Characters: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Summary: Season Two, Post-"No-Exit," Sam's not about to let anyone else step in to take what he's been waiting for all this time.
Author's Notes: Happy late birthday to acostilow and pheebs1! Finally, something longer than a drabble-- hope you both like it. :)
This was started for 60_minute_fics, the prompt of "All's Fair In Love And War," and is also for my spn_25 table (this is "Fall").
When they drove away from the Roadhouse, Sam finally let out the breath he'd been holding for days. Dean had just started acting more like he used to, and then suddenly their world—the case, their car, every waking hour—was filled with Jo. Sam had gotten stuck doing research through newspapers and the Internet while Dean and Jo solved a case without him. For awhile Sam had worried he'd be crowded out of the life Dean had so badly wanted him to rejoin.
That kind of thing started with excuses about the limitations of broken arms, and the next thing you knew they might have a permanent side-kick providing fringe benefits for Dean.
To hell with that.
Maybe he was judging her unfairly, but he didn't care. He didn't need that kind of wedge between him and Dean, not after struggling to blend together when he first came back, not after losing their father earlier this year.
The truth was that Sam was lonely. He'd stopped trying for awhile after Jess, until Dean coaxed him back to the world of the living with a combination of love and nagging and persistence that had worked better than that description made it sound. Months later, Sam could see how much he'd come to depend on that kind of attention. Losing it when their father died had been brutal, at the exact time Sam needed it most. Now that he could glimpse it again he wasn't planning to let go of it without a fight.
He could see Dean was missing something too, but the more Sam thought about it the more he realized it was something Dean had never had: the kind of love that meant more than companionship, the kind of touch that went beyond convenience and Yes, right there from a stranger whose name Dean would soon forget. Sam was tired of watching Dean throw away everything he wanted (everything he'd give to Dean himself, if Dean would only let him) on a series of one-night stands.
That barhopping behavior would be starting up all too soon, Sam figured. Unless he did something about it.
Sam spent the entire trip from there to Des Moines nodding absently at everything Dean said while plotting his next few moves.
At the motel, Sam claimed the room was stuffy and pulled off his shirt. He spent at least an hour lounging around in his jeans, leaning or brushing close to Dean when the opportunity arose. Dean began to look a little flushed—all definitely to the good.
Sam announced after awhile that he was taking a shower, and stripped his clothes off in the outer room. He caught Dean watching him a couple of times as he undressed, and just smiled in return. He hardly dried himself when he got out of the shower, letting droplets of water cling to his skin as the towel fell dangerously low on his hips. Just like last year, Dean could hardly take his eyes off Sam or even manage to complete a sentence. The weapons of temptation and proximity were ones Sam planned to use again and again if he had to.
Sam flaunted himself that night and the next day, privately rejoicing as Dean became more and more flustered. But at dinner, Dean started to flirt aggressively with every woman who came near him. Sam was dismayed to see all his efforts so easily re-channeled into pursuing someone else.
"We'd better go," he said, grabbing Dean's arm when it looked like his brother was on the verge of scoring a phone number. "Early day tomorrow," he added, placing his hand on Dean's back to guide him out the door. Dean went without protest, which allowed Sam to notice how nice it felt having his hand there, how much he wanted to let it linger and stroke the worn softness of Dean's shirt.
He knew better. There was still a ways to go before that would really be an option.
After they got back to the motel, Sam was feeling reckless and decided on a late shower. He left the door unlocked—not that it would matter, but maybe someday—and jerked off slowly as he imagined Dean's hands on him instead of his own. He let his moans carry just enough to be heard, riding the fantasy all the way to the finish. When he came out of the bathroom shortly afterward, Dean had already turned out the lights but Sam could just make out the scent of semen in the air. Gotcha.
He went to bed in boxers, leaving off the shirt this time. Sam couldn't help hoping the sight of all that skin in the morning would push Dean a little closer to where he wanted him...
By the time they reached Winston-Salem, Sam was forced to admit that Dean was more stubborn than he'd given him credit for. Really fucking stubborn, in fact.
Sam had been going commando for a couple of days already, making sure Dean saw him getting dressed (both front and back, because who knew which was more of a turn-on for Dean? They never talked about that in relation to guys). He could tell Dean was thinking about it all day in the car though, the way his eyes kept dropping down toward Sam's crotch when he thought Sam wasn't looking. The fact that Sam was half-hard inside those jeans the whole time probably didn't hurt things either.
But Dean had made no move toward following up that apparent interest, which forced Sam to escalate again and again. The next time Dean began making inroads with a woman, Sam loomed possessively until she went away. And the time after that, Sam tried a completely different tactic: university bars meant hetero-flexibility, so he picked his own target, someone hot and interested and male.
