I am SO sorry it took so long to get this up my lovelies! It's been finished for a good three weeks now but this site was broken and it wouldn't let me update! A thousand apologies.
For those wondering, there will be 2 more chapters.
The first thing Sam notices is how warm he is. And comfy, man, where ever he is right now, can he just stay here forever? Please? The next thing is that it smells good in here. It smells like … comfort? Wait, that's not a scent. It's … Dean. It smells like Dean. Sam's body catches up sluggishly with his half-awake brain and he opens his eyes, blinking slowly as his eyes struggle to focus. For a second the only thing he can see is black, but then the fog lifts a little more and Sam can sort of remember lying with his face smushed up against Dean's sternum. He doesn't remember falling asleep, he doesn't even remember being tired. He must've really just passed out. Sam shifts his head back on the pillow a little and sure enough, Dean's there smiling down at him.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hey," Sam answers, voice scratchy from sleep. "How long was I out?"
Dean shrugs. "Not long. Maybe, half an hour?"
"And you just laid here with me the whole time?" Sam's as blown away as he always is when Dean does things like that.
"It wasn't that long," Dean repeats. "Besides, you were kinda clinging to me. Thought if I moved you might wake up."
Sam's cheeks burn. "Sorry."
"Don't be, dude, I was really freakin' comfortable. This bed is awesome. I so can't wait to … well."
Dean trails off and scratches absently at a partially healed cut near his hairline. Then Dean rolls over onto his back, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling Sam with him. Sam ends up half on top of his brother, head tucked under Dean's chin.
"You feeling better now?" he asks softly.
"Yeah," Sam mutters, face flushing again at the ridiculousness of a twenty-six year old man sobbing in his brother's arms.
"Good." Dean strokes his knuckles over Sam's hair. "I'm sorry I … pushed."
"You just weren't gonna stop until I had a meltdown, huh?" Sam asks, half smiling and half serious.
Dean laughs quietly. "Sorry. It wasn't, like, my plan all along or anything."
Sam shifts in closer, cheek rubbing the fabric of Dean's t-shirt.
"I think it'll be good, though, in the long run," Dean continues, palm now smoothing up and down Sam's arm. "I hate seeing you so upset, but at least it got you talking, you know? It's been killing me seeing you like this. You were hurting and I didn't know how to help you because you wouldn't talk to me."
Sam closes his eyes against a sudden sting of tears. Oh for fuck's sake, this is getting ridiculous. "Didn't want you to know how messed up I am."
"You think I'm not messed up too?" Dean asks, fingers squeezing Sam's forearm. "Damn it, Sam, don't you think if there was anyone in the world who'd understand what you're going through it'd be me?"
"I just …" Sam shudders in an attempt to keep his voice steady. He's not going to cry again. He won't. "You were right, before, about the whole mirror thing. I don't look at myself in the mirror anymore, if I can help it. I hate what I see there so much because all I can think of is how badly I've fucked everything up, how much I've let you down."
"How come you never told me that before?" Dean asks, his voice shaking a little too.
Sam shrugs.
"Sammy …" Dean whispers pleadingly.
"I don't know! I …" Sam sighs. "I just … I guess I wanted to handle this on my own. I kinda dug my own grave with this one, you know? Wasn't fair to drag you down with me."
"You wouldn't've been dragging me anywhere," Dean insists gently, tugging Sam up a little further so he can kiss his forehead and speak against his skin. "You're my baby brother, there isn't anything in the world I wouldn't do for you. Besides, I'm not the same person I used to be either. I mean, I … I tried to deal with … with Hell, on my own, and look how that worked out, right?"
Sam nods and tries to give Dean a slightly awkward hug; the best he can manage from this position.
"We waste so much energy lying to each other, pretending things are okay when they're not," Dean continues, carding his fingers through Sam's hair and stroking lightly.
Sam nods again, and shifts his body so he's lying on his stomach. He brings his arms up to cross over Dean's body and rests his chin on them so he can see Dean's face.
"You sound so well-adjusted."
Dean rolls his eyes and smiles. "Shut up. I'm just saying, you know – "
"Yeah, I know what you're saying," Sam interrupts, smiling back hesitantly. "And you're right, I … I hated lying to you all those months. That was the worst part, you know? So you're right, we …it's just a bit weird coming from you, that's all."
