Heart's Desire VI "Seeing Through Different Eyes"

You've got me seeing through different eyes
"As Long as You're Mine", from Steven Schwartz' "Wicked"


The day was sunny; the temperature was the sort of Autumn in a temperate zone that Dean normally associated with the South, but without the humidity. They'd only lived in Palo Alto for two months, and already he was pretty sure he was in love with the weather. According to Mrs. Froson, there were no extremes here -- though Dean did like snow. Hunting things was always easier when they left tracks, and very few evil things seemed able to move through snow without leaving some kind of trail.

But the north could get just so damned cold, and the extreme heats and humidities of other regions were just unbearably disgusting. To be free of that, Dean was willing to give up the chance for a long, white winter.

He was pretty sure Sam would be thrilled to be snow-free, though. His little brother had never fully grasped the sheer joy of snow -- perhaps because Dean had been a better shot with a snowball for a long time, and perhaps one too many handfuls of slush down his snowpants had soured him on the experience.

Maybe they'd drive north during Sam's winter break, and they could find someplace with snow. Dean grinned at the thought, and his smile was returned by a pretty co-ed who thought he was smiling at her.

Dean gave her a nod, and an appreciative but politely brief once-over. Her smile widened and Dean knew he could have her phone number, and a date for the night -- if he'd been at all interested in anyone else. He saw the library up ahead and gave the pretty blonde an apologetic shrug, and kept walking.

As he drew near, he saw Sam sitting on the steps outside. Sam had a book open, but was obviously keeping an eye out because he was gathering his things and standing before Dean even got to him. When Dean did, Sam greeted him with a "Hey," and a quickly snuck kiss.

Dean grinned at him. Oh yeah -- much better than a pretty blonde girl whose name he wouldn't even remember in the morning.

"You ready?" It was a question he'd learned to ask by the time Sam was seven and had discovered what school libraries were for. Afterschool visits to the library meant looking up just one more book, tracking down one more thing he wanted to check out. Dean had been able to enforce the pick up time -- three thirty on the dot, but Sam would usually be waiting, backpack in hand, and still need to run back for just one more book.

The librarians had always loved Sam. Not that Dean could blame them as he always had as well.

"Yeah," Sam told him, hiking his backpack up onto his shoulder. It looked, and no doubt was, full of very many, very heavy books.

Dean narrowed his eyes, then reached over to take it from him. He wouldn't put it past Sam to have grabbed a couple extra books knowing that Dean would be likely to do exactly what he was doing. It had made sense when Sam was seven and eight and nine, but now there was really no excuse except, well, Dean had always carried Sam's books home from the library.

So clearly he'd lost his mind over Sam a long, long time ago.

"You know I can carry my own books," Sam said with amusement, though he let Dean take the backpack from him.

"Yeah? Then why is it that the last time I let you, you gave me that Look?" Dean settled the backpack over his shoulder, and was grateful that Dad had encouraged him to start working out at a young age. Being able to wield an ax or shovel for hours meant shoulder and back muscles which could almost handle Sam's idea of "just a few books."

"What look?" Sam asked, with a puzzled expression.

"The one that says 'do whatever I want you to do, Dean'. You've had it since you were two."

Sam looked even more puzzled. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dean laughed. "Oh, the hell you don't." He started walking away from the library -- if Sam wasn't asking to go back in for just one thing real quick, then it was best to get away while the getting was good. After a couple of steps, he reached over and caught Sam's hand.

There was no way in hell he was actually comfortable doing that sort of thing, but it was fun watching Sam stammer and blush and grin when he did.

Like the grin he was giving Dean now, in fact. "So what did you do today?" Sam asked, squeezing Dean's hand in return.

"I had a very productive day," Dean announced. "I went back to bed after I dropped you off, then crawled out of bed around eleven, had leftover pizza for lunch, then hit Marty's and found some tourists who wanted to lose at darts." He grinned, triumphantly. "I bought you something, but you have to wait 'til we get home to find out what."

Sam raised one eyebrow at him. "And you're going to torture me with it all the way home aren't you?"

Dean happily gave him a smug look. Of course he was going to torture Sam. What was the point, otherwise?

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed.

