Title: (I’ll Stop the World and) Melt With You
Other Pairing(if applicable): none
Warnings/Spoilers: Older Sam/Younger Dean (Sam is 34, Dean is 18)
Summary: Sam time-travels to the year 1997 and finds an 18-year-old Dean in need of a little instruction.
Art: Live Journal
Story: Live Journal | Ao3
A/N: The setting of most of this story is Northern Nebraska, 1997. Sam travels back in time from 2018, sometime in the second half of Season 13 before the finale. All hail to siennavie my amazing artist, the mods of this year’s wincestbigbang, and my beta, kat humms. Y’all are rockstars!
“Wanna head back to my place? Share a bottle of Wild Turkey and watch a movie?”
“Nah.” The kid chuckles nervously and shakes his head. He might be only eighteen, but he wasn’t born yesterday. He knows a proposition when he hears one. “I gotta get home.”
“Tomorrow night, then.” Sam shrugs, noncommittal. “If you’re still in town, I mean.”
They’ve already covered the basics over two games of pool and a six-pack of beer. Each. Dean’s story is the one he used to give every hustler in every bar in every small town they passed through, back when Dad dumped them in a motel for a few days while Dad hunted something. Dean’s already dropped out of school, or at least he never bothered to enroll when they hit this two-bit excuse for a town in northern Nebraska.
It’s the spring of 1997, and Dean’s hustling pool—and possibly other things—to put food on the table for himself and his thirteen-year-old brother.
Sam used the magic closet in the bunker to time-travel here from the future. Two-thousand-eighteen, to be exact. He’s been checking on Dean off and on for the past five years, making sure younger versions of his brother survive into adulthood. It’s a bit of an obsession, actually, since Sam’s living with the evidence that Dean did, in fact, survive their childhood.
But once he started checking in on Dean regularly, he couldn’t seem to stop. He’s not even sure anymore if maybe being there isn’t changing things. Maybe he already saved Dean from certain death (or worse) a dozen times already, just by time-traveling.
At any rate, Sam can’t seem to stop. It’s an addiction, if he’s honest with himself, which probably isn’t often enough. It’s an obsession, watching this kid who isn’t really his brother, thinking things he probably shouldn’t.
Dean’s a little tipsy, but Sam can tell he’s just feeling loose, not smashed. Sam’s already scoped the joint, made sure there’s nothing more dangerous than Sam himself between here and the motel. Dean should be fine.
“Come on, I’ll walk you out to your car.”
Dean’s eyes widen, and Sam almost misses the brief look of distress that crosses the kid’s face. Sam’s being a dick and he knows it; being Dean’s annoying little brother is too ingrained. Sam knows damn well Dean hasn’t inherited the car yet. He knows it’s a bone of contention because Dean had hoped his Dad would give it to him for his eighteenth birthday. Sam’s rubbing it in.
“That’s okay.” Dean gives that nervous chuckle again. “I’m hoofing it tonight. It’s just a couple of blocks.”
“I’ll walk you, then,” Sam offers. Before Dean can protest, Sam takes his arm and presses into his side, steering the kid toward the front door. He can feel Dean stiffen at first, then lean into him, and it breaks Sam’s heart how easy this is. Dean doesn’t even resist as Sam hustles him out into the cool spring night. It makes Sam slightly nauseous to think Dean’s let other guys do this, but the way Dean’s leaning into him, breath quickening, tells him this isn’t Dean’s first rodeo.
That thought makes Sam see red. He hauls Dean around the corner of the building and shoves him up against the wall, holding him there with his forearm across Dean’s chest, pinning Dean’s body with his own.
Dean licks his lips and leaves them parted, keeping his eyes down submissively, and Sam huffs out a breath.
“You’re not even going to fight me,” he growls. He shoves his thigh between Dean’s legs, feels the thick length of the kid’s erection.
Dean gasps softly. “Do you want me to?”
His eyes flutter open, deep pools of dark green in the light from the parking lot’s only streetlight as he stares up at Sam, expression somewhere between defiance and challenge. He’s shivering in the night air. Trembling.
“You can’t let some random guy in a bar just do this to you!” Sam protests, shaking the arm that holds Dean for emphasis.
Dean’s gaze drops to Sam’s mouth and he licks his own lips, making them glisten. “Do what?” His voice is hoarse, like he’s already imagining choking on Sam’s dick. “You haven’t done anything yet.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sam pushes back, releasing the boy.
Dean should run. Sam would let him.
Instead, Dean slumps against the wall, breathing hard, looking up at Sam through his long eyelashes, lips unnaturally swollen and damp.
“I could be some kind of monster, Dean!’ Sam says. “I could be some evil son-of-a-bitch who was just waiting to get you alone, and you let me drag you into a dark alley with nobody around to hear you scream. What is wrong with you?”
“Maybe I like to live dangerously.” Dean smirks.
“Oh my God, do you want me to rape you?” Sam’s so indignant and horrified he can barely breathe.
“No.” Dean says. “But I got a feeling that’s not the kind of guy you are. You might be dangerous, but you’re not evil.”
“But how do you know? How can you tell what I want?”
“What I want is your big hands all over me, Steve, or whatever your name is,” Dean says, stepping closer, right into Sam’s personal space. “Think you can handle that?”
He tips his chin up, eyes closed, lips parted, and somehow the streetlight falls at an angle, giving his beautiful face an other-worldly glow.
Sam gasps. He feels be-spelled, unable to resist the urge to take Dean’s face in his hands and lean down to kiss him. A deep moan wells up from his chest as he tastes the alcohol and peanuts on Dean’s lips, along with a hint of something sweet like candy.
Dean pushes himself against Sam, slides his hands around Sam’s waist and yanks their hips together. They don’t quite line up; Sam’s dick gets squashed against Dean’s stomach. Dean opens his mouth and lets Sam in, tangling their tongues together, dirty and desperate.
“God, you shouldn’t let me do this,” Sam protests as he breaks away from Dean’s mouth to kiss along his jaw. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“Yeah, I do,” Dean whispers. “I know who you are.”
“What?” Sam pulls back, stunned.
Dean’s face is flushed, his lips swollen. He looks drugged. Sleepy. Unbearably gorgeous and young.
“Yeah, you’re that guy I keep seeing everywhere,” Dean says. “The one I can’t get out of my head.”
Oh. Sam relaxes a little. He’s tried to be subtle, careful, but sometimes he can’t help making eye contact with Dean across a crowded bar or a convenience store aisle. It’s too tempting, and always satisfying because Dean blushes so beautifully.
