Sam was about to come; he could feel it building, tingling down his spine. He couldn't help what he yelled out, as it overcame him. Hips stuttering without rhythm, as he rode the wave, he thought he'd heard something. It was as if his voice carried out of the room and bounced back to him, only...it didn't sound like his own. It sounded familiar, but... Oh God...No it couldn't be. Dean had gone to the bar...
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, rinsing himself as he still recovered from the post-orgasmic haze. He needed to make sure he hadn't been heard...
..**..
Dean panicked after coming down off the high of his sudden and strong orgasm. He could tell that Sam was hurrying to get out of the shower, and Dean needed to make himself scarce. He quickly glanced around the room, heading to his bag and retrieving the whiskey bottle he'd come for. No sense in trying to return sober, if he planned to keep his story intact. He grabbed the key off of the table and quickly, yet stealthily let himself out the door, silently closing it, and very gently inserting the key to lock it from the outside.
That very moment, Sam came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist; still dripping wet and out of breath. He looked around the room, then let out a sigh of relief when he saw that he was alone. He went back into the bathroom to dry off properly...
…
Outside, Dean was walking. He wasn't sure to where, exactly. But at the moment, he was headed toward the diner.
Many things were going on inside his head. One of them being the fact that he couldn't remember ever having come that abruptly, in his entire life. It was almost shameful, had it not felt so downright rewarding at the time. And since he'd been alone, he guessed it really didn't matter how fast it had been.
But that brought him to another thought; his underwear were a sticky mess. His only options were to walk around like that, until he could head back to the room and make quick charge to the bathroom to clean himself up, or to go to the diner and use their facilities. Seeing as it'd be risky to whip out his bottle of whiskey in a parking lot and start guzzling it down, without someone calling the cops, he figured maybe using the diner could serve multiple purposes. So he headed there.
"Welcome back, sugar," the waitress called out, as Dean entered. Dean looked in the direction of the lively voice, to see the waitress who'd served him that morning. She was older, maybe in her fifties, with curly red hair that, if it wasn't a dye-job, Dean would be extremely surprised. She was nice. She had spunk. Dean liked her.
"Hey, Glata," he gave a shied smile, not forgetting what had happened just minutes before. "You live here or somethin'? Why are you here so late?"
"Be easier if I did live here," she replied. "A girl called in; I offered to stay. Don't have much else goin' on, and I can't leave Eddie here all by himself. He's liable to burn the place down," she said loud enough, turning her head in the direction of said cook, so he could hear her.
"Yeah, yeah," Eddie, who was at least Glata's age, muffled his reply from the back, nonchalantly.
Glata smirked and looked back to Dean, "What can I getcha, darlin'?"
"Just a coffee, please," he told her. "I'm gonna go use the restroom, first..."
"I'll save you a spot at the bar," she called after him as he walked toward the restrooms. Dean glanced briefly to the empty seating at the bar, and smirked back at her.
The bathroom was as empty as the restaurant. Dean was grateful, and locked the door behind him. He took the whiskey bottle from his jacket and set it on the counter, before shrugging out of his coat and hanging it over the paper towel dispenser. Sliding his jeans down, Dean inspected the mess, considering his options. There was no way he'd be comfortable staying in these things any longer. Not to mention, it was making it impossible to stop thinking about Sam. He shrugged out of the jeans, altogether, after slipping his shoes off. Then he peeled out of the ruined underwear and tossed them in the trashcan. Wetting a paper towel, Dean cleaned himself up, then dried, and shrugged his jeans back on, followed by the shoes.
He took two long swigs from the whiskey bottle, before slipping his coat back on and putting it back in the pocket. He studied himself for a moment, in the mirror, making sure everything was in place, before heading out of the restroom.
Sure enough, Glata was standing at the bar on its other side, setting a mug down when she saw Dean emerge. She picked the coffee carafe up from it's warmer, and poured some into the mug, as he made his way over.
"Thanks, Glata," Dean smiled at her.
"Welcome, honey," she replied, then placed the coffee back on its warmer. "You gonna share?" she asked.
"Excuse me?" Dean raised an inquisitive brow.
"Well, the bar next door has been closed down for a week now," she said. "And your breath smells like you just had a fairly fine-labeled spot of whiskey. Now either my restrooms got a new dispenser I don't know about, or you've brought your own."
"I- I'm sorry. I'll go..."
"You don't have to go, honey," she smiled at him. "Just gotta share with the class." Her bright, almost sparkling toothy smile was contagious, and Dean let out a small laugh, before pulling the bottle from his jacket...
..**..
Sam was a bit exhausted, after the events in the shower. He'd gotten dressed in a tee shirt and an old pair of shorts, for bed, and had been trying to arrange himself on the bed, in some fashion that wouldn't seem...hell, he didn't even know what he was doing, really. And once he came to that conclusion, he stopped, letting out a sigh, and pulled the covers up to his waist, twisting onto his side, facing the wall. Dean usually took the bed closest the door, so Sam was letting him have that side of the bed.
He closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep before Dean got back, just so that he didn't have to look his brother in the eye and hope he couldn't see what he'd done in his absence. As tired as he was, however, he couldn't shut his mind off long enough to actually drift into unconsciousness. He kept thinking about Dean; about that night. As completely messed up as it was, Sam wanted him. He wanted to forget it, and move past it, and let it go like he should, because Dean was his brother. It was wrong to want that from him.