Dean sighs and considers Sam for a minute, running his fingers absently through Sam's hair. "We've tried to do this how we usually would. It isn't working. So maybe it's time we tried something new."
"So you think we should be all open and honest and shit?" Sam asks, grinning when Dean rolls his eyes.
"Well I don't want our freakin' cycles to sync up or anything," he jokes, cuffing Sam on the arm lightly. "But about the important things, yeah, I think we should."
"Were you ever like that with anyone else?"
"Nope. Just you, kiddo." Dean ruffles Sam's hair fondly. "The only time I was ever honest with a girl she ran screaming in the other direction."
"Cassie?" Sam asks quietly.
"Mhm."
"She believed you eventually," Sam says, shifting a little and laying his head back down on Dean's chest.
Dean snorts a laugh. "Yeah, once she needed our help. Not exactly the best way to treat someone you .. well, whatever it was that we were."
"I thought you loved her."
Dean exhales and Sam feels it tickle the top of his head.
"I didn't love her, Sam," he says heavily. "I think maybe I wanted to, but … she was the first person I was with, you know, after you left. And she's the only other person that meant more than sex to me. She's great but I think she was just a replacement for what I really wanted. I tried to fake it with her because I couldn't have you."
That hurts Sam's chest a little. He kisses the soft fabric just above Dean's heart. Over his covered tattoo.
"You have me now," he whispers.
"I know." Dean hugs Sam a little tighter for a second and then releases him. "Hey, can we sit up for a minute? My legs are falling asleep and I wanna talk to you about something."
"Sure," Sam answers, heaving himself off Dean and then getting comfy leaning against the headboard. "Am I in trouble again?"
Dean chuckles and mirrors Sam's position next to him. "No, punk. Just something I've been meaning to tell you."
"Okay. Shoot."
"Do you remember a few months back, that convention Chuck had?"
Sam barks a laugh.
"Are you kidding?" he cries. "All those freaks runnin' around pretending to be us? Definitely not something I'm gonna forget anytime soon."
"Yeah." Dean chuckles again and shakes his head. "They were freaks, man. But right before we left, you were off threatening Chuck and I was talking with those two guys that helped us, remember? And they … I dunno, they said some shit to me that kinda made me look at our lives in a different way."
Sam nods and waits for Dean to continue.
"They said something about how they fixed copiers for a living or something shitty like that, and that they … they were actually jealous of us. Cause we've got a brother who'd die for us. Cause we get to wake up every day and save the world."
"We … yeah, I guess we do," Sam agrees cautiously, unsure of where Dean's going with this.
"And on one hand, they don't know anything about … I mean, they only know up to me dying. So they don't know … what's goin' on now. But still. I don't wanna sound like a sap or something here, but they kinda had a point, you know?" Dean scratches at the back of his neck like he always does when he's a little uncomfortable. "I know I go on about all this apocalypse crap, how much it all sucks, but at the end of the day, we do save people, right?"
Sam nods again, more fervently this time. "Yeah. We do. All the time"
"I get to spend all day, every day, makin' a difference in the world. How many people can say that? But it's … it's more than just that. I …" Dean pauses; steeling his gaze like he's trying to force the words out of his mouth. "I get to spend my life with you. My little brother, my best friend, the person I … well. When everything's said'n'done, maybe that's not really so bad."
Dean stalls again and takes a deep breath before he continues. "If we had some normal apple-pie childhood, then we probably wouldn't be … what we are. We'd probably just be brothers. Who knows if we'd even hang out together. So yeah our lives are shitty sometimes but maybe … I dunno, maybe it's worth it."
Dean won't look at him; he's staring stubbornly straight ahead because they both know that's probably the most romantic thing Dean's ever said to him. Ever. Dean doesn't do hearts and flowers and Sinatra songs, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love Sam; he just rarely puts it out there so willingly. Usually he prefers to keep an unspoken agreement about what they mean to each other, murmuring words of love and forever when they're in the throes of passion but the rest of the time this thing between them is just sort of something they both understand completely but never really talk about. At least not in the context of Dean being ultimately grateful to their whole crappy existence because it led them to each other.
