His brother's face.
"Sam? Sam? Come on, Sam, wake up. Oh Jesus. Come on, Sam. Please."
Dean's voice, but something off about it --
Sam blinked, clearing his vision, forcing the head-ache to the back of his consciousness.
The actor was kneeling on the floor next to him, his expression tight with worry, his skin pale and probably clammy with shock -- Sam reached up to touch his face, just checking, and yes, he was soaked in sweat, yet cold at the same time.
Jensen winced a little at Sam's touch, but didn't flee, and after the initial shock he actually leaned into Sam's hand, his eyes softening a little.
Sam's voice was hoarse, like he'd been screaming, and he cleared it as he watched Jensen's face, watched the actor nod and give him a shaky smile.
"Thought you were dead for a minute there," Jensen said. "Thought he killed you."
Sam shook his head, wincing at the pain, and pulled his hand back reflexively so he could rub his temple, cover his eyes for a minute.
"Nah," he said, voice still raspy and weak. "Not in the script, remember?"
He opened his eyes again, fighting the pain, and glanced around the room briefly.
"Where'd they go?" he asked, trying to sit up.
Jensen reached to help him, and Sam let him, allowed the familiar-yet-different feel of Jensen's arms and hands be his only comfort for now as he dealt -- or didn't deal -- with what was happening.
Jensen was shaking his head as he pulled Sam to sitting.
"I don't know, man. They just disappeared."
"Did he -- " Sam cleared his throat again, swept his hand through his hair. "Did he say anything to you?"
Jensen's eyes met Sam's, and they were so not Dean's it amazed Sam that he had ever thought they looked alike. Same green depths, same brush of freckles across his nose, standing out against his pale skin, but the resemblance stopped there.
Dean never looked so lost and terrified. At least not when he thought Sam was looking.
"He -- He said, 'I don't know whether I should kill you or thank you,'" Jensen stammered. "Then he said, 'Just keep him away from me.'"
When Jensen repeated Dean's words his delivery was spot on, sending shivers up Sam's spine; for the first time he could see the actor in his role, a role he obviously knew well and could slip into as easily as slipping on a over-sized leather jacket. It struck Sam that Jensen probably understood Dean better than anyone, besides Sam himself, and that they shared that, if nothing else. Which meant he intimately understood the bond between the brothers; he really got them.
It made Sam's head throb with pain, close his eyes and suck in a breath as he rubbed his temple.
Sam was vaguely aware of Jensen getting up, hurrying into the bathroom, muttering about finding him some pain relievers, and Sam pulled himself up on the back of the couch so he was standing on wobbly legs by the time Jensen came back, bottle of pills and glass of water in his hands.
"Thanks," Sam acknowledged as he took the pills, drank down the water, nodded at Jensen's worried look.
"Are you okay?" he asked again. "Did he -- did they -- How did you get here, anyway?"
Jensen's eyes grew wide and round again, his mouth trembled, and his skin got paler, if that was even possible.
"They came to the motel," he stammered, his voice breaking as he relived the terror. "They grabbed me and put me in the trunk of their car and brought me here. I -- I got away from them in the lobby and ran up the stairs -- "
"But -- how did they get into the motel room? I left it protected."
Jensen's gaze dropped guiltily.
"I -- I went out to get some ice," he admitted, shrugging a little and shaking his head. "It was stupid, I know. I didn't think they'd be right there, you know?"
Sam frowned, rubbing his head.
"They must have followed us, waited for you to come out," he speculated. "Dean must've sent them. Or Crowley. Dean obviously knew about you."
Sam rubbed the back of his neck, kneaded the sore muscles there, while Jensen watched anxiously.
"I could give you a back rub," he suggested. "I've had lessons in message therapy. I'm pretty good."
Sam raised his eyes, stared blankly at the actor for a minute, then shook his head.
"You are a really weird guy, you know that, right?" he said, not unkindly, and Jensen blushed, dropped his gaze to the floor, shifted his stance uncomfortably.
"I just think you could use a little stress relief right now," he mumbled apologetically, clearly embarrassed to be caught flirting -- or possibly flirting -- with the brother of his doppelgänger.
"What I need right now is to find my brother," Sam sighed. "Do you have any idea where he went?"
"Possibly," Jensen sounded dubious.
