Sam woke up to Dean slotted against his back, his face nestled into the nape of his neck. The room smelled faintly of potpourri and sweat from the night before, something else salty underneath it if he spent too long trying to pinpoint the exact scent. He might have been imagining the smell of his and Dean’s come, though.
They were staying in the unofficial honeymoon suite of the Brown Street Bed & Breakfast, its middle-aged owner very happy to cater to a whole new batch of clientele. It just so happened that the Misters Mercury were her first same-sex couple, a fact which she pointed out very proudly at check-in. Dean smiled at her and nudged Sam to smile as well, still uncomfortable posing as lovers even with the very thin veil of white lies hiding Mrs. Powell from the truth of their situation. It was the first time in over a decade that he held hands in public with Dean, and it made his heart flutter like he was falling in love.
He hadn’t understood at first why Dean agreed to splurge on a room like this one, something totally quaint and Thomas Kinkaide, but two nights spent on a decent mattress made him feel weightless. Not to mention two nights spent having some of the most mind blowing sex of his life all while surrounded by Midwestern kitsch, the promise of home-cooked breakfasts making it easy to drag himself out of bed in the morning.
This morning, however, was different.
Dean was snoring behind him, almost certainly drooling onto the pillow, yet Sam would have gladly stayed like this all day if they could afford it. If they weren’t them, if they were really the husbands Mercury, Sam would be glad to sleep in and have breakfast just to get him recharged enough to take Dean twice in one afternoon. Maybe they’d go walking around town at sunset, unaware of the dangers lurking just around the corner, hands unmistakably clasped together and every suspicion confirmed with a long stare: yes, we’re fucking, no, we don’t care what you think.
Sam knew better than to dream about a life he could never have. Even if they changed their names and moved to Switzerland, there would always be ghosts, monsters, demons. Sam couldn’t escape the obligation that came with his life.
But, he could linger in bed with Dean, take a brief selfish moment just for himself. He turned around and threw an arm across Dean’s chest, shutting his eyes and exhaling softly as he started to fall asleep again. Sam might have slept better in college, the more he thought about it. All-nighters were easier to recover from than dying and coming back to life, no matter how those crashes could make him feel in the morning.
Sam was comfortable in a way that almost made him feel like he was in danger. It always loomed over him, especially as he and Dean grew closer and closer: a voice telling him that he still had a chance to return to normalcy. Girlfriend, law school, white picket fence, anything but motel rooms and always sleeping with one eye open. It just didn’t sound appealing now, having spent so long on the road with Dean. All he wanted anymore was his brother all to himself, and now he had it.
He must have been making noise, moving, something to get Dean’s attention, but now he was awake.
“Sam?” He slurred, turning to face Sam.
“I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He questioned if he should take his hand off of Dean, but he left it, tracing a faint scar on his shoulder that Sam was pretty sure he’d patched up years ago.
Dean yawned, stretching and struggling to keep his eyes open. “Needed to wake up eventually, Sammy. I can’t get too used to the newlywed stuff.”
He smiled, another fluttering in his chest at Dean calling them newlyweds.
Sam slept with the gold band on, one that Dean gave him just before they got into town. He’d twisted it anxiously when they paid for the room and found himself staring at it while Dean focused on the case. Sam thought he might keep wearing it after they left—he could think of it as a commitment ring, at the very least.
“What time is it?”
He checked the grandfather clock at the other side of the room: 8:15, breakfast would be at 9:00. They had time.
“Early. Almost an hour until we’ve got to get going.”
Dean rolled closer to Sam, searching his face for something that Sam couldn’t place. Sometimes he couldn’t read Dean, despite how much he felt like he was born knowing his brother front cover to back. He leaned in, normally too shy to instigate but finding himself unable to resist the idea of giving Dean a gentle kiss on his lips. Sam had wanted to for months, caught himself staring at his mouth when he had no reason to, only a desire to know what they felt like on his. Every kiss since that first one felt like testing a hypothesis over and over again, no one quite remembering what the point of the experiment was with so many hours sunk into testing. He thought there might be a chance that it would get old eventually, that there would be no warmth, no grounding when he put his lips on Dean’s—and so far, his hypothesis seemed to be false.
