![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: "The choreography of an unmoved dance"
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
the_milky_way
Pairing: Sam/Dean (implied Dean/OFC)
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5.350
Spoilers: Mild spoilers for season 4.10
Beta: Thank youparka_girl
Disclaimer: I own nothing but I wouldn't say no if offered. Sam and Dean belong to Eric Kripke and Warner Bros.
Notes: This is forseleneheart, written in the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_j2_xmas. I went through the 'likes list' and picked 'first time' as well as 'possessive Sam'.
I hope it works for you and that you'll like it.
*
It’s been strange between them for a while now. There is tension between them. The kind of tension Sam, for the longest time, doesn’t know how to analyse, or how to take.
Dean avoids him, does everything not to talk to him, not to be in any kind of position that means showing emotions, showing weakness. Dean has fulfilled his quota for the time being, Sam thinks that’s the way his brother explains everything to himself at least.
It’s building up inside of Sam and he knows it won’t be long before either him or Dean will snap.
It happens, but not the way Sam would have ever thought. It happens in a way Sam just only ever dreamed about, and only when he was sure no one was close to accidentally come across those thoughts.
*
The first time Sam slams Dean against the motel room wall he's hyped on the hunt and from almost losing Dean; knee between Dean’s thighs, lips pressed against hot skin. They tumble back, in shock, followed by surprise and then don’t touch at all for at least a week. They don’t talk about it, about the kiss, the bites or the fingerprints on Dean’s hips. They don’t even look at each other, not more than necessary, until those traces are all but faded.
There is nothing Sam can do to stop from thinking about it though. There is nothing he can do to escape the dreams, the dreams he knows he shouldn’t have.
There is nothing he can do about it. Wouldn’t dare to do anything. Dean is too important to be driven away, too important to risk his hate, his disgust. Sam is selfish like that. He’d rather have Dean close, sulking, not talking, closing off more and more, than not having him at all.
Sometimes Sam doesn’t want to be a selfish bastard. Sometimes Sam wants things to escalade even more, just to see if he is the only one. Just to see if. But ‘just to see if’ has never been a good excuse.
*
Things have been going downhill for a while anyway.
The ‘not talking, not looking at each other’ thing just adds to it. Sam takes it as just another breakdown in their relationship. Another crack that might finally drive them apart for good.
As for Sam? Sam is sort of getting tired of always waiting for Dean to react, to acknowledge it, to even return. He knows it might be a little contemptuous of him, cold-hearted even. But he doesn’t want to go on like that. He doesn’t want to be ignored, shut out or scowled at anymore. Dean is still sharing his life with Sam but that’s about it these days. They share a common space and Sam wants something back. Something had gone missing, maybe even lost, along the way.
Angels and demons are messing with their lives even more than they usual do and Sam thinks that Dean doesn’t even seem to realise how much they are drifting apart. Not even Dean’s tearful confession about hell had changed things. Not a lot anyway. And not for Dean. Sam just wants to be closer to his brother, wants to comfort him, wants to never let him go again.
Feeling close to Dean, having Dean not flinch away, not scold him when he asked how Dean is, having Dean talk to him again. That’s what Sam wants. That and maybe more, but he definitely isn't thinking about that bit. Not when he can help it.
All those things aren't happening and Sam is slowly, maddeningly, losing faith that they will ever get them back. Losing faith that they’ll ever be able to just be them, Sam and Dean, without those things happening again.
*
They stumble through cases, stumble through each day, through life. Neither of them knowing how to settle things, how to speak to each other. They're not aware that the farther they think they're drifting apart, the more they're moving toward each other.
*
The second time Sam and Dean come together in that way, that isn’t even close to brotherly, both of them manage to not let things get too cold between them when it's over. Even then, it’s awkward, broken, not solved. It’s not much more than kisses, hand-jobs and awkward fumbling. But it's pretty much all Sam's had over the last few months and he sure as hell won’t complain. Not when it’s the only way to have Dean close.
Even if it's the only thing he can think of to keep Dean close, he's not going to think about the consequences. Sam isn’t even sure he knows what’s going on. He is as confused about it as Dean apparently is. Sam just refuses to spend any time wondering about how it might actually be the final thing that'll destroy everything. He doesn’t bother to think about how far he wants it to go, how far he wants Dean to go. He just doesn’t think.
He just wants. Needs. Craves.
Even so, Sam does think they should talk about it. He finds that he even wants to talk about it. But every time he brings it up, Dean blocks him out, and sometimes even runs when the location allows it. Dean tries so hard to be Dean, to take up where he left off before the hellhounds came.
Sam, though, sees through it all, he knows it’s not the same anymore. That Dean's not the same. Not to him and not to Dean. He wants to stop the drifting, wants to yell, scream, and lose control, but he's too afraid to let it happen. He's too afraid of the future if he allows it. So he tries to talk to Dean, tries to at least figure out what is really going on between them. He can’t say he's successful.
They avoid the topic as best as they can after Dean throws a fit that even Sam didn’t see coming.
*
The third time, it’s Dean's losing it, pressing Sam against the passenger door of the Impala, voice menacing but betrayed by his hands, gentle on Sam. And they're far too gentle for Sam to know what’s coming next.
They'd been in a bar for the last three hours, Sam studying copies he’d taken from a local library and Dean hustling pool. Neither of them talked to the other, not even acknowledging the building tension between them. Getting drunk seemed to be a good idea, once Sam finally put the papers away.
Nothing happens until he notices a rather gorgeous red head. She manages to make Dean forget about pool, hustling and probably everything else and that's when Sam realises how screwed he really is. The stab in his chest certainly doesn’t come from him gulping his beer down all in one go so that he can leave the bar and get some air.
Suddenly realising how much he wished to be the redhead in Dean’s arms, on the receiving end of that the lustful look and cocky smirk is definitely not the way Sam wanted to spend his evening. He finds that the option of getting drunk in the bar suddenly doesn't seem as appealing as it was before. He'd rather be alone to do that. After all, he never shuts up when he's plastered, so who knows what he might say.
He has to get out of there, has to get away from Dean. Because this? This is too much to handle, especially when he's at least a little drunk and not really able to form coherent thoughts. He just thinks ‘Dean’ and ‘Oh God’ over and over again.
And then, pressed against the cold metal of the car he grew up in, he realises that this is where they'd, where he’d been heading ever since Dean came back. Because, one thing's for sure, neither of them can live without the other.