"I … wow." Sam can't keep his voice from sounding awestruck, but he wants to choose his next words carefully.
Dean laughs quietly, reading Sam's mind. "S'okay, just say it. I promise I won't hit you or anything."
Sam smiles a little. "Okay. I … me too. To all of it. Our life sucks sometimes, sometimes it sucks a lot, but that's the reason I have you."
Dean manages to snort, roll his eyes, and throw an affectionate arm around Sam's shoulders all at the same time.
"That's all you can come up with, Francis?" he laughs, ruffling Sam's hair.
Sam laughs back as he kind of falls against Dean's side, and smacks Dean's thigh playfully. "I meant it, jerk."
"Oh c'mon. Shit, I practically bare my soul for you, and the best you got is 'me too'?" he mutters incredulously.
Sam smiles inwardly. "Okay, how about this. I love you."
"You better." Dean flicks Sam's elbow in half-hearted retaliation.
"And I wouldn't give up what we have for anything."
Dean just breathes into Sam's hair for a minute before he answers. "Good. Me neither. You know what? We need to call do-over."
Sam moves away from Dean's body again so he can see Dean's face. "Do-over? On what?"
"On everything, man. On our life."
Dean pushes his body toward the edge of the mattress and then stands up, clapping his hands together like he's excited about something. He's got this air about him like when he used to smoke behind the bleachers or make out with a cheerleader in the janitor's closet. It's like that rebellious side of him that loves thumbing his nose at the authorities.
"How exactly are we supposed to do that?" Sam asks, getting up as well and watching Dean warily across the bed.
"No, I don't mean actually do it, just – okay, we need like a reset button," Dean says, that edge to his voice now like when he jets jazzed about a hunt. "You know like on a computer, you hit that button and then it resets back to the default settings?"
"Uh, yeah I guess so."
"We need to do that. Everything that's happened up until today doesn't matter anymore." Dean's eyes are glittering but he's definitely being serious. "No more baggage, no more guilt. Cause what we're doing right now? It isn't working, Sam. All this getting in each other's faces all the time, lying, blaming each other, blaming ourselves. We're not gonna stop anything if we keep going like this. And you know what else, we're just playing right into their hands."
"Whose hands?" Sam's brain is starting to feel hazy and sluggish, like there's something he should be getting here but for some reason he's just not quite there.
"You know, heaven, hell. The angels that want me, the demons that want you," Dean clarifies. "If we let them drive a stake between us then they'll win."
Sam nods slowly, understanding creeping up on him. "They'll get us to say yes by tearing us apart."
"Exactly!" Dean cries in his eager, ass-kicker voice. "And you know what? They don't get to win this one! We do."
Sam grins. "Eye of the Tiger, man."
"Shut up, I'm being serious!" Dean laughs. "So, you with me?"
Sam takes a deep breath, considering his brother for a moment. "Reset button."
"Yeah."
"We start over?" Sam asks, searching Dean's face for any sign of doubt, any reason to not trust what Dean's saying. This wouldn't be the first time Dean's said everything was forgiven, and it wouldn't be the first time he didn't really mean it. But Dean's wide, green eyes are set and determined. He actually looks optimistic for the first time in Sam can't remember how long.
"We start over," Dean repeats firmly. "No more of this crap between us. Just you and me, savin' the world."
Sam's heart is racing in his chest because, that? That sounds like exactly what he wants. What he's always wanted, but been too afraid to ask for because he thought he'd screwed up too much to ever truly warrant Dean's forgiveness. He still doesn't think he should be let off the hook for all the mistakes he's made; probably never will. But the look beaming on Dean's face is nothing but sincere.
"Okay," he breathes, smiling like an idiot. "Okay, I'm with you."
"Really?" Dean asks wryly, squinting over at Sam.
"Yeah, really." Sam nods. "Fresh start."
"Hell yeah!" Dean practically whoops. "We kick this thing in the ass our own way. Heaven and Hell and whoever the fuck else better watch their backs cause the fuckin' Winchesters are back in business!"
Sam laughs; Dean's excitement is contagious. "No one messes with a Winchester, right?" he says, quoting what a teenage Dean used to repeat like a mantra.
"Fuckin', right!" Dean cries. "You and me on one side, the rest of the world on the other, like it should be!"
