You're Speaking My Language (It's You) - pawmunkey (2024)

A thick layer of dust clung to the scratchy, microfiber cloth Sam was gliding over the shelves of the bunker’s library. It was a new thing, having a place to clean. Not just scrub free of blood and call it good, but real, honest cleaning. Sam enjoyed it. He may not have been settling in as well as Dean would like, but there were signs to look for of Sam’s domesticity that Dean probably wouldn’t be apt to notice. Things like how the hallways were always freshly swept after each day of them puttering around countless rooms. Or how there was never a dirty dish left in the sink after one of Dean’s home-cooked meals. Or now, how Sam’s favorite spot in the cavern: the library, was always to be kept spotless. Despite the constantly settling dust that was an unfortunate byproduct of living in a centuries-old underground study, Sam kept everything in perfect order. Maybe an air purifier was needed.

It was strange, these new thoughts.

It was also strange having so much space between them when they were doing their own things. Sam was used to reading on a motel bed while Dean channel surfed six feet away. These days, he could typically find his older brother in the fifteen-or-so car garage tending to vehicles so old their parts were only sold in bidding wars.

One would think after a lifetime of being crowded around each other, they would love this new ample space to stretch their limbs and recede to separate corners. Not Sam, most of the time. He did enjoy his time in the library where he could delve into niches he wouldn’t have been likely to explore before he owned such a horde, but he did tend to miss Dean. Typically once he’d had his fill of alone time, Sam would plop down on the couch of the den and put on a Winchester classic film from their younger years just so Dean would come strolling through ten minutes in, chime in, “Oh, good one. This is a classic,” and sit himself down beside his younger brother. They would spend the next several hours watching movies and recounting memories of the last time they’d watched that particular film, a time when things were somehow more and less complicated.

Another thing that was odd now living in the bunker was how Sam was looking at his relationship with his brother differently. They’d truly never been healthy, more so on Sam’s side than Dean would anticipate, but what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. Sam now thought about things like how he treated his brother, whether or not Dean knew he was loved and trusted.

He knew Dean was not thinking of these things, but it didn’t bother him. Sam was always a lot better at dealing with emotions and communication, even if most of the time he followed Dean’s lead on the stuff it all down don’t talk about it shut up front.

Sam had noticed a book a few weeks ago that had caught his eye, but he had been too scared to even pull it off the shelf for fear of Dean walking in, seeing it, and calling him a chick while laughing himself to tears on the floor.

But now as he was finishing up his round of dusting, he thought he would like to at least get a peek at it. So Sam looked around for a hardcover roughly the same size as it, took off its jacket, grabbed “The Five Love Languages: The Secret to Love That Lasts” and wrapped it around the cover, probably hastier than was really necessary. You can never be too careful when it comes to the potential of teasing.

He sat down in a reading chair in the corner of the library where Dean couldn’t just stroll in and happen across any corny phrases he was perusing, and opened up to the first chapter.

Sam skimmed the first bit, the typical introduction of most self-help books that tried a little too hard not to come across as “you suck, fix yourself” too fast. Sam was more of a get-to-the-point kind of guy, but he’d read enough books in his lifetime to know that these parts were important too. He also knew that when reading books like this, the point was to read it knowing that most of it isn’t going to apply to you specifically, but to read between the lines to see how it can.

He co*cked his head when he read the next line:

“We must be willing to learn our spouse’s primary love language if we are to be effective communicators of love.”

Sam had never really thought about how to “effectively communicate” love. He kind of thought it just…was communicated. If you loved someone, they knew it. If they loved you back, you knew it. How would one do better at something that is supposed to come naturally?

“We have long known that in early childhood development each child develops unique emotional patterns… The children who feel loved by their parents and peers will develop a primary emotional love language based on their unique psychological makeup and the way their parents and other significant persons expressed love to them… Children who do not feel loved by their parents and peers will also develop a primary love language. However, it will be somewhat distorted in much the same way as some children may learn poor grammar and have an underdeveloped vocabulary. That poor programming does not mean they cannot become good communicators. But it does mean they will have to work at it more diligently than those who had a more positive model. Likewise, children who grow up with an underdeveloped sense of emotional love can also come to feel loved and to communicate love, but they will have to work at it more diligently than those who grew up in a healthy, loving atmosphere.”

Sam started to feel that ever-present sadness and anger that permeated his childhood memories start to creep back up on him. He had long since forgiven his father for the way they grew up, but certain things that reminded him of how different he and Dean were from the general populace could make that upset flare up again. It made sense that they would struggle with love and communication if they hadn’t received a healthy demonstration of it growing up. His mom was out of the picture before Sam could even remember her face, and John had become an authoritarian tyrant more than a doting father, so Bobby’s stunted manly-style type of love was all they really had to mirror.

He remembers being very young and being a lot more open with affection, but as they got older they outgrew it, and nothing fell in its place.

Sam read on for many pages, learning about the metaphor of the “love tank” and how in relationships that struggle, the partners most likely have an “empty tank.” If they could figure out how to fill each others’ tanks, they may not struggle as much. Sam thinks this is kind of a corny metaphor, but he supposes not all people who read it have to sort through lore written in ancient Sanskrit on the regular, so he can give it a pass.

“Once the experience of falling in love has run its natural course (remember, the average in-love experience lasts two years), we will return to the world of reality and begin to assert ourselves. He will express his desires, but his desires will be different from hers.”

Looking back on his childhood, he remembers that surge of “falling in love” they talk about. He always thought Dean was perfect and could do no wrong, that everything would be alright as long as Dean was around. Obviously they still fought like brothers, but it was never as bad as most kids, with their dad around to snap at them if it got out of hand.

It certainly wasn’t two years. But most people probably haven't been around their soulmates since day one. Sam remembers being innocently infatuated with Dean all the way from being a toddler to not so innocently as a teen. But he does recall being around fifteen years old when things started to break apart, when reality showed that he wasn't truly flawless. About the time when Sam started to argue with their father, Dean would mostly just tell Sam to leave it alone and stop picking fights.

They did express different desires around this time. Dean wanted to keep the peace and keep his family together, just the three of them on the road being heroes. Sam wanted to get away, he wanted to not be the freak of the family just for enjoying the idea of a little normality. He struggled with his feelings for Dean, and being a teenager was hard enough as it was, a hundred times more so when juggling life and death situations and the morality of a crush you didn’t ask for. When Stanford came around and Sam left, leaving Dean to make an impossible choice, it pretty much set in stone the level of love they thought the other had for them. Sam felt an “Only Loved Out of Requirement” brand scarred in his skin for years, Dean the same. And then as the years progressed with dying for each other even after betrayal after betrayal, Sam knew Dean loved him out of more than just requirement. He just still struggled with how much, and if it was really because of who Sam is or just because Dean has always been Big Brother who has to protect and love his Little Brother.

He liked to think Dean liked him, but he didn’t really know for sure.

Sam finished up chapter three and decided to call it for the night, give his brain some time to take in the new information and do with it what it will. He brought the book to his bedside table to read further over the coming weeks, and took off to set a “Ghostbusters” trap for Dean to fall for.

As the weeks rolled by, Sam decided to run an experiment. He was going to break the love languages down over a period of time in which he would gradually show Dean more and more of each type of affection, then see which he responded to best. Up first was “words of affirmation”, which Sam was pretty sure was not Dean’s cup of tea, but he would try it all the same.

The first time Sam tested it out, he felt like he was going to throw up from nerves. He and Dean had spent the day doing very mundane things like going on a supply run, fixing a broken pipe, and sorting through old Men of Letters files. They had wrapped up the day with a beer in the kitchen before bed. As Sam left to go to his room he had, hopefully unnoticeably, shakily said: “Hey…Good work today,” and retreated quickly to his space. Not quick enough to miss the pause of the bottle to his lips as Dean furrowed his brow in surprised confusion. Sam hoped that had been a small enough start and made himself swear he wouldn’t give up, before closing his eyes and falling into an anxious sleep.

Sam was able to drop another small one in the next day when Dean made them lasagna for dinner, and it had been delicious, which he conveyed to his brother. “This is so good. You’ve outdone yourself, really,” as he continued perusing newspapers for cases. Dean had paused again, allowing himself to chew the rest of his mouthful.



Sam made dozens of small comments over the next week and a half, things like:

“When did you learn how to make custom car parts? This looks like it was done by a professional.”

“Good choice on the movie tonight, I think I needed a little pick-me-up.”

“I like what you did with the seasoning on the burgers, it’s nice and smoky.”

“Is that shirt new? It fits you well.” (That one had stopped Dean directly in his tracks.)

“Thank you for throwing some of my clothes in with your laundry, I appreciate it.”

“Wow, nice one on that wraith. She was moving a lot, I probably would’ve had to take two or three shots.”

Dean seemed to get more comfortable the more Sam did it, but still always got a small confused smirk on his face. It was pretty adorable, and he did notice Dean seeming a little peppier on a day-to-day basis.

He did his best to never go too overboard, he didn’t think Dean would receive deep sentiments very well. He would be more than willing to tell him that he looked up to him and always has, that he has the most pleasant energy to be around Sam has ever experienced, that he has stunning eyes, that he is the only person in the whole world Sam cares about as deeply as he does. But Dean was not quite there yet, and may never be. Only time would tell. In the meantime, he would continue with the casual words of affirmation, and move on to implement some other love languages in their interactions.


The next language in the book was quality time, but Sam had wanted to delve into that a little further down the road, so he skipped to the next chapter: receiving gifts.

Now, Sam knew that Dean appreciated little things. He had worn his amulet for over twenty-five years just because Sam had given it to him. He kept sentimental memorabilia set up around his room after decades of storing it in a box in the impala. He still had the first gun Sam had ever shot. A shirt he had borrowed from Bobby, their dad’s straight razor. Dean was more saccharine than he ever cared to admit, which is why Sam had a small feeling about the idea of giving gifts. He thought it would be a good, subtle next step.

So Sam started bringing home pie or Dean’s favorite, pricier beer whenever he went into town. Dean had started learning to bake and now made his own pies every few weeks, but he still loved a good store-bought or locally-made pie that he didn’t have to wait for. So Sam brought them home and left them on the counter, the beer in the fridge, for Dean to find later.

One time Dean had been in the kitchen when Sam had come home with one of the pies, drinking some water after some practice shooting in the range room. Sam had hesitated, thinking that maybe his brother would have thought the pies had been dropped in by some Baked Good Fairy and would be affronted to know it was actually Sam bringing them home. But Dean had just smirked crookedly around his bottle of water and looked between Sam and the pie as he took it out of the bag.

“What’s up with you and pie these days? You never used to like pie.”

Sam raised a brow and laughed. “You like pie.”

“Correction, I love pie.”

He rolled his eyes, “Oh, sorry, wouldn’t want to taint this one with my disrespect, you love pie,” Sam quipped.