"You wanna stop on the way and grab something to eat?" Dean asked, as if his only interest was in feeding them.

"I'm good," Sam said as if the question had been serious and not just the opening salvo in torturing him. "Grabbed a sandwich between classes."

"One sandwich? Four hours ago?" Dean gave him a skeptical look. "You're good?"

Sam made a show of thinking it over. "Yep," he finally said.

"You wanna hit the bar? It's kinda early, but the pool tables at Cheaters should have a little action."

Sam turned to him and gave him the Look.

"See!" Dean pointed. "That! That look right there is what I'm talking about!" He glared, then frowned. "Yes, fine, we'll go right home. Shut that thing off."

"Shut what off?" Sam asked, and the Look thankfully morphed back into a puzzled expression.

Dean just shook his head. Sam always protested not having a clue what Dean meant by The Look -- and Dean hadn't yet figured out if Sam was serious. He didn't want to push it, in case Sam really didn't know and he started using it more after he figured it out. He gave Sam's hand a squeeze. "Let's go home, and you can play with your present."

"I'd rather play with you," Sam replied softly, giving him another kind of look altogether.

"You can play with me and the present."

Sam opened his mouth and looked like he was going to ask something, but closed it again without speaking a word.

It might not have been exactly fair, Dean knew. It wasn't that sort of present -- but he was fairly sure he could make do, between Sam and all the stuff they did have around the apartment that could be used for sex. They hadn't made another trip to Inserection since the first one, but a creative person could use just about anything -- and when it came to sex, Dean felt confident he could be pretty damn creative.

They reached the car and had got in before Sam spoke again. "So," he said, voice extra casual, "have you given any more thought to going back to school?"

Caught between glaring him off and sighing, Dean said, "Since the last time you asked?" He made a show of looking at his watch. "What is with you? We have a deadline I don't know about?"

Truth was, the whole thing kind of freaked him out. Not the 'having sex with my brother' degree of freak out, but more on the level of 'we are living in the same place for a year.' While he wasn't backing out, he hadn't exactly done much of anything in order to get his diploma.

"Well, there are deadlines to sign up for specific classes," Sam was saying, "but if we miss one, there'll always be another." He glanced sideways at Dean, expression carefully neutral. "But you do actually have to make some decisions if you want to move forward."

"Like what? Which lunchbox to carry? Who I want to sit next to in class?" Dean pulled out of the parking lot -- he never really felt out of place on campus when he was here, except when Sam made him think about stuff like this. High school.

Did he really want to go back to high school?

"That's one of the decisions you have to make," Sam said with that same overly calm demeanour. "You can go to a class or you can take a course online."

"I can what?" Dean glanced over. "How do you know?"

Sam shrugged. "Did some research." He gave Dean a small smile. "What I do best."

"You--" Dean frowned. Which probably meant Sam had done all the research. It would explain why Sam had mentioned Dean's going back to school almost every day for the last four weeks.

Or maybe it just felt like it.

"I can take classes online?" That sounded a hell of a lot better than sitting in a classroom with god knew who -- teenagers and old Mexican women, and earnest Filipinos who Wanted Something Better. He really had no clue what sort of person went back to high school after it was too late to do it for real, but he was sort of afraid to find out.

Sam nodded earnestly, his words falling out with an eagerness that confirmed Dean's supposition of how much research he'd probably done. "Yeah, pretty much everything you'd need to do, you could do online if you wanted. Which might be the better option for you because that way if you wanted to go hunting you still could, just take the laptop with you."

"Huh. I hadn't thought about that." Dean nodded, then, "But you'd need it for your own schoolwork, won't you?" Not that he'd been planning any hunting trips anytime soon.

He hadn't really been planning much of anything. He'd spent most of his time hanging out in bars, playing pool and darts, and making sure Sam had what he needed for school -- not that Sam really seemed to need Dean's input there.

Which maybe explained why Sam was starting to harp on Dean's own plans for school.

Sam shrugged. "We can get another one. I get a student discount so it wouldn't be that much. And it would give us another way of keeping in contact when you do go on hunts."

They came to a red light, which gave Dean the chance to stare long and hard at his brother. "So, if you've thought of everything, what exactly do you need me for?" he joked, but it fell pretty damned flat.