"Like it should be," Sam repeats, keeping his eyes locked on Dean's and hoping they convey the truth behind his words. He's always known it's him and Dean against the world. He's just forgotten it sometimes.
Dean stands there for maybe a minute, eyes wide and intense and breathing heavy, and then he takes a few quick steps forward and launches himself at Sam, grabbing the front of Sam's shirt and pulling him in so hard that it hurts when their lips collide. But Sam doesn't care, he kisses back just as fiercely; ecstatic that he's getting Dean like this again. It's not the first time they've been together since the fiasco with Ruby, but it's the first time Dean's seemed like he actually wants it, like he's not just going through the motions with the base purpose of getting off. His lips are soft but insistent against Sam's and his tongue licks over the seam of Sam's mouth, asking for permission. Begging for it. Sam opens up and lets him in right away, cause oh god Dean can do amazing things with his tongue. Sam moans into it and runs his hands down Dean's back, eager to get at any bit of Dean he can. Dean's hands slip under the hem of Sam's shirt as his lips slide against Sam's, hot and wet, and his warm, rough palms smooth over the skin on Sam's stomach and higher, pushing the thin fabric up as he goes. When he gets it bunched up under Sam's arms, he pulls back breathlessly to tug the t-shirt over Sam's head. Sam's lifts his arms up and lets the material slip off, then drops them back down to pull Dean in close again.
"We really doin' this?" he asks, panting like it's already over even through it's barely begun.
"You want to?" Dean asks, sounding just as winded as Sam; his eyes dark and intense in a different way now.
"Yeah," Sam breathes, leaning in to nip along Dean's stubbled jaw. "Been wantin' to."
"Me too, Sammy." Dean runs his hands down Sam's bare back and Sam shivers. "Missed you so much."
"I was right here," Sam points out, backing Dean towards the bed. "You could'a just asked."
"So could you." Dean's knees hit the mattress and he sits down, grabbing at Sam's waist and pulling him in close enough to dip his tongue into Sam's bellybutton as he speaks.
Sam shrugs and lets his eyes flutter closed; enjoys the feeling to Dean sucking kisses into his abdomen. "I thought you were mad at me."
Dean pulls back on a sigh and looks up into Sam's eyes. "I was, for a while."
"Not anymore?"
Dean shakes his head, truth shining out through his eyes again, and Sam reaches down and palms his cheek. Dean turns his face into it a little, and then he tugs on Sam's arm until Sam is bent over enough to kiss him. Dean kisses him slowly and deeply and Sam tries to give as good as he gets while simultaneously trying to talk his knees out of buckling and sending him crashing to the floor. He figures his best bet is to get himself horizontal as quickly as possible, so he shifts forward and nudges Dean back. Dean gets the message, dropping down to his elbows and inching up the bed while Sam crawls over him, sucking on Dean's bottom lip the whole way and getting delicious little moans from his brother. Dean's always liked pretty much any part of his body being sucked on; obviously one part more than the rest, but he likes it almost as much when it's his lips or fingers or earlobe in Sam's mouth. When they get far enough up the mattress that Dean's head can rest comfortably on the mountain of pillows, Sam pulls back enough to lick a wet stripe up Dean's nose.
"You're wearing too many clothes," Sam pronounces, tugging at the collar on Dean's shirt.
Dean smiles up at him, and pushes his body off the bed enough to pull his shirts off before collapsing back down and tugging Sam with him. He brushes his lips gently against Sam's, barely there, and runs his fingers through Sam's hair. He does that so often that Sam barely even notices it anymore, except for times like this when his skin is buzzing and oversensitive to every touch. It feels amazing to have Dean's fingers gripping at his hair, always has. Safe and loved and protected. Truthfully, it's the reason Sam never cuts it. It's kind of a lot of work, and if he doesn't do it just right it looks really stupid, and more than once he's had the thought that a short, military-issue cut like Dean's would be a lot more practical. But then he wouldn't be able to feel Dean's fingers, tugging and stroking the soft waves, and that feeling is definitely worth it taking him longer to get ready in the morning.
"Be honest," Sam says, around a kiss to the cleft in Dean's chin. "How much do you love my hair?"