Because of course the story line was changed now, as Sam well knew, and Dean seemed to understand who Jensen was -- that the actor was full of intel about Dean's whereabouts and doings.
So if Dean didn't want to be found, all he had to do was deviate from the original script.
The whole thing was making Sam's headache worse.
For now, as much as Sam hated back-pedaling, it was obvious that the thing to do was to regroup and cut their losses. He let Jensen help him out of the room after meticulously searching for clues and finding nothing, of course. The demons had all checked out together, obviously following Dean's lead, and Crowley was nowhere to be found either. The lobby was strangely quiet without them, but Sam well knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was because Dean had given explicit instructions that they were to be left alone.
Nonetheless, Sam breathed a sigh of relief when they got to the car.
He tossed the keys to Jensen, unwilling to take a chance behind the wheel with his blurry vision and weak knees, and Jensen accepted the challenge with only a slight nod, much to his credit, mustering what looked like confidence as he slipped behind the wheel.
"You don't want to see what Dean's done to the Impala," he noted as Sam slid in beside him. "It's just about the saddest part of this whole thing. Well -- besides you, of course."
Sam was too tired and sick to respond; he slumped down in the seat, miserably rearranging his long legs into their least uncomfortable position, then leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.
Jensen must've had a pretty good sense of direction, or the GPS on his phone was still working, even if none of the numbers in it still did, which was just weird because who was paying the bill in this universe where Jensen Ackles didn't even exist --
Sam's headache was getting worse and worse, and he wasn't even aware when they finally pulled into the parking lot of the motel and Jensen came around to his side and opened the door, reached in to help him get out, pulled his arm over Jensen's shoulders so he could lean on the actor as Jensen slid his arm around Sam's waist. With the warm familiarity of Jensen's body pressed against him, of his hand on Sam's chest as he steadied him -- Sam found himself leaning into Jensen as he walked him into the motel room, laid him gently on the bed, removed his shoes and pulled the cover around him. Sam was drifting back into a fitful, painful sleep even as he was aware of Jensen standing over him, looking down with what Sam knew was a worried expression -- even without knowing the actor very well, he understood why Jensen would look at him that way, what made Jensen care in the first place.
Jensen cared because he understood Dean. And right now he understood how much Dean had hurt Sam, well beyond the blow to the head. Jensen could see the real blow was to Sam's heart.
Which explained the gentle fingers Sam felt in his hair, just skimming softly for a moment, soothing and sending him off the edge into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When Sam woke it was dark, his headache was gone, and a warm, familiar body lay sleeping against him.
Sam turned instinctively toward the comforting warmth, snuggling in and pressing his face against a cloth-covered shoulder. His sleep-addled brain screamed "brother," and when he tried to remember why it felt like it had been months since Dean was in his bed, he just couldn't. Didn't want to. Having Dean here was too important to think about too deeply, and the vague dull ache in his brain warned him not to think too much about it this time, to just be grateful.
Still half-asleep, he slid one hand up the warm expanse of chest -- Dean was wearing his tee-shirt and boxers, as he usually did -- and into the short, fine hairs at the back of his neck, holding his head so Sam could slide up and bury his face in the sweat-damp skin of his throat, breathing in deeply.
Sam was already hard, and as he slid one leg between Dean's he thrust a little against his hip, sending shock waves of need thrumming through his body and gasping out a low moan against Dean's throat. For some reason he couldn't remember he was still fully clothed, and Dean's near-nakedness pressed along his denim and flannel frame was sending serious lust-fogged signals through his body. That, combined with the certainty that it had been months since they'd last had sex -- didn't want to remember why that was, just be grateful he's here now -- made Sam harder and needier than he could remember feeling since he was a horny teenager.