“Aren’t you worried that I’m a stalker? Don’t you think it’s a little creepy that we keep running into each other? More than just coincidence?”
“Nah,” Dean grins crookedly. “You’re a friend of Dad’s. That’s good enough for me.”
Sam’s eyebrows go up in surprise. He didn’t think Dean had seen him, that time he and John had beers together in Tuscaloosa. He hadn’t felt the usual prickly sixth sense he gets whenever Dean’s in the room.
Apparently, his sixth sense didn’t always work, here in the past.
“Not sure your dad would approve if he saw us right now,” Sam says, and Dean ducks his head. Sam can tell he’s blushing.
“Don’t care,” Dean says roughly, yanking on Sam’s belt-loops as he grinds their bodies together, tips his head up again. “Now shut up and kiss me.”
So Sam does. He kisses Dean long and thorough, and Dean kisses back. It’s good, like it always is with Dean, but even that thought worries Sam.
“Wait,” Sam pulls back again, and Dean frowns. “Have you ever done this before? With a guy, I mean.”
“Yeah, sure I have,” Dean says, a little too quickly.
Sam knows Dean. Knows when he’s lying.
“Never?” Sam presses. “Not even a hand-job for money?”
Dean flushes, shakes his head. “That’s different,” he says.
I knew it, Sam thinks, and it makes him want to cry. Makes him want to punch John Winchester the next time he sees him, wishes he’d done it when they’d had beers together. He’d thought he was finally having a chance to get to know his dad, man to man. He’d set aside his resentments for that, but now he wishes he’d laid into the man instead.
“Damn it, Dean, if you were my son...” Sam begins, then stops himself when Dean’s eyes widen and he takes a step back.
“Be careful what you say about my dad,” Dean warns. “If you think for one minute that he’s to blame for anything I did...Well, you’d be wrong, is all. I did what I had to, and if that meant that sometimes I had to do something that wasn’t exactly legal, that’s on me. My dad’s got nothin’ to do with it.”
“You were a kid.” Sam shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have had to do those kinds of things in the first place. Da - Your dad should’ve provided enough money so you didn’t have to.”
“Listen, mister, my dad’s a hero,” Dean growls. “He raised us right, made sure we knew right from wrong. He always took care of us. Always!”
“Your dad neglected you,” Sam says. “He left you alone to fend for yourself too much. Loaded you up with too much responsibility. That wasn’t right!”
Dean’s eyes flash with anger and his hands curl into fists. “At least he’s not out stalking boys half his age,” Dean spits out fiercely.
Oops. Oh yeah.
“Whoa, hey.” Sam puts his hands up, placating. “You’re right. You’re what, eighteen? And I’m almost thirty-five. Gross, huh? You must think I’m such a creep.” Sam feels shame burn hot in his chest, his cheeks. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he backs away, eyes darting along the ground, the wall, anywhere but the face of the boy in front of him. “I should go.”
Dean takes a quick breath. “Don’t you dare.” He reaches out and grabs Sam’s arm, desperate and impulsive, and Sam looks up in surprise.
“I’ve been waiting for this for too long,” Dean says, fierce but no longer angry. “I never knew I could feel like this about a guy. I never did before I saw you for the first time. I mean, I love girls. Lots of girls. A lot. But I never cared about guys before I saw you. So what does that even mean? You’re the only guy I ever wanted to...you know. I mean, if I swing both ways, that means I’m supposed to like lots of guys, right? Like the way I like girls?”
Sam takes a deep breath, pulls his arm out of Dean’s grasp. “I’ve let this go on too long,” he says. “I really shouldn’t have come here. It was wrong. I’m sorry. I know you’re confused, and it’s my fault. You’re not ready to face a lot of things yet. You need to wait till your brother’s older...”
“My brother? What’s my brother got to do with this?”
Damn it. He’d never meant to go there. Must be the alcohol. “Never mind. Look, Dean, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have let this happen. I have to go.”
Sam backs away again, keeping his eyes down so he doesn’t have to see the look on Dean’s face.
“What? Wait! You can’t just walk away! When will I see you again?”
Sam shakes his head as he turns, begins to slouch away toward the motel.
“Goodbye, Dean. Have a good life. You’re gonna be fine.”
“Hey! Stop! Damn it, man, if you leave... If you chicken out on me now, I swear I’ll bone the first good-looking dude I find. See if I don’t!”
Sam hesitates. He’s in a bind. He can’t stay. He just can’t. If Dean finds out who he really is and why Sam is the only man he wants to sleep with, it’s a disaster. In his timeline, Sam’s pretty sure Dean doesn’t remember this, so it must not have happened.
But on the other hand, if Dean makes good on his threat...Sam feels his hands clench into fists at the thought of another man taking what’s his, not to mention Dean throwing away his gay virginity on a man who can’t care about him like Sam does.
Sam feels sick at the thought of some other man fucking his brother, of Dean gritting his teeth and taking it because he’s trying to prove to himself that what he feels for some random stranger is real. Dean’s bi-sexuality is a little limited, but he doesn’t know that. He assumes his attraction to Sam means he’ll find other guys attractive someday, even though Sam knows otherwise. But he can’t tell Dean that, so Dean will experiment. Of course he will. He’ll try anything once. Some things more than once.
This is so fucked up, Sam thinks. He never intended his visits to the past to mess things up so much.
“All right, hold on a minute.” Sam turns back, hands up in surrender. “There’s something you should know, something you should have considered when you first saw me.”
“So you saw me talking with your dad,” Sam begins. “You must have figured out that he and I have something in common.”
Dean stares blankly, then realization dawns. “You’re a hunter,” he says, and Sam nods.
“So you and I both know what’s out there. I could have been a shapeshifter, or a werewolf, or any number of monsters you probably haven’t even heard of or know exist.” Sam takes a deep breath, lets it out slow. “You can’t just let some random guy take you out back of a bar like this. You don’t know if I’m even human, Dean! I could be anything, and you know it.”
“So you were just trying to teach me a lesson, is that it?” Dean clenches his jaw. “You thought you needed to show me what an easy mark I am? You weren’t after a little roll in the hay, you’re just being a boy scout, is that it?”
“Well, fuck you!” Dean takes a step back, clenching his fists, face screwed up in a mask of rage. “I’ve killed more monsters than most hunters twice my age, maybe more than you! And I know how to watch my own back, damn it. I could tell you were human because I put holy water in your beer and I let my silver ring brush your hand when I took the pool cue from you. I’m not an idiot, Steve. I know how to handle myself.”
