Characters: Sam/Dean (Slash)
Summary (Season 2): Things are never exactly what they seem.
Author's Notes: A birthday gift for locknkey!
Also for my spn_25 table, this is "Want."
At a diner in Waukegan, Sam brought up Dean's recent anger and renewed dedication to hunting, and he talked about sublimation like he'd invented the word. Dean thought of all the waitresses he'd fucked while trying to break free from Sam's stranglehold on his heart.
He told Sam to shut the hell up.
At a motel in Narragansett, Sam veered off onto a diatribe about love and long-term commitment, and how Dean would never know just how amazing that could be. Dean remembered how hard those four years of Stanford had been, remembered the emptiness of losing someone whose breathing he could've picked out from a roomful of people sleeping in the dark.
He grabbed his coat and went out to get drunk and not think about the muscles spanning Sam's chest, or the way Sam had had him pretty much wrapped around his finger since they were kids.
Outside an abandoned house in Saratoga, Sam lectured Dean on self-control. He might have meant food or women, or maybe something else, but Dean just didn't care anymore. He shoved Sam up against the Impala, and pulled him down into a hard, frustrated kiss.
Sam stood there afterward, openmouthed and obviously cycling through a million thoughts at once.
"I've been holding that back for the last six years," Dean said. "So don't fucking talk to me like I've never tried to keep from doing whatever I want. I've fucking lived it."
Inside a heartbeat, a minute, a lifetime, Sam leaned forward and kissed him back until Dean was dizzy, aching and breathless.
"You can stop trying," Sam whispered, his eyes mirroring the truth in Dean's own.
"We've got twelve years of pretending between us. It's time to stop running from what we've both been wanting all along."
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