Dean was awake now -- he was tipping his neck back to give Sam better access, and he was stroking Sam's arm where it lay across his chest. Sam lifted his head to look down into Dean's face, caught his eyes glistening in the gloom, the only light coming in through a crack in the curtain from outside. Dean watched Sam as he pulled off his shirts, dropped them off the side of the bed and Dean's eyes moved down over Sam's chest, his lips parting as his breath hitched. Sam leaned down to capture Dean's soft, full lips, sliding his tongue inside the wet heat of Dean's mouth, licking and tasting sleep and toothpaste and Dean, Dean, Dean --
Sam was thrusting and grinding against Dean's hip now, but it wasn't enough; he surged up, tearing his mouth away so he could reach down to unbutton his jeans and Dean watched him, helped him push his jeans down his hips, then kick them off, followed by his boxers, so that now Sam was the one who was naked against the thin cloth of Dean's sleepwear. Dean was staring at his cock, his mouth open, lips glistening with spit as Sam knelt between his legs, stroking himself as he gazed down for a moment, just drinking Dean in. When Dean's eyes finally raised to his Sam smiled, reading the awe and lust in his brother's gaze. He reached down and tugged at Dean's shirt, and Dean complied with the unspoken command, sitting up a little so he could pull off the tee-shirt, wiggle out of his boxers, letting Sam pushing him back onto the bed, spread out beneath him so Sam was still kneeling between his legs but now they were both naked.
Which is when Sam remembered.
Because of course Dean's chest was bare, lacking any scars or tattoos.
Because this wasn't Dean.
This was Jensen.
And Sam had known all along, wasn't really lying to himself; it was more like wishful thinking after those first few waking moments when reality sunk in and he remembered, but he keep pretending because Jensen was playing along the way only an actor could -- and really, it was pretty obvious Jensen wanted this, so it wasn't like he was manipulating anybody.
Well, except maybe himself.
But Sam was too desperate and grief-stricken to think straight, and things were pretty far along now anyway, so instead of stopping, as he might have done when he was a little more himself, he reached down and took Jensen's dick in his hand, giving it a few quick jerks, watching Jensen squirm and gasp, eyes flutter closed as his hands clutched reflexively at the sheets, tossing his head back to expose his neck.
Sam leaned down, still working Jensen's dick, and licked a long line up his chest, over one pink nipple, then the other, worrying them one at a time with his teeth and tongue while Jensen gasped and twisted under him, bucking up into his mouth. He let his teeth sink in a little harshly over the left one, marking the place where the anti-possession tattoo would be if this were really Dean -- just so Jensen knew, just so he understood.
And Jensen knew. His breath hitched when Sam's teeth sunk into his skin and his hand twisted a little as he jerked his cock, so that when Sam finally raised his head to look down into Jensen's eyes, there was understanding there.
Sadness too, which Sam wasn't expecting.
Jensen was grieving with him.
Which was so wrong Sam didn't even know how to respond.
"Goddamn it," he hissed, needing to punish Jensen for his presumption, but finding his cheeks suddenly wet with tears instead as he read the sympathy in the actor's beautiful eyes.
Oh this was so confusing. So wrong and so crazy in so many ways.
For a moment Sam stared down helplessly, feeling the grief building in his chest like a tidal wave of longing, building and building until he knew it would break forth and drown him any minute.
Jensen lay completely still, breathing still ragged, waiting patiently for Sam to decide whether he was going to fuck or weep, clearly okay with it either way.
For another minute Sam stared down at him, still holding Jensen's half-hard dick in his hand.
"Please, Sam," Jensen said softly. "Please fuck me."
And maybe it was his tone of voice -- sounding so desperate, the way Sam felt, or the way Sam had heard Dean's voice other times when he was being particularly needy and vulnerable and Sam just had to give Dean what he needed -- and it was so confusing but Sam was so done with trying to figure out why he was doing what he was doing, so done with THINKING about everything until his head hurt so that he could hardly think anymore, so done with being the brains of this outfit because there was no outfit anymore because DEAN HAD LEFT HIM GODDAMN IT AND WHAT THE FUCK!
And what Jensen was offering was -- what the hell was it? A pity fuck?
Whatever it was, whatever Jensen's motivation for offering it, it was obvious the actor wanted it. Clearly Jensen was asking for it and Sam had his permission to pretend he was making love with his brother if he wanted.
And Sam was just so done trying to figure this out.
Sam had the condom and the lube and was doing what he needed to do before Jensen had a chance to change his mind, not that there seemed to be much chance of that. From the way Jensen pushed back against Sam's fingers as he opened him up, there was very little chance he was really planning to object. In fact, it was pretty clear that Jensen had been waiting for this for a very, very long time.
Which didn't make sense but Sam was beyond making sense at this point.
