Sam hadn’t stopped thinking all day. From the minute he got up until now, lying in his cramped twin at the end of the day, his mind had been reeling and racing and struggling to stay focused on any one topic. There hadn’t been any respite when he was eating, walking to classes, even in the bathroom, and he’d given up trying to fight it. He’d wear out eventually until even the idea of having an idea gave him a headache whose solution would be two aspirin and a long nap.
His body ached and he practically melted into his uncomfortable mattress, a tier above some of the worst mattresses he’d slept in growing up but not by much. His pajamas, a t-shirt that was at least two sizes too large and sweatpants that hung loose around his hips, billowed around him like he was sinking to the bottom of a lake. Sam stretched out his arms and let them drape over the opposite sides of his bed, closing his heavy eyelids and imagining that he was floating ten feet under the water’s surface. It was a nice thought, calming blue swallowing him whole and holding him in a limbo where everything ceased, including his mind.
When he inhaled, expecting to take in half a gallon of water with his breath, he only tasted still air. His roommate was out for the night, sneaking in to his girlfriend’s sorority house. He had the whole place to himself, though all he could imagine doing with his solitude was sleeping. That was, if he could stop thinking. Sam had a bottle of melatonin that hadn’t done much of anything to help him sleep, but it just seemed like mistreatment of his liver to take another pill that did nothing. So, he opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling.
Flat, white, he could see tiny holes where posters had been affixed to it. He could only imagine what might have been stuck above a bed, and he was pretty sure that whatever it was would be to his brother’s taste.
A bitter smile pulled at his lips: it’d been over six months since he’d last seen Dean. He promised that he would try and stop by whenever he was hunting in the area, but it seemed like monsters were avoiding Stanford. It was the longest he’d ever gone without seeing Dean in the flesh, and it made him feel a little cold knowing that there was a chance he’d go another six without a sighting of his brother. He was considering summoning something to get Dean to come visit, but he knew better than to mess with demons just for the sake of quelling his loneliness. Sam would just have to wait until something came to town, and hopefully Dean would come after it.
He hadn’t anticipated how much he would miss him, even as he watched the Impala pull away from the curb outside Sam’s dorm, Dean not looking back as he peeled out and left the entire city behind, maybe California as a whole. Sam thought it would be easy to adjust to not being around his brother every day, he was even excited for the privacy he’d get whenever his roommate was out, and yet he spent most nights thinking about Dean talking at the TV and snoring in the bed next to his. It felt alien when he woke up at four am and the body in the bed beside his wasn’t twisted into some strange position, comfortably asleep despite how his body was contorted.
Sam could confidently say that he didn’t miss sharing the bathroom in the morning, at the very least.
He sprawled his legs out until they draped over the sides of the bed like he was making snow angels out behind the old foreclosed house they squatted in one Christmas. Dean was so excited to teach him how that Sam felt guilty when they had to go back in and treat the beginnings of frostbite on the tips of his tiny fingers. Dad yelled at Dean for taking him out without his permission, for not minding him and almost getting him seriously hurt, and Dean didn’t take him out like that again. Sam was pretty sure that was the only time he’d make snow angels in his entire life and the memory was tainted by association with their dad’s outburst.
Sam glanced at his mobile on the nightstand, mapping out what timezone Dean must be in now. It was probably too late to call, or maybe too early if he was still out on the hunt. Dean had a very uncomfortable habit of picking up the phone when he was in the middle of a hookup, which he assured him he wouldn’t do if he didn’t think Sam’s calls were important, but there was no way to not get him to pick up during sex if he saw Sam’s name flash across the screen. It had deterred him from calling for a week, one which was now starting to stretch into two. Sam felt the need to call regardless, knowing that while Dean could call him whenever he needed, he still liked it when Sam called first.
He grabbed his mobile and selected Dean’s contact, holding the phone up to his ear while he let his legs droop further and further off the sides of the bed. Once he had his own place he would be getting a queen-sized mattress, something closer to his size that he wouldn’t fall off of in the middle of the night. He listened to his bleating ringtone and propped one hand behind his head.
Just when he thought the call would ring out and he’d be redirected to Dean’s full voicemail box—he never checked it, Sam was sure he had no idea how—he heard a voice on the other end.
“Sammy? What’s going on?” Dean’s voice was pixelated, but comforting, nonetheless. It almost felt like he was in a crappy motel again.
“Nothing. I can call you when things aren’t going on, can’t I?” He asked, knowing what Dean would say in response.
“Instinct, Sam. It’s not like you’ve been calling just to catch up recently.”
Sam felt a twinge of guilt that he chased with an eye roll. It wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t calling, why should he feel ashamed if he wasn’t keeping enough contact with Dean when he had no sense of boundaries?
He adjusted himself on the bed, sinking down and making himself feel almost weightless. His knees reached the foot of the bed and his head was flat on the mattress, the pillow just above. Sam exhaled heavily and frowned.
“There’s a reason I haven’t been calling and I’m pretty sure you can guess what it is,” he exhaled, somewhere between a sigh and a huff.
“That’s what you get for calling me without warning! I bet you just want to live vicariously through the phone, don’t you, Sammy? You little pervert!”
His face reddened and he grabbed at the underside of his pillow.
“I don’t like listening to you have sex, Dean! I’d call if I knew you wouldn’t pick up while you’re doing it!” Sam was going to get visited by campus security if he kept yelling, so he took a deep breath and let the tension simmer out of him until he was boneless again.
Dean laughed on the other end, half-bitter. A bullet through Sam’s chest, a shot of fury that coursed through him faster than he could process it. He wondered why he’d called at all.
“I doubt it, I bet you love listening to me really give it to a girl, pretend she’s calling out for ‘Sam, oh, Sammy!’” He put on a high voice and moaned like a low rate porn star.
Sam could envision him writhing and mimicking twirling his hair around one finger. The flush across his face wasn’t subsiding. He readjusted on the bed, trying to make himself comfortable after a sudden, tingly rush hit him. His skin was starting to feel feverish under his massively oversized sleep shirt, one he’d taken from his dorm’s lost and found when he didn’t find his regular in his duffel. Sam could only assume it’d been swiped before he’d packed the bag into the Impala, maybe even during their overnight stay in the McDonald’s parking lot. Dean wouldn’t part with Dad’s Led Zeppelin shirt, even as a memento for Sam.
He hiked the bottom hem of the shirt up to the bottom of his ribcage, exposing his stomach to the cool air and trying to cool himself down. He really should have second-guessed it, he would probably boil over or combust if his roommate came back and found him like this, but he felt like he was sitting in a hot car with the windows rolled up. Sam struggled to find the words to reply to Dean’s stupid taunting, and instead just scoffed.
