Word Count: 9,123
Summary: This Season 6 AU is set in the spring of 2010, several weeks after Sam gets his soul back. The Winchesters are in the middle of a series of “simple” hunts - werewolves, chupacabra, black dogs - anything to stay busy and keep Sam’s wall up. It’s been tense, and Sam soon begins to suspect that something fundamental may have changed between them while Sam was soulless. Dean’s not exactly forthcoming, but sometimes when you bury things, they have a strange way of clawing their way to the surface anyway. Dean should know. But can Sam get him to talk about it?
READ IT HERE ON A03
A/N: This story has been sitting in my brain for a couple of years now, and I’m only now getting enough of a handle on it to get it written. My muse is telling me there’s more to come (possibly from Dean’s POV), but I’m leaving this here for now before it gets totally out of control! The title is from "Torn and Frayed," by the Rolling Stones.
It’s been happening for over a week now.
Sam thinks the first time was last Saturday night, but he can’t be sure because he never woke up. It was a fantastic dream, though. Warm, wet mouth on his dick, strong, calloused hands messaging his ass. He’s pretty sure he came hard when he felt a finger probe his hole. He was a little surprised not to find a mess in the sheets the next morning, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.
The second time it happened, he woke up as the finger touched his hole, his orgasm rushing through him like a freight train. As he started to come down he was aware of the mouth on his dick, swallowing down the evidence of a truly mind-blowing blow-job. Warm, calloused hands messaged his thighs. He whimpered as the sensations became too much for his over-sensitive dick, then the mouth was gone. The hands were gone, too, and Sam could feel the bed dip as someone got up from where they had knelt between Sam’s legs, leaving Sam cold and bereft.
His eyes slid open just in time to see Dean slipping into his own bed, his back to his brother. Although Sam was sleeping naked, as he often did when the weather was warm, Dean wore the familiar t-shirt and shorts he usually slept in. He snuggled down on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow where Sam was sure he could touch the comforting metal of the gun he kept there. Sam watched as Dean settled, then was still, keeping his face turned away from Sam.
Sam was more awake now, puzzled because his body was certain of what had just happened, even if his mind was too foggy with sleep and post-orgiastic bliss to be sure.
Dean shifted, turning his head so he was facing Sam. In the semi-dark Sam could see his eyes glitter.
“What?” Dean’s voice was thick with sleep, sharp with indignation. He sounded like Dean when Sam woke him out of a deep sleep.
Sam stared, trying to decide if Dean was serious, if his brother’s apparent memory loss was just an act. Did he truly not remember what had just happened? Did he really think he’d been asleep all this time?
“Nothing,” Sam answered finally.
Dean turned his head away with an obvious scowl, scooting around on his stomach until he got comfortable again. Sam could tell he’d fallen asleep just by the sound of his breathing, but Sam lay awake, wondering.
In the morning, Dean behaved normally. They got up, got dressed, had breakfast, and went back to work on the case. Sam watched Dean for any signs of weirder-than-usual behavior, but either Dean was a better actor than Sam had given him credit for, or he truly didn’t remember.
It occurred to Sam that Dean might have been sleep-walking.
The third time it happens, Sam starts fully awake. Dean’s kneeling between his legs, full lips stretched around Sam’s engorged cock, one hand curled around the base while he slides the fingers of his other hand behind Sam’s balls, into his crack.
“Fuck!” Sam gasps, reaching down to touch before he realizes what he’s doing. He’s been fantasizing about this for years, but now that it’s happening it doesn’t seem real.
“Dean,” he breathes as the head of his cock hits the back of Dean’s throat. Dean’s throat muscles flutter against the sensitive skin, and Sam knows he can’t last with Dean probing his hole like that, fingers gentle but insistent. He slides his hands into Dean’s hair, holding his head as he thrusts up, and Dean just takes it.
“Oh my God, Dean.” His brother’s so beautiful like this, face flushed and shiny with a film of sweat, long, thick eyelashes sweeping across his cheeks. Sam thinks he could come just on the sight of Dean like this alone. Then Dean pushes his index finger into Sam’s hole, past the resisting ring of muscle, and Sam loses it.
He comes and comes down Dean’s throat, dimly aware of someone moaning as he starts to come down, realizes it’s him and lets out a long breath. His body feels boneless, and he’s so relaxed and sleepy he could easily lose consciousness, but he fights it. He wants to watch as Dean lets him go, slides easily off the bed and out from under Sam’s hands. He doesn’t look up once as he retreats to his own bed, climbs in and rolls over on his side with his back to Sam.
Within a minute Dean’s breathing in that deep, even way that tells Sam he’s asleep. Sam lies watching him for another minute, his mind racing, trying to decide if he should just wake Dean up and demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing. What the hell he thinks he’s been doing all week.
But he doesn’t. He has a strong suspicion that Dean would deny it anyway, would insist he has no idea what Sam’s talking about. Better to hash this out in the light of day, when they’re both caffeinated and thinking clearly.
But the next morning over breakfast things don’t go quite the way Sam plans.
“So you mind telling me what’s going on with you?” Sam goes for the direct approach, having decided the topic requires it, for once.
“What do you mean?” Dean frowns as he spreads butter and syrup on his short-stack.
“The sleep-walking thing,” Sam coaxes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dean takes a bite of bacon and reaches for the salt.
“Seriously? You don’t remember sleep-walking last night?”
“Number one, I don’t sleep-walk. Number two, if I did I would remember it. I wake up at the drop of a pin, you know that. Perfect reflexes. Always ready for anything.”
“No, you don’t,” Sam argues. “You sleep like a log most of the time. A freakin’ freight-train could run through the room and you wouldn’t notice.”