Dean crossed his arms as he leaned against the counter, “And the beer? You’re more of a hoppy craft pilsner kind of guy, these are porters. I remember trying to get you to try one at that Oktoberfest and you damn near spit it out.”

Sam scrunched his face in confusion, “...They’re not…for me. Did you think they were for me?”

Dean sat dumbfounded, trying his best to get a grip on what Sam just clued him in on.

“So you’re not taking a page out of my book and getting better taste, you’re just…getting them for me to have?”

Sam felt some color come into his face and lowered his head hoping to cover it up, “Yes.”

Dean seemed to think to himself for a few moments. “Huh. Well, thanks.”

Sam just gives him a full smile and walks out of the kitchen, hoping to get a little more reading in before their nightly movie sesh.

Over the next few weeks, Sam gives Dean many gifts. He drops a new pair of boots by his bedroom door, ones Dean had seen in an issue of Hunter’s Weekly about six months ago and slyly put a circle around to think about later.

He bought him a nice set of tencel sheets and made his bed up nicely.

He got him some wireless earbuds so he could listen to music whilst working out, cooking, or under the body of a car.

He ordered a giant box of licorice twists he kept in his room and threw a couple at Dean while they were watching movies. That one alone made him smile every time.

Sam had brought him home a flower he’d found on his morning run and tucked it behind Dean’s ear in the front room, “Made me think of you,” and went away to shower, secretly watching him from the hallway. Dean looked a little hazy, absentmindedly touching the purple aster next to his temple. He pulled it down and looked at it, brought the plant to his nose and breathed in the aroma. The older man pursed his lips and shrugged, placing the flower back where Sam had put it, and strolled back to the garage. Sam stalked down to the showers, wondering if Dean had had a chance to use his new polishing wax on Baby yet.


Sam was truly astonished at the change in attitude he’d seen in Dean just from the introduction of two love languages. It made him a little sad, thinking about how he could have been doing this for years. Maybe a lot of their issues would have solved themselves if he had just paid a little more attention to Dean’s emotional needs. But hey, the best time to plant a tree was thirty years ago, the second best time is today. Their relationship felt like it hadn’t in years, playful and full of laughter and silliness. It felt like they were kids again, really. Sam was excited to implement more tactics, and the next step was acts of service.

Dean was a man who enjoyed the process. He liked to clean his guns, he liked to put in the work to make his car look good, he liked to get the satisfaction of cooking them a meal from start to finish. So Sam didn’t want to try to take those things away from him, but instead maybe take away some of the tasks he did that he didn’t particularly enjoy.

So Sam started paying a little closer attention to Dean’s daily routine when they weren’t on hunts. Dean typically woke up around nine every morning, brewed himself a new pot of coffee after the one Sam had made when he got up at 6:30, read the newspaper Sam would bring in after his run. He would throw in thirty or so minutes of exercise in their gym (never running) in the next hour. Then he would take a hot shower, brush his teeth and do his hair, schlep back to his room where he’d throw his bathrobe over his door to dry and get dressed for the day. Afterwards, he spent most of his day in the garage puttering around the old cars. He was getting older, and he couldn’t always keep track of the things he had to do, so he’d taken down to scribbling random notes anywhere the thought struck him and paper was around him. Sam didn’t think this was particularly useful, as now your ideas were just strewn about the house in random places, but it wasn’t his brain.

Dean then made lunch (and also dinner) for them both, typically an improved version of something he would make for them as kids with a few meals he learned how to make from Jody tossed in every once in a while. Dean wasn’t much of a guy for the creative process, and sometimes testing new things stressed him out. It was hard living a whole life out of boxed dinners and non-perishables and then suddenly trying to figure out how to cut and cook carrots or bell peppers. So if somebody in town mentioned their favorite way to roast broccoli or bake chicken, Dean would try it, but he wasn’t far enough in his cooking journey to really know how to think of those things by himself.

Then they would watch a movie or a few episodes of whatever show seemed good on Netflix, and call it a night. Dean typically listened to music and cleaned his guns or packed rock salt into empty shells. He had probably made enough for an entire Men of Letters arsenal at this point. Sam spent this time in his room reading books before bed, often re-reading the chapter he was working on in “The Five Love Languages” and brainstorming more things he could do and writing them down in the journal he kept for his ideas (efficiently contained in one set of bound paper, thank you). He thought he had a few ideas for how to make Dean’s routine better and easier.

So Sam bought a towel warmer and put it next to the shower Dean always used, making sure to put a fresh towel and his bathrobe in it before he woke up. He also started to brew a fresh pot of coffee when he would get back from his run and set Dean’s favorite mug next to the newspaper he would never forget again. Sam waited one day until his brother was shooting targets loudly in the range to drill a hook into the back of Dean’s bedroom door for his robe.

He started to buy more pads of paper to have all over the bunker, hanging on the wall with a string attached to a pen so they wouldn’t go missing, one next to every car in the garage. He got a magnetic one for the fridge so Dean could jot down whatever groceries he wanted for the week. He got a big paper calendar for the kitchen so Dean could see if they had anything planned for the day while he drank his coffee.

Sam took time to scan all the pads of paper for anything he could do that might not be too exciting for his brother but would alleviate some of the things on his plate, and do them typically within the day. So things Dean might have procrastinated on for weeks would be finished quickly and crossed out so he could focus on more important things.

Sam bought several cooking books. One with a clear breakdown of every common term you could come across in most recipes and how to do it, and multiple others with recipes of all different varieties. He got a book specifically about burgers, one about how to implement vegetables in meals when you don’t like them (Sam can only continue to show his love for Dean if he can keep him alive, too). He put little bookmarks on certain recipes he thought they both would enjoy and left little sticky notes with his commentary on what he thought his brother could change about the process.

One night while Dean was prepping for dinner in the kitchen, Sam had come in to see him with what looked like every ingredient in their pantry and fridge open or in disarray on the counter and a stressed and puzzled look on his face.

“Is there something I can do?” Sam had offered.

Dean gave the usual Winchesters-don’t-ask-for-help shake of his head. “No, I got it.”

Sam walked up next to him and looked at the recipe he was reading from, “What step are you on?”


“Okay, how about you start on the meat, and I’ll shred the cheese?”

Dean looked like he was thinking about being insulted, but instead nodded once and got to it. After about ten minutes of Sam assisting with small prepping tasks and chatting with him, his brother seemed a lot more relaxed. So Sam stayed with him while he cooked, washing each dish that was dirtied right away so Dean had more space to operate.

Once he’d gotten close to done, Sam set the table and left the kitchen so Dean could finish up dinner by himself and feel that solitary sense of accomplishment he knew he enjoyed.

Life was pretty good. He still had two love languages to master left, and he honestly didn’t think things could get better than this. They were hunting better, being more in tune with the others’ movements, predicting each other’s plan before their counterpart had even thought about it. And it didn’t feel cold and quiet around the bunker anymore. It felt like a home, where good memories were made and people who loved each other lived.

Sam felt confident enough in his progress over the months to readdress the quality time section. Sam had been hesitant about this one, as he had thought all they did was spend quality time together. They were in the same space all of their lives, he didn’t know if Dean would be too excited to jump back into it. But as he read the chapter, he realized that quality time was a lot different than he had thought.

Quality time is not just being around each other, but the intentionality and commitment about it. It’s not always reading and watching TV near each other, but being together with the motive to do so, undistracted.

So while they watched Dirty Dancing for the hundred and ninth time (“Swayze always gets a pass, Sammy), Sam looked over at Dean and asked, “What’d you do today?”

Dean froze, looking at Sam with a bewildered expression. His mild fear was palpable in the air. “Why? Was I supposed to do something?”

Sam rolled his eyes at him dorkily, “No. I just wanted to hear about your day.”

“My day? What do you mean ‘my day’? I do the same sh*t every day, Sam.”

“Yeah? And I want to hear about it. What’d you do?”

Dean looked like he might check him for a fever like he hadn’t done since the trials, but after waiting patiently and making direct eye contact with him, Dean acquiesced.

“I got up. Drank some joe. Found a maybe-hunt I’m gonna keep an eye on. Fixed the axle leak in the ‘T. Ate the rest of the pasta salad from the other day. Talked to Garth about a case he’s workin’ up in Manitowoc. He said he didn’t need any help, I didn’t offer, but.” He shrugged and made a “that’s Garth for you” face. “I took a drive with Baby, and then wrapped it all up back in time for dinner and a movie with the wife. How about you Sammy?”

Sam smirked at his quip, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. “I’d like to go for a drive with you sometime this week, would that be cool?”

Dean appeared to be a strained sort of touched. “You want to go for a drive with me? I thought you said you didn’t want to spend any more time in the car than we have to.”

“Well, I was wrong. It’s something you like to do, and I like to be around you.”

“Did you just say ‘I was wrong’? What the hell is going on, Sam?”

Sam was caught off guard, he hadn’t thought this part of the love languages would finally receive some pushback.

He chose his words carefully. “I’m doing some self-work. Trying to be better about things as I get older. I think it’s helping.”

Dean held a worried pinch in his expression, “Is this some messed up ‘death’s doorstep’ sh*t? Are you dyin’, Sammy? ‘Cause you’re not getting off that easy. Not now, when everything is peachy.”

Sam smiled a bittersweet smile, “I’m not dying, Dean. Just making some important changes in my life if I’m going to live the way I want to. Kinda didn’t think we’d make it this far, you know?” Dean nodded. “But we have. And it’s about time I start doing something about it.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a few minutes, pondering in silence while Baby had her big dance number at the country club talent show. Right before the credits rolled, he finally spoke up.

“We can go for a drive tomorrow. I’d like that. Goodnight, Sammy.” And he ruffled his hair affectionately on the way out.

Sam was still smiling as he fell asleep that night.


The next morning, Dean woke up early. He waited for Sam to leave for his run, and an extra five minutes just in case he forgot anything and came back. The hallway echoed his socked feet as he walked to Sam’s room.

Once inside, he made sure to not move anything too out of place. Sam could be oblivious, but he was particular about his stuff. There was a time when they were teenagers that Sam could tell Dean had been in his bag by how the zipper was positioned. That kind of particular.

Nothing seemed to be too different. Dean even checked in his sock drawer, where Sam thought he was being clever by having it as a hiding place. He had almost given up on finding anything when he saw the row of books Sam kept on his bedside table. There were the usual tomes, thick old books and some classics that he liked to keep on hand for rereading. But there were two smaller books closest to Sam’s bed, both completely unmarked.


Dean carefully extracted the two and took a seat at Sam’s desk, planning to be reading for a little while. He opened up the first and turned a few pages until the title page appeared:

“The 5 Love Languages: The Secret to Love That Lasts”

If Dean’s eyebrows had shot any higher he would’ve lost them.

What was Sam reading marriage aid books for?