Dean’s hands down his pants makes him sort of hopeful that he isn’t the only one thinking like this. Just slightly hopeful, though. Because afterward it like the two times before.
They don’t talk and they don’t acknowledge it.
*
Sam stops counting after he wakes up with a massive hangover. Dean's plastered against his back and they're both in Sam’s bed, naked. It's then that Sam knows they've finally crossed that line. A line neither of them ever considered as something they needed to be aware of.
Sam is prepared for a major freak out, even for a shouting match. But nothing happens. Dean gets up, showers, packs the Impala and brings back coffee for Sam. If the non-talking is an indicator for Dean's mood or state of mind, Sam doesn't have any idea what to make out of it.
Except Dean doesn’t touch him. He tries to stay as far away from Sam as possible. And it hurts because Sam is as confused as Dean is, but apparently not allowed to feel it. He even forgets the hangover, until they're in the car and he feels like puking out the coffee. He thinks that this day can only be called miserable. Again.
They are about a hundred miles away from ‘the’ motel, when Dean just pulls over, parking the car on the shoulder and breathes out, slow and even. It lulls Sam into some kind of trance, and when Dean finally speaks, Sam actually jumps.
“I'm sorry.”
“Why? What for?”
“It shouldn’t have happened. Not ever. And it won’t. Not again.”
Sam’s heart clenches hard, he feels restricted in the car, wants to get out, get away. He doesn’t want to hear any of this and knows he's a coward for blaming Dean, for making Dean the bad guy just because Dean isn’t dealing with it.
“But…”
Dean’s fingers clench hard around the steering wheel, knuckles white, arms tense. Sam snaps his mouth shut, not daring to speak, even though he wants to say everything that’s on his mind. He knows the situation could get out of control very fast and, at least for the moment, Sam believes Dean isn’t beyond hitting him. It wouldn’t be the first time, and seems to happen more frequently lately.
“No Sammy. Not again. Never again. I will never ... I won’t. I can’t.”
Sam knows there's no sense in arguing. So he doesn’t, even if it’s breaking his heart. The look in Dean’s eyes makes up for it a little. Sam thinks that maybe there's still something close to love present.
Sam hasn’t lost all of his faith. Not yet.
*
After three months though, Sam thinks he might have judged the situation wrong. They talk again, but not about what happened. Instead, they work cases, falling into some kind of routine that almost resembles what they had before it all started.
There are demons, angels and whatnot along the way and Sam sometimes thinks they are talking more to supernatural things than they do to each other. It’s a thought that hurts more than Dean’s blatant rejection and refusal to even acknowledge that something changed between them.
What’s even worse is that Dean doesn’t even seem to consider Sam in anything he does. There's no acknowledgment for Sam's feelings or that he might be just as affected by everything as Dean is.
Sam finds he's lost all direction while trying to sort things out.
It’s not a comfortable feeling, and being pulled aside by angels telling him he should let Dean be otherwise things might not work out, isn’t really all that reassuring if he thinks about. Not that he really spends time thinking about it, because if he's honest, Sam doesn’t even want to know what Castiel really means with all the cryptic messages
Ruby just shakes her head, doesn’t say much and isn’t really that helpful. Sam tries not to think about that either. There's no good reason to understand what and how Ruby knows things. Life is easier that way.
He tries, he really does. Prays to be strong enough to not follow temptation. And that faith is everything he seems to have left
But after the hundredth time Dean locks him out of their room to have some ‘fun,' Sam has run out of patience. He isn’t willing to be let down anymore than Dean is already doing. The thought of leaving, though, doesn’t even cross his mind. It’s something he just can’t do, at least not the walking away kind of leaving. Not anymore. He is too bound, too invested in this, in Dean, to even consider it an option.
And Sam’s pretty sure Dean knows that.
The second the door opens, Sam grabs whatever girl Dean has in there and pulls her out of the room. She squeaks indignantly and kind of stares in abject horror at the scene enfolding in front of her.
Sam has Dean by the shoulders, naked shoulders and is blocking any possibility to escape. He is aware that it must look like an assault, but he doesn’t care. He's finally beyond caring.
Something inside him snapped and he isn’t willing to let his life slide away, not without at least trying something. Anything. He's not willing to let Dean go, not without a fight. He has to find out if everything was just a fluke and Dean really doesn’t want it. Want him.
“Sam! What the fuck?”
Something must have shown in his eyes, because Dean shuts up immediately.
“Hey. Let him go. I’ll call the cops.”
Sam doesn’t let go of Dean, doesn’t even turn around completely, just turns his head and glares. The growl that comes out of his mouth surprises even him.
“He's mine.”
Dean tenses under his hands, shivers slightly, moans even a little and Sam is getting sort of nauseous at the thought that Dean might actually like his little brother going all caveman on him. No wonder Dean has been freaking out the whole time. Nauseous because excitement rolls through him in waves and Sam isn’t used to that feeling anymore, not when it's connected to anything other than hunting, not when it is so intense, so sexually charged.
The girl squeaks again, taking a step back but is still looking at Dean, who isn’t looking at her at all.
“What? No.. You can’t.. I'm calling the cops now.” She has her cell phone out already and Sam would be worried about it if he weren’t so occupied with the feel of Dean’s sweat slicked skin under his fingers.
“Piss off, sweetie.”
She blinks at Dean, Sam can see it out of the corner of his eye. Then he fully turns, smirking as he pushes Dean inside the room, right before he slams the door shut with his boot.
He hears her shout ‘freaks’ at them, but is pretty sure she won't be calling the cops.
*
Dean stares at him, eyes wide, eyebrows drawn up. Sam thinks it’s hot and maybe even a little adorable. He can still feel the slight tremor running through his brother’s body.
“Sam?”
“Shhh.. It’s okay Dean. Don’t worry.”
“Sam?”
Dean’s voice raises a little, like he's about to get loud, to shout and maybe demand to know what’s going on. But Sam's not willing to let it go that far. Not now, not when he has the upper hand. Not when he's finally in control. Not now that he's got the chance to make Dean listen.
“I'm tired of waiting for you.”
It’s clearly not what Dean had expected to hear and he moves back a little, breaking the contact between them. Sam doesn’t like it, wants to feel Dean again, wants to caress, touch and stroke; but knows that he can't. Not just yet. Dean’s coiled far too tight to allow any form of gentleness.
“Tired of waiting for me? But ... Sam, I told you it'll never happen again. I'll never do that again. You're my brother, for God's sake. My little brother.”