“How do you know that?” Dean glares. “Are you watching me sleep? Have you been fuckin’ watching me sleep, Sam?”
Sam squirms awkwardly in his seat, taps his thumb against the lip of his coffee cup, and looks away. Looks at anything but Dean.
“I’ve had some nightmares lately,” he admits. “They wake me up sometimes.”
Dean’s silent, so Sam glances up and catches the concern in Dean’s eyes.
“Anything you want to share?” Dean says quietly, and Sam shakes his head.
“I haven’t remembered anything specific, after that first time,” he says, referring to the case in Rhode Island weeks ago, when Sam had flashbacks to his soulless time, and had a two-minute black-out in which he spent what felt like over a week in Hell. “I just wake up sweating, with my heart pounding, and I know I’ve been dreaming about it, that’s all. It takes a while to fall back to sleep.”
“So you dream about me sleep-walking,” Dean finishes. “That’s not creepy.”
“No, actually, it’s not,” Sam argues. “It’s kind of – comforting, I guess. But it’s not a dream. It’s happened three times in the past week, Dean. It’s definitely not a dream.”
“So what do I do when I sleep walk?” Dean challenges, clearly not buying what Sam’s selling. Dean’s just humoring him.
Sam scowls. “You know what? Never mind.” He throws his napkin down and pushes his plate back. “Forget I said anything. You’ll just think I’m making it all up anyway. You’ll think I’m hallucinating.”
“Whoa, whoa, hey now, wait just a minute.” Dean shakes his head. “You can’t just drop it. You brought it up.”
“And I’m taking it back,” Sam snaps. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” He crosses his arms stubbornly, leaning back a little to make room for himself, which is a little new. He’s always been well-built, but while he was soulless he went a little overboard with the work-outs, apparently. He can’t really remember, which is probably a good thing.
“Sam, if you’re starting to have Hell-memories, you need to tell me,” Dean growls, lowering his voice as much to make his point as to prevent the diners in the next booth from hearing them. “That shit can kill you. Will kill you, I have it on good authority. So don’t poke, ya got me?”
“This is not that, Dean.” Sam huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes.
“So what is it then? Huh? ‘Cause now you’ve got me worried about you, and that’s never good.”
Sam sighs and reaches for his water glass, taking a sip before carefully putting it down again. He hates to make Dean worry. It makes him feel like an invalid. A liability. A child. Ever since he got his soul back and learned he was topside without it for a year-and-a-half, Sam’s been consumed with guilt about the things he suspects his soulless self was doing, some of which he has vague memories of. It bothers him far more than the possibility of recovering his Hell-memories, but he knows Dean doesn’t want to hear that.
“While I was soulless, did you and me ever…” The words slip out because he’s been dreading the thought for days. It’s the only one that makes sense. He’s already had sense-memories of him and Dean together. That first night, Dean lying between his legs working on his dick was familiar, like it had happened before.
“Did we what, Sam?” Dean’s gaze falters, and Sam sucks in a breath, shocked to the core by the look in Dean’s eyes, by the the way his cheeks flush red to the tips of his ears.
It can’t be true, but it is.
“Oh my God, Dean,” Sam breathes, shaking his head. “Oh my God.” He buries his face in his hands, overcome by sudden visions of Dean, naked and spread out on a motel bed, looking up at him with lust in his eyes.
He thought – he hoped – those were fantasies, brought on by recent events. but now Sam knows they’re flashbacks.
Now Sam knows they’re real.
“Okay, you know what? We are done here,” Dean snaps, pulling out his wallet so he can slam down some bills on the table. He launches himself out of the booth while Sam’s still struggling to recover from Dean’s wordless confession.
Dean’s just confirmed that Sam’s soulless self was fucking his brother.
They’re silent in the car, the air thick with shame and shock. Dean’s jaw is clenched so tight Sam can hear his teeth grind together, even over the Metallica tape Dean slams into the player and cranks to full volume. Sam gets the message: Dean wants him to forget what he just learned, to bury the revelation of what happened between them while Sam was soulless.
And the sick thing is, Sam gets it. Dean keeps saying, “That wasn’t you, Sam,” and now Sam understands. In Dean’s mind, what happened while Sam was soulless wasn’t real. It doesn’t count. Sam’s off the hook because it wasn’t really him. Dean had sex with that version of Sam because it wasn’t Sam. Dean doesn’t have to feel responsible or to feel guilty about the incest because it wasn’t that.
But of course for Sam it’s the worst kind of humiliation. He’s been in love with his brother all his life, worked hard to hide it, ran away more times than he can count to avoid dealing with it. Sam wanted with every fiber of his being to keep Dean from ever finding out that the little brother he doted on was a pervert. Dean doesn’t deserve that; he’s always taken care of Sam, has been more than a brother from the time their mother died. Dean sacrificed more than Sam can imagine to raise him right and keep him safe. Dean literally went to Hell for Sam. And Sam’s always tried so hard to prevent his wildly inappropriate desires from infecting Dean’s goodness, his inherent purity and righteousness. Dean’s already suffered enough without carrying the burden of Sam’s sickness and corruption, too.
Of course, soulless-Sam had no such compunction. Without his soul, Sam obviously felt none of the guilt that prevented him from openly lusting after his brother. He probably expressed his desire for Dean at the first opportunity. He wouldn’t have seen a reason not to. Sam can’t remember exactly, but he’s pretty sure his soulless self didn’t worry about Dean knowing that Sam was attracted to him. He didn’t care if Dean found out.
Sam doesn’t think his soulless self would have hurt Dean, but he also wouldn’t have had enough of a conscience to be able to judge what might be hurtful in the first place.