He leafed through the pages when he saw a yellow blurb and had to flip back to where he’d seen it. Highlighted in the text was

“ requires effort and discipline.”

Dean recoiled after reading that line. Love? Who the hell was his brother in love with?

He picked up the other book and thumbed the first few pages. This was Sam’s journal.

Dean felt some guilt rise up in his shoulders, he didn’t want to pry on the kid’s privacy. They’d had a lot of disagreements about that in the past. But if his brother was dying, he needed to know. He had dropped the ball over the last several months when Sam started acting different, denying his concerns whenever they arose. He had chalked it up to finally settling in. He shouldn’t have been so naive.

It hadn’t been until Sam asked to go for a drive with him that alarm bells had gone off in his head. Sam could be sweet and sentimental, but he never attempted to spend more time with Dean than he had to.

Dean sucked it up and started reading:

The 5 Love Languages
Goals for this experiment:
Show Dean he is loved
Prove to Dean that he is worthy of love
Teach myself how to be a better brother
Make an effort in our relationship
Demonstrate healthy affection as a way of modeling for Dean

Words of Affirmation

Encouraging Words:
He really knows his stuff when it comes to cars
He’s good in the kitchen
He makes hunting look easy

Say kind things with kind intent, so there is no question as to the genuinity of the words.

He’s a diligent worker
He is knowledgeable about a lot of things, stuff I wish I had the brain to understand but don’t. I’m glad he does
He makes people feel at ease when they’re around him
He is the greatest man in any room, world-saving aside
He makes it hard to be his little brother, there is a lot to live up to
He is beautiful YIKES
I have a lot of fun with him
He is and was always the best brother anyone could ever have
He makes it impossible to want anyone else. He always has

Dean was shocked, to say the least. Sam hadn’t said any of these things that he could remember, but he did recall his brother saying some endearing things here and there throughout the months. It tended to catch him off guard, and the only thing he really knew how to respond with was “thanks”. But it had been nice, even if awkward. Their dad wasn’t one for verbal affection, more of a hard clap on the back and a, “that’ll do,” kind of guy. But Sam telling him what he thought of him and the things he appreciated made him feel good, like he was confirming things that Dean should know he feels, but didn’t until he said it. He had felt a little pang in his chest when he’d read the part about him being beautiful, about Sam not wanting anyone else, scribbled out but not enough to be completely hidden, like Sam was ashamed of it.

Dean had spent decades trying to get those thoughts out of his head. But unfortunately self-abuse and substance therapy did not make it any easier, and it sure as hell didn’t make it go away. So he’d just committed himself to pretending it didn’t exist these days, which was pretty easy to do. It had been a part of him all his life, it was like an old friend that called sometimes to remind him he was alive and fine. Dean didn’t care to deny it anymore, nor did he care to feed it. It just was. He would be damned if he believed that Sam struggled with it too, though.

Dean remembered being young and in pain. He was his own worst enemy. When Sam started growing into himself, looking less like the kid Dean had tucked into bed every night and more like a man who could do all the things Dean could and more. Dean had wrestled every day with the things he would think about his baby brother. A lingering glance here, a blush when Sam stripped his clothes off without a care there, spending hot, cramped summers miserable for so many reasons. He remembered Sam being a jealous little sh*t whenever he left to spend time with a girl, doing his best to sate the festering lasciviousness inside of him in a way that wasn’t beating off in the shower thinking of his brother. But he’d never thought it had anything to do with real jealousy, they had always been very codependent. They were only ever apart long enough to go to school or when their dad took Dean on hunts until Sam was old enough to go, too. Dean always felt possessive when Sam would go out with girls, but he knew why that was.

If Dean really thought about it without the lens of keephimsafedonttouchdontthinkdonthurtdontdontdont he could see maybe a few inklings that Sam didn’t feel strictly brotherly toward him. But Sam had never acted on it. In fact, he’d acted out so against it that he’d left Dean behind, choosing to try to be something else instead. Hauling off to Stanford to be a lawyer? That had convinced Dean for sure that anything he felt for his brother was unrequited. And then when he’d come back, he’d been broken up over the girl he loved. Then the sh*t never stopped. Death, apocalypse, more death, purgatory, heaven, hell, betraying each other over and over again. You really stop thinking about the possibility of that person feeling any kind way about you.

Dean read through the pages on gifts and acts of service subsequently, remembering all the kind things Sam had started doing for him recently and finding out about a few he hadn’t even noticed. He couldn’t fathom Sam paying attention to his routine enough to know how to help him. It was sweet.

The next page looked like it was still in progress, a few notes jotted down and ideas scribbled.

Quality Time

Proximity is not togetherness

Uninterrupted, sympathetic dialogue

Words of affirmation is what we are saying, quality time is what we are hearing

The art of listening:

Maintain eye contact
Don’t listen and do something else at the same time
Listen for feelings (what emotion are they experiencing?)
Observe body language (is how they are speaking different from how they are moving?)
Refuse to interrupt (definitely need to work on this)

Sit in the garage with him while he works
Go see a new movie together
Ask about day more often

If Sam felt the same way about Dean as Dean felt about him, he wasn’t going to waste any more of his life worrying about whether it was right or wrong or bad for them. Nothing had ever been more real or sure than his love for Sam, it never left him. He had tried. He’d thought maybe being tortured in hell for forty years about it would at least make him a little aversed. Alistair had practically smelled how f*cked up over his brother he was. But Dean came back, and Sam was Sam. It didn’t matter what anyone else said. It didn’t matter how many times he died, drank, f*cked, drove, killed, he was and always would be gone for his little brother.

When he’d found out that all of their lives had been orchestrated to happen exactly a certain way so they’d fulfill their destinies, he had felt comforted in the idea that he had been divinely designed to want Sam. Now? He didn’t care if he had. He didn’t care when it started, why it happened, who created him to be this way. Sam was his everything. There was really nothing else to it. Dean didn’t care if he never got to show Sam that aspect of himself, a life with his brother by his side in any sense of the word was something worth having. And not worth risking.

But Dean was clued in now. If Sam was at a point in his life where he was thinking about their relationship and how to deepen it, if he was trying to show Dean the love he felt for him, then Dean would show him right back.

Dean flipped to the next page, titled “Physical Touch”, but it was completely blank. He guessed Sammy was saving that one for last. He was sure quality time had a good bit of experimenting left to go, but he was going to speed up this process a little bit, ante himself into this round.

Dean placed the books back where he’d found them, taking extra care to line them up with the others like Sam always did, and shut himself into his room at the exact moment he heard Sam bounding down the stairs from his run.

Game time.


Sam had scrubbed all the sweat off his body and adorned some black joggers with a soft gray shirt. He was standing in the kitchen making a salad when Dean came waltzing in.

“Don’t fill up too fast on rabbit food, I’m about to make lunch.” Dean crowded into Sam’s space, placing a hand on his upper back and slightly guiding him a little to the left so he could open the cupboard Sam was in front of. He grabbed a bowl and closed the cupboard, dropping his hand after. Sam froze when his brother touched him, now staring at Dean’s profile as he moved around the kitchen gathering utensils and ingredients.

“You good, Sammy?” Dean asked as he continued his ministrations, not pausing to look at him.

Sam’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he tried to think about if he had been oblivious his whole life and Dean actually touched him all the time, he just never noticed, and that’s why he was acting like nothing was wrong while Sam’s brain short-wired three feet away.

“Yeah,” Sam coughed, “I’m good.”

Dean beamed at him, “Good. Go eat your salad and I’ll call when it’s ready.”

Sam left the kitchen in a daze, overthinking as he walked back to the den, completely missing Dean’s self-satisfied smirk.

Sam did eat his salad. And he ate lunch with Dean, and he spent the rest of the day doing his monotonous tasks exactly the way he always did. But the whole time, he was thinking back to a warm, broad hand across his shoulders.

Sam was in the library researching potential cases when Dean came in. Sam remembered his notes, shutting his laptop and turning his body to his brother to seem open and attentive as Dean leaned up against the cement wall.

“Wanna go fishing?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, “Fishing?”

Dean nodded his head once, “Fishing.”

They were in the car heading to the lake that was a 25 minute drive northeast of them within the hour, backseat stocked with their poles, lures, camping chairs, and a cooler of beer. They had stopped for bait at the little gas station on the way and picked up some snacks, as well.

The air from the moving car felt good on their arms in the summer heat, sweat pricking at Sam’s temples as they moved toward their destination. He pushed a hand through his hair, trying to slick it out of the way of his soon-to-be soaked forehead.

“Your hair is getting so damn long.”

Sam met Dean’s gaze beside him with a smirk, “I know. It can get irritating sometimes in the heat.”

His brother tsked, “Soon it’ll be long enough to tie up like all the little dickwad hipsters at the bar.”

Sam rolled his eyes with a grin and mumbled under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that?” Dean laughed.

“It already is.” Sam said a little clearer this time.

“No way.” Dean teased.

Sam faintly blushed and cleared his throat softly, “Uh, yeah. It is.”

Dean took a long look at his brother’s hair, “It so is not. How would you even know?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, “Because I put it up all the time?”

What? Sam, I think I would notice if you walked around the bunker in pigtails everyday.”

Sam tried to keep a brotherly-irritated air to his words, “It’s not pigtails Dean, jesus. I only really do it in my room, for pretty much exactly this reason, you dick.”

Dean dropped his jaw in mock insult, “Me? You think I would make fun of you, Sammy? You got me totally wrong, brother. I would never.”

“No? You wouldn’t call me a pretty, pretty princess and buy me sparkly barrettes?”

“Well, does it make you look like a pretty, pretty princess?”

Sam clamped his lips to keep from snickering. “No. I actually think I look kind of rugged and woodsy.”

Rugged and woodsy?” Dean snorted.

Sam let go and broke into a fit of laughs with his brother, both of them out of breath and teary-eyed by the time they were done.

Dean mimed a “go ahead” motion with his hand, “Come on, Sammy. Put it up, put your money where your mouth is. Go on.”

“Alright, alright, shut your yap, I’m doing it.” Sam pulled his hair into a high bun with the elastic around his wrist (he had no idea what Dean thought that was for the last three months), relieved to have some air on the back of his neck. Sam angled his body so Dean could see him head-on, “Okay, lay it on me, you get 45 seconds of free teasing and that’s it.”

Dean rolled his eyes into Sam’s direction and then back to the road, then the picture of what he’d just seen fully formed in his brain causing him to do a double take. He appeared to be attempting to hide the surprise on his face, scanning Sam’s face and his new hair-do. He couldn’t believe what it did for Sam, Dean hadn’t seen this much of his face in years. It looked so good on him. He examined every centimeter of revealed skin and the, frankly gorgeous, bun in his hair. Sam raised his brow in Dean’s direction, his eyes finally meeting Sam’s and realizing what he was currently doing, completely silent. Dean looked away and cleared his throat, shaking his head minutely.