“I know what you said, Dean. But you're not doing it again doesn’t mean I don't want it. Because I want you. I need you. I need you to be close, to be there, to be with me. I don’t want you to run every time we're close. It hurts, Dean. It hurts that you don’t even seem to think about what I want. You just assume you know and I'm tired of it.”
Dean seems to be frozen in the middle of the room, Sam inches away from him without touching. Not yet. Dean blinks a few times, seems to shake himself out of his stupor and glares at Sam.
“No. Sammy. Not this way and not any other way. No means no.”
Dean is trembling even more, there is a flush on his cheeks Sam isn’t sure if it's from before or from the anger slowly building inside his brother. He decides not to push any further, at least not at this moment. It's not the right time. At least, Sam thinks, he knows when to push and when to pull back. Even if everything else between them has fallen apart, that is still something he knows about Dean.
So he just nods and moves past Dean, toward his bed, because it's late and he's been sitting outside for far too long. He deliberately brushes his fingers against Dean’s bare hips when he passes him, lets his nails scratch slightly and has to turn his head away when Dean gasps so that his brother doesn’t see him smile.
It’s not the time to go further, not the time to claim what is rightfully his. But Sam is getting his faith back, right now. Right in this room. And he doesn’t care about angels or prophecies or whatever. All he cares about is the fact that Dean didn’t move away, didn’t protest that much and, most importantly, didn’t hit him.
Small steps. Sam is willing to do that.
When he's lying in his bed, listening to Dean breath evenly, Sam wonders when he started to think of Dean as his. When he'd started to fight for it. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. Dean is there and it doesn’t seem quite as if he is drifting away anymore.
They've finally reached a standstill and right now they'll try to determine which direction to take, which path to chose. Sam will do everything to make sure that it'll be a path they both want and that neither will be left behind.
When he finally falls asleep, he feels better than he has in months.
*
It takes another two months for Dean to really snap. Sam almost regrets it when it happens, but not really. There have been looks, words, well placed touches from Sam. All of which are meant to rile Dean up and it seems to work. Dean isn’t running away anymore, at least not like he did before.
Things are still awkward, but different than before. Castiel tries to tell Sam not to do anything rash and impulsive, Dean tells Castiel off for the first time in ages. And then tells Sam off for gloating.
Their roles get reversed during these two months. Sam is the one flirting, getting offers, hustling pool. Dean is sitting at the bar or in a booth, nursing his beer and watching. Sam can feel his eyes on him, can feel the looks that track him through the room, registering every movement.
Sam is constantly hard.
Dean’s full attention is like the best king of aphrodisiac. The slightest touch, the most subdued look or even a full on glare has him almost whimpering. Dean slowly catches on and starts using the power he has over Sam. But he's still reluctant and it mostly happens when he's close to being drunk or too tired to realise he's slipping.
It’s when Sam is about to be cruised by two twinks in a rather seedy bar even by their standards, that Dean has had enough. He is fuming all the way back to the motel, silently glaring at Sam, who finds it hard not to grin
Because this is the moment he's been waiting for. The moment when Dean realises resistance is futile and that he might as well take what he clearly wants.
The second the hotel room door slams shut, Dean moves, grabbing Sam and groaning when Sam manages to push Dean up against the wall instead. His body is pressing in, moving of its own volition. They are both panting harshly, staring at each other. But they don’t move. Not at first.
Their chests raise and fall, repeatedly licking lips out of nervousness or desire. Hands tangled in fabric clench and unclench, but still they don’t move. It’s like a dance in a very limited space, feet shuffle and reposition, a knee slides up between thighs and Sam almost laughs at the reminder of the position that started it all.
“Sammy. No.”
“You mean it? Dean please ... say it like you mean it. Tell me. Look me in the eyes when you do it.”
Dean sighs, almost slack against Sam’s body, and doesn’t meet his eyes. Sam’s focus is dragged to the lashes resting against slightly flushed cheeks. Sam wants to see the green, but knows that right now pupils would be so lust blown that there would only be a sliver left.
“Sammy.”
“I'm here. I've been here for a while now, Dean. And I'm not going anywhere.”
He moves in, lips on hot, sweat damp skin; sucking, leaving marks and rubbing against the warm body mashed into his own. Dean doesn’t struggle, not in the way Sam had expected. Instead, Dean slowly but surely straightens, wraps arms around Sam’s waist and neck and moves in, hugs Sam close.
Sam doesn’t know if Dean believes him.
“Tell me no, Dean. Tell me and mean it. I won’t do anything then. I promise.”
The shove comes as a surprise and Sam actually stumbles, falls over their bags, boots and ends up sprawled on the nearest bed. What makes him flinch is the right hook Dean sends after the shove. It clips Sam in the mouth, not hard but enough to split his upper lip.
Pain sends adrenaline rocketing through his body, makes him tense up to a degree it’s almost painful. But he waits, watches Dean standing there panting harshly and staring right back at Sam.
When Dean moves, it’s only to climb onto the other bed and to flop down. Still dressed and not moving once he hits the mattress. After a while he turns a little, looking at Sam and shakes his head slightly.
“I ... I'm sorry. But I said no, Sam. Please.”
There is pleading among the roughness, pleading in a way Sam doesn’t want to hear. He doesn’t want to break his brother, but he knows he might be close to doing just that.
Sam blinks at the broken voice, blinks at the slumped form of his brother on the bed next to him.
“Dean?”
“Yes Sammy?”
It sounds resigned and Sam hates it. Hates how Dean’s voice sounds like he is obeying one of Dad’s orders. It shouldn’t be like that. And Sam can’t believe he misjudged his brother this badly. He doesn’t know what to think.
“Can you maybe answer my question?”
“Huh?”
“Do you mean it?”
The silence stretches, becomes almost unbearable, oppressing. The only sound in the room is the hum of the air conditioning and their shallow breathing. Sam hates these moments, they always make him feel small, overanxious and a little stupid. Because he never knows if he's supposed to say something else, to wait for an answer or just turn over and go to sleep.
“No.”
It’s said so low that Sam almost misses it. But he doesn’t. And the second it filters though the fog of alcohol, arousal and tiredness in his head, he is up and over the small space that separates their beds.
Dean grunts a little but doesn’t anything or move away when Sam settles almost on top of him. His eyes are closed tightly, but his arms move around Sam almost by instinct. Dean is shivering again, fine trembles that rock his body up against Sam’s.
“No?”
“No. I… God, Sammy. This is so wrong. But life has been hell lately and I.. I can’t.. fight anymore. Don’t want to. Not anymore. Not you. Never you.”