“That’s your response? College is teaching you nothing, Sammy! We’ll figure out how to get the rest of your scholarship money put onto a gift certificate, maybe you’ll win back what you lost in Vegas, huh?” It was like he’d already decided what they’d do when Sam left school, like Dean didn’t know that he wouldn’t be right by his side, hunting with him until the day he died. The thought of Sam getting a real job and making his own way in the world devoid of hunting demons and monsters just wasn’t penetrating his thick skull.
“How am I supposed to respond to you pretending to have sex? How am I supposed to react when you answer my calls while you’re having sex?” He was struggling to keep himself from yelling, but it was hard to contain the frustration Dean stirred up inside him.
For what it was worth, Dean was at least able to pick up that Sam was frustrated.
“Fine, I’m not gonna answer calls while I’m getting laid anymore. Will that lower your blood pressure?”
“Yeah,” Sam answered, but the heat was still clawing at him, twisting him up inside. Had his face gotten hotter? He cleared his throat, hoping it was just a random spike that’d mellow out, and added a clipped: “Thank you.”
“No problemo, Sammy. Just don’t get on my ass if I have to call you back.” Sam would take a delay over the strange feelings that bubbled to the surface when he heard the tail end of a moan or grunt coming from his brother just as he answered his phone.
His psych class was doing a number on him, overanalyzing every interaction he had with friends, professors, his boss at the campus bookstore, and now Dean. He was sure they were just bad readings, that he hadn’t been taking the correct meaning from his professor’s words, but the conclusions he was starting to come to about his relationship with Dean were sleeping dogs that he couldn’t simply let lie. Sam had known for a while now that his relationship with his brother wasn’t typical, it had only been hammered into him harder when he had been given an assignment about how he viewed his dynamic with his family members. His strained relationship with Dad was pretty unanimous in his study group, but his closeness with Dean had raised a few eyebrows and inspired theories that what they had was closer to Dollanganger than Hardy. He’d swallowed down that discussion, but he could still see in their eyes how that knowledge had tainted their view of Sam, made them think that there was something wrong with him.
Of course, with his upbringing there wasn’t much normal to be found, but he didn’t think that he and Dean were anything that uncommon. Brothers loved each other, brothers would put their lives on the line for each other, brothers would turn Hell upside down without blinking an eye for each other. While he should have let the sideways glances and incestuous insinuations slide, Sam was fixated; a man obsessed.
It was hard to call Dean when his mind was racing a mile a minute weighing the evidence for and against an unnatural love between the two of them and the callous way he’d answer Sam’s calls only triggered more of those self-destructive thought spirals. He didn’t want to let the beans spill, not if he could help it. They were just thoughtless comments made by people who would never know the full extent of how Sam and Dean were raised, they would never understand just why they were closer than the average pair of siblings. He placed his free hand on his stomach, not pleased to feel just how hot his skin was underneath his palm.
“Have you seen Dad recently?” Sam hoped a turn in the conversation would help cool him off and might stop his churning thoughts.
“Nah, he’s up in Idaho right now. I’m not far away, actually, I’m staying just outside of Tucson; Sahuarita. I can visit you when the hunt’s over, if you aren’t too busy.” His voice lowered when he offered to visit, like it was something he’d been thinking about for a while but felt stupid to say out loud.
“That, uh… ” Sam furrowed his eyebrows, unsure if it would be a good or bad idea to see Dean in the flesh in this state. Maybe it would remind him that those pervading thoughts weren’t reality, or, worst case scenario, they would prove to be true. He didn’t want to risk confirming something like that about himself.
Sam sat up, horrified to feel a stiffness in his boxers. His thoughts had never gone that far and he wasn’t sure what he could attribute his burgeoning erection to. He could hope that it wasn’t his conversation with Dean, or, even worse, just the sound of Dean’s voice. A swirling, hot pit grew in his stomach as that thought worked its way around his mind.
“Sammy? If you’re busy I can pass by, no skin off my ass. Just thought it might be lonely, the way you suck at making friends,” he laughed, not intending anything crueler than their regular brotherly ribbing. It still struck Sam, but he brushed it off.
“Sorry. Come by if you want, it’d be nice to see you. You can shit on my CD collection to your heart’s content.” He smiled imagining Dean ribbing him for the Corrs CD that had taken a permanent residence beside his portable boombox, but even that little distraction did nothing to untent the front of his sweats.
Sam spread his thighs and balanced uncomfortably on his tailbone to remove any excess pressure from his crotch, hoping it was just friction and nothing more. That was a useless hope and he knew it, but he didn’t want to accept that talking to Dean made him hard. He glanced over at the door, locked and no sound coming from the other side that didn’t recede just as quickly as it had emerged. For all intents and purposes, he was alone and there was nothing stopping him from relieving himself. Even if that meant doing it while on the phone with Dean.
“Oh Sammy, you know exactly how to get me all hot and bothered.” He could hear Dean grinning on the other end, and it sent another jolt of arousal straight to his cock.
Sam slipped his free hand underneath the hem of his sweats, daring to touch himself over his boxers. He was feverishly hot, his body aching for more than just a few shy grazes of his fingers through fabric. Those were enough to catch his breath in his throat, the knowledge that he was touching himself while his brother sat on the other end of the line, blissfully unaware, only made it more tantalizing. Sam pinned his phone between his ear and his shoulder, using his other hand to caress his chest.
“It’s jokes like that, makes me think you do that on purpose.” Sam struggled to keep his voice level, one hand exploring his chest while the other pulled away from his cock out of embarrassment.
“You’re still bent out of shape about that? Dad doesn’t mind me answering calls when I’m with a girl. You’re really sure you’re not jealous?”
Of the girls? Probably, a voice that sounded remarkably similar to Dean’s rang in the back of his mind, doing nothing to shock him out of touching himself. He chose to disregard the comment about Dad, though it served as some kind of fucked-up comfort that the strange attachments weren’t exclusive to just Sam and Dean. Sam rolled his thumb across his nipple, not getting much out of the sensation but feeling some dull thrum build when he continued to toy with it.
“Why would I be? I don’t go for meaningless sex like you do.” His hips lurched forward, thrusting into nothing but open air.
“Shut up! As far as I know you’re still a virgin. You can’t be picky forever unless you’re gonna go full monk.”