Sam has to fix this. It’s all he can think about for most of the day on the drive to Oregon, casting nervous, sidelong glances at Dean’s rigid profile. He doesn’t realize he’s gnawing on his fingernails until Dean reaches over and slaps his hand away.
“Dean, pull over,” Sam orders harshly, raising his voice over the music because it feels good to yell.
He’s hyped up and crazy with the need to get this out in the open. Now. He knows Dean wants to ignore it, deny it, pretend it didn’t happen, pretend Sam didn’t find out about it. But that’s just too fucking bad. Sam needs to talk about it, and Dean’s going to listen. End of story.
When Dean ignores him and just keeps driving, Sam yells again, this time turning off the tape player as he does it.
“Hey!” Dean protests.
“Pull the damn car over. Now!” Sam orders again.
This time, Dean does it, and Sam doesn’t want to think too deeply about how easily Dean follows his orders. He gets a flashback of Dean tied spread-eagled and naked to a motel bed and it sends shivers through his body.
Sam’s out of the car and pacing by the side of the road almost before the car rolls to a stop. It’s getting dark, early evening in the Wallowa Mountains, and the two-lane road is deserted. They haven’t seen another car since they left the convenience store three hours ago. Sam shoves his hand through his hair, stops pacing to stare as Dean gets out of the car. He moves slowly, reluctantly, slamming the door so he can lean across the roof, his movements as languid and graceful as a cat’s. Sam watches in disbelief as Dean folds his hands calmly on the roof of the car, raising his eyebrows as he looks up.
“So?” Dean challenges. “You got something you want to say to me, Sam?”
Sam huffs out a breath and shifts his weight, taking his hand out of his hair so he can gesture. “How can you be so calm about this, Dean? How can you just – after what I did – “
“Wasn’t you,” Dean shakes his head.
“The hell it wasn’t, Dean,” Sam raises his hands, lets them fall helplessly. “It was me, and you know it. I even remember bits of it.”
Dean’s gaze grows dark, and Sam can see his jaw clench. “What do you remember, Sam?”
“Enough,” Sam spits out, anger and disgust battling with the terror in his gut. “I know I took advantage of you. I know I used your – your feelings – to manipulate you. I know I made you do things you didn’t want to do.”
“That’s not true,” Dean says, shaking his head slow. “You didn’t make me do anything, Sam.”
Sam gets another flash of Dean, naked and on his knees this time. Sam cringes, backing away. “No,” he gasps. “No. You didn’t want that. You did that because you thought I wanted it. You were just giving in, like you always do when I get demanding and pushy and – and – “ Sam brings a fist to his forehead, eyes closed tight, body shaking with frustration and self-loathing.
“Okay, listen, Sam.” Dean uses his best big-brother voice, triggered by Sam’s obvious distress, and Sam feels even guiltier. “Whatever happened between us when you were soulless, that wasn’t just you being a pushy little bitch. It was just as much about me finally getting what I never even knew I wanted before.”
Sam stops pacing, scrubs a hand over his face and stares hard at his brother. “What are you talking about?”
Dean takes a deep breath, looks away. “I was missing you bad, man,” he says. “By the time you showed up in Lisa’s garage, I was already over the edge. It wasn’t just djinn poisoning that had me hallucinating; I was losing my mind with grief. Seeing you alive again, after everything you went through, after what you did to save the fuckin’ world, man, while I just sat there and did nothing, when I should have jumped into that box with you. I should have been the one to die! Okay, so maybe I came on a little strong. Maybe I was a little emotional. So sue me.”
“What are you saying, Dean?”
“I’m saying it wasn’t all you, Sam.” Dean practically shouts. “What happened between us, I wanted it, too. Hell, I guess I always did, probably since way too long ago. I just buried it deep, you get me? Just never acknowledged it before.”
Sam stares, speechless at Dean’s admission. It’s never occurred to him, except in his wildest fantasies, that Dean might feel the same way.
“That – that’s impossible,” Sam stammers finally, his mind whirling with this new information. “How could you keep that from me, all these years? There’s just no way.”
Dean shrugs. “What can I tell you, Sam? I guess you know me better than I know myself. Even without your soul, you’re more of a girl than me.”
“Shut up!” Sam wails. “You didn’t feel like that before. I would have known!”
“Or maybe you were just too busy being all repressed and freaked-out about having the hots for your brother,” Dean says. “And like I say, before you showed up in that garage, I didn’t know it myself. Guess that’s why you can call me Cleopatra, baby, just like the song says.” Dean smirks, then adds with a growl, “But don’t you dare.”
Sam’s still struggling to grasp the idea that Dean wanted him. Maybe still wants him. It just doesn’t compute. Sam’s spent far too long thinking his feelings were bad, dirty, wrong, a one-sided obsession. It’s been part of the wrongness inside him since he was a baby.
“So when I just – what? Kissed you? – I triggered some kind of repressed feelings you didn’t know you had? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Damn it, Sam, now you’re making me sound like Sleeping Beauty. I just might have to kick your ass for that.”
Dean’s joke at his own expense surprises Sam so much he almost laughs in spite of himself. “So you just didn’t know you wanted me until I opened my big mouth and told you how I felt,” he suggests, feeling giddy, almost hysterical. “Until I told you how much I wanted you.”
“Ding ding ding! Give the man a prize,” Dean says, then shrugs. “You made a lot of good points, actually. We’re consenting adults, you said. It’s not like we’re kids anymore. We’ve always lived outside the laws of respectable society, you said. Why should we abide by some moral code of behavior that doesn’t even make sense in our case?”
“And you – you let me? Right away? That first day?”