Sam purses his lips to keep from smiling. Dean’s indignation is adorable. At the same time, Sam can remember looking up to this version of his brother as if he were some kind of god. The truth is, Dean at 18 is already an experienced and deadly hunter, just as he said.
But he’s also a young man who is fairly innocent in the ways of the world.
“If you won’t give me what I want, I’m going to find somebody who will,” Dean repeats fiercely, as if he hadn’t already run out of steam, as if he can fool Sam with a show of bravado that he obviously doesn’t feel.
Dean’s fear of rejection is written all over his face, no matter how he puffs out his chest and puts on his tough-guy pout. It’s a look designed to tug on Sam’s heart-strings, to make Sam want to take Dean into his arms and save him from the world he’s destined to face.
Until he can do that, Sam’s damned if he’s letting this kid get himself into any real danger by letting some stranger fuck him.
“Okay, look.” Sam shifts awkwardly, anxious but determined at the same time. “I’ll give you what you want, on one condition.”
Dean’s eyebrows go up and his face relaxes into its former eager hopefulness. “Yeah? What?”
“You don’t do it with any other guy,” Sam shakes his head. “Especially for money. Deal?”
“Yeah, okay,” Dean agrees too easily, and Sam frowns.
“I mean it, Dean. I will check up on you. And I will know, okay?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Dean says. “It’s not like I’m interested in anyone else. And there’s lots of girls, man. Not like you’re making me swear off sex altogether.”
Sam winces. He remembers how jealous and miserable he felt as a teenager, watching Dean go out night after night, knowing he was hooking up with some random girl. In some ways, it’s a stupid promise to exact from this younger version of his brother. But it makes him feel a little better, knowing Dean won’t put himself in danger or be used by some nameless jerk in that way, at least.
“Okay, come on. We can go to my room.”
Dean hesitates, and Sam can see the doubt flickering in his eyes. Rubbing off against a potentially dangerous stranger in a public area is one thing; letting himself be locked into a private room with that stranger is another. Dean’s instincts are good, and Sam’s grateful for that.
“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” It sounds lame. Sam’s just been lecturing Dean about how he shouldn’t trust him. Now he’s telling him he should.
Dean frowns. “No, it’s not that,” he says. “I just need to check on my little brother.”
Oh. Right. Thirteen-year-old Sam is waiting for Dean in the room on the end, the one closest to the bar. Sam doesn’t remember this night, but he knows Dean’s habits. On those nights when he found a reason to stay out all night, he always came back to check on his little brother first.
Sam hovers in the doorway as Dean turns off the TV, shakes his little brother awake from his seat on the floor at the foot of the bed, where he’s fallen asleep watching a nature film.
“Nerd,” Dean murmurs affectionately as he helps little Sam into the bed furthest from the door. Young Sam’s wearing a ragged t-shirt and hand-me-down sweatpants, his bare feet small and pale. Dean pulls up the covers, runs his hand over the boy’s head. “I’ll be right next door. You need anything, you call, okay? It’s room...?“ Dean looks up at Sam.
“One-nineteen,” Sam provides, fighting an odd sense of déjà vu as he watches Dean with his younger self. Dean’s careful and tender, easy and relaxed. It makes Sam ache to remember how safe he felt at this age, how sure of his big brother’s care and attention. He hadn’t yet started to rebel, to hate Dad for making them live this way, to resent Dean for blindly following Dad’s orders.
“One-nineteen,” Dean repeats, tucking the blankets up under his little brother’s chin. “Just two doors down. Okay?”
“Okay,” Sam hears his younger self mumble, sleepy and young-sounding. His voice hasn’t yet dropped. “‘Night, Dean.”
It makes Sam’s chest tighten, hearing Dean address somebody else with such tenderness. A wave of homesickness washes over him, and suddenly he wants to go home, to be loved and cherished, to be the youngest person in the room again.
Dean rises and turns toward him, and Sam draws back from the doorway, waits as Dean looks back at his little brother one last time before closing the door.
“You’re so good with him,” Sam can’t help saying.
Dean shrugs. “He’s my brother,” he says, like it’s that simple.
And it is, in a way, but it’s also so much more. Dean doesn’t see it now because he’s still so young, but Sam knows. Dean was always much more than a brother as Sam was growing up, and Sam’s amazed that Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He accepts the burden of responsibility for his little brother’s upbringing without resentment or bitterness. Dean’s selfless in a way that has always impressed Sam, even when he didn’t really understand it. Now, watching him as he leaves his little brother for the second time that night, after checking to be sure the salt-lines are in place and Sammy is as safe as he’ll ever be without Dean in the room with him, Sam falls in love with him all over again.
“Hey. We don’t have to go through with this tonight. We can just hang out, watch a movie...” Sam’s nervous again.
“Dude, are you kidding me?” Dean crowds up against Sam, runs his hands up under Sam’s jacket, making Sam shiver. “You seriously wanna pass on this ass?”
Sam rolls his eyes, turns away and fumbles in his pocket for a credit card. “Yeah, okay, Romeo. Let’s get you inside before somebody sees us.”
Sam jimmies the lock on the door of the room he isn’t actually renting. Dean chuckles, low and dirty.
“You’re squatting?” He almost whispers, peering around Sam’s arm to watch. “In this dump?”
Sam shrugs. “Wasn’t really planning on using the room much.”
“So you didn’t expect this,” Dean comments as Sam opens the door. “You just got lucky.”
“Fucking you was not part of my plan tonight, no,” Sam agrees as he steps into the room. He’s vaguely irritated, like he always is when Dean turns on his idea of charm and wit. He doesn’t need to. Sam’s already smitten.
But of course Dean doesn’t know that. Wouldn’t believe him if Sam told him.
And of course Dean doesn’t feel the same way. He can’t. He doesn’t even know the stranger standing in front of him. He’s just having another one-night stand, one out of the dozens he’s probably already had, out of the hundreds he’ll have over the next twenty years or so.
Sam’s barely closed the door before Dean’s on him, crowding in and pushing his hands up under his jacket again, turning his face up to be kissed.
“Then tonight really is your lucky night,” he mumbles with his trademark smirk just before Sam’s mouth crashes down and kisses the smirk away.
Dean tugs and pulls on Sam’s jacket so he sheds it, followed by his shirt, managing to keep their mouths together the whole time. When Dean’s hands slide under Sam’s t-shirt he moans, breaking contact and taking a step back so he can yank the t-shirt off. Dean watches with dark, hooded eyes, lips swollen and damp, glistening in the dim streetlight through the curtains.