Dean grabbed Sam’s cheek and moved until he was on top of him, kissing him with a gentleness that only Sam liked. It made his heart flutter that he’d do that for him, like he hadn’t done much more just because he felt obligated to. At least Sam could thank him for fulfilling his obligations now.
“You’re really not worn out after last night?”
One of their ties holding Sam’s wrists against the headboard, a rabbit vibrator working its magic on his pussy and clit while Dean railed his ass, Dean’s shoulder in his mouth to muffle his moans. They learned early that their walls weren’t soundproof, but Mrs. Powell was thankfully forgiving of their manners. He was getting much better at staying quiet even when Dean was biting the inside of his thigh.
“Not at all,” he said with a pride that didn’t fit the situation, but he still felt, nonetheless. “I had a couple of dreams you might like to hear about, actually.”
Dean slid his hand between Sam’s bare thighs and fondled him, stroking his pussy gently and leaving sloppy kisses on his neck. “I’m listening.”
Sam sucked in a trembling breath and exhaled a soft laugh, spreading his legs for Dean and wrapping his arms around him loosely. He was warm and he felt perfect in Sam’s hands.
“Well, it’s kinda weird, the one I remember the most.”
Dean looked up at him, eyebrows furrowing curiously. “Can’t be that weird, Sammy. C’mon, I wanna know.”
He nodded, wetting his dry mouth and playing the scenes back in his head. Sam’s recollection was interrupted when Dean circled his clit with his fingertips, stroking it with a loose precision that made the muscles in his legs go tense. His brother was a terrible interrogator, even on matters such as these.
“We were at home. It was just the two of us, no Dad, no… no Mom,” he swallowed uncomfortably, feeling like they were crossing a line talking about Mom while Dean jerked him off.
“Like, kids-us or now-us?”
“Now. I don’t think we were hunters, I think we gave it up. At the very least you did, I distinctly remember a beer gut,” Sam laughed, and Dean caught that laugh in his throat when he started guiding the head of his cock to Sam’s hole. “Is that turning you on? Dreaming about getting fat?”
Dean slid himself in with no resistance; Sam was probably wet enough even before Dean started stroking his clit. He barely winced at the stretch of Dean’s cock inside of him, instead moaning softly as he fucked into him with no sense of urgency. That first night Sam grunted like he was getting his shoulder popped back into place and he swore that he wasn’t going to be able to do it again. He’d only had girlfriends before Dean and he only ever let them stick a finger or two inside him, little tests that always failed. Now it all felt easy, it felt so good that he wasn’t sure how he was going to go back to a night spent not letting Dean do whatever he wanted to him.
“Keep going, I wanna hear what we got up to,” Dean said softly against his ear.
Sam’s eyes slid shut, the images coming back to him much clearer than a dream should have. Almost like a vision of the future, but one that was wholly impossible.
“We wore wedding rings, yours was a necklace. I guess we were married but the dream wasn’t so much about that.” Sam kissed Dean’s temple, his hairline, liking the taste of sweat that lingered on his lips. “A bit of it was us having sex, you were pulling my hair.”
Dean had one hand on Sam’s thigh, pushing it up to allow him to slot easily between his legs, and his other ventured up to tangle into Sam’s hair. He smiled, sighing as his nails scraped against his scalp. “Like that?”
“Rougher, but I like this.” He liked it toe-curlingly slow, he liked feeling his body move sluggishly against Dean’s with each long thrust into his pussy. Sam resisted the urge to fuck down onto his cock and ruin the deliberate pace that Dean had established. Instead, he held his shoulders steady and dug his nails in when Dean hit his g-spot.
“So, I made you see stars. What next?”
Sam could almost feel the rougher, more frenzied thrusting into him as he replayed what he could of his dream. He knew Dean would find the dream odd, probably make fun of him for at least a couple of days about it, and he wanted to delay the inevitable. Sam sighed and wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders, encouraging him to keep kissing his neck.
“We were fully domestic, I managed all the bills and you had your own garage. Then I started to feel like something was different, even though our routine was the same old, same old.” He sucked in a quick breath when Dean started using his tongue on his neck, licking a stripe up from the base to his earlobe.