“Temptation.”
“What?”
“That’s what Castiel said. I should remove all temptation so that you stay focused. So I guess I failed in that matter. I'm sorry.”
And Sam finds that he actually is sorry. Up until that moment he hadn’t really understood what exactly Castiel meant. Now it’s almost too clear. He is temptation, he should have removed either himself or the desire inside of him. He failed on both accounts and Dean will probably be the one paying for it in the end.
“Sammy.”
There is a Dean's thumb, sliding against his lips, catching the blood that lingers. Sam hisses, but not because of the pain, but instead because of the sight of Dean sucking at his own thumb, sucking Sam’s blood off of it.
It shouldn’t be as hot as Sam thinks it is. And without even much touching or body contact, Sam is hard.
“Why now?”
Sam doesn’t even have to ask what Dean means, he has been silently asking that question ever since he realised how fucked up he is. So he just smiles down at Dean, moves in closer and just lets their lips touch.
A simple touch, but it electrifies the whole moment. Sparks fly in front of Sam’s eyes and they aren’t even closed. He sees Dean’s eyes widen and knows his brother sees, feels the same.
It’s their first kiss. The first time they actually allow themselves to do anything that isn’t violent, fast and over way too soon. It’s a kiss Sam likes. Likes it enough that he's willing to show Dean just how much.
“Why now? Because we've lost too much all ready. And this is too important to let go this time. Not this time, Dean. Not this time. It’s us. All we have.”
Dean smiles a little at Sam's words. Nods and pulls him down, pulls him into a more passionate kiss and fully onto his body.
“You're the girl then, huh?”
“Oh. Fuck you, Dean.”
“Uh.. Yes, please?”
And there it is. The thing Sam knows they both realised the first time they ever crossed that line, the thing Dean has been fighting, has been trying to deny for a long time.
“You’d love that, don't you? Me taking you? Marking you all up, making you mine. You’d love that, right? Because you are mine now. Have been for a while.”
“God … Sam.”
Dean groans, then moves, grabbing and then pulling at Sam’s hair. Fingers curled in it and then he just tugs. Sam thinks Dean's figured it out. He finally wants it, wants it all and Sam is not going to be the one to deny him. Dean turns, moves so that Sam fits between his legs, presses his fingers against Sam's hips in the process. They fit, slotted pieces into place.
Sam moans then, knows that this time will not be slow, but it won’t be as fast or as unremembered as the drunken fuck they had before. This time it will be real, will be the thing they both want.
Sam feels Dean's lips pressing against his skin, his mouth, seeking entrance and demanding even more. Dean is in control and Sam doesn’t mind. He likes it, doesn’t move away, and doesn’t protest at all.
Dean moves with Sam, growls when the kiss is broken and Sam shivers when he feels fingers under his shirt, moving up and down his taunt back. Sam’s mouth is rough on Dean’s, biting and insistent but not painful. It's aggressive, almost desperate. Marking.
“You’re mine, Dean. All mine. Now. Forever. Just mine.”
Dean doesn’t resist and it feels like he can’t stop. Moans loudly, desperately and almost painfully. Sam wriggles against him, lets Dean slip free of his shirt, discards his own and somehow manages to free them both of their jeans.
He bites, licks and pushes Dean back onto the bed when his brother raises up to flip Sam over. Sam won’t let him. Aggressive but still careful, still seeking comfort and reassurance even through the lust that's clouding his mind.
Sam is careful, almost gentle, but radiates power that makes Dean weak, makes Dean blink and sink back into the bed, makes Dean moan loudly again.
Sam pushes Dean down, crawls up his body even more and looks down on him
“This is ... you are mine, right?”
Dean blinks, not really all there and then he surges up, catches Sam’s already bruised lips between his teeth and sucks. Hard.
Sam gasps, rocking down and rubbing against Dean and almost forgets what he promised to do. He just wants to come, wants to paint Dean with come, sweat and bites. Dean’s answering groan sends vibrations through Sam’s body.
And then he stops and looks. Just looks and takes in Dean, lets his fingers tentatively slide over heated skin already slick with sweat. Tugs at nipples while he lowers himself down to nip at Dean’s throat.
The room is filled with panting, moans, groaning and Sam whispering nothings against Dean’s skin. Sam is claiming Dean in every way possible and it’s what he has been wanting for he doesn’t know how long
“God Dean … Dean. I need … Can I?.”
“Sammy. God, Sam. Do it. Whatever you need. I'm here. I am yours. All yours. Always have been.”
Sam knows that Dean hadn’t planned on saying that, hadn’t probably been aware of even thinking it. He can see it in Dean’s eyes, all wide and wild, almost black with lust and arousal.
It is true, though. Sam always could have taken whatever he wanted from Dean. Dean won’t even blink before giving it to him. But all the same, it works that way for Sam too. He would give everything he has, would give everything for Dean, to Dean. But he doesn't have a chance to dwell on that because Dean’s fingers are on his cock, squeezing, then on his hip, pulling him up a little.
Arousal surges through Sam’s bones, through every fiber of his being, making it harder to breathe. Harder to concentrate on anything except the way Dean's fingers tease him. The room is hot, filled with moans, whimpers and whispered words.
Hands, fingers, tongues slide of heated, slick skin. Leave traces, leave marks and things slide into place.
Dean shivers beneath Sam, moaning louder than before and then just lets himself go. Sam can’t do anything but follow.
*
It’s everything Sam has ever fantasized about, everything Sam hoped for, but at the same time still totally different. He feels closer to Dean than he ever has before, feels closer to another human being than he ever thought possible.
It’s slow, but hard and fast at the same time. It’s rough but gentle, smooth but edgy. They both fall apart and come together under each other, with each other.
It’s a start of something Sam hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t even dared to dream about.
It’s everything, while at the same time it’s just the continuation of something they'd already started. Something that was set to happen.
*
They lie curled around each other. Sam's mouth against Dean's skin. Always moving. Biting, then licking after. Something to sooth Dean, to soothe himself, to make sure they never really break contact. Dean grunts occasionally, mumbling things against Sam’s neck. Then outright groans when Sam refuses to let him up.
“Possessive much?” There's a hint of something almost normal in Dean's voice.
“You knew that before.” Sam half-teases, but there's something underneath. Some underlying seriousness that he can't quite hide.
“I did.”
“You love it.”
“I guess I do.”
And always have, Sam mouthed silently against Dean's neck.