Sam could almost see him on the bed to his left, legs crossed at the knee, head propped on his hand and giving the—probably mirrored—ceiling a lopsided grin. That didn’t help matters at all, and he abandoned his nipple to spit in his palm and shove his hand down beneath the hem of his boxers. Sam grunted gently as he groped his cock, pressing his lips into a tight line as he stroked himself up to his head, craning his wrist around to drag his spit across the top of his length. He closed his eyes, imagining the childish giggling on the other end was sharing the same air as him.
“You think about me being a virgin a lot, don’t you?” He instigated, finding that his cock twitched with arousal whenever Dean started to raise his voice. An accusation would fan the flames nicely.
“You wish.” Sam couldn’t tell if he was reading too far into Dean’s tone, but his words came out clipped, harsher than their usual bickering made him. Dean would’ve hung up if he was actually pissing him off, but not without telling him to go fuck himself, first. Sam was way ahead of him on that front.
His thoughts were starting to mingle and become unclear, like his brain was finally boiling over. He dragged his hand up and down his cock like he wasn’t trying to get off at all, lazily and slowly. Sam was hard in his hand, painfully so, but he couldn’t bring himself to go faster. Dean would make him immediately and he had no idea how he’d react to Sam getting off on a call with him. Getting off to his voice, to the idea of Dean sitting by his side, watching him, jerking his own cock. It wasn’t hard to visualize, putting together the times he’d seen Dean walking naked from the bathroom to his bag and the times he’d caught him jerking off underneath the covers while Sam pretended to sleep. He whimpered behind his teeth, building the quicker pace that his body was seeking.
“I bet you do. You want me to be a virgin so you can dream of taking it away from me,” he exhaled roughly. “So no one else can.”
On the other end, a rough, hard sound that only lasted half a second. Frustration, like Sam had hit a nerve. But maybe it was pleasure, like Sam had hit a nerve. He could only guess if Dean was actually getting off, and he wanted to guess that he was if only to fan his own arousal. It was hard to feel shame now, though he was sure it’d flood back once he came in his boxers.
The slick head of his cock was starting to dew with precome, smearing against the buttoned fly of his boxers. He let out once experimental breath, a low, quick pant that he couldn’t even be sure Dean heard. Sam waited, jerking himself in long, drawn-out pumps of his fist that were driving him crazy. He expected that Dean might hang up, or that the line would go dead; maybe Sam had distracted him and now some monster was disemboweling him. His anxiety was quelled when, in response, Dean scoffed. Not the response he was hoping for, but one that told him that his brother was safe and not completely sick of him.
“Don’t pull that Psych 101 crap on me, Sam. If I wanted you to stay a virgin, why did I take you to a strip club on your birthday?” Dean’s voice was low, a warning that he would strike, but that did nothing to stop Sam’s taunting.
“I bet you wanted to push the girl out of my lap and ride me yourself,” Sam’s smile colored his tone.
The dancer hadn’t even gotten into his lap before Dean pulled him out of the private room, out of the club entirely and tossed him back into the car. They drove for a while before Dean bought them beer and they sat on the Impala’s hood to drink and stargaze. All things considered, not a bad birthday.
“I only got you out of there because I forgot you’d be happier getting a lapdance from a guy. Didn’t want to waste her time anymore than you already did,” he bit, making Sam sigh behind his teeth. He couldn’t tell if Dean was playing along, but if he was, he knew exactly what Sam wanted to hear.
“You could’ve taken that dance, you didn’t have to drag me out and spend the rest of the night with your virginal little brother instead of Cynthia.”
Dean laughed, and Sam pictured his brother hovering over top of him, maybe even pinned underneath him and taking his cock. He could see Dean, head thrown back on the pillow, his mouth agape and grinning as he begged Sam to fuck him harder. Sam twisted his hand up and around his cock, panting harder behind sealed lips.
“Wouldn’t have been a fun birthday for you, would it? Standing in the corner waiting for me?”
“I would’ve done it.” He would have stood right behind Cynthia and stared Dean in the eye if it made him happy. Repayment for how hard he tried to give Sam a good day.
His thumb rocked back and forth across the weeping slit, precome dripping down the underside of his shaft. Sam twisted his hand around to stroke the ridge of stiff muscle, bringing his other hand to his mouth to silence the moans that threatened to spill out. It wasn’t up to him to make his brother happy, but he still felt a want sometimes to put in the effort that no one would go to for Dean. His birthday was months away, but maybe he’d catch Dean in the Stanford area and take him to a strip club to get the private dance he obviously wanted — even if that meant sitting at the bar, waiting for Dean to either walk out, sated, or until the club closed and he realized that he’d left without Sam.
That last possibility felt distinctly un-Dean, but he still considered it. A kind of self-deprecation that he sometimes couldn’t shake. To think that of the two, Sam was more self-confident.
“Really, Sammy?” His voice came out in a kind of whisper, rough and falling out of his mouth like he was trying to block something else.
“I would’ve liked to watch.” Sam couldn’t stop himself from moaning as the visual became clear behind his closed eyes, a choked sound that lasted a second but made everything clear to Dean.
“You’ve been doing it the whole time, haven’t you?” Dean’s voice stayed rough and Sam started to hear a slick, skin-on-skin sound that told him he wasn’t alone.
Sam sighed, his eyes rolling up underneath his eyelids. “Not the whole time, long enough, though. You?”
Dean grunted once, a “Yes” that was drowned by a rolling wave of pleasure.
Both of them lost their words for a moment, caught up in the rush that came from knowing they were jerking off together; had been for quite a while, now. Sam was close, it only got easier the longer he imagined Dean touching himself, Dean kissing him, Dean grabbing Sam’s cock and jerking him roughly until he came across the back of his palm. He let his mouth fall open and moaned into his mobile’s microphone, hoping Dean liked what he heard. The skin-on-skin sound grew louder and quicker, so he could only assume that he did.
“Fuck me. Please come by when the hunt’s over and fuck me.” He wasn’t thinking when he said it, hadn’t considered the logistics of getting Dean into his dorm without his roommate there, how long they might need, if Dean would even want to do more than jerk off over the phone with that wall of separation, but he didn’t care. He’d figure it out.
“Anything you want, Sammy. Call it an early birthday present,” Dean exhaled shakily, the bedsprings creaking and threatening to drown out his voice. Sam wanted him on his bed, Dean moaning in his ear, either grabbing his hips or his shoulders, begging for more or telling Sam he wouldn’t be walking the next day.
He burst, spurting come onto his grasping fingers and breathing roughly as orgasm hit him. Sam’s legs trembled and his wrist ached, all of his joints loose again and his mind comfortably still. His arm flopped to his side, his hand still holding his hot, softening cock and lazily stroking up and down the side of his shaft. Shockwaves kept rolling over him, tempting him to start fucking his palm again but he couldn’t bring himself to move.