And just like that, all of that excited enthusiasm got pulled back in and Sam's words were very carefully neutral and non-pressuring. "I just did the research. So you'd know what you could do. It's up to you to choose what you want to do."

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he said, and meant it. "I just... it freaks me the hell out to...." He shook his head, frustrated. He wasn't even sure he could explain what it was. Certainly there was nothing wrong with being surrounded by sixteen and seventeen year old girls who were, in Dean's experience, always captivated by an older guy. Even if, because of Sam, he wouldn't be doing anything about it.

"I know," Sam said, reaching over and squeezing Dean's thigh affectionately. "That's why I did the research. Figured it might make it easier on you."

Knowing that Sam wasn't going to rag on him for the way he was dragging his feet, Dean found himself able to tell him, "I don't wanna be sitting in a classroom like a fucking loser. It's one thing for...someone who never had a chance to get a high school diploma to go back for one. But I just...didn't."

He'd thought about all the stories he could spin, explaining why he was just now finishing school. As clever and amazing as some of them were -- they'd all left a sour, ashy taste in his mouth.

"You had your reasons," Sam told him earnestly. "Though, okay, not ones that you could tell many people." He reached over and touched Dean's leg again. "But I know."

"Didn't stop you, did it?" They'd grown up the same way -- and yet Sam had managed what Dean hadn't. Although, to be fair, Dean had just found it easier to ditch school in favor of the hunts with Dad. He hadn't ever expected to care about high school after he'd dropped out for good.

If Sam had stayed with Dad and him, hunting and living on the road, Dean thought he still wouldn't much care.

"I had you," Sam said simply.

"I only did your homework that one time," Dean reminded him, though he knew that wasn't what Sam meant. "And you got an 'A'," he added, because he pointed it out every single time he had a chance.

Sam smiled. "I know. I never doubted I would."

That was new. Normally Sam accused him of buying the paper from some other kid, or telling him about how Sam's broken arm was his fault in the first place. Dean made the last turn onto their street -- their street, god -- and gave his brother a curious look. "Because when I'd had sophomore English, I got a D? That's how you knew I could write a book report on Of Mice and Men?"

"You didn't care about your own grade. You cared about mine." Sam said it as if it explained everything.

"I didn't want to make you cry," Dean said, even though Sam hadn't cried over schoolwork since he was five and his fingerpainted picture of Dean and Dad had gotten torn.

He pulled his car into its parking spot, running his fingers lightly over the dash as the engine fell silent. He kind of wished he could have seen the look on Craig Mosley's face when Dad had shown up with the Geo, demanding to trade it back in.

Sam reached out and covered the hand on the dash with his own. He didn't say anything, he just squeezed Dean's hand and smiled.

"My car loves me," Dean said, smugly.

"It's not the only one," Sam told him.

Dean pointed his thumb at Lula's car, parked in the next spot. "You think it loves me, too?" He knew, of course, what Sam meant. Making jokes was still easier than hearing what Sam wasn't saying, though.

This time Sam let him get away with it. He didn't always. "It might," he said. "Have you taken it out for a spin?"

Dean got out of the car, giving Sam a haughty sniff. "I told you I don't do that sort of thing anymore." He gave the Impala's roof a pat. "I'm a one-car man."

Sam snorted laughter as he got out and picked up his backpack, but didn't say anything.

"Well, there is that bike," Dean said thoughtfully as he headed towards the house. Dennis, one of the guys he knew from Cheaters, had a custom bike that made Dean damn near salivate every time he saw it. He made a show of looking back at his car, as if worried she would overhear and get jealous.

This time Sam laughed right out loud.

Dean frowned at him. "You haven't seen this bike, Sam. It's the sweetest ride I have seen in my life -- for a motorcycle," he said in a slightly louder voice. As they neared the house and got out of "earshot" of the Impala, Dean said, "I swear I want to hump that bike every time I see it. I think Dennis would let me, too."

"How about you hump me instead?" Sam asked, pulling out the keys to the apartment as they entered and started up the stairs.

Dean frowned. "You don't have a red and silver paint job," he said, looking Sam up and down. "And you don't roar." As soon as he'd said it, he knew of course he was oh so very wrong. One of the things he'd noticed very quickly about his little brother when he'd hit puberty was the way his voice fucking dropped when he yelled.