“No, not that first day, moron,” Dean growls. “I was shocked at first, just like you’re feeling now, I guess. It took a little adjusting.”
Sam flashes back to Dean kissing him, shaking with emotion in his arms, before pushing away and staring at him with wide, shocked eyes. In the flashback, Sam’s triumphant, cock-sure and seething with lust.
“How long is a little?” Sam demands. “The way I remember it, once the seed was planted, it didn’t take long before the party started.”
“Jesus, Sam. You really want to get into the details? Right now? Right here?”
And as much as it frustrates him, Sam concedes Dean’s point.
“So you’re telling me it wasn’t rape,” Sam clarifies, trying not to flinch. “I didn’t force you.”
“Well, I’m not saying it was consensual, since you didn’t have your soul.” Dean says grimly. “I’m still not sure I should have let it happen. I could tell there was something off about you, right from the start, but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight. Getting you back was kind of a big deal. Sort of impaired my judgment for a while.”
Sam takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he nods. “I know how that feels.” He’s paced right up to the car while Dean was talking, and now he leans his arms on her roof, opposite Dean. He could touch Dean’s hands if he wanted to. He stares off into the trees instead, so it startles him when Dean pats his hand awkwardly.
“What do you say we get back in the car?” Dean suggests, his voice soft and placating, like he’s soothing a wild animal. Sam doesn’t want to think about the fact that Dean’s been dealing with Sam’s wrongness for far too long. He’s gotten used to it. “It’s only another ten miles up the road to Travis’s cabin. I’ve got a bottle of Johnnie Walker in the trunk.”
Sam lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, turns his hand over so Dean’s fingers slide along his before he pulls his hand back.
“Pretty sure it’s gonna take more than liquor to get through this,” he mutters darkly.
Nevertheless, Sam gets back in the car, lets Dean drive the rest of the way in silence. Dean doesn’t try to crank the music this time; he leaves Sam alone with his thoughts until they reach the cabin, until the car’s unloaded and they’re setting their duffels on the floor of the cabin.
“I’ll take the couch,” Dean announces before Sam has a chance to assess the sleeping situation. “Upstairs sleeps eight.”
Sam had forgotten that this cabin belonged to a real-life game hunter. Travis used it regularly with a group of buddies who just liked to get together to drink, play country music, and pretend they knew how to kill something they could eat. It’s a good hide-out for monster-hunters and provided a natural cover for the locals, who probably couldn’t care less anyway. It’s out in the middle of nowhere, the way most of these places are, but at least it’s got running water, a propane stove for cooking, and kerosene lamps for light.
Sam starts a fire in the big stone fireplace while Dean heats canned spaghetti and meatballs on the stove. They move silently and carefully around each other, keeping their eyes on their tasks. Sam’s shaking with the effort to control his rabid brain, never mind his over-heated body. He’s wound so tight he feels like his skin might just crack and leak his innards all over the faded braided rugs and rough-hewn wooden planks of the floor. He keeps getting flashes of Dean naked and on his knees, looking up at him from under his long eyelashes. Dean on the bed, hair sleep-tousled and eyelids drooping, covered only with a sheet pulled up over his groin, bare leg sticking out and bent at the knee. Dean wet and moaning in the shower – oh my God, they had shower sex? – and Sam can practically taste his balls.
They eat in silence at the little wooden table on the kitchen side of the big room, keeping their eyes on their food. Sam’s still chewing his last bite when Dean stands up so abruptly he almost knocks the chair over. He grabs both dinner plates and dumps them in the sink, running water over them as he stands there, his back to Sam.
Sam watches as Dean’s back muscles clench. He hunches his shoulders and props himself on the counter, both arms extended, waiting for the sink to fill. When he turns off the water he keeps standing there, and Sam can imagine his jaw clenching even before he turns his head so Sam can see his profile.
“Out with it, Sam,” he says finally. “I can hear you thinking, and it’s kinda hurting my psychic ear-drums, so just out with it. Whatever you gotta say, I can take it.”
Sam sucks in a breath, shakes his head in disbelief even though he knows Dean can’t see him. “I don’t know what there is to say,” he says. “I’m still trying to process the fact that you let me fuck you when I was soulless. I keep getting these flashbacks, so I know it’s true, but it just doesn’t make sense.”
“What kind of flashbacks?” Dean turns around to face him, and Sam can read the trepidation and concern there.
“No, not Hell,” Sam assures him. “Well, not the Hell, anyway. I guess you could call what we did a different kind of Hell…”
“Are you saying you didn’t want it?” Dean glares. “Did you lie to me about that? Huh? ‘Cuz you were doing a hell of a lot of lying when you were soulless. You were really good at it, in fact.”
“No, no,” Sam shakes his head quickly. “It’s not that I didn’t want it. Damn it, Dean, that’s just the thing. See, I did want it. I do. It’s just that you were never supposed to know about it.”
“Oh, so you were just gonna not tell me,” Dean says. “You were just gonna keep a secret that big, that life-changing, until what, Sam? Until we were both dead? Until it didn’t matter any more?”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Sam says, knowing how lame it sounds. “I always figured you didn’t need more crap dumped on you, you know? The way I felt about you was just one more piece of evidence that our lives are screwed.”
“So you never wanted this,” Dean says, waving his hand between them. “You never wanted us, like that.”
“That’s not what I said,” Sam says, scooting his chair back sharply so he can gesture freely. He stays seated so that Dean’s got the height advantage. He needs Dean to understand. “I didn’t think it was what you wanted.”
Dean scrubs a hand over his face, then leans back against the sink, crossing his arms and ankles. “Well, I did,” he says. “I do. Already told you that.”
“Yeah, but that was before – “ Sam hesitates, biting his lip.