Sam’s mobile thankfully hadn’t fallen, only slid onto the bed next to his shoulder, and he could faintly hear Dean grunting and groaning, working himself to release. There was something warm and familiar about hearing him like this, not holding back the noises that came out of him when he was on the verge of coming. Sam only wished he could have seen him in the throes, could have seen how his eyes darted underneath his closed lids as he repeated Sam’s name. Even from this distance he could hear him saying his name, desperate like it was his only lifeline.
Dean moaned loudly and Sam knew it was over. He was sure Dean’s jeans were ruined, in need of a wash that they’d likely get whenever he happened to pass a laundromat. Sam remembered the way he’d guiltily shove his truly ruined clothing towards the back of the washer when Dad wasn’t looking, giving Sam a death stare when he saw him looking. It wasn’t like he was going to tell Dad that Dean was doing what every other teenage boy was, but it made Sam wonder what he was saying underneath his breath when he was close. He could only assume it was the name of whatever girl Dean was lusting after at the time, but the way he acted when he noticed Sam watching was something worth considering.
Later. When Sam didn’t feel like his brain had been scooped out of his skull. Dean panted on the other end, recovering from his orgasm when Sam was able to form words again.
“Is it almost done?” His voice was small now, like they were huddled under the covers and whispering so as not to wake Dad on the rare occasion he was in the room.
“The hunt? Few more days at most,” he exhaled. “I’ll be heading up Friday night, get there Saturday afternoon. Wanna have dinner, Sammy?”
He nodded, before adding a soft “Yeah, that sounds good.” Sam knew he’d be paying, so he made a note to set some cash aside for the diner just off campus. “I have two classes Saturday and a shift at the bookstore, I get off at three.”
“Roommate?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll kill time till three. And I plan on burning your CD collection and getting you better stuff, don’t think I forgot.” Dean laughed, and Sam smiled, grabbing his mobile. He couldn’t bring himself to even hover his finger over the “end call” button.
Sam stared at the ceiling, much lonelier than he wanted to be in this state.
“Dean?” He asked, holding the phone beside his ear in some vain attempt that it would sound like Dean was in the room with him, a couple feet away instead of eight hundred and sixty-something miles. If it weren’t for the pixelated fuzz washing the warmth out of Dean’s voice, it would have almost sounded right.
“Yeah?”
“Be safe, okay?” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, not really, but it was close enough.
One small laugh, like a dismissal. A pang in Sam’s stomach that made it painfully apparent how in his body he was. The weightlessness was gone.
“Always am, Sammy. See ya.”
The call ended before he could find the button, and Sam suddenly felt like Allison and Beth and Carrie, all the others whose names and faces he’d forgotten. Even with the lack of care, Sam still felt heat pool inside him remembering that only a few minutes ago, he and Dean masturbated together, and he’d be showing up in a week, the promise of the real thing unspoken but hanging over Sam like an unwanted obligation.
But, oh, did he want it.
He’d been thinking about Sammy since their phone call. Granted, Dean’s mind almost always managed to wander back to Sammy at least twice a day, but it had become totally pervasive since Friday. All day and all night, even when he needed more than anything to think clearly, Sammy crept into his mind and stayed planted there until he acknowledged what they’d done.
Dean couldn’t decide what the best way to think of it was: either what he’d done wasn’t gay because it was with his brother, or it wasn’t incestuous because it was gay. No matter what, Dad would never look at either of them again if he found out, so Dean had to keep stumm. His sexuality crisis wouldn’t allow competition so he might as well not think about it at all.
He drove thirteen hours straight to Stanford, refusing to take any unnecessary breaks that’d keep him from Sammy. He was starving and barely able to keep his eyes open when he pulled into town, later than he’d anticipated. It was five pm, closer to six, and he could only hope that he hadn’t left Sammy hanging for too long.
Dean avoided stopping by any of the drive-thrus on the way to campus, a bone-deep hunger driving him to Sam. He was sure he wasn’t possessed by anything but his fatigue compounding onto his hunger only made him feel more like a threadbare vessel for something malicious. Dean turned the radio up to keep himself lucid, he was sure he’d return to the world of the living once he and Sammy were in the same room.
Sam told him to come to his dorm room first, they’d head out to dinner afterward. Presumptuous, thinking he’d be able to focus on anything but food even if he was presenting himself to Dean like a bitch in heat. He focused his attention on the hall to Sam’s room, passing by both guys and girls. Dean had no clue if there were co-ed dorms, in all the movies he’d seen the sexes were kept separate for a reason. He grinned at a girl who was across the hall and two doors down from Sam, red-headed and completely uninterested.
Whatever, he had something better to look forward to. Something he wouldn’t be able to reconcile as truly good or bad once the deed was done, but something he wanted more than almost anything in the world right now—what he wouldn’t give for at least a side of fries before he and Sammy got down to business.
He knocked on the door and looked down the hall, watching a guy and girl disappear into a room together. Dean massaged his temples with one hand to try and wake himself up. Sleep deprivation wasn’t the norm with him and it wasn’t about to become one. He could have his exact death date tattooed on his palm and he wouldn’t be missing a wink of sleep trying to make the most of his remaining time. He couldn’t see much else being more important than sleep, besides the reason he’d come to Stanford at all.
Dean didn’t jump when Sam opened the door, but he did feel his breath catch in his throat at the sight of him. He hadn’t been gone that long, only six or seven months, but Dean swore that Sam had changed. Not so much that he didn’t recognize him, there was no way he couldn’t see Sam through any veneer that he tried to put up.
His hair was longer, he was really starting to look like Shaggy with a baby face. Dean couldn’t find it in him to resent Sam for outgrowing him and then some, not when Dean hadn’t grown since middle school. Sam furrowed his eyebrows and glanced over Dean, wondering why he hadn’t made a joke at his appearance yet. There wasn’t really much material he could come up with: Sammy looked great, all things considered. The only flaw he could find was a pair of dark circles under his eyes, but Sammy had always liked to stay up late studying until his brain started to melt out of his ears.
“Hi,” Sam said hesitantly, gripping the edge of the door.
“Hey, Sammy.” He smiled, locking his eyes on Sam’s. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
Sam shook his head. “It’s okay. Roommate only left a few minutes ago. It was hard to convince him I needed the room.”
Dean waggled his eyebrows and pushed in past Sam, he heard a small groan as he shoved in. It was smaller than the average motel room they stayed in, scarcely furnished but clearly divided in half. There really wasn’t much to see at all, it wasn’t like they had any instinct to decorate. Dean walked over to the CD player next to the bed by the window, immediately picking that out as Sam’s Lifelong boombox he bought himself before leaving for school. Next to it was a stack of CDs, and right on top was the girly pop that Dean should have disowned him over.