Suddenly he felt a lot like humping Sam.

The knowing smirk that Sam shot him told him that his brother knew it, too.

"You...gonna roar for me?" Dean asked, hopefully, and trying for casual but pretty much failing.

Sam gave him a wicked grin. "If you make me."

Returning the grin, Dean followed Sam inside -- and spotted the bag he'd left near the couch. Sam's present. He almost wished it was a sex toy, though he felt pretty confident he could make Sam yell on his own. "You want sex, or your present, first?"

Sam actually hesitated for a minute before saying, "Present?" as if asking if that was the right choice.

Dean grinned and walked over to get the bag. He knew the bag itself wouldn't give anything away, but as soon as Sam saw the box inside.. well, if he'd wanted it to be a real surprise he would have had the store wrap it.

He handed the bag to Sam, and said, "It's a little late, I know."

Sam took it and pulled the box out, looking puzzled, until he opened the box and saw the brand new pair of running shoes. His face softened then and when he looked up there was so much love in his eyes that Dean felt like he couldn't breathe.

Fidgeting, Dean looked down at the bag. "I know your feet haven't actually grown any, but if they're the wrong size or whatever, the receipt's still in the bag so you can exchange 'em."

Sam didn't answer with words, just put the box of shoes down carefully on the table and then wrapped himself around Dean, kissing him the same way he'd just been looking at him.

"Mmrmph," was all Dean managed, until Sam let his mouth go. "They're just shoes," he protested. Not that he was fighting his way out of Sam's arms, or anything stupid.

"They're not just shoes," Sam denied, leaning in to kiss him again.

He knew what Sam meant. Knew his brother could read him...as well as he could read Sam. And being kissed like there was no tomorrow was pretty damn fine.

When Sam broke off again, Dean said, "I didn't get any funky laces." Not that he hadn't seen the bright pink ones with rainbows and balloons and a little cartoon girl. But they hadn't been long enough for Sam's size gazillion shoes.

Sam's mouth twitched upwards. "Thank you for that," he said dryly.

"I'm very considerate that way," Dean said, smiling a little. It occurred to him now that he could have got two pair and tied them together.

He'd have to do that and re-lace Sam's shoes sometime.

Sam chuckled and kissed him again, this time seeming more serious about it. Dean had absolutely no problem with getting serious about kissing -- especially not when he had the chance to make Sam growl, roar, or just shout his name. It was good to have a goal in mind, Dean told himself, as he kissed Sam back eagerly.

It went on just like that for a while until Sam finally pulled back, all breathless. "Clothes off. Bed."

"Very romantic," Dean teased, though he was already pulling his shirt off. When Sam got like this -- insistent and barely verbal -- it always, without fail, went right to Dean's cock and threatened to make Dean nonverbal as well.

Sam had toed off his shoes and had pulled his shirt over his head and was working on getting rid of his jeans with that single mindedness he got when he was really focused on something.

Which right now appeared to be having sex with Dean. Dean knew he needed to keep undressing -- before Sam jumped him and something got torn. He liked these jeans, didn't want to lose them already, but he didn't seem to be able to stop staring. Watching Sam get naked was always nice, but seeing him undress, while staring at Dean like he was going to consume him whole....

Dean found he couldn't move, didn't really want to try.

So he was standing there staring, still half dressed when Sam finished. Sam raised an eyebrow as he stalked toward Dean like a panther. "You still have clothes on."

"I...yeah." He did. He was. He was still holding his shirt; he dropped that. Dean got his hands on his jeans as Sam got closer. His cock was aching, trapped in jeans that were really too tight, now.

Sam stopped just out of reach, dark eyes burning a brand over Dean's skin. "Don't you think you should fix that?"

"Buh?" Dean tried, and he got his jeans open. Shoved them down, got as far as his thighs and Sam was still fucking staring at him, and Dean wanted to just grab his cock and jerk off to it.

The thought must've been clear on his face because Sam told him sharply, "Don't. Just get rid of the pants. Touching you is my job."

Dean froze -- not moving his hands at all for a second, then slowly moved them back down to his jeans, letting Sam see that he was not going to get anywhere near his cock. Much as he wanted to touch himself, waiting for Sam to do it was always a hell of a lot better.