As Sam's fingers pushed and scissored and thrust until they found the spot that made Jensen's whole body go taut like a bow-strong. Sam leaned down to capture Jensen's mouth as he worked his ass and his dick, capturing the actor's moans and gasps in his mouth, sucking and biting at his lips until they were red and impossibly swollen. Jensen pushed himself up on his elbows so he could follow Sam's kiss when he raised his head to gaze down Jensen's body, taking in the familiar planes of his chest and abs, his strong thighs spread wide. Sam watched his own hands working Jensen's dick and ass, watched his long fingers disappear into Jensen's hot, tight hole, glistening with lube.
Sam was hitting Jensen's sweet spot every time now, making the actor gasp and arch up against Sam's hand, his whole body going taut and shaking each time.
"Come on -- " Jensen stuttered, his voice low and breathy. "Come on -- I'm gonna -- Oh god --"
Sam let go of Jensen's dick long enough to slip on the condom and the lube, then lined himself up, pushing Jensen's knees back as he thrust past the tight muscle and into Jensen's waiting hole.
The tight heat hugging his dick was almost too much for Sam, and he went still for a moment, fighting the sudden tightening in his balls, the urge to come almost overwhelming. It had just been too long, longer than he'd gone without sex since --
Not thinking about that.
"It's okay -- it's okay -- " Jensen was whispering a litany of reassurances, and Sam looked down at him as the blackness receded again, watched Jensen's jaw clench and his hands scramble at the sheets as Sam pushed into him, slowly at first, giving him time to adjust, then sinking hard and sudden for the last few inches, hitting Jensen's prostate and eliciting an arching gasp from the actor and a small release of precome from his bursting cock.
"Okay, okay," Jensen murmured again, eyes flying open as Sam bottomed out, throwing his head back and exposing the tight muscles of his neck.
Sam bent down and pressed his mouth against Jensen's throat, just below his ear, sucking and licking at the skin as he began to move, rolling his hips back and driving into Jensen's body again. He felt Jensen's responsive shudder and it made Sam smile against his skin; Dean was sensitive there too, and his skin was just as silky smooth in that spot, same taste of salt and sweat and pulsing blood just beneath the surface. Sam lowered his belly against Jensen's dick as he started up a rhythm, fucking into him slowly at first, the muscles of his belly rubbing Jensen's dick, keeping his mouth on Jensen's neck, sucking in time with his thrusts until he hit his sweet spot again, eliciting a long stuttering gasp and another sharp arch of Jensen's perfect body. Sam took advantage of the space to slip his arm around the actor's back, hugging him tightly to increase the friction to Jensen's dick, raising his head to look down into Jensen's face, reading there the blissed-out expression Sam knew so well on his brother.
"Need you to come for me now," Sam murmured breathlessly, sliding his free hand along Jensen's jaw, curling his fingers around the back of his neck.
Jensen's eyes fluttered open, met Sam's with a startled look of recognition, then he went rigid in Sam's arms, grabbing onto Sam's biceps for support, his entire body shuddering as his eyes fluttered closed and his breath caught.
"Fuck -- "
The strangled cry tore from Jensen's throat as his dick twitched uncontrollably against Sam's stomach. Sam's eyes slid closed as his own orgasm built, crested in a shuddering moment in which time seemed to stand still and Sam was aware of his grief and love for his brother with such intense clarity that nothing else mattered.
He was vaguely aware of sobbing Dean's name as he came, tears slipping down his cheeks as he bent his head instinctively to capture those soft lips in his, to ride out his orgasm with the ghost of his brother's breath mingling with his.
In his half-conscious, heavy-lidded post-orgasmic state he heard Jensen breathing a single word into his mouth as he came down from his own orgasm.
Afterwards they lay tangled together, breath slowly returning to normal, until Sam had the energy to roll off and grab his tee-shirt off the floor, using it to wipe himself off and dispose of the condom, then wiping at the mess on Jensen's belly till Jensen covered Sam's hand with his own and rolled onto his side, pulling Sam's arm with him and hugging it to his chest, so that Sam found himself curled around Jensen's backside, effectively spooning him as Jensen snuggled, then fell promptly asleep.
Sam lay quietly against the actor's body, pressing his lips against the back of Jensen's neck, taking comfort from his warmth and familiarity, and wondering how things had gotten so fucking complicated.
On the one hand, he was grateful to have Jensen's company. He'd been alone for so long it felt like a kind of punishment, a self-imposed solitary confinement.