“You’re into this because they’re hot, right? That has to be the only reason.” He held up the jewel case and Sam turned away. Dean could swear he saw him starting to blush.
“I needed a break from Dad.”
Dean set the CD down, nodding and feeling a bit of a twinge in his chest. In an ideal world Dad and Sam got along and they were all a happy family, even without Mom.
“Irish supermodels it is, then.”
Dean glanced over the stack of textbooks on one half of the desk, the laptop with swirling patterns shooting out from the center. Sam’s tiny personal collection of books were stacked on the floor beside his bed, and Dean could remember when he’d gotten those books for Sam: some of them library books from all over the country, some yellowing paperbacks from the grocery store, one of those Lord of the Rings books that Sammy tore through so quickly Dean had to go back for the other two—he had no idea there were more—and got caught shoplifting. Dad had to bust him out, and he was not at all happy with Dean for getting caught. It didn’t matter if Dad was pissed, though, not when Sammy ran up to him and squeezed him so tight when he came through the door of their shitty, bug-infested apartment that they only stayed in for two weeks.
Maybe he’d get him the other two books now, if he still even cared what happened to the Hobbits and that ring.
“I thought you’d have way more books now, working in the bookstore.” He looked over at Sam, who shrugged slightly.
“Not much time to read now. Besides, the bookstore’s expensive. I don’t think I could get anything with the money I have saved up.” He glanced at Dean and quickly looked away, like he hadn’t meant for Dean to see him staring.
He didn’t know when Sammy got so shy.
He walked over to Sam, looking up at him and feeling a deeply familiar freezing in his chest. Dean wanted to move, but he couldn’t. All he could do was stare up at Sam and wait to see what he would do. Like he was trying to tempt a dog to bite him by dangling a steak in front of its face, and goddamn, was he hungry for steak now.
Dean started to force himself closer to Sam, like he might get him to make the first move somehow, but Sam stepped backward.
“I’m… I’m having second thoughts, Dean.” He looked away, his eyes turning to the floor.
Great. Just great.
He sighed, a bitter smile crossing his face that Sam, thankfully, didn’t see.
“Sure, put the idea into my head and then just rip it away,” he said under his breath, and Sam scowled.
He sat on his bed, his hands in his lap and his eyes avoiding Dean.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t make this awkward,” Dean groaned, planting himself on the unnamed roommate’s bed. “I’m just gonna go find a room if you can’t look me in the face, Sammy.”
His head shot up, eyes troubled and murky but wide as the moon. “Don’t go. Please, Dean, stay.”
He huffed, shoulders tensing. If Sammy was going to jerk him around he’d be better off leaving, better than getting his hopes up for nothing. Dean met his gaze and stared him down. His blood was starting to boil and he was, regrettably, getting hard with the sudden spike of adrenaline coursing through him.
“I don’t think you get how serious I am about tonight—I prayed, Sammy, like a serial killer on death row, that I’d get here and we’d both be back to normal. But the only thing I can think about is doing things to you that can’t be undone. Things that I can’t do with my brother if I decide I believe in and want to go to heaven someday. So can you stop this stupid hand-wringing morality act and decide what you want to do? Because if not, I’m gone.”
Sam was taken aback before he sent a fiery look back at Dean. He pouted, that bitch face he got when he was pissed at Dean for whatever reason, and gave him a spiteful smile.
“Do you really think this is just a game for me? I haven’t slept! Every time I do I dream about you and that phone call, it makes me sick!” He grabbed at the sheets, his white knuckles not helping Dean’s adrena-rection. “My brain’s totally fucked and I have no idea what to do, Dean!”
He wasn’t going to offer any solutions, though there was one dancing on the tip of his tongue. All he gave Sam was a scowl, which quickly melted into something gentler. Dean wasn’t so inhuman that he didn’t feel for his baby brother, but he also wasn’t such a doormat that he’d accept risking his ass to go meet up with Sam on the pretense that they were going to have sex only to be told they weren’t going to be having sex at all.
“I guess I don’t, either. I’m too tired and hungry to come up with anything, so I guess we’re stuck here, huh?”
“Stop it!” Sam sighed, putting his forehead in his hands and pushing his moppy hair out of his face. He sat in silence for a moment before looking back up at Dean, a bitter pain in his eyes. “I know I called you here but it’s different having you right in front of me. It feels too real.”
Dean nodded. He wasn’t happy that he was going to be enduring blue balls through dinner, but he wasn’t going to force himself on Sammy. Not to even mention how he’d fare in prison, he just couldn’t imagine life without Sam. It wasn’t a life worth living, as far as he was concerned.
“What d’you wanna do? I’ll pay for dinner, my treat.” He didn’t have any cash to flash around, but he needed to do this for him. What was the point of Dean being around if he couldn’t provide for Sam?
Sam furrowed his brow and shook his head, staring at the ground. “Don’t wanna eat now.”
Dean wondered what would make him crack first: the blue balls or his growling stomach.
“You’ve kinda backed me into a corner, Sammy.” Even if he wasn’t half-dead, he’d still feel empty.
He looked genuinely broken up and Dean didn’t like seeing Sammy like this. Sure, he was pissed, sure, he risked a fucking lot to come here, but at the end of the day he didn’t want his brother to hate him. At least, he hoped Sam didn’t hate him. Maybe the solution to his incest debacle would just be to hate Dean forever and leave him behind. His heart started racing, panic coursed through his body—he felt alive again.
“I’m sorry. I’m just scared; I don’t want to go through with this and realize I don’t want it, but it’s already done and my relationship with my brother is ruined.” He drew his mile-long legs up to his chest, holding himself close like a little kid during a thunderstorm.
Dean stood up carefully and approached Sam slowly, trying not to scare him away. Sam was cautious when Dean came close, trying to scoot over when he took a seat next to him on the bed. He looked at the side of Sam’s face, the drawn, nervous look that he could only remember seeing when Dad yelled at Dean. Sam was always hostile and rigid when Dad yelled at him, bristling like a wild animal, but he looked ready to hurl chunks when it was Dean on the receiving end. The look made Dean’s empty stomach turn.
“If we do anything tonight and you end up not liking it, I won’t bring it up again. I’ll still be here for you. But I know you, you’re never gonna stop thinking about it unless you do it. We can take it slow and you can tell me to stop whenever you want. I promise we won’t go any further than you want, okay, Sammy?”