Dean huffs in annoyance and shoots a death-glare up at Sam. Sam just laughs. This issue is probably number one on the list of Things They Both Know But Don't Talk About, but Sam figures since they're giving this whole open, honest thing a try, he might as well take the opportunity to ask about Dean's biggest and probably oldest kink.
"C'mon, tell me," Sam prods when Dean doesn't answer.
"Sam," Dean says warningly, eyes hard and telling Sam not to push it, but there's this spot just under Dean's ear that's crazy sensitive and if Sam licks at it just right, Dean will break and tell him anything.
He slides his lips there and smoothes the flat of his tongue over the baby-soft skin. Dean hums happily, his fingers playing idly in the curls at the base of Sam's neck.
"I promise I won't make fun of you," Sam whispers. "I just wanna know."
"I don't … Sammy …" Dean almost whines; pleading, but Sam's not backing down now. Bobby doesn't call him the stubborn one for nothing.
"Hey, you're the one who wanted to start telling each other shit," Sam points out; dragging his teeth gently down Dean's earlobe. "I'm just – "
"Fine!" Dean snaps, pushing Sam's head back so their eyes can meet. "A fuckin' lot, okay? It's my favorite bit of you, and yes that's including your mouth and your ass and your friggin' Milton Berle sized junk. I love how it feels between my fingers, I love the way it smells, I love the way it falls into your eyes! I love how ridiculous you look when it's wet! I love it so much I wanna rub off on it and come all over it! There, are you happy now?"
Sam blinks, blown away for a minute, and then smiles. "Yes," he murmurs into Dean's lips. "Very happy."
"Freak," Dean mutters, but pulls Sam in closer and kisses back fiercely.
Sam is more than half hard now; Dean's admission mashing up with the feeling of Dean's tongue and making Sam's head spin in blistering arousal. He lets his knees fall out from under him so his hips rest solidly on top of Dean's and rolls them, echoing Dean's groan as their groins rub together. His brief run as the smooth one, the one in control, is about four seconds away from having run it's course. Dean's the Casanova in the family; Sam's the one who falls for it. Then a shrill, obnoxious ringing sound fills the room, and it takes Sam's turned-the-fuck-on brain a few moments to figure out what it is.
"Fuck," Dean groans. "Who the hell would be calling?"
"I …" c'mon brain, work damn it! "It must be the front desk or something," Sam says after another minute, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to blink his vision back into focus. "No one else knows we're here."
Dean groans and swears again, shifting over toward the nightstand as Sam rolls reluctantly off him. Dean reaches for the antique rotary phone and grabs the handset.
"Hello? … Oh, hi, is something wrong? … oh." His face falls a little. "Damn, uh, yeah that card's been giving me trouble lately … okay, I'll just, uh, come down and pay cash then? Yeah. Okay. Be right there."
Dean hangs up the phone with a slight grimace. "Apparently Mastercard has discovered that Richard Wallace doesn't exist."
Sam laughs quietly, but can't help his sigh of disappointment. "And you have to go settle us up now?"
"Yeah. Sorry, kiddo. Maybe I shouldn't have answered."
"Nah, it's okay." Sam shrugs it off. "Nice place like this, if you hadn't answered we'd probably have some security dude knocking on our door in thirty seconds."
Dean smiles wickedly. "Guess you're right. I could'a had your dick in my mouth by that point, and we wouldn't want to scare the poor man."
"Or make him insanely jealous that he wasn't invited," Sam quips back.
Dean barks a laugh. "Well, look who finally got himself an ego!"
Sam just smiles, and Dean leans down and pecks a kiss to Sam's lips.
"I'll be right back."
"Kay. I'll be here."
Dean's smile widens and he cuffs Sam on the side of the head. "I'm countin' on it. 'Less, of course, you manage to find someone better in the next five minutes."
"I like your chances."
Dean laughs and winks. "Good to know."
"Hurry," Sam adds, trying to smile seductively but unable to keep a hint of desperation out of his voice. Doesn't really matter, it's not like Dean doesn't know exactly how bad Sam wants it right now, but it's sort of an issue of personal pride – that Dean rocks his whole smooth, sultry, sex-god thing and Sam usually just ends up a babbling, needy mess.