The guy was perfect, six feet tall and nicely muscled with dark-blond hair and a killer smile. His name was Jason. Sam pressed against him shoulder-to-shoulder, casually flirting while they talked in teasing tones. The warmth at his side felt good.
A few minutes more and Sam was seriously considering going home with Jason, because what the hell anyway, he was tired of the uphill battle with Dean and his body sure seemed prepared to follow through. Why sit around the motel like always, waiting for Dean to turn up the next morning? Let Dean do the waiting instead.
Sam turned as a hand clamped around his wrist. It was Dean. "What do you think you're doing, Sam?"
"Same thing as you," Sam answered coolly.
Dean glared and yanked on Sam's arm, throwing him off-balance. "Not anymore," Dean said flatly.
"Dude, who is this guy?" Jason asked.
"I'm the guy who brought him and now I'm taking him home, so you're going to have to find someone else to party with." Dean hustled Sam roughly toward the exit until Sam pushed him away and moved ahead on his own, his temper rising to a boil.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?" Sam yelled. They were halfway across the parking lot, with Dean crowding behind him trying to move Sam along even faster.
"Just keeping you from making a mistake," Dean answered tersely.
"What part was the mistake—that it was a guy, or just a guy who wasn't you?"
Sam spun around to face him. "Don't even pretend you don't know what I mean, with the way you look at me."
"I don't— I'm not—"
"Like hell," Sam gritted out, and he pulled Dean close and kissed him with everything he'd been putting on display over the last few unanswered weeks.
"Mmmph!" Dean spluttered, but his surprise shifted quickly, turning into a heated response that burned a path from Sam's mouth down through his belly.
Sam parted his lips against Dean's, teasing his way into Dean's mouth. He ran the tip of his tongue over his brother's before laving Dean's palate, one arm crushing Dean against him and the other gripping the taut muscle of Dean's ass.
Sam could feel Dean's erection trapped against his leg, even as he thrust himself slowly against Dean's stomach. Dean's head tipped back helplessly, a moan rising up through him. It vibrated all around Sam's tongue as Dean moved along with him, both of them working that friction down below.
Sam fingered the crack of Dean's ass through his jeans, spreading Dean's legs wider with the promise in that suggestive touch. Stroking into his brother's mouth in time to his thrusts, Sam felt Dean stiffen, gasp, and then come undone in a series of choked-off whimpers.
That—Dean— was the hottest sound Sam had ever heard. His cock burned and pulsed as he came all over the inside of his jeans, rubbing up against his brother and wishing for the smoothness of skin-on-skin.
They hadn't even made it to the car.
Sam kept kissing Dean, softer now, soothing. His arms cradled, no longer insistent, and one hand stroked the back of Dean's neck in lazy affection.
"Gonna get us arrested," Dean whispered against Sam's mouth.
"Kind of late to be worrying about that…"
Sam gave him one more kiss, long and perfect, that showed how much he wished they never had to stop.
When he pulled away, Dean's eyes were still closed, and Sam couldn't keep from brushing a thumb over his cheek and leaning in to steal another kiss.
He drew Dean with him as he turned toward the car, catching him when Dean stumbled unexpectedly. Dean continued resolutely forward, moving despite his unsteady legs. When Dean opened the driver's side door, Sam motioned him around to the passenger seat. "Don't worry, Dean, it's okay. I'll get us home."
They got inside and closed the doors, but Sam waited to start the engine. "You all right?" he finally asked, because Dean was just looking at him, thoughtful and silent.
"This is where it's all been leading, these last few weeks," Dean said. "Couldn't figure out what'd gotten into you, maybe a curse or something. What made you start this up now?"
Sam shifted toward Dean, gazing at him earnestly and hoping the right words would come. "You and I are all we've got left now, Dean, and hunting's a lonely way to live," he said at last. "Getting here was never going to happen on its own."
Dean looked away for a moment, his eyes unreadable in the dark. "So, you're choosing this, then? For more than just tonight?"
Sam nearly laughed. "About twelve states back. I just never thought it would take so long."
"Wait, are you planning some big freakout over this Dean? Is that it?"
"No." Dean fingered the seam along the edge of the seat. "Are you?"
Sam did laugh then. "God, no. I'm just afraid we'll go back to square one if we leave the parking lot."
Dean regarded him briefly, then slid over on the seat and pulled him in for a kiss that made Sam's body tingle all over again. "How about now?"
"Better," Sam said, his breathing uneven. He held onto Dean's collar like he could anchor him with that touch:
"Keep doing that," Sam murmured, "and I think I can make it home."
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