He looked over at Dean, his eyes watering like he was going to cry, and Dean was already starting to beat himself up about making Sam so upset. It was different when he teased him and all he got was an eye roll or a scoff, it was still lighthearted. This made him hurt something fierce.
“Okay.” He nodded, smiling slightly at Dean. “Yeah, okay.”
—
At first, it was truly awkward. Sam couldn’t decide if it was too far to kiss Dean, and he couldn’t bring himself to undress in any capacity, not even taking his jacket off at first. Dean lingered, waiting for Sam to make a decision even if it killed him to just sit around and hope he’d make a move. But Dean didn’t want to scare him away. He’d just have to be patient for once in his life.
Dean was about to cave and call it off, put his shoes back on and take him out to eat, when Sam got up and knelt down between Dean’s knees, putting featherlight hands on his thighs. “Can I blow you?”
He had no control over the lopsided smirk that grew on his face, and he reached down to cup Sam’s jaw. His thumb brushed across his chin.
“You practiced before?”
Sam shook his head. He’d figured.
“I think I can teach you. Here, let me get my pants off.” Dean stood and unbuttoned his jeans, shimmying out of them and kicking them to the floor. Sam looked like a deer in the headlights as Dean sat back down on the bed, finding that Sam was still too fucking tall to suck his dick comfortably.
“On the bed, it’ll be more comfortable for you.”
Sam furrowed his brow, like he had some specific idea of what he wanted to do and he wasn’t happy to deviate from that preconception.
“What if you stand?” He looked like he was doing the math in his head, how tall he was on his knees and how many inches there were between Dean’s feet and his erect cock.
“Your knees are gonna hate you in the morning,” Dean warned, and Sam decided to cave.
Dean sat up on the bed, his back against the headboard and his legs slightly spread. He pulled the flap of his boxers open and moved it around until his cock could jut out, almost feeling sore from pressing against the inside of his jeans for so long. Sam sat on his knees near the foot of the bed, staring at Dean’s cock like it was something entirely foreign to him and not something he’d seen at least a dozen times growing up. He and Sam showered together sometimes when they needed to get back on the road quickly, and that habit continued long past when that would have been considered acceptable. Dean could remember them showering together as late as when Sam was fourteen, Dean eighteen.
“You don’t remember Dean Jr.?” He grinned, grabbing the base of his cock and waving it slightly at Sam. “He definitely remembers you.”
Sam was torn between disgust and laughing, but he didn’t shy away. He leaned down and moved forward until his lips were hovering above the head of Dean’s cock.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said quietly, like he hoped Dean might not hear it.
He put a hand on Sam’s head, stroking his hair and grabbing a hold to start moving him into place. “I’ll guide you. Just breathe through your nose and I’ll tell you when to do something.”
Sam nodded, tipping his head up to look at Dean before he took the head of his cock in his mouth. He exhaled at how suddenly Sam’s warm, soft mouth was wrapped around him, a small gasp of air that he could scarcely recognize as a noise that came from him. Dean allowed Sam to explore at first, curiously lowering himself down onto Dean’s cock until he was about three inches past his lips.
“Try licking it, Sammy,” he encouraged him, stroking one of the locks of his hair. It was weirdly soft, like a girl’s, it would have been easy for him to imagine he was with a girl who coincidentally shared a name with his brother but he couldn’t. Dean liked it better staring at Sam, making it impossible for him to avoid that it was Sam sucking his dick.
He flicked his tongue up the underside of his shaft, hesitant like he thought he was doing it wrong, and Dean moaned softly to tell him that no, he was doing a good job. Sam licked him again, putting more force behind his tongue and licking him a few times before he tried to move it across Dean’s cock.
Dean struggled to get any words past his own lips, it felt good and Sam was a quick learner, it felt like he didn’t even need to bother telling him to try anything else. In time, Sam would start experimenting on his own. Dean tightened his grip on Sam’s hair, milking a small moan out of his baby brother that went straight to his cock. He spread his thighs further, allowing Sam more space to sink down on his cock. Dean knew Sam wouldn’t be deepthroating his first try, but it was encouragement, nonetheless.
“That’s good, that’s really good, Sammy,” he said as Sam took another inch into his mouth, seeming comfortable with the majority of his length in his mouth. He wasn’t gagging, or if he was he was a master at hiding it, and he started to bob his head back up Dean’s cock.
“Put your hand around the base, try jerking me off.”
Sam’s mouth left Dean’s cock with a pop, and he looked up at him with hazy eyes. “Both at once?”
“Yeah, just don’t punch yourself in the mouth and you’re golden.” He could picture Sam knocking a tooth out getting too vigorous with his jerking, but Dean wasn’t going to let Sam finish him off so quickly.
He wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock, leaving little room for his mouth, as well. This Sam understood, he bounced his wrist up and down with ease and Dean was nearly out for the count with just a few jerks of Sam’s hand. He massaged the pads of his fingers against the muscle on the underside of his shaft, his thumb stroking up and down. Sam didn’t bother putting his mouth on Dean again, instead sitting up and fucking him with the palm of his hand.
Dean’s hand found purchase on Sam’s upper arm, and he tried to stop him to no avail. He squeezed, but Sam just kept going.
“Sammy, stop it,” he grunted, precome beading at the slit. His cock was red, aching to come, and Dean was denying himself. But he was denying himself for good reason.
Sam stopped, his hand nearly enveloping the whole of his cock and he started to apologize. Dean took Sam’s hand off of him and started to turn him over onto his back, shifting back on the foot of the bed to give Sam room to strip off his pants and underwear.
“Fuck, my wallet,” Dean groaned and leaned over to grab his jeans from the floor, rifling around in his pockets until he found the leather bifold. Slipped into the coin slot was a condom that couldn’t be that long out of date, he’d only put it in there a couple of months ago.
Not like he was using it to spare Sam from whatever he might have—they shared blood, what was the harm in sharing an STD?—he just didn’t anticipate his brother having lube. Dean would spare him dry anal, like he knew how that felt.
Dean pulled the hem of his boxers down, freeing his cock and sliding the condom on easily. It felt almost oily, and once again his stomach groaned. Once they were done he might take them to the burger place he saw down the road, they’d probably have a salad if Sam was still on his vegetarian kick.
He watched Sam slide himself out of his jeans, taking his underwear down with them, revealing himself to Dean. Surprisingly, he was still mostly hairless like he had been in high school. He grinned and leaned over to touch his hard cock, larger than Dean’s in a way that felt intimidating. Dean didn’t know what would happen if he tried to put that inside of him, he could only assume he’d be torn in half.