The End.
Author:
the_milky_wayPairing: Sam/Dean (implied Dean/OFC)
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5.350
Spoilers: Mild spoilers for season 4.10
Beta: Thank you
parka_girlDisclaimer: I own nothing but I wouldn't say no if offered. Sam and Dean belong to Eric Kripke and Warner Bros.
Notes: This is for
seleneheart, written in the spn_j2_xmas. I went through the 'likes list' and picked 'first time' as well as 'possessive Sam'. I hope it works for you and that you'll like it.
*
It’s been strange between them for a while now. There is tension between them. The kind of tension Sam, for the longest time, doesn’t know how to analyse, or how to take.
Dean avoids him, does everything not to talk to him, not to be in any kind of position that means showing emotions, showing weakness. Dean has fulfilled his quota for the time being, Sam thinks that’s the way his brother explains everything to himself at least.
It’s building up inside of Sam and he knows it won’t be long before either him or Dean will snap.
It happens, but not the way Sam would have ever thought. It happens in a way Sam just only ever dreamed about, and only when he was sure no one was close to accidentally come across those thoughts.
*
The first time Sam slams Dean against the motel room wall he's hyped on the hunt and from almost losing Dean; knee between Dean’s thighs, lips pressed against hot skin. They tumble back, in shock, followed by surprise and then don’t touch at all for at least a week. They don’t talk about it, about the kiss, the bites or the fingerprints on Dean’s hips. They don’t even look at each other, not more than necessary, until those traces are all but faded.
There is nothing Sam can do to stop from thinking about it though. There is nothing he can do to escape the dreams, the dreams he knows he shouldn’t have.
There is nothing he can do about it. Wouldn’t dare to do anything. Dean is too important to be driven away, too important to risk his hate, his disgust. Sam is selfish like that. He’d rather have Dean close, sulking, not talking, closing off more and more, than not having him at all.
Sometimes Sam doesn’t want to be a selfish bastard. Sometimes Sam wants things to escalade even more, just to see if he is the only one. Just to see if. But ‘just to see if’ has never been a good excuse.
*
Things have been going downhill for a while anyway.
The ‘not talking, not looking at each other’ thing just adds to it. Sam takes it as just another breakdown in their relationship. Another crack that might finally drive them apart for good.
As for Sam? Sam is sort of getting tired of always waiting for Dean to react, to acknowledge it, to even return. He knows it might be a little contemptuous of him, cold-hearted even. But he doesn’t want to go on like that. He doesn’t want to be ignored, shut out or scowled at anymore. Dean is still sharing his life with Sam but that’s about it these days. They share a common space and Sam wants something back. Something had gone missing, maybe even lost, along the way.
Angels and demons are messing with their lives even more than they usual do and Sam thinks that Dean doesn’t even seem to realise how much they are drifting apart. Not even Dean’s tearful confession about hell had changed things. Not a lot anyway. And not for Dean. Sam just wants to be closer to his brother, wants to comfort him, wants to never let him go again.
Feeling close to Dean, having Dean not flinch away, not scold him when he asked how Dean is, having Dean talk to him again. That’s what Sam wants. That and maybe more, but he definitely isn't thinking about that bit. Not when he can help it.
All those things aren't happening and Sam is slowly, maddeningly, losing faith that they will ever get them back. Losing faith that they’ll ever be able to just be them, Sam and Dean, without those things happening again.
*
They stumble through cases, stumble through each day, through life. Neither of them knowing how to settle things, how to speak to each other. They're not aware that the farther they think they're drifting apart, the more they're moving toward each other.
*
The second time Sam and Dean come together in that way, that isn’t even close to brotherly, both of them manage to not let things get too cold between them when it's over. Even then, it’s awkward, broken, not solved. It’s not much more than kisses, hand-jobs and awkward fumbling. But it's pretty much all Sam's had over the last few months and he sure as hell won’t complain. Not when it’s the only way to have Dean close.
Even if it's the only thing he can think of to keep Dean close, he's not going to think about the consequences. Sam isn’t even sure he knows what’s going on. He is as confused about it as Dean apparently is. Sam just refuses to spend any time wondering about how it might actually be the final thing that'll destroy everything. He doesn’t bother to think about how far he wants it to go, how far he wants Dean to go. He just doesn’t think.
He just wants. Needs. Craves.
Even so, Sam does think they should talk about it. He finds that he even wants to talk about it. But every time he brings it up, Dean blocks him out, and sometimes even runs when the location allows it. Dean tries so hard to be Dean, to take up where he left off before the hellhounds came.
Sam, though, sees through it all, he knows it’s not the same anymore. That Dean's not the same. Not to him and not to Dean. He wants to stop the drifting, wants to yell, scream, and lose control, but he's too afraid to let it happen. He's too afraid of the future if he allows it. So he tries to talk to Dean, tries to at least figure out what is really going on between them. He can’t say he's successful.
They avoid the topic as best as they can after Dean throws a fit that even Sam didn’t see coming.
*
The third time, it’s Dean's losing it, pressing Sam against the passenger door of the Impala, voice menacing but betrayed by his hands, gentle on Sam. And they're far too gentle for Sam to know what’s coming next.
They'd been in a bar for the last three hours, Sam studying copies he’d taken from a local library and Dean hustling pool. Neither of them talked to the other, not even acknowledging the building tension between them. Getting drunk seemed to be a good idea, once Sam finally put the papers away.
Nothing happens until he notices a rather gorgeous red head. She manages to make Dean forget about pool, hustling and probably everything else and that's when Sam realises how screwed he really is. The stab in his chest certainly doesn’t come from him gulping his beer down all in one go so that he can leave the bar and get some air.
Suddenly realising how much he wished to be the redhead in Dean’s arms, on the receiving end of that the lustful look and cocky smirk is definitely not the way Sam wanted to spend his evening. He finds that the option of getting drunk in the bar suddenly doesn't seem as appealing as it was before. He'd rather be alone to do that. After all, he never shuts up when he's plastered, so who knows what he might say.
He has to get out of there, has to get away from Dean. Because this? This is too much to handle, especially when he's at least a little drunk and not really able to form coherent thoughts. He just thinks ‘Dean’ and ‘Oh God’ over and over again.
And then, pressed against the cold metal of the car he grew up in, he realises that this is where they'd, where he’d been heading ever since Dean came back. Because, one thing's for sure, neither of them can live without the other.