"Good," Sam told him, crooking his finger to get Dean to come to him after he'd finally stepped out of his jeans.

Obediently, Dean walked forward.

Sam looked at him speculatively for a moment, reaching out to trail a hand down Dean's chest. "Tell me what you want, Dean? Want me to blow you? Or fuck you? Or do you want to fuck me?"

Christ, he had to decide? He couldn't just pick all three?

He thought about each one -- each image made him all the harder, made him want to grab his cock and jerk off to nothing more than the images in his head and the sight of Sam watching him. But he didn't want to actually piss Sam off; his brother was just as likely to make him die of blue balls as actually let him come.

"Fuck me," he finally found himself saying. "God, please, just fuck me already."

Sam grinned at him like he'd said something incredibly insightful, then wrapped his arms around Dean and kissed him, pressing full length against him, skin to skin.

Whimpering in a way that would have been embarrassing if Sam didn't make just as much embarrassing noises, Dean tried to push their bodies closer, rubbing his cock against Sam's body. He'd never really been one for frottage except as something better than nothing -- but there was something about Sam that made it just one more thing he wanted to do forever.

After a few minutes, Sam pulled away again, breathing hard. "Get on the bed," he ordered in a husky voice.

Dean backed up, not turning away from Sam. A few steps and he was near the bed; two more and he felt the mattress against his foot. He scooted backwards onto it, settling into a half-sprawl, half-sitting position. He swallowed, hard, letting his gaze drift towards Sam's cock.

Oh yeah, he definitely wanted to be fucked.

Sam just stared at him for a few seconds then moved, getting the supplies he needed before crawling on the mattress with Dean, covering him and kissing him all over again.

Dean found himself groaning, already desperate for more than just being touched and kissed. Not that he wanted Sam to stop. But he heard himself whimpering whenever Sam's lips left his skin, moaning when they touched him again, and he tried to find a grip on Sam, fingers slipping on skin. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," he begged, hoping he could motivate Sam to lose just enough control that he would get on with it.

"I will," Sam told him, sliding down his body, dropping kisses on his stomach as his hands fumbled for something. "I just need to...there." At the 'there', Dean felt slick fingers breach him and press slowly inside.

Dropping his head back, Dean locked his elbows to keep from falling all the way. He pushed his legs apart, lifting his hips up so Sam could get all the way in. There were more noises, desperate, needy, strangled sounds that he hoped Sam found motivating.

"God, you're so hot like this," Sam told him, in a low intense voice. "Sometimes I wish I could keep you like this all the time."

"Okay?" Dean didn't know what the problem was with that.

Sam chuckled, the sound of it pure sex, and leaned over to kiss Dean again.

"I'm a great houseboy," Dean offered when he could talk. "I can give you references if the audition isn't enough." Then he tried to get at Sam's mouth again for more.

Sam let him, even as he laughed again.

He liked the sound of Sam's laughter -- he always had, and laughter with naked and kissing was just about as good as getting Sam to growl at him. Dean kissed him, slipping his tongue out to see if Sam would let him in. Which of course Sam did, opening up to him immediately.

He loved the taste of Sam's mouth. Loved the feel of him as he slid his tongue in, rubbing against Sam's tongue. He had another image of his tongue sliding in other places and Dean groaned, loud and sharp. Dean jerked his hips up against Sam and wished Sam were fucking him now, because dear god he was going to come soon.

Dean knew perfectly well how to make himself last -- but with Sam, he'd never wanted to.

When Sam did break the kiss it was with an anguished little moan. "Don't wanna stop kissing you," he breathed against Dean's jawline. "But I wanna fuck you more."

"Yes, yes, good," Dean said, panting. He pulled his knees up, grabbed them and held his legs up, and open. "Fuck me."

Sam groaned again as he looked at him, then shifted and moved, and slid into Dean in one long smooth thrust.

"Oh god yes," Dean breathed. He let himself fall back completely, holding only his legs up and letting the rest of his body collapse under Sam's thrust, letting Sam in so he could fuck Dean as long and hard as he wanted. And Sam was fucking him hard. Slow and deliberate, but each thrust hard enough to move him up the mattress. Dean nodded, let himself groan louder each time, encouraging Sam to just keep fucking him.