“Yeah?” Sam asked quizzically.

Dean eyed his brother without turning his head, his gaze moving from his hair slowly down the length of him then back to the asphalt, “Rugged and woodsy.”

Sam couldn’t believe his eyes. Had Dean just checked him out? Had his ladies’ man of an older brother just get flustered because he’d put his hair up? His insecurities wanted to tell him he was crazy, but even they were having a hard time disproving what just happened there.

The Impala pulled into a spot under a shaded tree, just barely a two minute walk to the dock.

“Alright, Sammy, let’s catch us some dinner.”

Several hours later they were sun baked and five moderately-sized fish richer, and were on their way back to the bunker as the sun settled into its golden state, perfect for car naps. Sam had dozed off in the passenger seat, his long arms folded over his chest.

Dean had enjoyed spending some time with Sam, just relaxing by the water with one mundane, non-life-threatening goal in mind. They had shot the sh*t for hours, sometimes lapsing into comfortable silence only to be broken by another regaling.

Dean had kept the physical touch to a minimum while they spent time together, because for all he believed that they were on the same wavelength now, that uncertainty that had plagued him all his life struggled to release its hold. He had been very open about his reaction to seeing Sam with his mane pulled back, and Sam definitely hadn’t grimaced or acted strangely afterwards. That was a tick in the ‘Dean’ column, for all he was concerned.

So maybe it was okay to keep pushing the boundaries a little. If it didn’t bother his brother, it wouldn’t bother him. As Dean pulled into the garage, he committed himself to keeping up the antics. So when he’d put the Impala in park, he set his hand right above Sam’s knee and jostled him slightly, leaving the hand there as Sam blinked his eyes open.

“Hey Sammy, we’re home, come on. Let’s at least get you horizontal.” Sam looked into Dean’s face groggily, then appeared to recognize the warmth of his hand on his leg. He glanced down at it then back up to make eye contact with Dean and nodded sleepily.

Dean patted Sam’s jean-clad thigh and got out of the car, heading inside to start prepping the fish while his brother slept a little longer.

Sam woke to the smell of baked fish permeating the bunker. He looked at the clock, 6:13. He’d been out for over an hour since they’d gotten home.

Sam always got sleepy after they spent some time in the sun. Dean liked to tease him and call him a lizard boy.

Dean. God, the day had been weird. His brother had actively asked to spend time with him, blatantly checked him out, and put his hand on his thigh. For a while.

Sam didn’t know what to think. Dean had never acted like this. Even over the weeks when Sam was putting himself out there and trying new things to show Dean he loved him, Dean never responded in kind, just awkward skepticism. Was it just that quality time was really working for him? He hadn’t even really done anything yet, just had a conversation with more intent than usual. Dean had suggested fishing.

Come to think of it...Fishing had been on his list of things to do with Dean.

Sam glanced to his left, eyeing his row of books.


His journal was the closest book to him. He always put it second.

Sam pressed his palms into his eyes, breathing through the panic.

Dean had been in here, and he had snooped on Sam’s experiment.

Jesus Christ, this was bad.

Being angry with Dean for prying aside, he was frozen in fear. If Dean had seen what Sam was writing, he had probably put two and two together. His brother was a lot smarter than anyone gave him credit for.

To make matters worse, he heard footsteps coming down the hall towards his room.

“Sammy! Wake up Sleeping Beaut-” Dean peeked in right after Sam had attempted to school his expression into one of ‘freshly awoken’, “Oh good, you’re awake. Dinner’s ready.” Dean smiled broadly at Sam and ducked back out.

That hadn’t looked like the face of someone who was deeply troubled upon learning the truth of his brother’s incestuous feelings. He had honestly looked happier than usual.

Looking back on the last few days, he didn’t see any apprehension at all, actually. Dean had been very forward and reciprocating. The touch in the kitchen, the day out, the…flirting? That was really all it could be categorized as. Was it possible that Dean wasn’t freaked out?

His brain entertained the thought that Dean, being the selfless to a fault big brother he is, was pushing himself to pretend he felt the same way Sam felt for his sake. So he didn’t feel like a freak, like he was alone, like Dean would leave if he found out. But his brother wasn’t that good of an actor, he didn’t think he would be able to pull off pretending he was attracted to Sam. And if Dean had found out and didn’t feel the same way, he would spend the rest of his life acting like he hadn’t seen it. Never bringing it up, never giving Sam a calculating look, never seeming as though anything was different at all. That’s what Dean would do. So if he was giving an equivalent exchange, there was a good chance that Dean felt at least some amount of similarity.

Sam couldn’t believe the conversation he was having with himself at the moment. This was not his intention when he had started reading the book, he’d just wanted to be better to Dean. How had he managed to get here?

“Sammy! No more ‘five more minutes’, get your ass in here. Fish is gettin’ cold!” Dean bellowed down the hallway.

Dean had found his book. Dean was playing with him, and Sam was losing. That just wouldn’t fly.

Sam practically skipped into the kitchen. “Smells great. Lemon?”

“Yup. Basil, too.”

Nice. You’re really getting good at this, we’ll make a Paula Deen out of you yet.”

“Please, Paula was my father’s name, just call me Dean.”

The corners of Sam’s mouth quirked up as he loaded his plate. He made his way to the table, stopping for just a moment behind his brother.

“Thanks for dinner, Dean,” and quickly kissed him on the cheek before going to sit down.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean paused, spatula mid-air as if time had frozen when Sam had pecked him. It took a couple seconds, but he resumed portioning out his food and coming to sit across from Sam.

“How was your cat nap?” Oh, so he was just going to play coy. Two could play that game.

“It was good, you know me and the sun.”

“Sorry I didn’t have any crickets to garnish the fish with, lizard boy.” Dean’s socked foot came into contact with Sam’s ankle, hooking around it and resting the other on top.

Sam halted halfway into a bite, did he just…?

“No worries, there’s always next time. What movie do you want to watch tonight?”

He took his other foot and nuzzled Dean’s shin with it.

Dean couldn’t hide the smirk on his face if he’d been wearing a mask. “Hmm. Blade Runner?”

“Oo, good one.” Sam looked up from his plate into Dean’s face and gave him a very slow, obvious up and down, “You got some sun today.”

“Yeah, look at this bullsh*t,” Dean pulled the hem of his shirt up and over his head, revealing a stark farmer’s tan. Sam’s face heated, the tips of his ears probably giving him away.

“God, do you remember when we were kids how you’d get a tan line around your neck from the amulet?”

Dean laughed around the tines of his fork, “Yeah and your forehead would be the palest part of you from that emo kid cut.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Well, good thing I can put my hair up now, that won’t happen.”

His brother’s eyes flashed from his hair to directly into his gaze, “Yeah, good thing,” and stood up to take care of their plates.

Sam’s skin was on fire, the heat behind their casual words settling into his blood and coursing through him. The tension was dynamic. They were playing a risky game of chicken, and either of them could fold at any moment. They could put aside their brotherly competitive sides and speed this up real fast, but neither wanted to be the one to break the dam. Sam wanted Dean to crack first, and Dean wanted Sam to crack first.

“I’ll go set up the movie, leave the dishes for me.” Sam strolled past Dean, smacking his ass on his way out. Not very gently, either.

Dean squeaked (it was a very manly squeak, Dean would assure later) in surprise, red rising in his face as he looked back at Sam’s self-satisfied grin.

“Oh, shoot, wait up.” Dean sauntered over and grabbed his brother by the bicep, scanning Sam’s features with no ounce of reservation, just unadulterated want. “I’m gonna make popcorn, you want some?” His voice came out much huskier than usual, darkened to a deep rasp. His question was innocent, but it came out much more sultry than it had any right to.

Sam looked down at his arm and back into Dean’s face, directly at his lips. Whatever desire was apparent in his brother’s eyes was reflected back at him. He whispered, “Yeah.”

Dean touched the fingertips of his other hand gingerly to Sam’s jawline, leaned in and planted a tender kiss on Sam’s lips. He pulled back just barely, smirking mirthfully, “Okay. I’ll be in in just a minute, Sammy.”

Sam’s chest stuttered, his lungs trying to decide whether to gasp or hold the breath, settling for a weird half-and-half situation.

They just stood there together in the crackling energy surrounding them. Sam feeling like if he took a breath he would break whatever gentle tone was hanging in the air between them. Everything they had ever buried regarding how they felt about each other was digging its way out of the soil of their hearts. Sam felt old hopes rise out of long-established graves.

He didn’t have the energy to salt and burn them anymore.

As Dean stepped away to start making popcorn, Sam refused to literally let this slip between his fingers. He grasped his brother’s forearm and pulled him back against his body, locking him in a fervent kiss.

Dean gasped into Sam’s lips, effectively parting them for Sam to mouth along, deepening it.

They sighed into each other, everything clicking into place for once in their lives.

Sam’s grip on Dean’s forearm was still tight, but it could’ve been branding him and he wouldn’t have noticed. Not with their lips molding around each other’s, the soft inside of Sam’s mouth on his tongue.

It was yielding, it was soft, it was commiserative, it was merciful. They clung to each other desperately. It was like kissing anyone else, but if their bodies were fine-tuned to every molecule of their partner’s. Every brush of their lips, every clutch of the other’s hands was a new experience, a stronger feeling than they’d ever felt. Sam knew then that nobody had ever had a chance. They were made in each other’s image, perfectly suited for one another. Where Dean pushed, Sam pulled. Where Sam gave, Dean took. Wherever Dean moved, Sam was already there. It was like hunting, without the fear. They were free-falling together, knowing the other was just as far gone as they were.

Sam mouthed down to Dean’s jaw and up to nip his earlobe, “How long?” he exhaled, lips immediately going back to assaulting his brother’s neck.

Dean groaned low, hesitant to answer with his brother’s ministrations, not wanting him to stop. “Mm, ‘bout…twenty years.”

Sam did stop at that, his lips spit-shiny, stunned eyes meeting Dean’s lust-hazed ones, looking for the joke in them that had to be coming. Dean looked completely serious. He laid his forehead against his brother’s.

Twenty years?” Sam looked conflicted, like he couldn’t figure out if that was the best or the worst news he’d ever been told.

Dean nodded, jostling Sam’s head with it, apprehension clouding his face. He wasn’t sure what that would mean for them. Anybody else, he would’ve lied. Showing a vulnerable hand was not the Winchester way. “You?”

Sam smirked, so much power and history and feeling packed behind it. “What day is it?”

Dean furrowed his brow, “Uhhh, June 15th?”

Sam seemed hesitant to continue, flexing his hands where they clasped around Dean’s waist. He chuckled wearily and cleared his throat, “Uh…almost a month ago to the day it’s been 21 years.”

Dean’s face slackened, his hand in Sam’s hair clenching minutely. “You remember the date?”

Sam nuzzled Dean’s arm where it rested near the side of his face.

