes.
Dean slid in a little further, finally able to feel a silky ring of muscle clamped around his finger, and he and Sam moaned in unison.
Sam took his dick in his hand and began pumping it slowly.
"Not too much, baby boy," Dean soothingly commanded. "Don't want you coming yet."
Sam shook his head. "Not gonna."
"Okay." Dean pulled his finger out slowly and joined it with another. "Two now, okay?"
"'Kay."
Dean pressed again, and Sam took him more easily this time. "So good for me, sweetheart," Dean praised.
Sam pushed himself down, taking Dean's fingers in further. "Dean. More," he pleaded.
Dean breathed out shakily. "You have to tell me if it hurts, Sammy."
Sam nodded again. "I will."
Dean slipped out his fingers and added a third, slowly circling Sam's hole, then pressing one more time, gently, so gently, and Sam let him in beautifully.
Sam's back arched at the sensation, and he let out a low moan.
"Feel good?" Dean asked sincerely.
"Shit. Yeah," Sam panted.
"Good," Dean said, working his fingers slowly in and out of Sam for a few minutes before pulling them completely out.
Sam groaned at the loss of sensation. "Dean. Now. Need you now."
"Fuck, baby boy. Need you, too," Dean urgently responded, picking up the bottle of lube again and beginning to coat his cock, trying not to come from that feeling alone, because that was how hard it had gotten him just to touch Sam.
When he pressed his tip against Sam's hole, there was no resistance, and he slid inside easily, eliciting load moans from Sam and himself.
Sam pushed his hips up to take Dean in deeper.
"Careful, baby," Dean whispered. "Slow, okay? Don't hurt yourself."
"Not gonna hurt," Sam said, his voice coated with sureness. He then proceeded to pull Dean down, and, once Dean was all the way in, began to cry.
Dean started to pull out, but Sam held onto his hips, not letting him move. "Sammy..."
Sam shook his head. "No. No. Doesn't hurt. Just... just let me feel you. 'S perfect."
Dean, as always, let Sam have exactly what he needed, not moving until Sam told him.
Finally, Sam sniffed, and wiped his eyes. "Sorry."
"Never apologize for something like that. Never, ever," Dean chastised, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on Sam's lips.
The movement caused him to press further into Sam, and they both gasped. "'M ready, Dean," Sam announced with a sudden, regained urgency.
"Are you-"
"Dean." Sam's tone was demanding. "Fuck me."
Dean had imagined those words coming from Sam a million times, but the way they sounded in his head couldn't even begin to bring justice to the real thing. He slid out and then back in in a hard, rapid movement.
Sam's moan was so loud that the guests in the next room undoubtedly heard it.
Dean had to squeeze the base of his cock to keep from coming at the sound of his baby (not such a baby anymore, was he?) brother's pleasure, and pushed smoothly back inside.
After some undetermined amount of time of this repetitive action (five minutes, an hour?) and Sam fisting his cock, he spoke. "Dean..." He sounded like all of the air had been punched from his lungs. "Need to... need to come."
Dean's eyes grew impossibly darker. "Wanna come, Sammy? I'll make you come." He pulled back until only the head of his shaft was inside Sam, then angled himself slightly downward and slammed straight into Sam's prostate.
Sam screamed. And came. And came. And fucking came.
And Dean, marveling at the image of his amazing, beautiful little brother coming completely apart for him, coming and screaming and chanting his name like a prayer, fell to pieces, joining the chorus with his own round of, "Jesus Christ, oh, fuck, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy..."
They both actually lost consciousness from the force of their orgasms, and when they awoke, Dean's head was resting heavily on Sam's chest.
"Dean?"
"Mph," Dean mumbled.
Sam chuckled, a low, happy sound, stemmed from deep in his throat. "You okay?"
Dean nodded his head against Sam's skin. "You?"
"Yeah," Sam assured him. "I'm good."
Dean reached up to twine his fingers through the loose waves of Sam's hair. "Sammy?"
"Yeah?"
Dean hesitated.
Sam stroked his cheek with the backs of his fingers.
When Dean finally spoke, there was more emotion packed into the words than Sam had any idea how to take in, and just let it wash over him. It wasn't like they'd never said it before. They were brothers, after all. But this was different. This was new.
Sam remembered Dean telling him once that he'd never use "the 'l' word" because that was what got you trapped, and, besides, Dean Winchester didn't need that chick-flick crap.
Nevertheless, the phrase that fell from Dean's mouth, bearing more meaning than anything that he'd ever spoken aloud in his life, was, "I love you."
Sam felt new tears stinging his eyes. "I love you, Dean," he whispered.
Neither of them said another word, and it didn't take long for them to drift off to sleep wrapped in each other's arms.
Sam slept peacefully that night for the first time in what felt like forever.
He didn't dream. Didn't need to. Not anymore.