On the other hand, Jensen's presence made him miss Dean more than ever.
And getting him back to his own dimension would be harder than just reversing the spell he'd used to bring Jensen here in the first place. Sam had used serious black magic to get Jensen here. Getting him back -- returning Jensen to his own world -- that was going to take even more black magic. And Sam wasn't sure how far he was willing to go down that slippery slope, especially if it didn't have anything to do with getting Dean back in the first place.
Jensen was just going to have to get used to being here, for the time being.
Which made what they had just done tonight much more complicated than Sam had intended.
Not that he'd been using his upstairs brain much tonight anyway.
And who the fuck was 'Jay'?
Over breakfast the next morning, Sam found out.
They hadn't talked much when they woke up, avoided each other's eyes and took turns ducking into the shower, then headed to the diner together without talking much. For Sam, it felt weirdly normal, felt like any other morning after a particularly emotional night with Dean, when there was always a lot of macho posturing and denial and pretending nothing had happened.
But with Jensen it was different.
Jensen was nervous, Sam could tell, but also determined to play out the scene the way Sam wanted, giving in to Sam's lead. So if Sam didn't start talking about it, Jensen wasn't going to bring it up.
Sam finally figured he'd better say something.
"So -- " Sam cleared his throat, shifted uncomfortably on his side of the table.
Jensen looked up, startled, like a deer caught in the headlights, green eyes huge over the rim of his coffee cup.
Sam put his fork down, pushed his plate away. Okay, they'd managed not to talk for well over an hour now, and if it wasn't going to become impossible, it had to stop now. Sam knew that from years of living with Dean, and this didn't feel that different.
"So I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that 'Jay' is the other actor, the one who plays me," he suggested.
Seemed like an easy enough way to start the ball rolling.
Jensen blushed to the roots of his hair, looked down at his coffee and didn't look up again.
"Yeah, I guess," he finally admitted in a low, rumbling voice that was like a salve on Sam's jangled nerves.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment, trying to tamp down the lust suddenly stabbing through his gut.
Because he actually fucked this man. Could probably do it again if he wanted.
"Okay, so I'm gonna guess you're carrying a torch for the guy, am I right?"
Jensen winced, still not looking up, but he hesitated a moment too long before shaking his head.
"No," he mumbled against his coffee cup. "He hates me."
"But you don't hate him," Sam suggested. "And like the song says, there's a thin line between hate and you-know-what. So I'm guessing you have a giant crush on this guy, and his feelings for you are a lot more complicated than you think."
"No!" Jensen looked up, wild-eyed and shuddering. "He can't stand me. Says I make him sick. He likes to hurt me when nobody's looking. He's a sadist."
Oh God, Sam thought, really not wanting to get into the details.
"Okay, but I heard what I heard, and last night you called his name when you -- " Sam sucked in a breath, closed his eyes for a minute. "So what I'm saying is -- last night wasn't just about me and Dean. There was something in it for you."
"Of course there was something in it for me," Jensen scoffed with feigned incredulity. "Hot sex."
Sam felt his mouth tighten, an automatic response when Dean made a bad joke or bluffed his way out of a serious topic, the way Jensen seemed to be doing right now.
"Huh," Jensen huffed incredulously, and Sam looked up and stared.
"What?" he demanded, trying to tamp down on his irritation.
"You really make that face," Jensen said with a smirk. "It's a real thing."
What the fuck?
"It's adorable," Jensen said, keeping his voice low and intimate.
"Okay, here's the thing." Sam struggled to gain control of the situation without bitch-slapping the actor, but it was proving to be pretty challenging. "We're gonna track down every lead you have, okay? Give it a week. If we don't find Dean, I'm taking you back to bunker, finding a spell to send you home. You got me? That's the plan.
"And we're getting you an anti-possession tattoo. That's final."
Jensen was still smirking, and it was doing incredible things to his eyes.
"I love it when you take control, Sammy," he said in that sultry voice of his. "Makes me all warm and tingly inside."
Sam stared, shock washing through him like ice water.
"And you may not quote my brother to me!" Sam bellowed. "You get me? Off limits. And don't --" He closed his eyes, grappling with the lust and annoyance battling in his belly. "Don't ever call me that. Okay? Are we clear?"