“I went to the doctor and they couldn’t find anything wrong with me, so I got this idea in my head to try a pregnancy test. It was like I waited an hour for it to finally tell me the only thing that made sense.”
Dean stopped kissing his neck to look down at him, eyes wide with his eyebrows furrowed inquisitively. “And then what?”
Sam made a mental note of how nice it felt to have Dean inside him, unmoving. They’d have to revisit it once they had the time.
“What do you think? You got me pregnant. I didn’t want to tell you, I was scared of how you’d react, but you were happy when it finally came out. I think I woke up before I was going to have it, we were in the car and then my eyes opened. Now we’re here.”
Dean took a moment to process what Sam had told him, all the slimy details of the dream, and yet he didn’t look like he was about to burst into laughter about it. Sam wanted to thank him for not killing his boner. Instead, Dean started to thrust into him again, still gentle and with an ease like they really had all morning. Sam was going to be left gaping when they were done.
They fell into a rhythm that made Sam feel like he was floating on liquid clouds, like the time they’d stayed in a motel with a waterbed. He was warm, fuzzy, and he was circling orgasm much sooner than he anticipated he would. When he checked the clock over Dean’s shoulder, he almost gulped at the time: 8:31. They either had to finish now or rush getting ready, and Sam had already made his decision before even fully considering both options.
He threw one leg loosely around Dean’s waist, trying to pull him closer so he might thrust fully into him. Sam dragged one hand up the back of his head, against the grain of his buzzed nape, gasping softly when he felt Dean nip at his earlobe.
“You wanna have my baby, Sammy?” Dean’s voice echoed in the shell of his ear and he kissed the spot just below his lobe. Right over his jugular, he must have felt how Sam’s pulse hammered.
Sam hummed, tipping his head back against the pillow and nodding. A dumb smile spread across his face.
“Yeah. I want you to fill me up with come until you knock me up.”
Dean laughed, kissing his neck again. He thrust into Sam slowly, gently, like those first few experimental times he masturbated. Like the first few times Dean fingered him, curious about the part of Sam’s body that made them different. He was wet, he took Dean easily, yet it still almost felt like the first time he’d ever had his brother inside of him. Sam panted against the pillow and resisted the urge to thrust back on his cock.
“That kid’d be fucked for life, but it’d be worth it to see you carrying my baby. It’d be so worth it, Sammy.” He slipped one hand up the flat plane of Sam’s stomach.
Sam could see them like this: Dean fucking him doggy-style in the first few months, missionary for the rest, Sam’s swollen belly coming between them but only physically. Impossible, but there was something sweet and depraved about the idea of giving Dean a nephew and a son in one fell swoop. A life he couldn’t have but could still consider when he struggled to cope with his real one.
Dean was deep inside Sam, stretching him wide and making him ache for more. He tipped his head forward and slowly sunk back onto Dean, grunting as he hit his brother’s pelvis, his balls knocking against Sam’s pussy. A flash flood of embarrassment, maybe a sudden reminder that he was in his body, doing this with Dean, flushed his cheeks pink and he laughed again.
A horrific situation, but one that felt perfectly natural to Sam.
—
Sam looked at himself in the mirror after he and Dean traded places in the shower, washing off the grime of last night and this morning. He turned to his side and scrutinized his flat stomach. A few scrapes, a scar or two, none of the silvery stretch marks and the slight pouch of excess skin he had in his dream.
Sam stuck his stomach out, curious, wondering what he might look like if he actually could have Dean’s baby. It wasn’t like fantasies had to adhere to reality, but Sam’s had a tendency to. His inflated stomach only made him think about birth defects, copious blood loss, impracticality that would get himself, Dean, their baby, all of them, killed.
It would never work, both physically and logistically with their lifestyle, but it was hard to shake the comfort and safety he’d felt waking up from that dream. He’d taken a class about dream interpretation out of curiosity and knew that he didn’t really want a baby, he just wanted a different life. One that didn’t have him looking over his shoulder constantly, worrying about monsters and demons and ghosts and if they might finally kill him or Dean. He wanted to know what innocence felt like again, though he’d consider it a moot point if it meant an end to whatever he and Dean had become.
Sam turned away from the mirror, getting a thrill out of knowing he’d been filled with his brother’s come even if his body couldn’t do anything with it.