“Now you,” Sam demands as he kicks off his boots and unbuckles his belt.
Dean’s skin is smooth and creamy, his body almost perfectly proportioned. He’s not as muscular as he’ll be later in life, but he’s already fully formed and as tall as he’ll ever be. The only visible hair on his body is the dark thatch around his fully erect dick. In the dim light he seems even paler than usual, firm and solid like a marble statue.
Sam drops his pants and steps out of his boxers, hops on one foot to remove his socks. Once they’re both completely naked they stand staring at each other, and Sam searches for any sign of panic or hesitation in Dean’s expression.
Dean licks his lips as his eyes travel down Sam’s body. They widen when he takes in the size of Sam’s dick, flicking up to meet Sam’s eyes. Sam reads the anxiety there and smiles.
“You’re topping, Dean,” he says. Just like always. “It’s easier that way, the first time.”
Dean nods, visibly relaxing as he peruses Sam’s nakedness again.
“Like what you see?” Sam can’t help asking. Usually Dean’s talkative when they do this, full of snarky little jabs designed to get Sam all worked up. The older version of his brother wouldn’t let Sam’s comment go, would need to say something equally mocking.
“Hell yeah,” Dean grins. “You’re built like a fuckin’ Greek god, man. What’s not to like?”
Sam shakes his head fondly. “You’re impossible.” He feels himself blush.
“What? You don’t think I’m hot?” Dean’s sudden insecurity is so adorable Sam can’t help himself. He steps close and lets his gaze sweep down Dean’s body, watching his dick twitch as Sam takes it in his hand. Dean lets out a shuddering gasp, eyes sliding closed, head tipping back as his mouth falls open.
“You’re gorgeous, Dean,” Sam answers. “You know that.”
Dean moans as Sam kisses him. His hands slide over Sam’s hips and up his back. Sam keeps one hand wrapped around Dean’s dick, jerking him slow as he cradles Dean’s head with his other hand.
Dean presses in close, trapping their dicks and Sam’s hand, smashing their chests together. “Want those big hands all over me,” Dean murmurs as he tears his mouth away.
Sam obliges. He pulls his hands free and sweeps them down the smooth muscles of Dean’s back. He bends his knees a little so he can mouth along Dean’s cheek to his ear.
“You like that, huh?”
Dean crowds in between Sam’s legs, rubbing himself against Sam’s hip. When Sam’s hands slide down over the two perfect globes of Dean’s ass, the kid growls.
“That’s it, big guy. Want you to take handfuls o’ me, just like that.”
Sam kneads Dean’s ass as he runs his tongue along the shell of Dean’s ear. He takes Dean’s earlobe between his teeth and bites just hard enough to make Dean gasp. Dean digs his fingernails into Sam’s back, and Sam knows he’s leaving marks. Sam licks the tender spot behind Dean’s ear, then latches on, suckling at the soft skin until he knows he’s left his own mark. Dean moans, tips his head to the side to give Sam better access, and Sam goes to town on Dean’s neck, sucking possessively, bringing one hand up to hold Dean’s head where he wants it, and Dean moans again.
“Love the way my skull fits into one of those big hands,” Dean gasps. “Bet you could crush it with just one hand.”
“Jesus, Dean, don’t say that.” Sam shivers, takes Dean’s head in both hands so he can kiss his mouth, just to shut him up. It occurs to Sam that Dean’s getting off on the danger, that he knows he’s being reckless just being alone with Sam. He doesn’t know Sam would never hurt him, no matter what his instincts tell him. No matter what Sam says. He doesn’t know Sam.
It makes Sam’s heart ache, thinking about how little Dean values himself, that he would risk his life this way for a little pleasure, that the risk is what turns him on. Sam wants to tell Dean again and again that he would never hurt him, but he knows Dean won’t hear him. The thrill for Dean is in the possibility of being overpowered, not in the actual experience. Even older Dean, who knows Sam would never hurt him, uses that fantasy to get off, just as Sam fantasizes about being little and cared for again, like the child sleeping two doors down.
Before Dean can stop him, Sam drops to his knees on the dirty motel carpet and takes Dean’s dick in his mouth, swallowing it down in a single movement, wrapping his hand around the base to keep Dean from coming too soon.
“Fuck!’ Dean cries. His legs tremble and his hands scramble for something to hold onto, finally settling in Sam’s hair. “Jeezus Fucking Christ!’
Sam looks up, waits for Dean to stop cursing and look down at Sam, smirking around his mouthful of cock. Dean’s had blow jobs before, but Sam’s are better. Sam knows that because Dean’s told him so. Sam’s mouth is bigger than a girl’s, and his throat opens without gagging, as if he was born to suck Dean’s dick.
When Dean’s eyes finally meet Sam’s they’re almost black with lust. He’s breathing hard with the effort not to come, but something he sees makes him lose it anyway. He squeezes his eyes shut and goes rigid, holding his breath as he comes, long and hot, down Sam’s throat.
“Shit,” Dean exhales as he starts to come down. Sam milks him through the aftershocks, licking up the last little spurts of come as Dean’s dick softens. “Damn. Oh my God, I’m sorry. Oh fuck.”
Sam stands quickly and gathers Dean into his arms, kissing him deeply so that Dean can taste himself. Dean’s always sleepy after an orgasm; he feels warm and pliant as he slumps against Sam’s chest, kissing with lazy movements of his tongue and lips.
“Best damn blow job ever,” he mutters as Sam’s lips trail across his cheek to his ear.
You always say that, Sam almost says. “You’re too easy,” he murmurs instead.
Dean’s so relaxed Sam wants to pick him up bridal style and carry him to the bed, just to see if this younger version of his brother would allow that. He starts to bend his knees to get an arm under Dean’s knees, but Dean’s got some kind of sixth sense about what he’s about to do. He puts both palms flat on Sam’s chest and shoves, just enough to put a little distance between them.
“You want me to take care of that?” Dean gestures at Sam’s neglected cock, stumbling a little. He’s so blissed-out with post-orgiastic satisfaction it’s comical.
Sam grins wide before he can help himself, shaking his head in a last ditch effort to hide it.
“Oh wow, man,” Dean breathes. “You’re really pretty when you smile.”
“Shut up,” Sam says, but he’s grinning even wider despite himself. “You’re drunk.”
“On you,” Dean grins, wide and relaxed and beautiful. “I think I could keep getting gay blow-jobs forever, man. That was amazing.”
“No!’ Sam puts out a hand on instinct, looks down to find it pressed against Dean’s chest, over his heart. “No, that’s not a good idea. Most guys, they just want to fuck you. Jerk off on you, make you suck them off. Going down on you is the last thing they’ll do.”