“Jesus, Sammy, you’re huge.” He stroked him, making him moan and fall back onto the bed. Dean’s hand looked miserably tiny next to Sam’s cock, he probably couldn’t even get half of it in his mouth if he tried.
“Really? I thought you were just small.” Sam grinned, such a proud little shit.
Dean grabbed his thigh and pushed it back, spreading his cheeks apart until he saw his hole. Unlike his cock it was tiny, definitely virginal, though Dean wasn’t sure how he could tell that. He needed to be inside him, he needed to stretch Sam until he was crying, but he’d settle for putting just the head in and being told to get out. He’d still be the first one inside Sammy.
He grabbed his cock and lined the head up with his hole, rubbing it around gently and making note of the way his eyebrows furrowed with that sensation. God , he hadn’t even fingered himself before.
“I can use my fingers if he seems too intimidating,” Dean said, and Sam rolled his eyes.
“No, I have no idea where those have been.” Sam sat up slightly, smiling at Dean like they were staying up late to watch a horror movie. All it took was breaking through that nervous shell and Sammy was fully prepared for a night of debauchery.
“Hey, I wash my hands!”
Sam laughed, moving his other thigh to tell Dean that he was ready for him. His eyes stayed locked on him, glancing between his face and his guided cock as he started putting force on Sam’s hole.
As expected, Sammy started to grip the sheets, quietly bracing as Dean pushed further and further. The head breached Sam after a few agonizingly long seconds, getting a small moan out of him as he was stretched from the outside in. Dean kept his hand on his cock until the head was fully inside Sam, and there it was: Sammy’s cherry was popped.
“It feels weird,” he said softly, eyes fixed on watching Dean slowly fuck into him.
“Weird-good or weird-bad?” Dean tried to find his gaze, but Sam was utterly transfixed.
“I’m not sure yet. Keep going.”
Dean let go of himself once he felt secure inside Sammy’s tight little hole—he felt like he was sticking a square peg in a just-perfectly-sized round hole, the resistance was delicious and it felt like he shouldn’t be in there for numerous reasons.
“Feels amazing on my end, Sammy.” He put his hands on either side of Sam’s head, surprised when he wrapped his arms loosely around Dean’s shoulders and looked up at him. Warmth spread in his chest.
Sam’s pupils had started to swallow the green of his eyes, leaving them looking black, almost demonic. Dean’s dick twitched inside of Sam.
“I’m starting to get it.” He sounded coy.
He drew himself up closer like he was going to kiss Dean, but he turned away, looking down at them to make sure he was still slotted inside Sam. Dean heard him sigh in disappointment, which was quickly followed by another sigh, higher, lighter—a sigh of pleasure.
“That’s good, that feels really good, fuck,” Sam whimpered, Dean’s rebuff forgotten.
“Does it? It’s not hurting?” Dean just wanted to be sure he wasn’t pulling Sam too far in too many directions, he didn’t want him actually pissed. Maybe a little in a playful way, though—it was annoyingly hot when Sammy was pouting.
“Not really. Please keep going, it’s getting so good.” He moaned against Dean’s ear, and yet another wave of pleasure struck him. Dean hadn’t been so locked in during sex in ages.
He thrust most of the way into Sam, leaving the base of his cock free as he could feel Sam start to clench around him. He breathed low, the sound like music to Dean’s ears as he started pulling out of him, preparing to thrust back in. To make up for denying him a kiss on the lips, Dean nestled his face against Sammy’s neck and kissed the side of his throat, right over his jugular. It did something to him, feeling Sam’s blood rushing under the skin, the hard thumps of his pulse as Dean made him feel good. Dean kissed his neck again, opening his mouth and letting his tongue and teeth graze the sensitive skin, making Sam take in a sharp breath.
“Fuck,” he moaned, moving his head to the side to expose his neck to Dean.
Dean thrust in slowly, moving closer to Sam as he fucked into him gently. He really couldn’t justify calling it something mushy like making love, not with Sam. He loved him more than anyone or anything in the world, but it felt so wrong calling this anything but fucking.
Dean pulled himself out halfway, glancing down between them again and grinning when he saw Sam’s massive moose cock lying against his stomach, staining the hem of his shirt with precome. He pushed it up, trying to give Sammy a fighting chance of not having to explain the stains on his shirt should anyone see them when he went to wash it. Dean came back up to Sam’s neck and breathed against it, making him shudder with just his breath against his skin.
“Dad doesn’t know, does he?” Sam moved underneath him, throwing one neverending leg over Dean’s back.
“Nope. He thinks I’m in Sacramento for the weekend,” he breathed against Sammy’s ear, biting the lobe and making him writhe.
He moaned softly, nodding once and tipping his head back until his chin pointed towards the ceiling. Sam huffed out a breath and dug his nails into Dean’s t-shirt.
It felt like a quickie, Dean still in his briefs and Sam’s shirt riding up his oddly defined torso—when did Sammy have the time to hit the gym?—with only his jeans tossed to the floor. His underwear hung around one ankle in case he needed to make himself presentable quickly. Not like there was much they could do if someone came in and saw them both in their boxers, a suspicious amount of space between them. For Sam’s sake he hoped that they wouldn’t be able to put two and two together.
That made for a captivating visual, though. Dean used to imagine that Sam or Dad was coming through the door when he was struggling to get off with a girl; he loved the idea of being caught. He drove himself into Sam’s ass, regretting his decision when he cried out and gripped at Dean harder.
“Too much?” He moved back to look down at Sam, his eyes looking a little watery. Fuck, he was really feeling bad now.
“Yeah,” Sam exhaled shakily, tightening his grip around Dean's shoulders. “I’ve never been with a guy before.”
He sounded guilty and Dean wanted to smack him and tell him to stop doing that to himself, like he was one to talk. Sammy didn’t deserve to make himself feel like shit for never taking it up the ass before, especially not when that only made Dean harder. He felt special being the one to deflower Sam. It felt right that he was the one doing it.
“Is that just dirty talk or did you actually save yourself for me?” He grinned, thrusting into Sam slowly and getting a long, approving sigh out of him.
Sam blushed and looked away, up at the ceiling like he couldn’t bear to say it to Dean’s face. He spared him any further embarrassment and moved his hips back, fucking back into him with that same speed. Dean was just going to assume that Sam had saved himself specifically for this moment, and he kissed him on the neck as a “thank you” for not letting another man take his virginity.
He moaned and held Dean closer, his hole tightening and his body trembling underneath him. Sam buried his face into Dean’s shoulder and panted with each thrust. His body felt so perfect under Dean’s, he was so devastatingly tight that he had no idea if he was going to get his dick back when Sam was done with it, he was fantastic. Dean didn’t know he’d be fucking a bear trap but he really wouldn’t be sad if that was how he went.