"Don't worry, I'm gonna. You lookin' all messed up and fuckable like that, trust me, I'm gonna be back here as fast as I can to do something about it."
Dean's eyes do a quick sweep along Sam's form and he smiles, that smile, the one that's possessive and predatory and says 'oh, you are so gonna get it', and yeah, that? That right there is exactly why Sam has absolutely no ability to be suave in these situations. It's a good thing Dean seems to like him sloppy and desperate, because after Dean looks at him like that, it's really the only game Sam has.
Dean stands up, looks around for his discarded t-shirt, and then picks it up off the floor and pulls it over his head. He grabs his wallet out of his jacket pocket and a room key and then moves toward the door.
"Hey, Dean?" Sam calls after him before Dean reaches the doorknob. "I couldn't."
Dean turns around and cocks his head to one side. "Couldn't what?"
"Find someone better."
Dean still looks a little confused, so Sam clarifies.
"What you said, before. I know you were kidding around, but, just so you know. I could look as hard as I wanted, but I wouldn't ever find someone better than you."
Dean considers Sam for a moment with a look in his eyes that Sam can't quite place, and then he smiles softy and takes the few steps back to the bed. He cups Sam's cheek in his warm palm, and leans down to kiss Sam gently, sweetly. Almost tenderly, or as close to tender as Dean's capable of, anyway. It's dry but loving and Sam really wishes he could just pull Dean back into bed with him and to hell with the jerk at the front desk. But then Dean pulls back enough to press a long kiss to Sam's forehead; something only Dean does to Sam, never the other way around (and Sam knows that's exactly how Dean wants it).
"Thanks, Sammy," he says, sounding like he really means it; like he'd been silently needing to hear that all along. "Now I'm leaving before you can say anything else so damn romantic and I get nauseous."
This time Sam just smiles and lets Dean go. He's really, really missed this. It's been so long since Dean's been sweet and gentle like this. Since he found out about the demon blood, more than a year ago now, it's just been sex between them – it's lost the deeper meaning it once had. Dean's stopped treating their time under the sheets together as if he's taking care of Sam; now it's just two men taking what their bodies need from each other. And Dean hasn't allowed Sam be the dominate one more than a few times. But that's okay, because Sam knows he really screwed up and Dean needed time before he could trust again.
Sam isn't complaining; he freakin' loves it when Dean takes him rough and fierce, all hands and teeth and bruises in the morning. It was even okay the few times Dean took him a little too forcefully, because he was always gentle again afterward; holding Sam close and falling asleep with his hand still unconsciously petting Sam's hair; giving Sam a glimmer of what it used to be like between them. When fast and hard was a game played occasionally but mostly sex was about getting lost in each other. When Dean would never have started thrusting before Sam was good and ready; rubbing Sam's chest and soothing him through the unavoidable minute of pain and too-much-too-full. It's not the gorgeous, passionate lover that Sam misses, because he still has that. It's his big brother. That's the Dean he's lost.
Sam's reaching to pull his sweatpants off, thinking he's gonna get himself … ready, for Dean, when his cell phone rings; the buzzing small and muffled in his bag. He hastily pushes his sweats back into place, because in all likelihood that's either Bobby or Cas calling and neither of those two is someone Sam wants to talk to while he's naked and still mostly hard. He jogs over to his bag and pulls out the small, black phone, checking the caller ID and flipping it open.
"Hey Bobby."
"How ya doin'?" Bobby's gruff voice answers.
"M'fine," Sam answers, confused. "Is – why?"
"Just wanted to make sure Dean wasn't bein' too hard on ya." Bobby sighs a little. "He was in a real hurry to get you outta' here. I was a bit worried he was gonna drag you off to some motel room and get in your face about … well, everythin'."
"Oh." Sam smiles a little. "Well … thanks. But no, he's … we're okay. Worked some things out. I think everything's gonna be good now. Well, not good, but … well, you know."
Bobby laughs quietly. "Lord knows I do."
"And hey, thanks for putting up with Dean yesterday," Sam continues. "I know how he gets."
"Slamming doors and snapping at everybody?" Bobby suggests.
Sam grins wider. "That's the one."
Sam can hear the smile on the older man's face.