“Yeah. It was that first day Dad let you drive the Impala.”

Dean remembered that day. Not the date by any means, but he remembered how cool he had felt behind Baby’s wheel for the first time. He couldn’t recall anything happening in particular that might have pushed Sam over the line. Dean kept quiet, hoping he would go on.

“I just remembered watching you from the backseat. You didn’t look scared or like a little kid pretending to be a grownup. You looked like you belonged there. I’d thought I’d had crushes on girls before, seeing how you were with them, but nothing really compared to how I felt about you.” Sam closed his eyes, hoping maybe if he didn’t look directly at Dean that he could say all he needed to. “It all came at me then, and I spiraled. I thought about all of the things I was supposed to want with the girls my age, and I thought about doing those things with you, and it didn’t gross me out. It just seemed right. Of course the self-loathing and bad sh*t came not too much later, but just in that moment I was okay with the fact that I was in love with you. It wasn’t about you being a guy or my brother, it was just love. Just knowing wherever I was, whatever I was doing, I wanted you to be there with me, looking like you belonged there. Belonged with me.”

The air was palpable around them, a thick, nervous haze. Sam’s palms were clammy around Dean’s back, he was grateful he wasn’t holding his face anymore. Dean was quiet, not seeming uncomfortable or upset, just still and pondering. Sam had opened up more than he had in years, and he never knew how his brother was going to take it when he did. It was about a forty-sixty toss-up between resetting his nose in the bathroom mirror or brutal honesty that he thought about for months afterwards. Sam knew that Dean wanted him, that much was apparent so far, but he might not want the same things Sam did. Dean was never a rocking chair and holding hands kind of guy. He preferred a “love ‘em and leave ‘em” approach, even if it was just because of their lifestyle, whereas Sam wanted more than that. He knew his brother wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t do anything to make it weird between them, but he didn’t know if this was it for Dean. If he wanted to make it just sex and hunting, if they would keep separate bedrooms, if he would still want to sleep with other people. It was terrifying. He moved to break the silence, get ahead of the inevitable letdown.

“Obviously if this isn’t what you want we can just completely forget this and go watch a movie and I won’t as-”


Sam stopped.

Dean moved his hand down to Sam’s jaw, tilting his head up to look into Dean’s eyes. His gaze was amused, if anything.

“Yeah?” Sam looked so nervous, always so inside his own head.

“Shut up.”

Dean leaned in to kiss Sam again, much slower and more tender than the last. He wasn’t very good with words, could never express them the way Sam could. He remembered hating English class and the essays and reading, but Sam had loved it. He knew how to phrase things and get his point across, he enjoyed the process. Dean was smart, he could rebuild a car from the ground up and jerry-rig an EMF meter out of an old walkman, but he couldn’t do what Sam just did with a pen and paper and 48 hours to do it. So if words weren’t going to help Dean here, he was going to try to put everything he felt into the physicality.

Dean held Sam at the face and the small of his back with the strength of a dying man as he kissed him. He could smell Sam on a more dissective level this close. The scent he’d become nose blind to from being around him daily was much stronger here. Sam seemed a little shocked, he could feel the rapture, the devotion, the exaltation Dean was desperately trying to pour into him like it was his own. Because it was, really. It was the same emotions Sam experienced mirrored back at him, and it was worth every moment of pain and uncertainty over the decades. It was worth torture, separation, loss, apocalypse, death, all of it. Nothing in the world hurt nor saved quite like Dean Winchester.

Dean shifted them, pressing himself into the jamb of the entryway, essentially trapping himself between Sam and the wood. He took Sam by the wrists and guided his hands to his body, pressing and gliding them around his torso to embolden his brother.

Sam explored Dean’s body with his hands, slowly scoping out every centimeter he had never been allowed to touch. Even through the shirt, touching him was getting him more and more revved up.

Never had he been able to feel the bony ridges of Dean’s clavicles, the hills and valleys of his chest and arms where hard-earned muscle bulged, the soft and yielding flesh of his stomach. He’d wiped blood and sewn the parts closed when they weren’t so lucky, but taking care of each other like that was never sexual to Sam. It was methodical, making sure your partner didn’t die on you, fixing them up. So now, with no other reason to touch his brother than simply to touch him and revel in it, he felt like he was the highest he’d ever been. He sighed deeply into Dean’s mouth, feeling excited to get where they were going but more than happy to take the ride slow.

Dean was also getting amped up from all the grazing. He pulled Sam into him, encouraging him to grind against him. His hands grabbed his brother’s sternly and brought them around to his ass, Sam squeezing the flesh Dean so bravely offered up to him in his palms. Dean uttered a breathy sound into his lips at the pressure, pressing his hips up to meet Sam’s as they undulated together.

Sam broke their kiss, making eye contact with Dean and raising his brows in a surprised question.

Dean nodded slowly, a frisky gleam in his eyes, a co*cked “who woulda guessed” expression, and brought Sam back to his lips.

Sam took a few seconds to reciprocate, his mind reeling from the newfound information. The fact that Dean felt the same way for Sam as he did for him? Cool. He could figure that out as they went and freak out later. This? This was simply too much.

His brother was a goddamn bottom.

How many times had he heard Dean making some small chick from some small town scream all night? How many times had he watched his brother’s domineering “I’ll give you the ride of your life” come-home-with-me number in action? How many times had Sam felt small and so very much the little brother in comparison to Dean, who was all-encompassing?

He couldn’t believe it. Sam had spent a lot of time thinking about how this would happen over the years. Not that he ever thought it would, he was still reeling with that one, but his solo sessions never transpired even once without him thinking about Dean. There were a lot of scenarios he’d played out, but in pretty much every one he’d consigned to letting his brother take the reins. He really didn’t know if he’d ever thought about the possibility that Dean might like to be in the passenger seat. Hell, he lived in the driver’s seat.

But here Dean was making Sam press him against the wall, urging him to take control, whimpering into his mouth. And Sam knew how to take charge, it was his preferred role in these situations. But when it came to his brother, he would take him any way he was allowed. He would open himself up and moan like a girl for him every day for forever if that’s what Dean wanted.

But he couldn’t say he wasn’t most pleasantly surprised at the turned table.

God, he was going to tear this man apart.

“Okay Dean,” Sam smirked into his lips and drifted down, hooked his hands where Dean’s thighs met his ass, where he was met with raised eyebrows and a soft groan in response, and hoisted him into the air. Dean made a noise that could be described as undignified, but just held tighter around Sam’s neck and crossed his ankles behind his back.

Sam had done this with a lot of women, he expected Dean to be a lot heavier to maneuver, but he wasn’t. Just stronger, broader, definitely harder where his crotch pressed into Sam’s body. He walked them, never breaking their kiss, further down the winding hallways to Dean’s bedroom.

The door closed with a slam, and Sam laid Dean down on the bed slowly. He bent his head down to mouth along his neck, grabbing fistfuls of his brother’s ass and grinding himself down against his hard co*ck.

“I know I told you I’ve wanted this for 21 years, but f*ck, you’re better than I ever imagined,” Sam groaned into his embrace.

“Me too, Sammy. Now strip off some of those damn clothes.”

Sam grinned into the kisses he was marking Dean’s skin with. “You’re a pushy bottom.”

“And you’re a slow-working top. Come on, before I flip you over and show you how it’s done.”

Sam didn’t particularly think that was a threat, but he would play along.

“Sure you won’t pop a hip if I hurry it along, old man?” Sam was glad their brotherly banter extended into the bedroom. He wouldn’t know what to do if things changed now that they were intimate.

Dean scoffed, “Old man? You better make me forget you said that ‘fore I make you go outside and pick a switch, youngin’.”

“Promises, promises.” Sam did stand to take his shirt off though, but he certainly noticed Dean’s legs not moving from being wrapped around his waist. “Come on, octopus, lean up, let me get your’s off, too.”

Dean apparently chose to ignore that one, pushing himself off the bed and letting Sam pull his Henley over his head.

Sam watched Dean’s now bare abdominal muscles flex as he lowered himself back against the sheets.

He let his gaze run up Dean’s torso slowly, taking in every freckle, hair, twitch, every rise and fall from each breath.

He knew there was no hiding the hunger in his eyes as his scan landed finally at his face, seeing the same reflected back at him.

“Whatcha doin’, Sammy?” Dean played coy, not an ounce of innocence reaching his expression. He looked like sex personified.

Sam pinned him with a look, “Just admiring my big brother.”

Dean tried to hide what that did to him, but Sam knew what to look for. Dean’s pupils blew wide. That small muscle in the corner of his jaw contracted, the way it did when he was trying not to let a monster get into his head. His dick against Sam’s twitched, strong enough to feel even through his jeans.

“You like that, Dean? Like being reminded what we are?” Sam taunted through a small smirk.

Dean obviously couldn’t find any malice or uncomfortability in his face, because he nodded slowly.

“Good. Because you’re about,” Sam’s large hands pulled Dean’s ass against the hard line of his co*ck, rubbing hard against his hole through four layers of fabric, “to get f*cked like you never have by your little brother.”

Dean keened, pressing back against Sam’s hard-on even as he blushed, covering his reddening face with his arm. “Not so little anymore.”

Sam moved to grab Dean’s hand, pulling it away from his face and twining his fingers through his, holding it in his own.

“Nuh uh. I want to see my casanova of a brother blush like a virgin when I tell him what I’m going to do to him.” Sam glided both of their hands up and down Dean’s torso, reveling in the goosebumps he sees raise on his skin, “When I tell him how pretty he is.”

Dean’s breath hitched, his eyes unable to move from Sam’s own boring stare, the lust heavy in them.

“When I tell him it doesn’t matter how old we are, I’m not letting him out of this bedroom until he comes three or four times.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his hand squeezing Sam’s tighter. He gulped, trying to remember how to use his voice. “Don’t know how you’re gonna manage that, Sammy. But if anyone can, it’s you.”

Sam finally gives in, leaning down to take his brother’s lips in a searing kiss, bringing both of Dean’s hands above his head.

“Going to ruin you for anyone else.” He whispers into his lips, grinding down into him.

Dean whimpers as Sam’s length presses friction against his own, never so sensitive as he is right now. “Never wanted anyone else anyway.”

Dean reads a scalding fondness in Sam’s eyes as he watches him pull his hands down to Dean’s button and fly, releasing him from his very claustrophobic denim prison. Sam chest rumbles with a groan as he pulls both his jeans and boxer briefs down his long legs, revealing the co*ck he’s been guiltily dreaming about for over two decades. It juts thick and long from a thatch of well-trimmed hair that seems to be manicured all the way back to his asshole. Which reminds Sam to figure out what Dean actually has experience with before he makes any sudden, presumptuous movements while he’s entranced by his brother’s better-than-he-could-ever-imagine privates.

“Have you done any of this before?” Sam looks unjudging into Dean’s face, his hands safely holding Dean’s knees apart instead of where he actually wants them to be.