Dean’s hands down his pants makes him sort of hopeful that he isn’t the only one thinking like this. Just slightly hopeful, though. Because afterward it like the two times before.
They don’t talk and they don’t acknowledge it.
*
Sam stops counting after he wakes up with a massive hangover. Dean's plastered against his back and they're both in Sam’s bed, naked. It's then that Sam knows they've finally crossed that line. A line neither of them ever considered as something they needed to be aware of.
Sam is prepared for a major freak out, even for a shouting match. But nothing happens. Dean gets up, showers, packs the Impala and brings back coffee for Sam. If the non-talking is an indicator for Dean's mood or state of mind, Sam doesn't have any idea what to make out of it.
Except Dean doesn’t touch him. He tries to stay as far away from Sam as possible. And it hurts because Sam is as confused as Dean is, but apparently not allowed to feel it. He even forgets the hangover, until they're in the car and he feels like puking out the coffee. He thinks that this day can only be called miserable. Again.
They are about a hundred miles away from ‘the’ motel, when Dean just pulls over, parking the car on the shoulder and breathes out, slow and even. It lulls Sam into some kind of trance, and when Dean finally speaks, Sam actually jumps.
“I'm sorry.”
“Why? What for?”
“It shouldn’t have happened. Not ever. And it won’t. Not again.”
Sam’s heart clenches hard, he feels restricted in the car, wants to get out, get away. He doesn’t want to hear any of this and knows he's a coward for blaming Dean, for making Dean the bad guy just because Dean isn’t dealing with it.
“But…”
Dean’s fingers clench hard around the steering wheel, knuckles white, arms tense. Sam snaps his mouth shut, not daring to speak, even though he wants to say everything that’s on his mind. He knows the situation could get out of control very fast and, at least for the moment, Sam believes Dean isn’t beyond hitting him. It wouldn’t be the first time, and seems to happen more frequently lately.
“No Sammy. Not again. Never again. I will never ... I won’t. I can’t.”
Sam knows there's no sense in arguing. So he doesn’t, even if it’s breaking his heart. The look in Dean’s eyes makes up for it a little. Sam thinks that maybe there's still something close to love present.
Sam hasn’t lost all of his faith. Not yet.
*
After three months though, Sam thinks he might have judged the situation wrong. They talk again, but not about what happened. Instead, they work cases, falling into some kind of routine that almost resembles what they had before it all started.
There are demons, angels and whatnot along the way and Sam sometimes thinks they are talking more to supernatural things than they do to each other. It’s a thought that hurts more than Dean’s blatant rejection and refusal to even acknowledge that something changed between them.
What’s even worse is that Dean doesn’t even seem to consider Sam in anything he does. There's no acknowledgment for Sam's feelings or that he might be just as affected by everything as Dean is.
Sam finds he's lost all direction while trying to sort things out.
It’s not a comfortable feeling, and being pulled aside by angels telling him he should let Dean be otherwise things might not work out, isn’t really all that reassuring if he thinks about. Not that he really spends time thinking about it, because if he's honest, Sam doesn’t even want to know what Castiel really means with all the cryptic messages
Ruby just shakes her head, doesn’t say much and isn’t really that helpful. Sam tries not to think about that either. There's no good reason to understand what and how Ruby knows things. Life is easier that way.
He tries, he really does. Prays to be strong enough to not follow temptation. And that faith is everything he seems to have left
But after the hundredth time Dean locks him out of their room to have some ‘fun,' Sam has run out of patience. He isn’t willing to be let down anymore than Dean is already doing. The thought of leaving, though, doesn’t even cross his mind. It’s something he just can’t do, at least not the walking away kind of leaving. Not anymore. He is too bound, too invested in this, in Dean, to even consider it an option.
And Sam’s pretty sure Dean knows that.
The second the door opens, Sam grabs whatever girl Dean has in there and pulls her out of the room. She squeaks indignantly and kind of stares in abject horror at the scene enfolding in front of her.
Sam has Dean by the shoulders, naked shoulders and is blocking any possibility to escape. He is aware that it must look like an assault, but he doesn’t care. He's finally beyond caring.
Something inside him snapped and he isn’t willing to let his life slide away, not without at least trying something. Anything. He's not willing to let Dean go, not without a fight. He has to find out if everything was just a fluke and Dean really doesn’t want it. Want him.
“Sam! What the fuck?”
Something must have shown in his eyes, because Dean shuts up immediately.
“Hey. Let him go. I’ll call the cops.”
Sam doesn’t let go of Dean, doesn’t even turn around completely, just turns his head and glares. The growl that comes out of his mouth surprises even him.
“He's mine.”
Dean tenses under his hands, shivers slightly, moans even a little and Sam is getting sort of nauseous at the thought that Dean might actually like his little brother going all caveman on him. No wonder Dean has been freaking out the whole time. Nauseous because excitement rolls through him in waves and Sam isn’t used to that feeling anymore, not when it's connected to anything other than hunting, not when it is so intense, so sexually charged.
The girl squeaks again, taking a step back but is still looking at Dean, who isn’t looking at her at all.
“What? No.. You can’t.. I'm calling the cops now.” She has her cell phone out already and Sam would be worried about it if he weren’t so occupied with the feel of Dean’s sweat slicked skin under his fingers.
“Piss off, sweetie.”
She blinks at Dean, Sam can see it out of the corner of his eye. Then he fully turns, smirking as he pushes Dean inside the room, right before he slams the door shut with his boot.
He hears her shout ‘freaks’ at them, but is pretty sure she won't be calling the cops.
*
Dean stares at him, eyes wide, eyebrows drawn up. Sam thinks it’s hot and maybe even a little adorable. He can still feel the slight tremor running through his brother’s body.
“Sam?”
“Shhh.. It’s okay Dean. Don’t worry.”
“Sam?”
Dean’s voice raises a little, like he's about to get loud, to shout and maybe demand to know what’s going on. But Sam's not willing to let it go that far. Not now, not when he has the upper hand. Not when he's finally in control. Not now that he's got the chance to make Dean listen.
“I'm tired of waiting for you.”
It’s clearly not what Dean had expected to hear and he moves back a little, breaking the contact between them. Sam doesn’t like it, wants to feel Dean again, wants to caress, touch and stroke; but knows that he can't. Not just yet. Dean’s coiled far too tight to allow any form of gentleness.
“Tired of waiting for me? But ... Sam, I told you it'll never happen again. I'll never do that again. You're my brother, for God's sake. My little brother.”