Never, ever stop.

Sam shifted his grip on Dean's hips, one hand wrapping around Dean's cock.

Christ. He wasn't gonna last more than a few seconds if Sam did that. He tried to get his hand down onto Sam's, let him know if he wanted Dean to last at all he was gonna have to let go.

But Sam didn't let go; if anything he gripped Dean tighter, stroking in just the way Dean liked best, and in time to his thrusts. Dean felt himself getting closer, orgasm building through his entire body. He watched Sam, looking down at him and got caught in his eyes. He let himself fall silent -- no need to entertain Sam or reassure him that what he was doing was working. All Dean had to do was let go and Sam would bring him off.

As Sam fucked him, Dean tightened his grip on his knees. A heartbeat later and he was coming, cock and brain exploding in a shower of sparks that threatened to blind him.

Through it all, even when everything else faded under the pleasure, he never lost awareness of Sam's hand on his cock, Sam's cock thrusting into him, connected on the most intimate of levels.

When his orgasm began to fade, Dean sighed -- still loving the feel of Sam fucking him. In a way he loved this more because he could lay back and enjoy it without his cock getting in the way. Dean gave Sam a grin, and a squeeze the next time he thrust inside.

"Dean," Sam groaned, a catch in his voice that was a sure sign that he was close to coming.

"Fuck me, Sammy," Dean told him, lifting his hips a little with the next thrust and squeezing Sam's cock again.

Sam's rhythm was becoming as ragged as his breathing and he groaned again at Dean's words.

"Hard as you can," he said quietly, drawing Sam out with his voice. "Come on, deeper."

Another groan as Sam gripped Dean's hips hard enough to leave bruises, his thrusts just this side of violent.

"Oh yeah," Dean encouraged. He loved it like this, when Sam just took what he wanted without trying to be gentle. "Fuck me," he said again, watching as his brother got closer and closer to coming in his ass.

And just how fucked up was he, that this was the thing he wanted most? Getting fucked by his own baby brother?

Dean grinned. "Fuck me, Sammy," he begged again, and he could feel his cock stirring.

Sam noticed it too. "You getting hard again?"

"You're fucking me," Dean explained. Like it wasn't obvious why he would be getting hard. How anyone could see Sam like this, feel his cock inside them and not get hard -- they'd have to be dead, or stupid beyond redemption.

"You have, like, zero refractory time, don't you?" Sam asked, with a breathless chuckle, reaching for Dean's half hard cock as he kept thrusting.

"I did what?" Dean scowled, pretty sure he'd just been insulted. "What are they teaching you in that college of yours?" he gasped, as Sam thrust in hard.

Sam chuckled again. "Not this," he said, Dean's cock with his hand. "This was all you. You think you can come again?"

"Record's five in one night," Dean gasped, trying to shove his cock deeper into Sam's hand without moving away from Sam's cock in his ass.

"Yeah, but this would be twice in half an hour." Sam gritted his teeth and slowed the pace of his thrusts down.

"I'm young." Dean grinned, then moaned as Sam's hand tightened on his cock.

"Hot, too," Sam told him, still speaking through gritted teeth.

"And fuckable," Dean said, lifting his hips again and feeling smug. Not that he didn't know just how hot he was -- he'd started using that practically the same day he'd figured it out. But it felt different when Sam said it. Better, as long as it didn't tip him over into a freakout.

"I've noticed," Sam groaned in response and gave a particularly hard thrust.

"Oh god," Dean breathed, and felt his cock twitch again. Not hard enough yet to do anything with it -- if he held out maybe he could fuck Sam, after. At that thought, he got harder. He grinned up at Sam, who still hadn't come yet, and asked, "When you're done you want me to fuck you?"

Sam's eyes widened and he froze for a second then thrust two more times and shuddered when he came.

With an effort, Dean made himself smile smugly -- like his cock wasn't throbbing and aching for someone to jerk him off. He caught Sam's eye and raised a finger, drawing a 'one' in the air.

"Jerk," Sam gasped, as he pulled out and collapsed beside him.

"Tong kumong," Dean said, still grinning.

Sam held up a hand and gave him the finger.