"Ah, Dean is just like your old man," Bobby says. "Sometimes anger's the only thing he knows how to feel."
"We're both like that."
Bobby chuckles fondly. "I s'ppose you are. Is Dean there?"
"No, he's … he stepped out for a minute," Sam says quickly. "Want him to call you?"
"No, s'okay. Take care, son."
"Thanks. You too." Sam hangs up and laughs to himself; he's not even really sure what's funny but he's kind of ridiculously happy right now.
Once the ringer is turned off and his phone is tucked safely back into it's designated pocket, Sam continues with his plan of getting naked. He pushes at the elastic waistband on his pants until they fall down his legs, and then he steps out of them and makes his way back to the bed. He props some of the pillows up a little and the collapses down onto the mattress, sinking right in and sighing happily. Damn this bed is comfortable. Sam kind of wishes they never had to leave. He lets his hand trail slowly down his chest, passing over a nipple which makes his breath hitch a little even though it's his own hand. He goes lower, burying his fingers in the small thatch of curls between his lets and tugs at them gently; little pinpricks of pain only heightening his arousal. Then he wraps his fingers around his half-hard cock and strokes; lazily, not anywhere near enough to come but enough to keep himself interested until Dean gets back.
There's a dull thunk from across the room and Sam looks up in surprise to see Dean standing in the doorway. A quick glance at the floor lets Sam know the noise was Dean dropping the heavy, brass key, but then he sees Dean's face. His brother's eyes are wide and glassy, his jaw is slack and he's breathing heavily.
"Damn, Sammy," Dean breathes, sort of collapsing back against the closed door a little.
Sam grins. "What?" he asks in a fakely innocent voice.
"Just look at you, so pretty all spread out for me." Dean blinks a few times and takes a deep, steadying breath. "God, you should see yourself."
"Dean, you've seen me naked like eight billion times," Sam reasons, flushing a little at Dean's unwavering gaze even though he knows he brought this on himself by setting up this little show. "Can't be anything that interesting anymore."
Dean laughs shakily. "Not true. Especially if you keep getting bigger."
Sam chuckles back and holds up his hand, gesturing for Dean to join him on the bed. Dean stares for another minute and then sort of kick-starts into action, practically sprinting towards Sam and tearing his clothes off at the same time. But the time his knees hit the mattress he's down to just boxer-briefs. He crawls up Sam's body so fast that Sam's brain has barely caught up before there are soft, insistent lips pressing into his, hot and wet and sloppy and perfect.
"Missed you like this," Sam murmurs up into Dean's mouth, hands running over Dean's shoulders.
"Like what?" Dean asks, grinding down against Sam and drawing a groan out of them both.
"I dunno, loving. Gentle. Like it's about more than just sex again." Sam peppers kisses along Dean's jaw. "Maybe this time I'll be able to sit comfortably for the next week," he jokes, smiling up into Dean's eyes.
Dean pauses and pulls back. He stares at Sam and for a few fuzzy seconds, Sam has no idea what's going on. Until he sees a shadow pass over Dean's face and … oh dear lord no. Sam didn't mean that! No no no no no.
"Dean – " Sam begins quickly, but Dean cuts him off.
"I … I've been hurting you?" he asks quietly; horrified.
"No – Dean, that's not – I swear, I didn't – " Sam's so shell-shocked he can't even process thoughts in his own head anywhere near quick enough to stop Dean from heaving his body off the bedroom and stumbling back a few feet.
He looks absolutely terrified and Sam's head is swimming and he can't think of anything to say to take that look of his brother's face. Sam's just as terrified; the thought of Dean potentially taking this away from them now has Sam's heart racing so fast against his ribcage that he can't hear anything else. Because he needs this, needs it like he needs water and oxygen and he can't believe he could be so unbelievably idiotic that he actually just said that.
"I've been … I've been using sex to punish you," Dean whispers, eyes wide and shocked.
"Dean, no!" Sam cries, pushing his own body off the bed and reaching for Dean, cringing when his brother flinches away. "No, I – you haven't. That's not what I meant. I shouldn't have said anything, I take it back."
"You can't take it back," Dean breathes, his whole body trembling as he staggers unsteadily toward the bathroom and locks the door.
Sam's pretty sure his heart just shattered into about a million pieces.