“I know what you said, Dean. But you're not doing it again doesn’t mean I don't want it. Because I want you. I need you. I need you to be close, to be there, to be with me. I don’t want you to run every time we're close. It hurts, Dean. It hurts that you don’t even seem to think about what I want. You just assume you know and I'm tired of it.”
Dean seems to be frozen in the middle of the room, Sam inches away from him without touching. Not yet. Dean blinks a few times, seems to shake himself out of his stupor and glares at Sam.
“No. Sammy. Not this way and not any other way. No means no.”
Dean is trembling even more, there is a flush on his cheeks Sam isn’t sure if it's from before or from the anger slowly building inside his brother. He decides not to push any further, at least not at this moment. It's not the right time. At least, Sam thinks, he knows when to push and when to pull back. Even if everything else between them has fallen apart, that is still something he knows about Dean.
So he just nods and moves past Dean, toward his bed, because it's late and he's been sitting outside for far too long. He deliberately brushes his fingers against Dean’s bare hips when he passes him, lets his nails scratch slightly and has to turn his head away when Dean gasps so that his brother doesn’t see him smile.
It’s not the time to go further, not the time to claim what is rightfully his. But Sam is getting his faith back, right now. Right in this room. And he doesn’t care about angels or prophecies or whatever. All he cares about is the fact that Dean didn’t move away, didn’t protest that much and, most importantly, didn’t hit him.
Small steps. Sam is willing to do that.
When he's lying in his bed, listening to Dean breath evenly, Sam wonders when he started to think of Dean as his. When he'd started to fight for it. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. Dean is there and it doesn’t seem quite as if he is drifting away anymore.
They've finally reached a standstill and right now they'll try to determine which direction to take, which path to chose. Sam will do everything to make sure that it'll be a path they both want and that neither will be left behind.
When he finally falls asleep, he feels better than he has in months.
*
It takes another two months for Dean to really snap. Sam almost regrets it when it happens, but not really. There have been looks, words, well placed touches from Sam. All of which are meant to rile Dean up and it seems to work. Dean isn’t running away anymore, at least not like he did before.
Things are still awkward, but different than before. Castiel tries to tell Sam not to do anything rash and impulsive, Dean tells Castiel off for the first time in ages. And then tells Sam off for gloating.
Their roles get reversed during these two months. Sam is the one flirting, getting offers, hustling pool. Dean is sitting at the bar or in a booth, nursing his beer and watching. Sam can feel his eyes on him, can feel the looks that track him through the room, registering every movement.
Sam is constantly hard.
Dean’s full attention is like the best king of aphrodisiac. The slightest touch, the most subdued look or even a full on glare has him almost whimpering. Dean slowly catches on and starts using the power he has over Sam. But he's still reluctant and it mostly happens when he's close to being drunk or too tired to realise he's slipping.
It’s when Sam is about to be cruised by two twinks in a rather seedy bar even by their standards, that Dean has had enough. He is fuming all the way back to the motel, silently glaring at Sam, who finds it hard not to grin
Because this is the moment he's been waiting for. The moment when Dean realises resistance is futile and that he might as well take what he clearly wants.
The second the hotel room door slams shut, Dean moves, grabbing Sam and groaning when Sam manages to push Dean up against the wall instead. His body is pressing in, moving of its own volition. They are both panting harshly, staring at each other. But they don’t move. Not at first.
Their chests raise and fall, repeatedly licking lips out of nervousness or desire. Hands tangled in fabric clench and unclench, but still they don’t move. It’s like a dance in a very limited space, feet shuffle and reposition, a knee slides up between thighs and Sam almost laughs at the reminder of the position that started it all.
“Sammy. No.”
“You mean it? Dean please ... say it like you mean it. Tell me. Look me in the eyes when you do it.”
Dean sighs, almost slack against Sam’s body, and doesn’t meet his eyes. Sam’s focus is dragged to the lashes resting against slightly flushed cheeks. Sam wants to see the green, but knows that right now pupils would be so lust blown that there would only be a sliver left.
“Sammy.”
“I'm here. I've been here for a while now, Dean. And I'm not going anywhere.”
He moves in, lips on hot, sweat damp skin; sucking, leaving marks and rubbing against the warm body mashed into his own. Dean doesn’t struggle, not in the way Sam had expected. Instead, Dean slowly but surely straightens, wraps arms around Sam’s waist and neck and moves in, hugs Sam close.
Sam doesn’t know if Dean believes him.
“Tell me no, Dean. Tell me and mean it. I won’t do anything then. I promise.”
The shove comes as a surprise and Sam actually stumbles, falls over their bags, boots and ends up sprawled on the nearest bed. What makes him flinch is the right hook Dean sends after the shove. It clips Sam in the mouth, not hard but enough to split his upper lip.
Pain sends adrenaline rocketing through his body, makes him tense up to a degree it’s almost painful. But he waits, watches Dean standing there panting harshly and staring right back at Sam.
When Dean moves, it’s only to climb onto the other bed and to flop down. Still dressed and not moving once he hits the mattress. After a while he turns a little, looking at Sam and shakes his head slightly.
“I ... I'm sorry. But I said no, Sam. Please.”
There is pleading among the roughness, pleading in a way Sam doesn’t want to hear. He doesn’t want to break his brother, but he knows he might be close to doing just that.
Sam blinks at the broken voice, blinks at the slumped form of his brother on the bed next to him.
“Dean?”
“Yes Sammy?”
It sounds resigned and Sam hates it. Hates how Dean’s voice sounds like he is obeying one of Dad’s orders. It shouldn’t be like that. And Sam can’t believe he misjudged his brother this badly. He doesn’t know what to think.
“Can you maybe answer my question?”
“Huh?”
“Do you mean it?”
The silence stretches, becomes almost unbearable, oppressing. The only sound in the room is the hum of the air conditioning and their shallow breathing. Sam hates these moments, they always make him feel small, overanxious and a little stupid. Because he never knows if he's supposed to say something else, to wait for an answer or just turn over and go to sleep.
“No.”
It’s said so low that Sam almost misses it. But he doesn’t. And the second it filters though the fog of alcohol, arousal and tiredness in his head, he is up and over the small space that separates their beds.
Dean grunts a little but doesn’t anything or move away when Sam settles almost on top of him. His eyes are closed tightly, but his arms move around Sam almost by instinct. Dean is shivering again, fine trembles that rock his body up against Sam’s.
“No?”
“No. I… God, Sammy. This is so wrong. But life has been hell lately and I.. I can’t.. fight anymore. Don’t want to. Not anymore. Not you. Never you.”