It’s probably a lie, but Sam doesn’t care. He doesn’t want Dean thinking he can get this from anyone else, ever. It’s always been their thing, and Sam intends for it to stay that way.
Dean blinks up at him. “Okay,” he says, adorably agreeable. “If you say so.”
“I do,” Sam nods. “And no, you don’t need to reciprocate. I promise. Why don’t we just lie down for a while and...I don’t know...maybe we could cuddle?”
Dean frowns, as if he’s trying to decide if he’s being ridiculed. This is clearly not his idea of how gay sex is supposed to go. But Sam knows that Dean loves to cuddle. Sam has the advantage because he knows Dean, and he feels a momentary twinge of guilt about that.
Whatever Dean decides, Sam’s being a manipulative little bitch of a brother, and he knows it.
Sam’s room contains a king-sized bed and the closet he used to travel here. When he first arrived, earlier this evening, he didn’t have a plan, other than checking on Dean from afar, as he usually does. But when he saw the bar across the parking lot and caught a glimpse of young Sam in the room two doors down, watching TV by himself, Sam couldn’t resist. He hadn’t planned to be Dean’s first gay lover, but now that it’s happening, it’s almost like it was meant to be.
Sam crowds in close, eyes locked to Dean’s as he takes him in his arms to kiss him again. He backs them up to the edge of the bed, pushes Dean down on his back and climbs on top of him, spreading the young man out on the bed as if it’s a table and Dean’s a feast of pale, creamy skin and muscle.
As he gazes down at this younger, more vulnerable version of his brother, Sam’s overcome by an instinct to protect him that’s so powerful it’s an aphrodisiac all it’s own. He pins Dean’s wrists up over his head, kisses along the soft flesh of the underside of one arm to his shoulder, leaving another mark as he sucks the tender skin. He slides his hands down the equally soft flesh of Dean’s sides as he kisses along Dean’s collarbone, starts down his sternum to the tight little nub of his nipple.
Dean hisses. “Thought we were gonna cuddle.” His voice hitches.
“This is better.”
Sam suckles Dean’s nipples one by one, worrying them with his lips and teeth as Dean gasps and writhes beneath him. Sam rubs his stubbled chin over the sensitive nub and Dean bucks and cries out. Sam smiles against the skin as he soothes it with his tongue and lips.
“You like that,” he murmurs. As he well knows. When he does it again, Dean shoves his hands into Sam’s hair and pulls, letting Sam know how good it feels.
Sam leaves a smiling trail of kisses down Dean’s sternum to his belly, burying his face in the soft flesh. Dean keeps his hands in Sam’s hair, stroking, messaging his scalp, pulling and tugging when Sam rubs his stubbled cheek against Dean’s tender skin. It’s a new sensation for Dean, and Sam can feel him processing the fact that he’s in bed with a man. It’s different, but good.
Sam just wishes there was a way to let Dean know that it’s good because it’s Sam, not just some random dude he picked up in a bar.
Dean’s dick is half-hard again already, and Sam shakes his head at teenage stamina and recovery rates. He leaves it alone for now, kissing down around it to Dean’s hip and inner thigh. Dean spreads his legs to give Sam better access, and Sam sucks another hickey into the junction of Dean’s thigh and hip, right over his femoral artery. He pushes Dean’s leg back and nips down the perfect peach of Dean’s asscheek, making Dean squirm and moan, making his dick twitch. Sam leaves a kiss on Dean’s ball sac, pushes it out of the way with his tongue so he can lick Dean’s perineum. Dean gasps, grabs behind his knees to pull himself open, giving into the sensations as Sam had known he would. Sam’s not sure that Dean’s never had a girl do this to him, but Sam’s determined to make this time memorable. He licks over the furled rim of Dean’s hole, then blows on it, watching it tighten as Dean clenches the muscle.
Sam glances up Dean’s body, notes that his dick is hard and leaking. Dean’s eyes are squeezed shut, his lips wet and parted, his head thrown back on the pillow to expose the pale expanse of his neck and chest, unbearably smooth and free of scars. The sight of his big brother so open and vulnerable, not yet broken by the events of a future he’s not yet lived, breaks something in Sam. He feels tears smarting in his eyes as he presses his face into the musky flesh between Dean’s legs and pushes his tongue into his hole.
“Fuck!’ Dean moans, then keeps up a string of profanities as Sam suckles him, rubbing his face into the sensitive flesh, kneading his asscheeks with both hands. When Dean’s wet and loose, Sam inserts a saliva-slick finger along with his tongue, lets Dean feel the stretch and burn, making sure it’s just enough to keep Dean on the edge of discomfort without being painful. When he hooks his finger just right Dean cries out, bearing down on Sam’s finger in an obvious signal to Sam to do it again, so he does.
“You like that,” Sam notes with a satisfied smile as he withdraws so he can climb up Dean’s body to kiss him, deep and dirty. He grabs hold of his dick to stop the sudden urge to come all over Dean’s unscarred body, more pleased than he dares to admit for exposing Dean to the pleasures of anal stimulation. The surprised, happy look on Dean’s face is all it takes to assure Sam that he’s never done that before.
Suddenly all Sam wants is to get Dean inside him, to show this younger version of his big brother just how good this can be.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs against Dean’s lips. He gets up to grab some lotion from the bathroom. Dean’s got condoms in his jeans pocket, just like always.
Dean doesn’t move from the way Sam left him, so when Sam returns he stops short for a moment, just to drink in the sight. Dean looks debauched, bow legs spread open delectably, skin flushed with pleasure and splotched with hickies from his neck to his inner thighs. One of his feet is planted flat on the bed, revealing Sam’s stubble burn between his legs, and his hole looks wet and loose. Used.
“Here, put this on, then slather your dick with this while I open myself up,” Sam instructs, handing Dean the condom, then taking a handful of lotion for himself before he tosses the bottle to Dean.
Sam climbs onto the bed, straddling Dean’s hips, reaches around and starts fingering himself open, keeping his eyes on Dean as the boy slicks up his throbbing dick, eyes at half-mast, panting as he watches Sam. Dean reaches out and touches Sam’s dick impulsively, as if he can’t help himself. He curls his lotion-slick fingers around Sam’s dick and tugs tentatively.
Sam gasps, closes his eyes for a moment and clenches his body, fighting the urge to come with everything he’s got. When he’s in control again, he closes his hand around Dean’s and tugs it free, wrapping it around his own dick instead as he takes a deep breath.
