Word Count: 1.3K
Warnings: Established Wincest, sex with feelings, angst
Summary: Sex with Dean is good, and Sam thinks he knows his favorite flavor.
Read It On A03 |
A/N: Title is a line from “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor.
“So when was the first moment you realized you wanted this?”
They’re on the futon on the floor of Rufus’s old cabin, fire slowly dying in the fireplace in front of them. As usual when they stop here for a night, they’re post hunt, post grateful-to-be-alive sex, just sharing a lazy few minutes watching the fire before they fall asleep.
It was Sam’s idea to drag the futon over here so they could lie comfortably in front of the fire. Dean called him a girl for it, and Sam made a face, but he doesn’t really mind. He likes it here, away from the bunker, just the two of them. The bunker never felt like home to Sam, the way it did to Dean; for Sam, home is wherever Dean is. Dean doesn’t like roughing it as much as Sam does, and he positively hates camping, but he doesn’t mind getting away from the bunker, either, once in a while. Dean likes being alone with his brother just as much as Sam does. Even after all these years, they still prefer each other’s company.
Not to mention the sex. Grateful-to-be-alive sex is just about Sam’s favorite flavor. And he doesn’t mind how it seems to loosen Dean’s tongue, either. Other kinds of sex — the letting-off-steam sex, the making-up-after-an-argument sex, the we-haven’t-had-sex-in-a-while-so-you-wan
But grateful-to-be-alive sex often ends with a lot of loving stares and gentle touches, and, of course, plenty of reflective conversation about how lucky they feel that the other one is still right here. They never take that for granted. It’s too easy to imagine the alternative, easier still for it to become the reality neither could recover from.
“You know this,” Dean says in answer to Sam’s question. He’s got the bottle of Jim in one hand, Sam’s fingers tangled with his other hand.
“The summer before I left for college,” Sam nods. “Yeah. But I wanna know, what tipped it for you? Was it a gradual thing, or did it just hit you one day? And if it just hit you, what was it that flipped the switch?”
Dean takes a sip of whisky, stares into the fire with a slight smile and a faraway look in his eyes.
“You were such a pistol back then,” he says. “All long tan limbs and floppy hair. And man, those dimples!”
Sam grins. “You were gorgeous and full of yourself,” he counters. “All I wanted was for you to notice me.”
“Oh, I noticed you all right,” Dean chuckles. “You had on those little shorts that barely covered your ass. Kept stalking around without your shirt, all shiny and sweaty.”
Sam shifts, spreads his legs to make room for his hardening cock.
“Those were your shorts.” He smirks. “Of course they were tight on me.”
“Yeah,” Dean agrees. His voice sounds a little husky, turned on but too lazy to do anything about it. The way Sam feels. “Just when I thought you couldn’t grow any more, you had another growth spurt.”
“You were the tease,” Sam insists. “Coming home smelling like sex and cheap perfume, brushing up against me like you were just daring me to start something.”
“Maybe I was,” Dean admits.
He takes another sip of whisky and Sam watches his adam’s apple bob, watches his lips part, licked wet and puffy. Sam remembers how hard he got back then, just from looking at his brother. He’s hard now.
“You were so infuriating,” Sam says, huffing out a breath. “Couldn’t decide whether I wanted to hit you or fuck you.”
Dean turns his head and gazes at him, eyelashes catching the firelight so they look like spun gold. His eyes are deep green pools. Luminous.
“That time you just shoved me up against the door,” Dean muses. “I couldn’t tell if you were about to kiss me or punch me.”
He licks his lips and Sam’s eyes drop, following the movement of Dean’s tongue.
“So when I kissed you, that’s when you knew,” Sam guesses.
“Smart boy,” Dean praises. “I think I knew before that, but that was the moment it first clicked.”
“You always liked it when I manhandled you,” Sam teases. “You like it rough. You like me to push you around.”
“You know it gets me all tingly when you do that, Sammy.” Dean chuckles, shifting so that Sam can see how hard he is.
“You wanna go again?” Sam offers. “I could hold you down and fuck you slow.”
Dean flushes to the tips of his ears. He lets out a soft chuckle, pulls Sam’s hand up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles.
“Let’s just lie here and talk dirty,” he suggests.
“Works for me,” Sam agrees. He reaches for the whisky, takes it from Dean’s hand with a slow drag of his fingers along Dean’s. A little erotic charge goes up his arm to his scalp, and he shivers.
“Cold?” Dean reaches for the blanket, pulls it up over them both as Sam takes a sip from the whisky bottle. He scoots closer, so that they’re pressed together from shoulder to hip.
Sam’s so drowsy and warm he could fall asleep, but he forces himself to focus. It’s not often he gets Dean so relaxed and open. He likes it.
“But all that time, that first summer, you knew you were leaving.” Dean says it without rancor, but a wave of sadness floods Sam’s veins anyway. “Everything that happened between us was just your way of saying goodbye. It was break-up sex.”
Sam’s chest aches. His throat closes up, making his voice raspy.
“I knew you wouldn’t come with me,” he says. “You were too loyal to Dad.”
“Yeah, you’re not wrong there,” Dean agrees. “Maybe if I’d had your strength, that way you had of standing up to the old man, things would’ve been different.”
Sam takes a deep breath. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Hurt like hell, being away from you,” Dean admits. “Every minute of every day. It never got easier.”
Sam nods, swallowing hard. “I know.”
He does. Being away from Dean always felt like being lost in the woods without a compass, in the dark, without landmarks or stars to guide him. Felt debilitating. Made him reckless.
“That whole time, I thought you had Dad, at least. I imagined you two hunting together.”
Dean scoffs. “Except, we didn’t, much. He just took off. Spent time with Kate and Adam, as we found out later. His normal family.”
Sam’s chest clenches. He takes a deep, shaky breath, blinks back tears.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” he says. “Not for one minute.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
Dean reaches for the whisky bottle, takes a swig, then sets it down on the floor and turns to Sam, crooked grin on his lips.
“I’ll take that second round now, if you’re still up for it.”
Sam’s eyes widen. His lips part as Dean’s gaze drops to them. When Dean leans in to kiss him, Sam tastes whisky and the salty, bitter taste of long separation.
He stands corrected. The best sex is reunion sex, the kind the Winchesters have after being away from each other, after spending miserable days and nights thinking they’d never see each other again, much less get their hands and mouths on each other. Desperate, relieved-just-to-be-together again sex is definitely the best.
Tears roll down Sam’s cheeks as Dean pounds into him, long, steady strokes that send shocky sparks of pleasure up his spine.
“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it,” Dean gasps as he leans down to kiss the tears away. “That’s it, baby. My beautiful baby brother.”
Yeah, this right here, on the floor in front of a dying fire in a rundown cabin in the middle of nowhere, just the two of them, minds full of memories of loss and longing, finally joined so their souls feel complete — this is the best thing Sam can imagine.
“Dean!” Sam whites out as he comes, Dean’s mouth open against the hollow of his neck where his sweat has pooled.
Sam can almost taste it.