“That was before you got your soul back? Is that what you’re trying to say? You think – “ Dean shakes his head. “Sam, are you jealous of soulless-you? ‘Cuz that’s just nine kinds o’crazy.”
“Is it? I mean, you never showed any sign of wanting that before, then I show up soulless and you’re all ‘Gimme some o’ that’…”
“Jesus, Sam, I can’t believe you.” Dean stares. “You think I only had the hots for you because you were soulless?”
“I couldn’t feel anything, Dean. Maybe it was easier for you that way.”
“I didn’t know that!” Dean sputters furiously. “I thought you were you! Ensouled you! I had no idea at first that there was anything different about you.”
“You said I was off from the moment you first saw me in Lisa’s garage,” Sam reminds him. “You knew there was something wrong with me but you didn’t let that stop you.”
“Because – Jesus fuck, Sam!” Dean pushes away from the counter and paces in front of Sam angrily. “It didn’t matter! I figured you came back wrong from Hell. Everybody does. But when you kissed me, I knew what I wanted. What I had always wanted, you get me? From back when you were you, like you are now. And if you were going to be wrong for the rest of our lives – which is what I figured at first – well, okay then. Didn’t mean I cared any less. Didn’t mean I wanted you any less.”
“How could you – how could you let me – even after you knew what was wrong with me – “ Sam feels tears smarting his eyes, blurring his vision.
“I don’t know.” Dean scrubs a hand over his jaw. “We were deep in it by then. I’d never felt so alive, Sammy. It was like I was reborn into a whole new world where there was more of you than I ever thought I could have, and I just wanted it all. I didn’t want to give it up. I couldn’t.”
“I couldn’t care about you.” Sam moans as he buries his face in his hands.
“Didn’t matter,” Dean insists. “I cared enough for both of us.”
Sam screws the palms of his hands against his eyes. “I was such a dick,” he mutters miserably. “I was just using you.”
“No, you weren’t,” Dean snaps. “We were having incredibly hot sex. Believe me, I enjoyed it. Didn’t feel used at all. If anything, you were the one who couldn’t fully consent. You were impaired, and I took advantage of you.”
“You like me better that way,” Sam accuses. “You won’t have sex with me now that I have my soul back. Except in your sleep, when you can dream that it’s that other me.”
Dean opens his mouth, then closes it again when Sam turns his face up. He knows what he looks like, knows his face is flushed and streaked with tears, his eyes wide and filmed with more tears. It’s his classic lost-puppy face. He’s just too miserable to feel guilty about it. He wants Dean to feel sorry for him. Sam needs his big brother to reassure him that nothing has changed between them just because he’s got his soul back.
Which is such a fucked up thing to worry about that Sam almost takes it back. He almost begs Dean to just forget about it, not to push him on the sleep-sexing thing.
But of course, Dean does.
“I had sex with you in my sleep?”
Sam takes a deep breath. Okay then.
“Three times,” he nods. “You gave me blow jobs while I was asleep. Well, I was asleep the first time. The second time I woke up half-way through.”
Dean stares, mouth hanging open in a perfect parody of the shocked look Sam gave him earlier. Except Dean’s lips parted like that make Sam flashback to the way they looked stretched around Sam’s dick, and suddenly he’s uncomfortably hard in his jeans.
“Damn,” Dean breathes. “I guess I was missing it more than I thought.”
“So you thought I was him? You thought I was that soulless guy you were used to having sex with?”
“What? No! I don’t know. I was asleep! I probably thought you were Karen Gillan.”
“Never mind.” Dean pushes himself away from the counter to head to the bottle of Johnnie Walker on the table. “I think I’ll have that drink now.”
He pours a healthy shot for Sam and a double for himself, swallows it down and pours another. Sam watches his throat move and flashes back to nipping that unshaved skin with his teeth, pressing his tongue to Dean’s adam’s apple and sucking on it.
Sam swallows down his shot quickly, slams his glass down so Dean can fill it again.
“The way I see it, the ball’s in your court, Sam,” Dean says after Sam swallows down his second shot. “I told you what happened. You know how I feel. You can tell I’m still hot for you, since apparently I’ve been jumping you in my sleep, for fuck’s sake. Jesus. You know you didn’t sleep when you were soulless, right?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “So I was a robot as well as a dick,” he notes, jaw clenched tight. “Great.” So he was watching Dean sleep. Not creepy at all.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d ever find out about what we did while you were soulless,” Dean admits, and he sounds sad. Sam looks up to find Dean standing right there in front of him, almost between his splayed knees. “And I was okay with that. Really, I was. Just having you back, all the way back, the Sammy I knew…It still feels like a miracle, man. It’s more than I deserve.”
Dean dangles his empty glass in one hand, reaches up to push Sam’s hair back from his face with the other, then yanks his hand back with a sheepish look when he realizes what he’s doing.
Sam grabs his wrist and Dean freezes, gaze flickering between Sam’s eyes and his mouth before dropping to his lap. His eyes widen comically when he sees the evidence of Sam’s arousal, and Sam surges to his feet, following Dean with his body as Dean backs away.
“I can’t stand to think about what I did to you when I couldn’t care about you,” Sam says as he grabs Dean’s empty glass out of his hand and slams it down on the counter. Dean’s backside hits the edge of the sink and Sam crowds in as Dean blinks up at him. “I keep having flashbacks of you and me together and it’s making me crazy. I wanted you for so long and then to finally have you when I was so fucked-up – “
“Sam – “ Dean gasps, his breath whiskey-sweet. Sam folds Dean’s arm up behind his back, still clutching his wrist. He curls his other hand behind Dean’s head. “It’s you I wanted. The real you. It’s always been you, any way I can get you – “
Sam slams his mouth down over Dean’s just to shut him up, just to stop Dean from making more excuses for what they did, for what Dean let Sam do when Sam couldn’t love him.