“Need you inside me first,” he breathes, his voice strained and shaky.
Dean nods, swallowing hard. Sam keeps his eyes on Dean’s as he positions himself over Dean’s dick, holding Dean’s hand, and together they guide Dean’s dick to Sam’s entrance. Sam sinks down in a single, determined motion, holding himself steady and sure.
The sudden burn and stretch takes his breath away, makes his eyes tear up, but he doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated and his breath starts up in short pants, chest heaving in an effort to adjust.
“Fuck,” Dean whispers.
“Yeah,” Sam half-laughs, half-sobs. He leans down for a kiss and Dean tips his chin up to meet it. Sam grinds down and Dean thrusts up, tentative at first, then with more confidence as Sam moans with the unique sensations of fullness and pleasurable discomfort this position always gives him. When Dean’s dick hits his prostate Sam cries out.
“You okay?” Dean strokes Sam’s thighs, his hips, making Sam’s skin tingle.
“Yeah,” Sam pants, holding himself up on arms that are trembling with effort. “It’s a little awkward this way. It’s easier if you’re behind me, but I like being face-to-face.”
“Me, too,” Dean murmurs, brushing the hair back from Sam’s face. “I like watching you ride my dick. Gorgeous like this, man.”
Sam huffs out a laugh, pretty sure he’s a sweaty mess right now, but the soft look in Dean’s eyes isn’t fake. Dean really, really likes what he sees, likes being the source of Sam’s pleasure.
Sam kisses Dean deeply, partly because he needs it and partly to take away that look because it’s not for him, for Sam. It’s for Steve the Stranger, and right now Sam wants to kill the guy, wants all of Dean’s soft looks for himself.
Dean’s figured out that every time he thrusts up at a certain angle, Sam reacts by nearly passing out with pleasure, so now he’s doing it every time, with every thrust, and pretty soon Sam’s lost track of everything except that tingling shocky sensation up his spine. He’s probably making ridiculous noises, probably looks stupidly drunk or high, but he’s too overstimulated to care. Dean’s making little low encouraging sounds, praising Sam and showering him with compliments, and when his fingers wrap around Sam’s dick, Sam cries out.
“That’s it, big guy,” Dean croons softly. “You gonna come for me? Huh? I think you are. Oh yeah.”
Sam’s orgasm surprises him, like so many things this night. He nearly blacks out with the force of it, barely remembers to hold himself up to avoid crushing the boy beneath him. Dean murmurs encouraging words as he milks Sam through the aftershocks, then pushes on his shoulders to get him to roll over. Sam gets it, wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and rolls with him so that Sam’s on his back, Dean still buried deep inside him. He holds one of Sam’s legs open with his shoulder, tangles their fingers together with the other hand, and thrusts vigorously, chasing his own orgasm while Sam lies blissed-out and loose beneath him.
“Gorgeous,” Dean pants. “So gorgeous.”
Sam knows he must look as wrecked as he feels, but he doesn’t let that bother him. Dean watches him, lips parted and damp, smiling a little as if he likes what he sees, as if he’s proud of getting Sam off with so little effort.
Dean can’t know how he’s been doing this to Sam since Sam was a teenager and wore Dean down with begging for it, but it’s as if no time has passed. Sam might as well be that young kid, full of passion and teen angst, willing to do violence to get what he wanted, to force Dean to give in to his demands.
Of course it never came to that. Dean wanted it too, wanted Sam with the all-consuming obsession of a man who had never loved anything the way he loved his little brother. Dean’s heart and soul had always been Sam’s, so giving his body over as well didn’t seem like much of a stretch, barely felt like crossing a line at all.
Sam’s vaguely aware of Dean’s body going still, of his dick twitching deep inside Sam as he comes. His own dick gives up another weak spurt as Dean’s throbbing dick gives up its load; he feels Dean’s lips against his collarbone, his hands tugging on Sam’s hair.
Sam passes out afterwards, only coming to when Dean’s dick slip free as he rolls off.
They lie side by side, breathing hard, and Sam has just started to drift off to sleep when he feels Dean getting up. Sam reaches out to stop him, grabs Dean’s forearm.
“I’m just getting rid of the condom,” Dean says. “Not going far.”
Sam drifts off to the sound of Dean running the sink in the bathroom. He wakes up to feel the bed dipping with Dean’s weight as the younger man sits down on the bed next to him, a warm washcloth in his hand. He washes Sam’s belly and chest with it, and it feels familiar because Dean always does this. He drops the cloth on the floor afterwards for Sam to clean up later, and Sam almost bitches about it before he remembers.
Sam lifts the sheets and blankets in invitation and Dean scoots underneath, then pulls them up to Sam’s waist. Sam slides a welcoming arm under Dean’s shoulders, pulls him in so Dean snuggles along his side, head on Sam’s shoulder, one leg tucked between Sam’s under the blanket. He slides his fingers through Sam’s chest hair idly, rubs his thumb over Sam’s nipple till it’s hard and peaked.
Dean’s obviously wide awake, thinking. Processing. Sam rubs his thumb along Dean’s shoulder, turns his face into the top of Dean’s head and breathes deep.
“I can hear you thinking,” Sam says, and Dean gives a nervous chuckle. Self-consciousness, Sam thinks. He’s still feeling so young and inexperienced compared to Sam. “You’re not having second thoughts about this, are you?”
“Huh? No.” Dean shakes his head but keeps it on Sam’s shoulder, so Sam can’t see his face. “No way. It’s just weird, you know? I just had my first big gay fuck, and I didn’t even know I was gay until today.”
“You’re not gay, Dean,” Sam shakes his head. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But you like girls. That means you’re bi.”
Dean pulls himself up, slides his body along Sam’s until he’s almost on top of him, gazing down into Sam’s face. “You made me promise not to do this with other guys, but you’re leaving today, am I right?”
It makes Sam’s heart hurt, but he nods. He can’t stay. Dean doesn’t need him anymore, not really. He’s an adult now. Sam’s done the job he set out to do.
Plus, it would be foolish to prolong this, to risk Dean actually falling in love with this older version of his brother. That would confuse things too much, and not just for Dean. Sam’s already feeling the twinges of guilt that tell him he’s gone too far, that what they’ve done here tonight constitutes a time-traveling version of infidelity. He can never tell his Dean what he’s done, but even hiding it from him makes Sam feel like he’s breaking some kind of law. Their law.
“I can’t stay,” Sam says. “I’m on a job.”
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em,” Dean says. “That’s the life, my dad says.”