What they'd done, was unexpectedly pleasurable. Not to say Sam had never thought, in very very small and brief moments, of his brother in that way. He was a guy. He'd been through puberty at one point in his life, and wet dreams came in every variety imaginable. Or well, they had for him. But he'd always cast it aside. It was an unfathomable fantasy that he'd never allowed more than a passing thought before extinguishing as soon as possible. But now...now he'd had a taste. Now there was no foreseeable way to put out the fire that was lit brightly in his mind, and...other areas. He'd have to do a lot of burying. A lot of...shoving into a pit in his stomach, like Dean did with everything else, and maybe start drinking to dull the painful fullness, and unfathomable emptiness that that would inevitably cause.
There was a little voice in his head, telling him that there was hope; that Dean wanted it, too. He'd gotten hard for Sam, in that warehouse, without being touched or coerced. Just mentioning what they had to do...with each other, at that, and Dean had gotten hard. And Dean had kissed him. Sam hadn't started that. Well, maybe he had, nipping at Dean's neck the way he had. But Dean clung to the side of his face, and kissed him like he was his long-lost lover, finally found...
Fuck! Stop thinking like that! Sam chided himself. Dean doesn't want you like that. He did what he had to, to keep us alive. That's what he always does. And you're gonna repay him like this? Lusting after him? Jacking off, with your fingers in your asshole, screaming his name when you come? You're fucking disgusting! Stop it, now! Before he finds you out, and leaves you for good!
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, willing not only thoughts, now, but impending tears as well. He didn't want Dean to leave. He didn't want him to hate him, resent him... There had to be something he could do to make this all just stop.
His mind was so consumed, that he didn't hear Dean enter. Though it had been the elder's intention to quietly enter, in the first place. It took Dean a total of maybe thirty seconds, even in a slightly drunken state, to realize that something was wrong with Sam. He slid off his jacket, hanging it on the chair, and without thinking it completely through, decided to climb onto the bed and over to Sam, as opposed to walking around it to get to him.
"Sam, you okay?" he asked, as his knees dipped onto the bed.
Sam jumped, startled at the sudden presence of his brother, and swiped at his own face to clear away the tears he hadn't even realized he'd shed. "Dean? W-what...how long have you been here?"
"Jus' came in. What's wrong, man?" he asked, laying a hand on Sam's bicep. Sam slowly turned onto his back, and met Dean's eyes. He bit at the inside of his lip, taking in the flushed look on his brother's face, and the faint smell of whiskey and...coffee, he guessed, coming from his slightly parted lips. His heart fluttered, and he grimaced, chiding himself again, for feeling this way. "Sammy?" Dean looked worried, and moved his hand to Sam's cheek. "Why're you crying?" he asked, swiping a stray tear with his thumb, though Sam hadn't been aware he'd started again.
"Nothing," Sam shrugged away, trying to turn from him, so he wouldn't have to explain.
"C'mon, Sam. Don't be like that," he scooted closer, wrapping an arm around him, and rested his head so his mouth was near to Sam's ear. "What's wrong? Just talk to me. Are you feeling sick? Are you hurt?"
God but Dean was drunk. He got all overly concerned and cuddly, acting like Sam was a little kid that needed coddling, when he'd been drinking and wasn't in a crappy mood to begin with.
"No. 'm not sick," Sam replied.
"Please, just talk to me, Sam," Dean moved, pushing up on his elbows and turning Sam back onto his back so he could look him in the eyes again. "I can't help you, if you don't tell me what's goin' on."
A mixture of emotions flitted through Sam's chest, and across his face. He needed to push Dean off of him; make him stop making this so difficult for him. But he didn't wanna hurt Dean. Sam had been the one to insist that what they'd done, wouldn't change them.
"I'm...I...I'm just really tired, and I can't sleep," he told him, which wasn't a lie, really. He knew Dean wouldn't buy that.
"Is that all?" Dean asked, a small smirk gracing his lips. "C'mere," he settled back down, kicking off his shoes and scooting himself under the covers beside Sam, who was frozen in place on the bed, trying to figure out what Dean was doing. "Turn around, Sam," he told him, as he moved closer.
"What're you doing?" Sam asked, and Dean met fearful, panicked eyes.
"I...I was just gonna hold... so...so you could sleep- oh god..." Dean pulled away and sat up, running a hand down his face as his heart pounded in his chest. Had he misheard, earlier? Had he been wrong? Was Sammy terrified of him? "You're uncomfortable around me now. I'm totally creeping you out- You can't be around me, can you..."
And suddenly, Sam was sitting up in front of him, a hand on Dean's shoulder as he sought out his eyes, "No, Dean!" he assured him. "That's not it. I'm not uncomfortable around you. Not at all. That's not it at all, okay?" Dean looked at him, worriedly, unconvinced. "Let's...let's just go to sleep, okay?" Sam moved to lay back down, trying to lead Dean to do the same.
"I'll...I'll just move back to my side; leave you alone," Dean told him.
"Please don't," Sam met his eyes, sadly. Sam realized, in that moment, that he couldn't bear it if Dean were to start pulling away from him, now. He wasn't going to let this change them... Sam succeeded in leading Dean to lay back down, and they were now facing each other. Wordlessly, Sam burrowed his head into Dean's chest, wrapping an arm loosely around Dean's side; the other curled in front of him.
Slowly and cautiously, Dean placed his free arm, the one not currently pillowed beneath Sam's head, around Sam's back. When Sam's reaction was snuggling closer, Dean let the full weight of his arm rest on Sam, and he ducked his head, placing a silent kiss on the top of Sam's hair. His heart finally relaxed, and the whiskey began taking over, and pulled him, within minutes, to sleep.
Sam stayed awake a little longer, relishing in the feel of being held in Dean's arms, regardless of what it may or may not mean. He breathed in his scent, registering that he didn't smell at all like a bar. Aside from his breath, Dean smelled simply of outside, and a bit of coffee. His brain was trying to tell him what that might mean. But before it could complete the thought, Sam drifted off to sleep...
(to be continued...)