“How could you do that?” Sam demands as he devours Dean’s mouth, grinding into him when he feels Dean’s erection, rubbing his own against it through their jeans. Dean spreads his legs, kisses back, moans and grabs onto Sam with his free hand, trying to pull him closer. “How could you let me just fuck you like that, huh?”
“Felt right,” Dean gasps when Sam lets him up for air. “Felt pure. Like it was what I deserved for losing you.”
“No!” Sam moans as he mouths down Dean’s stubbled jaw. “No, Dean! Thinking about this is what kept me alive, in the pit! Thinking about you kept me sane…”
“I know, baby boy, I know,” Dean murmurs as he turns his face up, yanks Sam’s mouth down to his again.
“‘M just a slut for you, Sammy,” Dean pants as Sam’s mouth travels down his jaw. “Always. Your little whore, just like you said.”
“Fuck!” Sam cries as he comes, hard and hot and unexpected, visions of Dean writhing naked and desperate, begging Sam to fuck him, to use him, exploding in his head.
As he comes back to himself, Dean’s rubbing circles on his back, soothing him. Sam lets go of Dean’s wrist and slumps against him, hooking his chin over Dean’s shoulder as Dean holds him as well as he can, legs trembling only a little under Sam’s weight.
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispers, tears leaking down his cheeks. “I never meant to spoil things like that. Never meant for things to be so empty between us.” Sam pulls back, wiping at his face furiously, needing to face Dean so his brother can see his contrition. “I wanted our first time together to mean something.”
“It did.” Dean smiles up at him, reaching up to catch a fresh tear with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth with his eyes on Sam’s. Sam’s dick twitches ineffectually and his cheeks flush hot as he looks away. “It was hot. You were hot. You and me are hot together, with or without your soul.”
“That’s just sick,” Sam mutters, face breaking open in a bashful grin despite his tears.
“It’s true,” Dean shrugs. “But for the record, I like you better this way.”
“Yeah? You sure?”
“Uh-huh,” Dean nods, batting Sam’s hands away and taking Sam’s face between his own hands instead. “Absolutely. I always knew you’d cry after sex.”
“Shut up,” Sam ducks away to avoid the brilliant green of Dean’s eyes, too close now.
Dean’s always too close, knows him too well.
It’s the one thing Sam knows he can count on.
Sam cleans himself up while Dean feeds the fire and washes dishes. Dean pulls the mattress off the bed and drags it over in front of the fire, pushing the rest of the furniture aside.
“What?” He barks when Sam stops dead in the middle of the room and stares.
“Subtle,” Sam comments dryly.
“Why do you think I brought you here?” Dean snaps. “I don’t know about you, but it’s been six weeks, man. Long dry spell for me.”
“Maybe that’s why you keep giving me blow jobs in my sleep,” Sam suggests, and Dean scowls.
“Shut up and get over here, Sasquatch. I ain’t gonna ask twice.”
Sam’s clean and dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt after his shower. The fact that the cabin has its own well and running water is a kind of miracle, but Sam figures Dean planned that, too. He’s almost sure he’s never been here before, though, so that’s a win. Apparently he and Dean didn’t use this particular love-nest while he was soulless.
He’s never been so nervous in his life.
“So, you and me, we usually – I mean, I usually top, I think?” He can’t get over the images in his head.
“Shut up and drink some whisky,” Dean scowls. Sam complies before he knows what he’s doing, taking the offered glass from Dean’s hand so quickly and easily it’s like he’s been following Dean’s orders all his life.
Which, of course, he has. Which is why he’s both confused and frustrated by the flashbacks he keeps getting of them together. When he was younger and he imagined this, it was always with Dean in charge, definitely on top. Only in his deepest, most disturbing fantasies did he imagine it the other way, and that was almost too much for his teenage brain to handle.
Apparently his adult soulless self had no filter when it came to acting out those darkest fantasies.
“You weren’t very good at putting the breaks on,” Dean confirms as he knocks back his drink. He won’t look Sam in the eye, and when Sam takes a step closer, right into Dean’s personal space, his brother glances up at him with a startled expression that sends a shiver straight to his dick. Sam’s body knows what it wants, what it likes, even if Sam hasn’t quite figured out how to deal with that.
“When I was a kid, I always figured you – I mean, I always wanted you to just treat me like one of your girls, you know?” Sam admits in a rush because he can’t get it out any other way. Just admitting it makes his cheeks burn painfully, makes his hands shake.
“I know,” Dean nods. He grabs Sam’s glass and fills it again. Their fingers brush this time and it makes Sam’s skin tingle. “You told me. You liked to talk, liked to give me a rundown of everything you remember from our childhoods, like you were trying to convince me you were really you all the time.”
Sam winces. “I knew there was something wrong with me,” he says. “I needed you to help me figure out how to fix it.”
“Yeah, well, I did, didn’t I?” Dean glares up at him, defiant and beautiful, like he’s daring Sam to prove him wrong.
“Yeah, you did,” Sam nods, shoving the thought of Dean dead on the table in Dr. Roberts’ dirty operating room right out of his head. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Dean snaps. “Now, can we get on with why we came here? ‘Cause I’ve been missing my brother somethin’ fierce, man.”
And just like that, Sam understands. Dean needs the intimacy of sex not because it’s sex, but because it’s Sam. He’s been monogamous ever since that first day in Lisa’s garage because he finally had everything he needed. Even damaged by his time in Hell, Sam filled all the empty spaces in Dean’s life, including physical intimacy with the one person he loved more than life itself.