He brushes the hair back from Sam’s face and leans down to kiss him, slow and gentle and perfect, a kiss meant to convey longing and regret and goodbye. Dean’s probably given a thousand of these kisses, by the time he’s Sam’s age.
Sam watches as Dean gets up, slips into his clothes. It makes his heart hurt, but he understands. Dean hates being left, so he’ll always do the leaving if he can. That’s why he wouldn’t settle in Sam’s arms and go to sleep. He was afraid of waking up to find Sam gone, and that would feel too much like being abandoned. Again.
“Come on,” Sam throws back the blankets, reaches for his own clothes. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”
Dean raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. He waits till Sam’s fully dressed, then heads out the door with Sam at his heels. Sam leaves the door unlocked this time, knowing he’ll be back.
Outside, the night has turned stone cold. It’s that darkest time of night just before dawn. The air is still and frigid and unmoving, and the only sound is a lonely hoot owl, far off across the field behind the motel. The lights are off in the bar, and the only thing open is the gas station across the street with its all-night convenience store.
Sam shivers, pulls the collar of his jacket up around his neck. It was warmer in Kansas. He shoves his hands into his pockets to keep from grabbing Dean, pulling him back in for one last kiss.
“Maybe I’ll see you around,” Dean offers as they stop outside his door. It’s silent inside, and Sam’s pretty sure the younger version of himself is sleeping the deep sleep of a child, well-loved and mostly well cared for. He was luckier than he realized at the time. Now that Dean’s 18 he can get jobs, be a good provider even when Dad’s not around. He’s got a pocket full of cash won off Sam in the bar earlier.
Dean never has to know that Sam let him win, deliberately didn’t play his best game. But Dean’s good. He’ll always be able to beat anyone else, if they’re stupid enough to play him.
“Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”
Sam smiles. “Maybe,” he agrees. Now that the moment of parting is imminent, he doesn’t want to leave, and he can tell Dean feels the same. It may be cold, but they’ll prolong this another minute or two, just because.
“Dad says this part of the country is crawling with ghosts,” Dean says. “People have been doing wrong to each other for centuries out here.”
“Yeah, he’s not wrong,” Sam nods. He takes a deep breath, shifts his feet awkwardly. Sam’s got something to say, and it’s now or never. “You know, someday, when your brother tells you he doesn’t need you, when he leaves you because he thinks he can make it on his own, don’t believe him, okay? He’s just being an idiot.”
Dean blinks at the change in subject, and Sam shakes his head. He’s not sure why it felt so important to say that to Dean, but it does.
“He needs you, just as much as you need him. Maybe more. He’s just stubborn, likes to pretend he’s independent and strong enough to live without you. But he isn’t. Believe me, he isn’t.”
“You got a brother you’re missing?” Dean asks, perceptive as he often is when it comes to Sam.
Sam smiles. “I lost him for a while, but he’s back now. It’s that first separation that was the hardest, though. It almost broke us.”
“I left him because I loved him too much,” Sam says. “I thought I wasn’t good for him. Figured he’d be better off without me. Figured I could build a life without him.”
Sam shakes his head. “But I was wrong. Turns out, we belong together, fighting the good fight, for as long as we can. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Dean nods. “Sometimes, brothers just need a little distance from each other,” he says. “I get that. People grow up, they change. Me and my brother, the way we grew up, we’re kind of attached at the hip. Our dad’s always moving us around to keep us safe or to chase after some monster. We never stay more than a few months in one place, never long enough to make friends or settle down. It’s just us.”
Dean stares off across the parking lot, and his eyes fill with pain. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Sam decides to take off on his own someday, just to get away from me.”
Sam swallows hard, wishing he could take Dean into his arms, assure him that’s never going to happen.
They watch as a truck pulls into the convenience store parking lot and stops. Just a lone driver looking for a little shut-eye.
Dean blinks up at Sam and huffs out his nervous little chuckle. “Here I am going on and on about me and my life. I hardly know anything about you. Did you and your brother grow up in the life, too?”
“Yeah, we did,” Sam breathes. “It wasn’t always easy, but we had each other, you know? We still do.”
Dean nods, leans back against the wall with his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. “I feel like I can really talk to you,” he says with a wistful smile. “Like you’re somebody who gets it.”
“We have a lot in common, that’s for sure,” Sam nods. “Although, truth be told, I’m probably more like that little brother of yours.” He tilts his head toward the door to the room where little Sam lies sleeping, oblivious. “And I’m telling you, if he ever tells you he doesn’t need you, he’s lying. So try not to take it personal, Dean. He’ll always come back to you. Always.”
“Yeah, I know.” Dean’s bluffing, not really feeling the confidence he projects. Sam knows it, but Dean doesn’t know Sam knows it. The conversation is getting too personal, too close to home. “Hey, I gotta go.”
Sam accepts Dean’s dismissal with a short nod. “You take care of yourself,” he says, stepping back. “Don’t always give it all to that little squirt in there. Keep something for yourself.”
Dean nods. He’s got his hands in his own pockets, probably feeling the cash there. “You do the same,” he says. “Stay safe. Let us know if you ever need back-up.”
Dean starts to turn away and Sam just can’t help himself. He surges forward and grabs Dean by the lapels, hauls him in for one last kiss.
Dean melts into him, opens up to Sam, kisses back with all the desperation and passion of a young man who hasn’t yet learned how rare these moments are, who thinks there are hundreds of potential lovers like Sam out there.
When Dean pulls back, Sam presses his lips against Dean’s temple one last time before letting him go.
“Don’t forget your promise,” Sam murmurs.
Dean gives a little smile as he fits the key into the lock and opens the door. He doesn’t look back as he slips inside and shuts the door softly, leaving Sam standing alone on the walkway.
Sam stands still another minute, listening. He hears a high, sleepy voice mumble something he can’t hear, then Dean says, “Hey, Sammy. It’s just me. Go back to sleep.”
Sam heads back to his room, fighting the tightness in his chest, already looking forward to returning home to his brother.
“Where ya been?”
Dean’s in the library, nursing a beer and watching an old Western on his laptop. He’s got his feet up on the table, ankles crossed, and anyone else would think he’s relaxing.
Sam knows better.
“What you are talking about?” Sam bluffs. “I’ve been in my room.”
“For six hours?” Dean looks at his watch, lifts an eyebrow.
Sam shrugs, glances toward the kitchen. “I got lost in the book I was reading,” he says. “Then I got hungry, so here I am. Do you want anything?”
“I already ate. But you go ahead. Knock yourself out. And when you want to tell me the truth, I’ll be here.”