Dean could certainly make a joke like ‘are you really asking if I’m a virgin, Sam’ or ‘I was the one who taught you how to kiss girls’ but he knows what Sam really means, and if he jokes about it Sam might think he’s not taking his safety seriously enough, and he doesn’t want that.

“A few daring ladies with some curious fingers, but not too much past that. I know that I like it, at least.”

Sam nodded, “Okay, so you’ve never had your ass eaten before?”

Sam could’ve sugar-coated that better, for sure, but then he wouldn’t have gotten that stunned, flustered expression on Dean’s face.

Dean blinked a few times, “You…want to do that…to me?” He questioned, all of a sudden very bashful and a little self-conscious.

Sam would absolutely not have that, he would make sure Dean was very sure of his stance on anything they did together.

“More than anything, actually. Want to watch you squirm on my tongue so bad. It’s hot as f*ck to think I’ll get to be the first one to do something to you that I’m almost one hundred percent sure you’re going to love.” The younger had resorted to gently trailing his hands up and down a small patch of each of Dean’s thighs as they talked. He watched the trembling in his legs in response, whether from the gentle touches or the weight of the conversation, he didn’t know.

His eyebrows were furrowed, looking like he wasn’t entirely sure Sam was right about him loving it, but he was going to give the kid a shot to try.

“Okay, Sammy. Whatever you want to do, go ahead.” His voice was trembling like his legs, and now it was obvious it had more to do with nerves than anything.

Sam leaned back over his brother, capturing his lips again and keeping them occupied for a while. He didn’t want to do anything too fast. Sam had waited 21 years for this, he could wait a few more minutes to bring Dean back into a comfortable headspace.

It didn’t take long. Their kisses seemed to have a consuming nature about them, pulling both Sam and Dean back into themselves and the whole reason they were here. Put all the ‘new’ aside, it didn’t have to be scary because the person on the other side of each pair of lips had never not been theirs. This was just a different way they were coming together. New, yes. But they weren’t new. The man below Sam was not a stranger, evident in the way he blindly thumbed over the same scar on Sam’s side he always touched when he noticed it again any other non-sexual time. The man above Dean was not a stranger either, he didn’t even consciously have to remember never to put too much of his weight on his brother’s right hip, never the same after a nasty djinn incident two years ago, he just did it.

The two knew each other more than anyone, more than they knew themselves. They had seen the worst of each other. Sex was arguably one of the less intimate things they had gone through together. They didn’t need to be unsure or scared.

Dean’s hands had made their way into Sam’s hair, laughing at all the times he had said it was too long or girly, silently taking it all back for how f*cking wonderful it felt between his fingers and remembering how hot it looked in a bun earlier that day.

Sam nipped at his brother’s bottom lip and Dean tensed, his hands tightening in Sam’s hair in surprise, but groaning all the same.

His own noise might have covered up the younger’s moan in response, but Dean hadn’t missed the vibration in his chest that was pressed against his or the quick snap of his hips that had otherwise been operating at a slow roll.

Dean tested again, keeping quiet as he kissed his brother, but tugging his hair intentionally this time.

Sam let out a hiss that swiftly morphed into a deep grunt, a shiver radiating down his body from his head.

Dean smirked into the kiss, “I f*cking knew it. Baby boy likes his hair pulled?” Sam moaned lightly at the nickname, smiling through the heat that had flooded his face. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

“Note taken. Now come on, Sam, show me your ass kissing skills before I come from making out with you like a goddamn teenager.”

Sam smirked even as he moved to kneel between Dean’s legs, “Think you could actually do that?”

Dean huffed a laugh, “You’ve surprised me before. I wouldn’t put it past me.”

Sam ran his callused hands over the expanse of the backs of Dean’s thighs, mesmerized by the gorgeous canvas before him. His brother’s body was flawless. Obviously he knew that before, having spent decades watching him from afar and hearing everyone and their mother flirt with him. Dean was everyone’s cup of tea. But now, Sam was up close and personal, and he knew he was never going to come back from this. He was never going to unlearn the intimate side of Dean’s body, destined to know what perfection looks like every day he managed to stay topside. Leave it to Dean to ruin him for anyone else before they even got anywhere.

He placed gentle kisses along his skin, holding his thighs into his lips while he mouthed closer to his target area. The smell of Dean was stronger than ever down here, Sam felt like he was bathed in it.

Dean sighed through the gentle touches, deeply content. His nerves had amped down significantly, knowing Sam would never suggest anything that wouldn’t feel good for him. Dean shoved a pillow under his back so he could watch Sam more comfortably.

He hadn’t waited his entire life for this moment only to have his eyes off of him the whole time. He wanted to remind himself exactly who he was with, even if the idea of watching him do things Dean had never thought he’d do was mildly embarrassing.

Sam peppered kisses around Dean’s hole, pulling his legs wider apart. His eyes flashed up into Dean’s, blazing with question and warning. He was asking if Dean was ready.

Dean nodded, heat flooding his cheeks.

That was all Sam needed before laving his tongue, hot and insistent, over Dean’s hole.

Dean’s flinch was full body, expecting it but not expecting it at the same time. He had never really put much thought into the idea of what it would feel like to have someone, his brother, lick his asshole.

Sam stopped, “Breathe, Dean.”

Dean released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, manually relaxing his shoulders.

Sam didn’t give him warning this time before fully encasing his hole with his mouth, raking long, flat licks up it.

Dean yelped, the attention feeling quite strange.

Sam kept at it, running his tongue around the skin and mouthing at it as if he were kissing Dean’s lips.

His brother kept quiet, watching him. Sam was starting to become unsure, self-conscious that Dean wasn’t enjoying himself.

He brought his fingers to Dean’s cheeks, pulling the skin taut, and thrust his tongue inside Dean.

He received a surprised moan at that, and grinned around his flexed tongue.

Sam finally gave in to his desire to go to town on his brother, and clutched him closer as he probed into him and writhed his tongue inside.

Dean made a small, whimpering noise. “Sammy.”

Sam wanted to get deeper, wanted to f*ck Dean on his mouth as deep as he could f*ck him with his co*ck. He knelt forward and manhandled Dean’s pelvis up to his mouth, shoving his tongue as far as it would go, pressing it and rubbing it around his walls.

“You’re so f*cking strong, Jesus Christ, Sam. f*ck.” Sam squeezed his fingers around Dean’s waist harder, pushing impossibly deeper.

With Dean’s hips in the air and Sam closer, he could see a hell of a lot more. Dean was a big visual guy, and goddamn, watching Sam was enrapturing. And though he was having a hard time admitting it, it felt good. It had felt odd at first, certainly an acquired sensation, but Sam was obviously talented at it, and he seemed to really enjoy it.

Dean groaned as Sam lapped at his hole in between plunging it inside.

Sam peered up at the elder, his eyes burning with need and possession.

Sam’s expression ripped the rug out from underneath him. He was so into it, eating Dean out with an enthusiasm he’d experienced very few times in his life. Certainly not with something so dirty, and Sam didn’t seem to intend on stopping until Dean made him. He licked and probed at him voraciously, like Dean’s hole was something to be worshiped.

Dean couldn’t help the sounds coming out of him now, gasps and groans echoing through the room as he was wrecked in ways he didn’t even know existed.

Sam snaked his arm around and ran his thumb over Dean’s lip, asking for entry without ever taking his eyes or mouth off of him. Dean opened his lips, eyes widening as Sam stuck his middle and ring finger inside, rubbing them against his tongue. Dean just let them rest inside, not sure what Sam wanted.

Sam glanced up at him, then firmly sucked at Dean’s hole in instruction.

Dean’s eyes rolled back into his head, releasing a loud keen around Sam’s fingers, “Fhuck!”

Sam smirked, soothing Dean’s hole with gentle licks as Dean got the memo and drowned Sam’s fingers in his saliva. He responded to Sam’s eagerness in kind, enveloping them in the soft heat of his mouth. He suckled at the digits, caressing between them. He was grateful for something to do. He might be more of a receiver, but he liked to be an active participant.

Sam moaned against Dean’s ass, apparently enjoying the attention to his fingers. The vibration felt unbelievable, and Dean whined, bucking up into Sam’s mouth unintentionally.

Yeah, Dean, come on, f*ck yourself on my tongue.”

Dean’s face scrunched up as he pressed back against Sam’s face, riding his tongue as he sucked at his fingers and moaned around them almost constantly now. It was like Sam was trying to consume him, and Dean couldn’t believe how f*cking good it felt.

Sam pulled his fingers out of Dean’s mouth and he whimpered at the loss, his noises a hell of a lot louder now without something to muffle them.

Sam took his soaked fingers and rubbed them along Dean’s hole next to his tongue, looking up into his eyes to warn him again.

Dean nodded, he’d never doubt his brother again after this.

Sam pressed his middle finger in beside his tongue, massaging the walls and creating an extra stretch there wasn’t before. With his rim pulled wider, Sam could flick his tongue in easier as he opened Dean up around him.

Dean ground down against the intrusion. He thought it would hurt more than this, but Sam’s mouth had worked him through pretty well.

“God, you’re so f*ckin’ tight. Let me know if anything hurts.”

His brother seemed to be angling for something inside him, apparently finding it because Dean jolted so hard he dislodged Sam’s mouth entirely.

Sam raised a brow at him, asking him without words if he was in pain.

“Definitely didn’t hurt, I’ll tell you that.”

Sam’s mouth quirked up at the edges as he wrapped his other arm tightly around the back of Dean’s hips, effectively trapping him against his face.

“Hold on tight.”

Sam spit directly on Dean’s hole (“Jesus Christ, Sam.”), slid his ring finger alongside the other and went right to that spot inside him. His tongue flicked along his rim as he pet the apparently very sensitive area with the pads of his fingers.

Dean jerked again at the sensation, but with Sam’s hold, he had nowhere to go. Zings of pleasure shot around like pinballs in his stomach, Sam’s fingers making him feel so full. The idea of taking Sam’s co*ck was f*cking terrifying, actually. But they might not even get there if Sam kept going.

He couldn’t help the wild sounds coming from deep in his chest any more than he could stop his hips from f*cking up into Sam’s hand and lips.

He could already feel heat pooling in his lower abdomen, and that was insane. Neither of them had even laid a hand on his co*ck and he felt the buildup of an org*sm approaching.

His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to pull back, the tension in his groin developing faster than he wanted.

“Sammy, I’m gonna come, you gotta stop, f*ck.”

Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s hips and didn’t let up with his fingers, moving them back and forth over his prostate, but took his mouth off of Dean’s hole to respond.

“Come on, Dean. It’s okay, you can come. This is just the first one. It’s okay, let it go for me.”

Dean whimpered. His brother’s voice was not helping. He didn’t know if he could come that many times in one night, he was afraid to stop things too short. But Sam seemed to believe in him, and he wanted him to come. Dean wanted to come, it was happening so fast.