Jensen held Sam's gaze another minute, then looked down as he gave a little roll of his eyes, pursing his lips and nodding once.
"Got it," he said. "No Dean impersonations."
"Come on," Sam said as he pulled out his wallet, effectively ending the conversation before he did something stupid like suggesting they go back to the motel for a quickie before they hit the road, which Sam did NOT WANT with every fiber of his being, goddamn it. No sir. "Let's get you that tattoo."
He got up and headed toward the door, totally missing the look of shock on Jensen's face as he got up to follow.
Green River was a truck-stop, so it stood to reason there'd be a tattoo parlor. Sam let Jensen hold his hand as he sat in the chair next to him with his shirt off so the tattoo artist could copy Sam's tattoo.
"Now Jared will really hate me," Jensen whined as he let Sam lead him on wobbly legs back to the car. "And my career is over. I will never work again. No one will ever hire an actor with a tat from his previous job on his chest. I'm done for."
"You're welcome," Sam muttered with a roll of his eyes.
The car was already packed and ready, so they didn't speak again for some time, but the silence wasn't quite so tense now. Sam was relieved to confirm that Jensen's attraction to him was at least partly about "Jay," which somehow made their relationship less about meaningless sex and more about unrequited love and (in Sam's case) deliberate substitution.
It was still pretty fucked up, of course, but what part of Sam's life wasn't?
So Sam turned his attention to the job, letting the other thing go for the time being while Sam focused on finding Dean.
After a long, hot day of tracking leads, interviewing witnesses who may or may not have remembered seeing a guy who looked like Jensen -- and yeah, it was helpful having a live carbon copy to pull out instead of a one-dimensional photograph -- it was already clear that the trail was cold. Despite Sam's best efforts to remain professional, to treat this like any other missing persons case, by the end of the day he was exhausted and frustrated and no nearer finding Dean than he had been before Jensen appeared.
When they stopped for the night near Albuquerque it was so hot that even with the air-conditioning blasting at top speed they were both sweating. Sam pulled off his clothes and grabbed the first shower, then sat down on the bed with his laptop, clad only in a pair of boxers. He pointedly ignored Jensen as long as he could, distantly aware of him taking his own shower, then coming out also wearing only a pair of boxers, rustling through his duffel for a clean bandage.
When Sam looked up, Jensen was standing at the foot of the bed, bandage in one hand, bottle of antiseptic in the other, looking miserable.
"It hurts," Jensen pouted accusingly, and Sam rolled his eyes.
"Here, let me do it," Sam reached for the bandage and bottle, and Jensen reluctantly gave them to him, then stood as still as he could while Sam cleaned and re-bandaged the wound, staring at Sam's chest the whole time.
Sam stood back finally, satisfied, and Jensen turned his face up, lifted his eyes to Sam's, and Sam stifled a gasp.
Jensen's eyes had a fine film of tears over them. Water clung to his long lashes, and his parted lips were red and plump, his face with its high cheekbones and fine nose seemed thinner, almost delicate.
Nothing like Dean, Sam realized. Nothing at all like his rugged, tough-looking big bruiser of a brother. How he had ever seen a resemblance he couldn't imagine.
Sam's hand came up of its own volition and cupped Jensen's cheek, slid along his jaw and behind his neck, letting his thumb brush along the bone under Jensen's eye. Jensen put his hand over Sam's and leaned his face against it, closing his eyes.
"You're bigger than Jared," he said softly. "You have bigger muscles. Everywhere."
Sam looked down at Jensen's chest, his slim hips, his rounded ass and bow legs.
"Well, you're smaller than Dean," he said. "All over."
Jensen's pink tongue slipped out and ran between his lips as he opened his eyes again, looking up at Sam expectantly.
So fucked up, was all Sam could think as he lowered his mouth to Jensen's.
Jensen actually moaned as Sam kissed him, then stepped closer, sliding his hands up over Sam's chest and across his shoulders, down his back.
Jensen's hands were soft, sensitive, only callouses on the fingertips of his left hand, and Sam decided then and there to spend more time exploring -- to learn the differences intimately.
But right now Sam's sweat-damp skin was shooting sparks at Jensen's touch, and any idea that this would be something slow or gentle just went bye-bye because Jensen was stepping closer and it was freakin' hot and Jensen was hotter.