“Temptation.”
“What?”
“That’s what Castiel said. I should remove all temptation so that you stay focused. So I guess I failed in that matter. I'm sorry.”
And Sam finds that he actually is sorry. Up until that moment he hadn’t really understood what exactly Castiel meant. Now it’s almost too clear. He is temptation, he should have removed either himself or the desire inside of him. He failed on both accounts and Dean will probably be the one paying for it in the end.
“Sammy.”
There is a Dean's thumb, sliding against his lips, catching the blood that lingers. Sam hisses, but not because of the pain, but instead because of the sight of Dean sucking at his own thumb, sucking Sam’s blood off of it.
It shouldn’t be as hot as Sam thinks it is. And without even much touching or body contact, Sam is hard.
“Why now?”
Sam doesn’t even have to ask what Dean means, he has been silently asking that question ever since he realised how fucked up he is. So he just smiles down at Dean, moves in closer and just lets their lips touch.
A simple touch, but it electrifies the whole moment. Sparks fly in front of Sam’s eyes and they aren’t even closed. He sees Dean’s eyes widen and knows his brother sees, feels the same.
It’s their first kiss. The first time they actually allow themselves to do anything that isn’t violent, fast and over way too soon. It’s a kiss Sam likes. Likes it enough that he's willing to show Dean just how much.
“Why now? Because we've lost too much all ready. And this is too important to let go this time. Not this time, Dean. Not this time. It’s us. All we have.”
Dean smiles a little at Sam's words. Nods and pulls him down, pulls him into a more passionate kiss and fully onto his body.
“You're the girl then, huh?”
“Oh. Fuck you, Dean.”
“Uh.. Yes, please?”
And there it is. The thing Sam knows they both realised the first time they ever crossed that line, the thing Dean has been fighting, has been trying to deny for a long time.
“You’d love that, don't you? Me taking you? Marking you all up, making you mine. You’d love that, right? Because you are mine now. Have been for a while.”
“God … Sam.”
Dean groans, then moves, grabbing and then pulling at Sam’s hair. Fingers curled in it and then he just tugs. Sam thinks Dean's figured it out. He finally wants it, wants it all and Sam is not going to be the one to deny him. Dean turns, moves so that Sam fits between his legs, presses his fingers against Sam's hips in the process. They fit, slotted pieces into place.
Sam moans then, knows that this time will not be slow, but it won’t be as fast or as unremembered as the drunken fuck they had before. This time it will be real, will be the thing they both want.
Sam feels Dean's lips pressing against his skin, his mouth, seeking entrance and demanding even more. Dean is in control and Sam doesn’t mind. He likes it, doesn’t move away, and doesn’t protest at all.
Dean moves with Sam, growls when the kiss is broken and Sam shivers when he feels fingers under his shirt, moving up and down his taunt back. Sam’s mouth is rough on Dean’s, biting and insistent but not painful. It's aggressive, almost desperate. Marking.
“You’re mine, Dean. All mine. Now. Forever. Just mine.”
Dean doesn’t resist and it feels like he can’t stop. Moans loudly, desperately and almost painfully. Sam wriggles against him, lets Dean slip free of his shirt, discards his own and somehow manages to free them both of their jeans.
He bites, licks and pushes Dean back onto the bed when his brother raises up to flip Sam over. Sam won’t let him. Aggressive but still careful, still seeking comfort and reassurance even through the lust that's clouding his mind.
Sam is careful, almost gentle, but radiates power that makes Dean weak, makes Dean blink and sink back into the bed, makes Dean moan loudly again.
Sam pushes Dean down, crawls up his body even more and looks down on him
“This is ... you are mine, right?”
Dean blinks, not really all there and then he surges up, catches Sam’s already bruised lips between his teeth and sucks. Hard.
Sam gasps, rocking down and rubbing against Dean and almost forgets what he promised to do. He just wants to come, wants to paint Dean with come, sweat and bites. Dean’s answering groan sends vibrations through Sam’s body.
And then he stops and looks. Just looks and takes in Dean, lets his fingers tentatively slide over heated skin already slick with sweat. Tugs at nipples while he lowers himself down to nip at Dean’s throat.
The room is filled with panting, moans, groaning and Sam whispering nothings against Dean’s skin. Sam is claiming Dean in every way possible and it’s what he has been wanting for he doesn’t know how long
“God Dean … Dean. I need … Can I?.”
“Sammy. God, Sam. Do it. Whatever you need. I'm here. I am yours. All yours. Always have been.”
Sam knows that Dean hadn’t planned on saying that, hadn’t probably been aware of even thinking it. He can see it in Dean’s eyes, all wide and wild, almost black with lust and arousal.
It is true, though. Sam always could have taken whatever he wanted from Dean. Dean won’t even blink before giving it to him. But all the same, it works that way for Sam too. He would give everything he has, would give everything for Dean, to Dean. But he doesn't have a chance to dwell on that because Dean’s fingers are on his cock, squeezing, then on his hip, pulling him up a little.
Arousal surges through Sam’s bones, through every fiber of his being, making it harder to breathe. Harder to concentrate on anything except the way Dean's fingers tease him. The room is hot, filled with moans, whimpers and whispered words.
Hands, fingers, tongues slide of heated, slick skin. Leave traces, leave marks and things slide into place.
Dean shivers beneath Sam, moaning louder than before and then just lets himself go. Sam can’t do anything but follow.
*
It’s everything Sam has ever fantasized about, everything Sam hoped for, but at the same time still totally different. He feels closer to Dean than he ever has before, feels closer to another human being than he ever thought possible.
It’s slow, but hard and fast at the same time. It’s rough but gentle, smooth but edgy. They both fall apart and come together under each other, with each other.
It’s a start of something Sam hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t even dared to dream about.
It’s everything, while at the same time it’s just the continuation of something they'd already started. Something that was set to happen.
*
They lie curled around each other. Sam's mouth against Dean's skin. Always moving. Biting, then licking after. Something to sooth Dean, to soothe himself, to make sure they never really break contact. Dean grunts occasionally, mumbling things against Sam’s neck. Then outright groans when Sam refuses to let him up.
“Possessive much?” There's a hint of something almost normal in Dean's voice.
“You knew that before.” Sam half-teases, but there's something underneath. Some underlying seriousness that he can't quite hide.
“I did.”
“You love it.”
“I guess I do.”
And always have, Sam mouthed silently against Dean's neck.
The End.