Sam’s fingers were like magic. They were building up a crescendo in him that he wasn’t sure he’d felt in years. It was slow and methodical and Dean knew it was going to knock him on his ass.

“Sam, f*ck, please.”

“Please what, Dean?” Sam was entirely too composed for how out of sorts Dean felt.

“Make me come. f*ck. I’m so close.” Dean was writhing, both chasing and running away from the fingers giving him hell right now. He was right on the edge. He could touch his dick and it would be all over, but Sam hadn’t made a move to, so he must’ve wanted to see if Dean could come from just this.

“Come for your little brother, Dean.” Sam rasped, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face.

f*ck!” Dean shouted as he came, white hot and aggressive. His vision timed out when Sam told him to come, so he didn’t notice when Sam took his untouched co*ck into his mouth until the wet warmth was already surrounding it and he was spurting down his throat.

Dean practically screamed, another round of pleasure waves tacking onto the existing, making his org*sm last twice as long. Spurt after spurt emptied into Sam’s mouth, and his throat closed around Dean again and again, swallowing it all down.

Sam still didn’t let up on his prostate, just slowing his movements and focusing a little more on sucking Dean deeper as he swallowed what seemed like an endless stream of Dean’s come hungrily.

When his dick stopped pulsing, Sam let off of him, lightly licking anything that he’d missed.

Dean caught his breath as Sam pulled his fingers out of him, using his flannel to wipe them off.

“Sam, what the f*ck was that, I’ve never come that hard in my life.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked up into a smug grin as he stood, using the flannel to wipe off the few shots on Dean’s stomach. “That would be your prostate.”

Dean blinked up at the ceiling, willing his heart rate to go back down as Sam snuggled up to his side. “I’d count myself a freak, but I can’t say I’ve ever done that.”

“Me neither.”

Dean’s head jerked to look at Sam, “What? You’re telling me you’ve never done that before?” He asked incredulously.

“Nope, first time.”

Dean’s eyes widened, taken aback. “You could have told me that you studied ass-ology at Stanford and spent every waking moment of your life perfecting the art of ass licking, and I would’ve believed you.”

Sam chuckled in response. He hadn’t even been the one to come, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt better than he did at that moment. It felt like every cell in his body was vibrating at a crazy new frequency.

“I’ve definitely fantasized about doing that for years, but no.” Sam was snuggled into Dean’s side, giddy and comfortable.

“Fantasized, huh? What else have you dreamed up in that big, freakish brain of yours?” Dean smiled, doing a poor job of hiding how much he loved hearing that Sam fantasized about him.

Sam smirked and ran his fingertips over the skin on Dean’s stomach. He liked feeling his muscles move underneath, shying away from the ticklish reaction. “I was actually a little more interested in seeing what you might want.”

Dean had a lot. As someone who spent a lot of time trying to f*ck his way out of his feelings, he eventually just resigned himself to seeing Sam in everyone. His hair color on this girl, the angle of his lips on another. He’d imagined Sam everywhere. But when it was just him by himself, he always came back to one particular scenario.

“I want to blow you.”

The look on Sam’s face was worth the embarrassment of saying it out loud.

Right now? You don’t want some down time to recuperate?” Oh Sam, looking out for him. Unnecessary, but sweet.

“Actually, if I go the next five minutes without finding out what your dick feels like in my mouth, we’re going to have some problems.”

Sam had not been expecting his brother to be so forward, but he supposed sex was way easier than feelings.

“How do you need me?”

“Right now or just in general? ‘Cause I can tell you, Sammy, but I feel like you might want me to do something else instead.”

Sam rolled his eyes despite blushing, “Dick.”

Dean sat up, pulling Sam to sit at the edge of the bed, still in his jeans. “How can you go from shameless ass-eater one minute to shy virgin the next?”

Dean was kneeling on the floor between Sam’s legs. “Same way you can go from ‘feeling weird to be naked’ to riding my tongue in minutes, probably.”

Dean shivered at the tone change in Sam’s voice, “Touché.”

Dean wanted to get Sam out of his clothes, but he also wanted to tease him a little bit. Sam was always so composed, he wanted to see him lose that. So Dean leaned forward and licked up the outline of Sam’s hard on through his denim. He could taste fabric and laundry soap and something so intrinsically Sam in it.

Sam groaned small and low, seeing his brother on his knees for him, licking at whatever he could get to.

Dean kept up the movements, soaking the fabric under his mouth, every lap of his tongue tracing Sam’s increasingly hard co*ck. It was big. He knew if Sam was anything like him, he didn’t have anything to be insecure about for sure, but it seemed that Sam had been holding out on some very rightful bragging material.

Dean sucked at the layers between his lips and Sam’s skin, not caring at all about the obscene noises it made.

Sam had kept perfectly still, not putting his hands on Dean at all but rather keeping them tangled in the sheets at his sides. He moaned here and there, but mostly seemed like he was trying to keep it all inside.

He was not interested in a reserved Sam. He knew there was a dam here, he just needed to figure out how to break it.

Dean decided to let caution fly to the wind and let his body speak for him. He didn’t need to hide from Sam, and he needed Sam to know he didn’t need to hide from him, either.

With an immense amount of inner strength, Dean let his vocal chords begin to relax, letting them make whatever noises his body wanted them to as he laved over Sam. He let the desperation he felt at where he was and what he was doing take over, and quickly he was groaning and grunting over Sam as his furious tongue worked over the cloth covered flesh of his brother. He palmed at Sam’s balls, aching to get into his jeans.

Because Dean was desperate. Every waking moment of his life and every sleeping or dead moment of it as well had been a precursor for precisely right now. The way he’d wanted Sam over the decades changed often, but the pure maniacal need never wavered.

Dean.” Sam definitely seemed to be getting with the program. His hands were tight in the bedspread, clenched white and trembling.

“Yeah, Sammy.” His voice was deep and gravelly, scratchy from the denim stealing all its lubricant.

Sam whimpered, just once, but it was enough. Dean whined, unbuttoning and unzipping the jeans above the massive wet spot he’d left. He grabbed the waistband of both Sam’s pants and boxers and pulled them both down and off quickly, stopping in his tracks to admire Sam in his nakedness.


He looked up into Sam’s eyes finally, and his breath caught at what he found there. He looked wrecked.

The reservations made sense, now. Sam looked like he was one misplaced lick away from losing it all. Like maybe if he’d touched Dean, he’d have come in his pants.

Dean didn’t need Sam to be careful. He was here for whatever happened. And the idea of taking Sam’s load in his mouth after a few minutes of through-the-clothes touching was hot as f*ck.

He kept his gaze locked on his brother’s face, directly in his eyes, and leaned down to take his co*ck in his mouth.

The noise that fell out of Sam’s body was like a sigh of relief, if relief could also be choked and ruined. By pure instinct, his hands flew up and cradled Dean’s head in his hands, but his fingers on the back of his head were pressed tight, a bruising strength.

Dean held still, his mouth just around the tip of Sam, seeming content to just stay right here if Sam didn’t do something about it.

Sam wanted to f*ck so deep into his brother’s throat. He’d had it all of thirty seconds and he was already becoming obsessed with Dean’s mouth. Seeing his lips wrapped around him was mesmerizing. He’d spent his whole life watching Dean’s mouth. His lips wrapped around beer bottles, around other girls’ lips, smirking around quick quips. He never could’ve imagined the wet heat beneath, the sounds that could come from it and the neediness within. It was killing him. But Dean likely had never done this before, and Sam didn’t want to rush anything or hurt him or make the experience anything but good for him. So he’d kept his hands to himself, tried to reign in his desire to take Dean’s sweet face in his hands and shove his co*ck down his esophagus.

But Dean seemed to be testing him, waiting to see what brought Sam to his breaking point. He was even holding still, like he was daring Sam to take control. And call it the little brother in him, but he never backed down from a challenge.

Sam pushed himself in just an inch, and watched as Dean’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, moaning around him.

“Yeah, Dean. That what you want?”

Dean nodded, groaning, and Sam felt the vibration in his soul.

“If I were a better man, I would tell you no. But f*ck, you look good like this. You can have whatever you want with my co*ck in your mouth.”

Dean gave an approving suck.

Sam’s hips snapped forward involuntarily, his dick hitting the back of Dean’s throat and making him gag.

sh*t. f*ck, sorry, sorry.”

But Dean recovered quickly, not even taking his mouth off of his brother, and bobbed up and down as he worked through the strain.

Dean.” Sam whined, feeling Dean’s tongue run up and down his frenulum and around the head.

Dean wasn’t quiet, either. He hummed in pleasure whenever Sam made an instinctual thrust, then groaned at the feeling of the vibration. His saliva pooled, running rivulets down Sam’s length and sack. The wet sound of Sam’s co*ck sliding in and out of his mouth had him hard as f*ck not twenty minutes after coming, another reason never to doubt his brother again.

He pushed his palm down against his dick just for some relieving pressure and inhaled sharply around Sam.

“f*ck, are you hard again?” Dean responded by pressing himself up against his calf and grinding against him as he sunk his lips further down Sam’s co*ck and groaned.

Dean, you’re so f*cking hot, holy sh*t. If I f*ck your mouth, y’think you could get yourself off from just blowing me?” Sam huffed, getting closer and closer to the edge by the second.

Dean nodded frantically, wrapping one hand around the base of Sam’s length, the other around his own, and taking his lips down to the edge of his hand.

“Oh god, I’m not going to last like this. Tap if you need air.”

Dean steeled himself and prepared as Sam began thrusting into his throat. He couldn’t make it all the way, as Dean kept his hand around the base as a buffer. Sam’s hand in his hair pulled him down his length as his brother lunged up, and Dean did his best to keep his throat relaxed and his gag reflex in check. Years of swallowing down horrendous potions prepared him well, apparently.

Dean wrapped his other hand around himself and jerked hastily, Sam’s grunts getting faster, his hips canting madly.

“f*ck. Dean. f*ck. I’m gonna come.”

Sam moved one hand down to Dean’s throat and thrust once, twice, three more times and spilled into his brother’s mouth.

Sam moved Dean’s hand from the base of Sam’s co*ck to the column of his own throat as his brother twitched just a few inches of skin below. Dean could feel the spasms as he swallowed down the stream, and it was dirty in a way he’d never felt before. It was all it took before he was painting the floor and his fist with his own release, grunting around his brother.

He pulled off and rested his head against Sam’s thigh, breathing the sex-filled air he hadn’t been getting much of as they both came down.

“I don’t know if I’m ever going to fully believe you’re into me like this, but that was a damn convincing argument.” Sam breathed.

Dean looked up into Sam’s insecurity-filled, trying-to-look-confident face with as much love as he could muster in his eyes, and trailed kisses along Sam’s skin. He kissed from his inner thighs to his hip bones, his midriff to his stomach and as far as he could reach on his knees and back down again. He wasn’t strong with words, especially when it came to how he felt, but he would work on it for Sam if that’s what he needed. Until then, he’d show him he meant business in his own ways.