Okay, well at least this time he could tell them apart, Sam thought as he nipped and sucked at Jensen's mouth. Then Jensen's arms were around him and they were pressed chest-to-chest and Jensen made a tiny hurt sound in his throat as his bandaged tattoo rubbed against Sam and the sound was like a siren call straight to Sam's dick. He was instantly hard as a rock and growling into Jensen's mouth, then his hands were scooping the smaller man's perfect round ass, hefting his body up against Sam's, and Jensen spread his legs and let Sam pick him up, wrapping his legs around Sam's waist, his arms around Sam's shoulders, burying his hands in Sam's hair.
Jensen was lighter than Dean, now there could be no doubt, another difference that somehow comforted Sam and made this a little more okay. But Sam was kissing soft full lips that felt just like his brother's, and Jensen was a good kisser, no doubt about that. Sam could do this for hours, something Dean rarely allowed, and suddenly the possibilities were hitting Sam like a mac truck and he was walking toward the bed, Jensen still wrapped tightly around him, mouth still glued to his. When they reached their destination Jensen slid down, spread himself out on his back on the bed.
And damn it if Sam didn't follow him, taking only a minute to divest them both of their underwear, gazing down at Jensen's body with rapt attention to detail, mapping out every difference, finding smooth skin where Dean's body was scarred, skin that was pampered and well-cared for instead of Dean's rough surfaces, muscles that were used to massages and tai-chi instead of hard labor.
Well, Sam had left a few marks, and now the tattoo made a permanent one. Jensen was already different, and if Sam could figure out a way to send him home, he doubted things would ever be quite the same again.
"Stop thinking," Jensen admonished, sounding so much like Dean it brought tears to Sam's eyes.
"We shouldn't be doing this," he said in a rush, before he had time to think he probably shouldn't. "It's just so messed up and I miss Dean so much -- "
"I know," Jensen said softly. "It's okay."
He reached up, tucked Sam's hair behind his ear in a gesture of such simple affection it made Sam's heart flutter.
The sex was better this time, if that was possible. Jensen was so willing and Sam was so desperate and it felt so damn good to pretend to have his brother in his arms again that Sam couldn't stop himself if he wanted to. It didn't hurt that Jensen had prepped himself in the shower, so he was loose and open and had obviously been hoping for this and Sam pushed easily into his waiting body, long moan of longing and homesickness ripping from his throat as he sank balls deep with a single thrust.
When he lifted his head to look down Jensen had his eyes closed, long lashes fanned out over his pale cheeks, skin so soft and smooth there, plump lips parted as he panted, nostrils flaring. His head was thrown back, exposing his neck, turned so Sam could just lean down and suck at that delicate spot below his ear.
It didn't take long for Sam to find the right angle, to pull gasps and grunts from Jensen's throat, and when Sam reached down between them to jack Jensen's dick, the actor arched up so Sam could slip his arm around his slim waist, hold his body close as he thrust, quickly finding the rhythm that gave Sam the response he needed.
It was wrong on a lot of levels, and maybe it was that wrongness that finally sent Sam over the edge, reminding him of those early days when he and Dean first admitted their feelings to each other, when they first started doing this and the wrongness of fucking his brother was hotter than it should be but somehow part of who they were, and that was the thing that was right about it.
Which never made sense because it really didn't need to. Sam and Dean together was just this timeless thing, beyond anything, outside the laws of man or nature.
As Sam's orgasm surged through him he pulled Jensen's body against him, accidentally rubbing his sore chest and eliciting a moan that was half-hurt, half-pleasure as Jensen came in his hand, spurting warm fluid all over their chests and bellies.
Sam lay still for a few moments afterwards, breathing hard, listening to the rattle of the ancient air-conditioner and grateful for the air moving on his overheated skin, drying the sweat and semen.
He was vaguely aware of Jensen getting up to go to the bathroom, then coming back with a warm, wet washcloth, cleaning him up carefully.
Sam reached for him when he was done and Jensen climbed willingly back into the bed, curled himself around Sam's body, tucking his head under Sam's chin, pressing his lips against Sam's chest.
As Sam drifted off to sleep his brain was doing that thing again, making him sure it was Dean's body curled up against him, Dean's warmth comforting him and letting him sleep, Dean's breath on his overheated skin, right over his heart.
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