“It feels good, not too much,” Sam said against his skin, his voice warm like he was sitting by the fire. He was so glad it was Sam.
“Good, baby, you’re doing good.” His balls were tightening, he was surprised that he’d lasted so long after Sammy’s average blowjob almost got him over the edge.
He was going to come, and he was disappointed that he was going to be coming into a condom. Maybe someday he’d get to come in his brother, no latex barrier between them. Dean was cursing himself for not buying lube before he showed up.
Sam moaned and dug his nails through Dean’s shirt, he couldn’t tell if he’d started thrusting faster, harder, if his body was disobeying him and had resorted to its natural instincts. He stopped to ask if Sam was okay, but he pulled Dean close and held him tight. “ Almost there, almost there,” he whispered against Dean’s neck.
“We need to do this again,” Dean breathed roughly, starting to feel his muscles going taut, about to spasm as he came.
“But Dad—” Sam started, but Dean bit down on his neck and made him groan. It wasn’t hard enough to break skin, just hard enough to shut Sammy up.
“I can sneak around him, Sammy. I’m gonna come back around when I can, I’m not letting this be a one-time thing.”
Sam swallowed down a particularly loud moan, nodding once before he curled up into Dean. The warmth of Sam’s body almost masked the rope of come that splashed across Dean’s shirt, sticking it to his stomach. He really hadn’t thought about that when he decided to not completely undress. Sam’s breath was hot against Dean’s neck, the light moans and sighs of pleasure beginning to put him over the edge.
“Can I come in your mouth?”
Sammy didn’t process it at first. When it finally did dawn on him, in the midst of him breathing through his orgasm, he moved back to look Dean in the eye.
The long pause he took made Dean think he’d finally crossed the line—like there was something so much worse about having sex with your brother if you blew your load in his mouth. Sam squinted slightly, really considered it, and Dean readied himself for rejection.
“Just don’t get it all over my face.”
Dean pulled out of him slowly, making Sam whimper like a puppy and sending a surge of electricity straight to his cock. He took the condom off and awkwardly crawled his way up until he could line himself up with Sammy’s mouth again. Dean reconsidered it for a moment, but it was a moment he didn’t really have, not when his balls were tightening, aching, threatening to burst whether he wanted them to or not. He focused on the head of his cock as he guided it back into Sammy’s open mouth, its new second favorite place.
It was over before he got the whole head past Sam’s lips. He came with a low moan that he’d definitely made before when he’d broken an arm, but that didn’t matter to Sammy. He tongued at the slit, mopping up whatever come hadn’t been shot against the roof of his mouth and swallowing it with a slightly pained-looking gulp.
Dean pulled himself out before he was able to form words again—he flopped onto the small sliver of bed next to Sam and breathed, grabbing at his shirt to keep him grounded.
He didn’t have the heart to tell Sam that he didn’t mean for him to swallow it.
—
Sammy came back with a greasy paper bag that made Dean’s stomach start to turn in on itself—his hunger had grown to such a fever pitch that he was sure he wasn’t going to be able to move on his own. He sat up in his sweaty clothes, grabbing at the bag like a man possessed when Sam came within reaching distance.
“They started serving a bacon bleu cheese burger a few months ago, it always made me think of you.”
Sam pulled out a plastic container with, just what he expected, a salad. He left the rest of the bag to Dean after he fished out his utensils, leaving him to shove fries into his mouth like it was the first meal he’d had in months. They tasted better than any french fry he’d ever had in his life. He was going to eat until his stomach exploded, Sam would just have to prepare for that inevitability.
“You know me so well, Sammy,” he said in between bites, disregarding the way his nose scrunched when he watched Dean wolf down his food. Sam opened his salad carefully and started poking around at it with his fork. “Still not hungry?”
“I shouldn’t have gotten this one.” He tipped it slightly so Dean could see the ranch drizzled on top of his lettuce and croutons.
“Why not? It actually looks like food.”
Sam smiled faintly. “I’m worried the ranch’ll taste like come.”
Dean almost choked on the first bite of his burger, covering his mouth to try and spare Sam a show.
After he regained his composure, he bit back: “You didn’t have to swallow it!”
Sam’s slight smile turned into a lopsided grin that could rival Dean’s. Oh, that smug bitch.
“I wanted to. It was an experiment that I’m glad I took part in.”
Dean and Sam finished their meals in relative silence, and Dean felt especially heavy when he was finished. He took their trash when he noticed Sam struggling to get comfortable in bed, now changed into his pajamas and looking a lot smaller in his oversized clothes. It reminded him of when he used to be able to wear Dean’s hand-me-downs. Dean tried to wedge himself between Sammy and his nightstand before giving up and returning to the roommate’s bed, lying down but making sure to not get too comfortable. He couldn’t stay the night, no matter how much they both wanted him to.
“You’re not hurting too much, right, Sammy?”
He shook his head. “I’ll be okay in the morning. I actually thought it was going to be worse, like you were going to make me bleed.”
Dean folded his arms over his stomach and his gaze flicked from Sammy’s eyes to his mouth. They’d done all that, and he hadn’t even kissed him. Maybe that was the point of no return and he didn’t need to angst so much over fucking Sam and guiding him on how to suck his dick.
He wouldn’t be able to get his lips off of his mind for a while, he could tell.
“If I hadn’t used that condom, you probably would’ve.” Clipped, nervous, reality starting to settle in again.
“Have you been with guys before?” Sam sounded almost innocent asking, like he hadn’t just been so thoroughly fucked that he’d be struggling to walk to classes tomorrow if he had any.
“Nah,” Dean lied. “But it’s basically the same with girls. Asses are just a bit more resistant, at least yours is.”
Sam scoffed. Dean couldn’t be sure if it was at the comment about his ass or if he didn’t believe that Dean had never had sex with another guy. Handjobs didn’t count. He was sure they didn’t.
“Fine, tight-ass. Are you into guys? Do you dry-hump your roommate every night and think about me?”
Sam glared at him, shaking his head almost violently. “Not my roommate, not in a million years. I didn’t think I liked guys. I don’t know if I do at all besides you.”
No matter the case, it was flattering. Dean felt lucky that he might be the only man who ever got to know Sammy biblically, even if he was the last one on earth who should have.
“Yeah, I don’t like guys either. You’re basically like a girl, though, I don’t think it counts with you.” He skated his gaze up Sam’s body and wasn’t surprised when he found him pulling that irritated bitch face again.
The conundrum remained.