Sam’s hackles go up. It’s an automatic response to his brother’s distrust, but it’s also guilt for being called out on a lie.
Dean knows him too well.
Sam clenches his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, doubling down because Dean’s making him feel like that time when he was a little kid and Dean caught him eating some cookies that he found in the dumpster out back of the motel. “I was in my room the whole time.”
Dean takes his feet off the table and closes his laptop.
“Oh, sure you were,” he nods. “And I’ll bet you spent some time in that magic closet of yours, too. Don’t lie to me, Sam. I checked on you a couple of hours ago. You weren’t in there, but the closet door was open.”
“You were spying on me?” Sam clenches his fists.
“It was suppertime. I was trying to feed you.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Sam takes a deep breath.
He knows how important regular meals are to Dean. It’s Dean’s way of trying to inject some normal into their crazy lives. It’s Dean’s way of caring for Sam.
“I’ve been feeling a little down over losing Jack, worrying about Mom. Time-traveling makes me feel like I’m doing something.”
Dean shakes his head. “It’s just a sign of how weird our lives are that that makes any sense at all.” He pushes himself to his feet. “So when did you travel to?”
“Nineteen-ninety-seven,” Sam mumbles as Dean leads him into the kitchen. He slides into his seat at the table as Dean pulls a plate of food from the refrigerator and puts it in the microwave to reheat. “We were staying in that truck-stop motel off the interstate in Northern Nebraska. Remember?”
Dean’s still got his back turned, but Sam can see his shoulders tense. A little tingle of anxiety darts up Sam’s spine as he waits while Dean gets another beer from the fridge, opens one for Sam. When he finally turns to hand it to Sam, he nods.
“I remember. Steve.” He lifts his deep green eyes to Sam’s and Sam blushes, ducks his head.
“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d remember so I didn’t do the spell.”
Just after he discovered the time-closet, Sam had found a spell for erasing the short-term memories of anyone they encountered while time-traveling, or anyone they brought here from the past, just in case. Just to be safe.
The microwave dings and Dean takes the plate out, lays it down in front of Sam with a knife and fork. It’s roast chicken with broccoli and mashed potatoes, the whole deal. Dean’s really outdone himself. Again.
“You didn’t want me to forget you,” Dean observes.
Sam winces, takes a bite of his potatoes. They’re good. Dean’s cooking is always good.
“I didn’t want you to forget what I said. There’s a difference.”
“No, there isn’t,” Dean argues, shaking his head.
“Did you?” Sam lifts his head, meets Dean’s eyes. This time Dean it’s Dean who flinches, annoyance flashing in his eyes as he takes another sip of his beer.
“Maybe,” he acknowledges finally.
Sam’s chest tightens and he slams his fork down. Dean starts, eyes flying wide.
“Damn it, Dean! I tried to warn you!” Sam sucks in a breath, steadies himself. It hurts more than knowing Dean reneged on his promise, the idea of him with another guy. “When?”
“While you were at Stanford,” Dean says. His voice is deep, soothing. “There was a guy who reminded me of you, in a bar.”
Sam frowns as it hits him, as he remembers. “That was me,” he says. “From 2013, right after we moved in here.”
Dean shrugs, tiny smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “He was hot,” he says, taking a sip of his beer.
Sam watches Dean’s lips as he drinks, his throat as he swallows. His face collapses in a grin as he looks down at his plate, his dick swelling in his jeans.
“I was just trying to save you some pain,” he says around a bite of chicken.
“You did,” Dean acknowledges. “Both times. By the time we hooked up in that bar in Texas I’d already figured out what Steve meant when he said there’d never be anybody like him – like you – for me.”
“When did you figure out he was me?”
“I think part of me knew at the time. It just seemed crazy enough to be true. Then I thought about it again after you and me...“ Dean waves his hand between them. “You know. And when you visited while Sammy was at Stanford, I thought about it again. But I didn’t know for sure till we moved in here and found that crazy closet of yours.”
“We should burn it,” Sam sulks, pushing his broccoli around the plate before stabbing a floret and delicately nibbling on it.
“Nah, you keep it,” Dean says. “You need to time-travel once in a while, take your mind off how mixed-up things are in the present, I ain’t gonna stop you. I trust you not to fuck things up in the past.”
Sam raises his eyes. Dean’s trust hasn’t always come easy, and Sam knows it’s a mark of just how far they’ve come that, after everything that’s happened to them and between them over the years, Dean can be this open and forgiving. Sam doesn’t take it for granted. It’s a gift.
“Thanks,” Sam says as he pushes his empty plate away, letting Dean know with a single look that it’s not just the food he’s grateful for.
“Sure, Sammy,” Dean nods, reaching for the plate. “Any time.”
Sam watches for a moment as his brother takes the plate to the sink and starts washing it. Dean’s strong back has carried so much through the years, and it turns Sam on as much as any other part of his body. When he gets up and closes the distance, wraps his arms around Dean from behind and lays his chin on Dean’s shoulder, Dean immediately relaxes, leans back into Sam’s embrace.
“I wanna go back and kill every guy who ever touched you,” Sam murmurs in Dean’s ear.
“Aw, that’s sweet, Sammy,” Dean coos. “I love it when you get jealous and possessive. Makes me all tingly.”
“I’ll show you tingly,” Sam growls, bending his knees so he can grind his erection into Dean’s ass. He turns his face into Dean’s neck, kisses hungrily from his collarbone to his ear.
Dean tips his head to the side to give Sam better access, pushes back against Sam’s erection. He keeps washing the dish, but his hands slow, his eyes close. Sam reaches around and takes the dish from his slack fingers, places it on the drainboard and shuts off the water, all while keeping his mouth on Dean’s neck.
“Thought you liked boys,” Dean smirks as Sam’s fingers lace with his, as he wraps Dean’s arms around his belly.
“I like you,” Sam growls between kisses. “However I can get you.”
“Thought you liked me all young and gay-virgin,” Dean mutters, voice breathy and trembling. “You got off on that.”
“I get off on you.” Sam worries the skin over Dean’s collarbone with his teeth. “I want all of you. I’d go back in time and be your first ever, if I could. Your only one.”
“You already are that, Sammy.” Dean squeezes Sam’s fingers, grinds back against him. “You’re all that matters. Always.”
Sam’s got a good feeling about this. He’s pretty sure Dean’s about to show him just how much Sam means to him, just how much Sam really is all that matters to Dean.
This time, Sam won’t have any reason to doubt Dean’s devotion. This time, Sam doesn’t need to feel jealous or insecure. Dean is his.