Poor Lisa never had a chance.
Sam takes their glasses and puts them down on the table, then he reaches for Dean without thinking about it, letting his body and his sense memories guide him. His heart pounds dangerously fast. He’s broken out in a light sweat. Despite the flashbacks and what they did in this room less than an hour ago, this feels new, feels like a first time, and Sam’s desperate to get it right.
He’s never felt such performance anxiety in his life.
Holding Dean in his arms is nothing like holding a woman. Dean’s all hard muscle and bulk and stubble. His voice is deep and his lips are chapped. Sam messed around with men in college – hell, Jessica insisted when she found out he was attracted to guys but hadn’t ever kissed one – but this is completely different because it’s Dean. It matters. He’s in love with Dean. Dean’s the most important person in his life.
“You’re thinking too much,” Dean mumbles against his lips, taunting him.
Sam gives a frustrated whine and wraps one arm around Dean torso, holding his head with his other hand as he pushes his tongue between Dean’s full lips, effectively silencing him. Dean stiffens up for a moment, but when Sam doesn’t let up he relents, welcoming Sam’s kiss, moving against Sam’s body so there can be no doubt he’s on board. Sam’s so sure this is how it went between them, all those times when he was soulless, that he perversely wants it to be different, wants to make himself small and young again so Dean can make love to him the way Sam wanted when he was a dewy-eyed kid.
“Want you to fuck me,” he gasps when he comes up for air. “Like I wanted when I was a kid. Can you do that?”
He can feel Dean hesitate so he pulls back, gazing down into Dean’s beautiful, flushed face. Dean’s eyes are half-lidded and his lips are red and puffy, slick with spit. He blinks and licks his lips, and Sam realizes with a shock that he’s put that sex-dazed look on his brother’s face. It’s Sam that’s done that.
“Yeah, yeah, okay, Sammy,” Dean says, his normally deep voice coming out hoarse and breathless. “Whatever you want. We can do that.”
Sam slams his mouth down over Dean’s in gratitude, kissing the hell out of his swollen lips as he holds the back of Dean’s neck with one hand, sliding his other hand down Dean’s back, feeling the tight muscles through his t-shirt. He’s not sure when Dean shed his jacket and flannel – probably when he started moving furniture – but Sam wants skin now. He wants to feel that smooth muscle under his bare hands.
Dean gets it. His hands push up under the hem of Sam’s t-shirt, rough and calloused against Sam’s bare skin. Sam gasps at the sensation, rucks Dean’s t-shirt up so he can do the same. They pull back from each other long enough to rip their t-shirts off over their heads, and the sight of all that smooth, freckled skin makes Sam weak in the knees. Sam reaches for Dean again and their mouths and bare chests crash together, the sensation of skin on skin making Sam crazy with need.
Sam moans as he runs his hands over Dean’s bare back, gets one hand on his ass while he slides the other hand between them, feeling for Dean’s pec. He gives it a good squeeze, pinches the nipple as Dean makes a surprised half-sobbing sound in his throat and tips his head back, baring his throat. Sam can’t get enough of Dean’s body, can’t yet grasp the fact that it’s really his. He wants more, licking and nipping his way down the long column of Dean’s throat as his hands squeeze and grasp at Dean’s pecs, his shoulders and back, his ass. Sam slides one hand down between their bodies and grasps Dean’s balls through his jeans, eliciting a deep moan that Sam can feel vibrating against his lips as he sucks at the juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder.
Sam’s suddenly desperate to get Dean naked. He wants to taste every inch of his freckled skin, knows he’s probably too desperate and eager to manage that yet. He starts to tug on the button of Dean’s jeans, then gives up with an impatient whine and stoops to gather Dean into his arms instead, sweeping him off his feet and onto his back on the mattress. Dean blinks up at him with wide eyes, the planes of his flushed cheeks half-shadowed in firelight, his eyes and lips glistening. He looks like something out of the hottest porno Sam’s ever seen.
“Thought you wanted me to top,” he says, and Sam huffs out a laugh.
“Yeah,” he nods, gesturing at his jeans. “Need you to take these off first. Gonna ride you.”
Dean swallows thickly and closes his eyes, reaching for the clasp. Sam can see the hard ridge of his erection, straining against the denim, and it makes his mouth water. When he gets his jeans open Dean thrusts his hips up so he can slide his jeans and boxers down over his ass and Sam can’t keep from helping. Dean rolls onto his side and Sam yanks the material down his long bow legs, pulls his socks off and tosses them away with the jeans, then Dean rolls onto his back again, naked and exposed and so vulnerable it makes Sam feel like crying. His gorgeous, larger-than-life big brother lays himself out for Sam like some kind of mythic sacrifice, like he’s always done, giving himself up for Sam in every way.
“Dean,” Sam breathes reverently, fingertips skimming along Dean’s hip as he gazes down at the feast of warm skin and muscle and so much more, on display just for him. For Sam.
“Shut up and get naked, bitch,” Dean commands hoarsely, like he’s already had a cock in his throat, like he’s already been taking it for a while.
“Jerk,” Sam murmurs fondly as he complies. He tosses his sweatpants into the pile with the rest of their clothes and straddles Dean’s waist, bending down to kiss him as Dean shoves a tube of lubricant into his hand.
“You want me to do it?” he asks, and Sam shakes his head.
“Nah, I got it,” he says as he kneels up and opens the tube, drizzling the contents liberally over his fingers. “Been waiting for this since forever.” He concentrates on the sensations as he opens himself up, inserting first one and then two fingers with studied impatience. He hasn’t done this in a while, at least not that he can remember. He’s fairly sure he never did it when he was soulless. But when he was a horny, desperately-in-love teenager, and even later when he and Dean got together again, it was his go-to fantasy. Jessica knew it and got him a dildo for his birthday that last year, presenting it with her special brand of innocence tinged with mischief. Sam hadn’t told her about Dean, but somehow she had known.