“Will you get back up here so we can just make out like teenagers already?” Sam teased, though his face was near-permanently stained red and that bashful look hadn’t evaporated from the heat quite yet.

Dean smirked as he found the same flannel Sam had used to clean him up and wiped his hands and now-soft dick with it and maneuvered himself into Sam’s form on the bed.

They had been focused on some other very appealing tasks with their mouths heretofore and hadn’t had much chance for kissing, and Dean reveled in the idea of the intimacy of melding their mouths together again like he hadn’t felt in decades, probably. Like Sam said, it was more of a teenage thing to just lay in bed and make out, but it felt right with the two of them.

Sam was just grateful to have Dean here pressed up against him with minimal clothes, he didn’t really give much of a sh*t what they were doing. His hands roamed around Dean’s body, just feeling his skin, catching on sweatier parts and taking note of those that made his breath hitch. They languished in each other’s attention and mouths until they couldn’t breathe any more, and then even longer after.

“You’re so beautiful, Dean.” Sam whispered against his forehead into mingled exhales on one of their stops for air.

Dean’s face scrunched up totally-not-adorably in a no-I’m-not-shut up smirk that Sam just would never let him get away with.

“Don’t you dare think you’re ever getting away from your very obvious praise kink. I’ll be calling you beautiful until both of us are too old to believe it.” Sam simpered into his lips between kisses.

“Is that what you want?” Dean’s voice was so small, only audible because of their proximity. Dean seemed different, hazy from their long stint of making out. Spacey and vulnerable like he hadn’t been before, quieter.

Sam didn’t really know what Dean wanted. But he knew the look his brother got in his face when he was gearing to shoulder pain he’d never live without. And he knew his brother said twenty years. And he knew there was a vulnerability Sam was receiving from him here that nobody probably had ever even come close to. And that was substantial enough evidence for Sam to confidently lay out his own cards.

“Yeah. Don’t want to imagine anything else. Can’t.” The honesty Sam wore with everything he’d said to Dean so far was apparent. He’d always wanted Dean. He just never thought he’d get to have him. And he certainly wasn’t going to let Dean’s insecurities get in the way of that.

Dean captured his lips again, more reverence in their hold this time than before. Like he’d always looked at his brother. With awe, and familiarity, and weight, and clarity. There was no room for shame or uncertainty here. Not after all this time.

“Want you, Sammy.” Dean murmured between sliding kisses.

“‘M not going anywhere, Dean.”

Dean shook his head minutely.


Dean reached down to Sam’s co*ck and positioned it against his entrance.

“Oh f*ck, Dean, yeah, okay, let me get the lube.”

Dean didn’t let him get very far, just an arm out to feel around for the bottle in the nightstand he knew Dean kept it in.

Dean made it hard to focus, though, dragging his dick around his still-wet hole.

“f*ck, baby, y’gotta let me prep y-oh god, slow down.”

Dean mewled at the nickname, pressing the head into his hole and not seeming to be stopping.

f*ck, okay, yeah, I get it, just let me lube up my dick. Jesus, you’re hot as f*ck. Come on, I’ll be fast.”

Dean relented, letting Sam spread lube over his length and pouring some over Dean’s entrance.

“Are you sure? I don’t know if earlier was enough to make it comfor-christ, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t taking any of his sh*t, just pulling Sam inside him with determination.

The first press was difficult, but Dean knew how to power through pain, especially when he wanted it. His muscles relaxed and let Sam in the rest of the way.

f*ckin’ hell, I’m not gonna survive you. f*ck, give yourself a minute.”

Dean didn’t take breathers, either, though. He canted his hips and didn’t relent, setting a generous pace right away. The slide was hard and tough-won, but Dean didn’t stop until he lifted himself off and ground back down onto Sam’s co*ck like a well-oiled machine.

Sam was just bewildered by his brother’s persistence. The wet heat surrounding him was so unbelievably tight, he had no idea how Dean was enjoying this. But he didn’t think he really was, judging by the lack of noise coming from the elder.

Ah, sh*t, Dean, honey, woah.” Sam gripped his hips on the end of the downstroke, stilling him at the base.

Dean tried not to let it stop him, gyrating down in place, but Sam pulled his body close to settle him.

“Why the hurry?”

His brother’s brow furrowed, and he captured his lips in his, apparently trying to avoid having to tell him what was going on in his mind. Luckily, Sam was pretty versed in Dean-amics.

He slowed the kiss and deepened it, keeping one arm steady on his unruly pelvis and tucked the other up to frame his face. He languished loving, solid kisses into Dean’s lips to dissuade the rivaling persistent hunger.

It didn’t take long for Dean to relinquish some of his pent-up energy through his nostrils into the leisurely, lazy atmosphere Sam was manufacturing.

He pulled back to look into his brother’s eyes, whispered, “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.” With that, he rolled his hips slowly, unsheathing himself from inside Dean and pressing back in gradually, no rush behind it in the slightest. Just tender, gentle thrusting as he refused to tear his eyes away Dean’s.

Dean could feel every inch of Sam. Before, he just felt the incessant pressure and harsh glide of his skin, but now that his body had had a moment to get used to his brother’s girth and Sam was f*cking him with a lot more care than he ever would’ve shown himself, he could feel so much more. He could feel the warmth of his brother’s skin inside of him and up against him each time he bottomed out. He could feel Sam’s shaky hands on his waist, trying to calm themselves with a purpose of their own as they pulled his hips with every push of Sam’s. He could feel his brother’s rabbiting heartbeat under his palm on his chest, out of place with their gentle pace.

The head of Sam’s co*ck brushed back and forth over that sensitive spot he’d abused earlier, and Dean’s breath was hitching as he kept his gaze locked with Sam’s, never one to back down from a challenge, himself. But the moment was so soft, raw in a way Dean had never experienced before, and it was hard for him to maintain his composure when his brother was looking at him like this, f*cking inside him like this, loving him like this. He dropped his eyelids as he felt the hot, choking feeling well-up in his throat, wetness pricking his eyes in the most unwelcome display of vulnerability he could imagine. He’d never wanted to make his first time with Sam so sappy, he’d wanted to give Sam the time of his life and rock his world, make it impossible for him to want anything else. But Sam insisted on taking care of him, and Dean hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected to be reminded of every reason he’d wanted this in the first place with his brother encased in his body. To be reminded of the long, harsh road they’d weathered to get here, the odds of getting here at all. The nights they spent angry, the years they spent apart. The constant fear and guarded walls and insecurity they threw at each other like they didn’t love one another with every cell in their beings.

It all culminated in the scratchy throat and implacable tears pushing through his clenched-shut eyelids, rolling down his freckled cheeks as Sam gave him everything he’d ever wanted and couldn’t have for the last twenty years.

“All yours. Not going anywhere.” Sam whispered in between their undulating bodies.

The sweet words were like a balm for his heart but a kick to the dam of his mental fortress, and Sam was very close to witnessing a full breakdown with the veneration of his words and the honor he inflicted with his skin.

Sammy.” Dean grit out, his voice like Baby’s tires on a gravel drive.

“It’s okay, Dean. We’re here now. Don’t hold back on me. Let me have you.” Sam stuttered out, shaky, but sure.

Sam was unrelenting with his hips, and Dean didn’t know how he could feel so good and so stripped at the same time. His ribcage was tight with a violent chemical reaction of a mixture of emotions he’d never felt at the same time before, love and pain and ecstasy and mortification and relief all reacting and bubbling in his trembling frame.

Dean’s chest was hiccuping with contained cries, his heart bursting at the seams. He opened his clamped eyes, needing to see the object of his overwhelm in this moment.

Sam was almost as much of a mess as he was.

Tears tracked down his face and dripped down onto their chests, his tremulant limbs Dean had attributed to his own wracking form.

Sam was braver than he was, though. His eyes had already been open when Dean finally let himself look, like he hadn’t stopped watching Dean since he’d closed them.

“I’d do it all…again. All-all of it. For this. With you.”

Dean relinquished his slipping control over his body, rested his forehead against his brother’s, and sobbed against him.


It sounded like “I love you.”

It sounded like “I’m sorry.”

It sounded like “I forgive you.”

It sounded like “Never leave me.”

Sam heard it all.

And in a brutal surprise on his fraying senses, Dean felt his climax overpower him as his breaths shivered out of his lungs. It felt like a wave cresting through him, pushing him into the sweet embrace of Sam as he shuddered through an org*sm he hadn’t been prepared for.

Sam appeared to be in the same boat, at least.

“f*ck, I,” Sam grunted, Dean’s tightening hole around him ripping his own climax into the foreground.

As the last spurts of Dean’s come coated their stomachs and chests, Sam’s erupted into Dean’s channel, pulling sounds from both of their bodies’ they’d never heard themselves make before. Sob-coming wasn’t an activity either of them had partaken in before, go figure.

They collapsed into each other, neither moving to clean or pull out, just seeking comfort in the other’s waiting embrace.

Dean ran his hands through his baby brother’s hair, pushing it back off his sweaty forehead and tear-stricken face only to run it back through again.

Sam smoothed his hands up and down Dean’s back, not quite gently, rough and clinging like he could pull his big brother any further against his body.

Their hitching breaths slowed as they held one another, commiserative in their grief-love.

Sam nuzzled into Dean’s neck, somehow always knowing how to make himself seem small when he was larger than life.

Dean was grateful for the way Sam knew when Dean needed him to play Little Brother, to need Dean so he didn’t have to think about all the ways he needed him.

He cleared his throat quietly, but it was still so loud in the hush of their little bubble.

“Yours too, baby boy.”

Sam squeezed his already tight hold of Dean and didn’t let go.

Things were different from there on out.

They could say they weren’t all that different, seeing as it just introduced a few new aspects of their relationship than before. But in reality, everything was different.

The world felt new.

They still hunted and argued and faced life or death situations of increasing proportions every day.

But at the end of each one, they fell into the Impala, soot-covered and dripping exhaustion, next to each other. And while that was more of the same, the energy and understanding between them wasn’t. Because they knew everything they ever needed was within those four doors, and they knew the other felt the exact same way, no matter how the day went.

They went home to intentional time together, filled with love and sentiment.

Dean took a crack at the love languages thing himself, taking a sort of brotherly competitive perspective on the whole “who can show love better” deal.

So they took turns making dinners, now. They tried to beat each other to who could make the other’s life the easiest at home. They argued over who had the nicer smile. They wrestled just for the sake of touching each other. They went fishing. They went for more drives that didn’t have a destination in mind. They spent every day proving to each other that they’d meant what they said that very first night.

They were each other’s, and they weren’t going anywhere.

You're Speaking My Language (It's You) - pawmunkey (2024)
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