He hits his prostate and lets out a punched cry as the nerve shoots fiery tingles up his spine. He squeezes the base of his dick to keep from going off like a firecracker, waits for the moment to pass before opening his eyes.
Dean’s staring up at him with an expression Sam’s sure he’s never seen before. He licks his lips and smiles a little crookedly when he catches Sam’s eye. “Never saw you like this before, Sammy,” he admits, voice a little broken.
Sam nods. His soulless self was a taker, not a giver. It makes him flush with shame, the knowledge and flashbacks. Soulless, Sam was more interested in chasing his release than in giving pleasure.
But Dean reads him like a book and shakes his head. “No, no, Sam, you always got me off first,” he insists, stroking Sam’s thigh. “It was a point of pride for you, I’m pretty sure. You were a dick, but not a pig. Swear to God, brother. It was always good. Sex was not the problem.”
Sam clenches his jaw. It pisses him off that his soulless self couldn’t keep it in his pants. He feels like he’s playing second-fiddle to an act he can’t possibly hope to follow, much less compete with. It both frustrates and makes him more determined than ever to get this right.
He scoots back and concentrates on slicking Dean’s dick up, focusing on Dean’s hands as they clutch the sheets, on the softness of his belly and the heat of his dick in Sam’s hand. When he moves into position Dean strokes his thighs and tips his head back, lets Sam do the driving as he sinks down, letting gravity do most of the work once he gets the head of Dean’s dick past his rim.
It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, burning and cramping, sending sparks up Sam’s spine as Dean’s dick drags over his prostate. He lets out a barking gasp of pain and his knees buckle, making him lose his balance. He collapses into Dean’s arms and Dean’s dick slams deeper into him.
“Sorry, sorry, oh God, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles as he struggles to recover and adjust. Dean’s rubbing his back and taking his weight like a champ but it can’t be comfortable. He pushes up on his arms and gets his knees under him, barely managing to keep Dean inside him.
“Sammy,” Dean murmurs, stroking his thighs. Sam’s eyes are clenched shut, fighting the pain and discomfort, determination making him sweat.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he pants, forcing himself to relax, to adjust to the strange intrusion.
‘Sam, look at me,” Dean commands, and Sam does.
Dean’s flushed a rich golden pink in the firelight, from the tips of his ears all the way down his chest. His nipples stand at attention and his eyes are glittering with unshed tears. He’s so beautiful Sam forgets everything. He leans down to capture Dean’s soft lips and Dean slides his hands into Sam’s hair, soothing and messaging Sam’s scalp as the kiss deepens.
“You okay?” he asks when Sam comes up for air, and Sam nods.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” He moves a little and Dean’s dick hits his prostate again, shooting little shocky sparks through his back and down his legs, making his legs shake as he tries to push himself up again. This time when he sinks down it doesn’t hurt as much; his body is adjusting to the sense of fullness and is beginning to register pleasure instead of pain with each movement of Dean’s dick inside him.
Sam begins to rock a little, setting up a rhythm that clearly works for Dean because he gives a little breathy moan and thrusts up as Sam sinks down. Dean reaches between them for Sam’s dick and Sam grabs it away from him, jerking himself in time to Dean’s thrusts.
“That’s it, little brother. That’s it,” Dean rasps, voice tight like he’s holding himself back.
“Wanted this for so long,” Sam breathes.
“I know, Sammy, I know,” Dean croons, running his hands up Sam’s thighs. “Come down here.”
“Okay.” Sam leans down to kiss Dean again, and this time he finds some pleasant friction for his dick, hard and leaking between their bellies. Dean tangles his fingers in Sam’s hair and tugs as he thrusts, and Sam gasps as Dean’s dick hits his prostate again.
“That’s it,” Dean murmurs in his ear, nuzzling Sam’s cheek. “Gonna come now, Sammy. Need you to come too, y’hear me?”
“Yeah,” Sam gasps, propping himself up on one arm and jerking himself with the other so he can watch as Dean starts up a faster pace, hitting Sam’s prostate each time he thrusts up. Soon Sam’s gasping, sweat dripping down his temples to mix with his tears. “That’s it, that’s it, oh my God, Dean!”
“Yeah, oh yeah, baby boy, oh yeah. Oh fuck – “
Sam watches as Dean’s face goes still, eyes glazed and unseeing, lips parted, as he shoots warm and deep into Sam’s body. Sam gives his dick a couple of quick jerks, then he’s coming to the sight of Dean falling apart beneath him, to the feel of Dean leaving part of himself inside Sam.
As he starts to come down, Sam collapses to the side, pulling Dean with him. His entire body is a tingling, spangled mass of sensitive nerve-endings and he’s shivering almost as if he’s in shock. He’s vaguely aware of Dean’s dick slipping free, then of Dean pulling the blanket up over them, of Dean snuggling down facing him, pushing the hair back from his face. He feels Dean’s plush lips against his cheeks, his temple.
“Welcome home, little brother,” Dean rumbles, voice sounding normal again, sounding like the big brother he knows and loves. His Dean. Sam’s.
As he drifts off to sleep Sam thinks maybe he’s managed to forge something new between them tonight. Soulless Sam couldn’t give Dean what Dean really needed, the little brother who loved and looked up to him, who needed his big brother to ground him and be the other half of his soul. Only Sam with his soul intact could give Dean that.
The thought of one-upping that other version of himself makes Sam smile.