Dean nodded. "Sure, if you want." He peered down, though he couldn't really see Sam's cock from the way Sam was plastered up against him. "Maybe in an hour?"

Sam looked at him speculatively for a moment, then deliberately stretched out like a cat. "Didn't someone mention something about fucking me?"

"You gotta give me a second," Dean said, putting his hand on his cock. He was definitely getting harder, but not hard enough to give Sam the fucking he deserved. "Or, you know, you could help out," he suggested.

Sam stretched again sensuously. "I thought that's what I was doing," he said smug.

"You're being very inspiring," Dean agreed, nodding, still pulling on his cock -- which was very definitely interested in the sight Sam presented. Well fucked, stretched out long and lean and so fucking edible. "I was thinking a little oral assistance would get you fucked faster."

"You want a blowjob too?" Sam asked as if it was a huge demand.

Dean scowled. "Don't make it sound like it's already been in your ass today."

"Yeah, that's a real turn on there, Dean."

Dean stared at his brother. "You don't think about that, do you? You fuck me and never think about the fact you're in my ass."

"Well, not when I'm contemplating blowjobs," Sam said, leaning up on his elbows.

"You probably wouldn't blow me right after I took a piss, either?" Dean grinned, knowing he was talking himself right out of getting a blow job today -- and possibly for several months to come. But he'd been taking joy out of disgusting Sam for a lot longer than he'd been getting blow jobs from him.

Sam's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Dude, keep this up and I won't let you fuck me."

"How does that follow? Me sticking my dick in your ass isn't any grosser for you than me not sticking my dick in your ass." Dean figured Sam was just trying to threaten him with something that would probably work. And it might have, if Dean thought there was a chance in hell Sam would actually not let Dean fuck him.

Of course, there was the fact that the conversation wasn't doing much for Dean's arousal level. If they didn't do something, soon, he wasn't going to be fucking Sam at all. Well, not right away, anyhow.

"You seem to think grossing me out is more fun than fucking me," Sam pointed out, while stretching provocatively again.

"Dude, have you not met me?" Dean raised an eyebrow. He wanted to lean over and start licking various spots on Sam, to see if he could get that growl he hadn't got earlier.

"I have, which is why I even think it's a question." Sam still sounded put out, but there was humour in his eyes.

"You've forgotten about the fish tacos in bed thing, right?" Dean asked, and he knew he was close to not having any more sex for the rest of the day, possibly not even with his own hand.

But he'd remembered that when Sam was pissed, his voice dipped down to the point it made Dean's spine vibrate.

Sam's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Dean..."

Which was good progress, but his voice was still its normal tone. Dean frowned in frustration. "You're not growling."

Sam blinked at him. "I'm not what?"

"You usually growl when you're pissed off." He gave his brother a pout. "You said you'd growl for me and you haven't yet, and I'm even willing to go without sex -- er, more sex -- to get you to growl and you still won't."

"Oh." Sam got that expression he got when he was thinking something over. "I'm pretty sure I'll growl if you fuck me," he offered.

Dean folded his arms across his chest. "I tried that."

"I'm sorry, was I unconscious or something? Because I'm pretty sure I'd remember your dick up my ass."

"I was going to, and I wasn't hard enough so I asked-- you know what? This is why we have a dildo." Dean rolled away towards the edge of the bed, digging around underneath it for the toy box they'd stashed under there. It was a tool box, actually, and there were a couple things they'd find more handy in case something evil broke in.

He could feel Sam's eyes on him while he dug like a physical touch, full of anticipation. He found the dildo where he expected it to be and pulled it out. Grabbed the lube while he was down there because he had no idea where the tube Sam had used had ended up. He rolled back over and held the dildo up, waggling it a little.

Sam's gaze was dark and hot on him. "How do you want me?" he asked, his voice going a bit gravelly, which boded well for Dean getting his growl.

"Um." Did it matter? Well, if Sam had his back to him, he wouldn't notice how much Dean's cock had lost any sign of its earlier growing erection. "Hands and knees," Dean said, and he mentally winced at how matter-of-fact he'd managed to sound.

It seemed Sam noticed as well because his expression changed immediately. "Dean?" he asked, frowning in concern. "What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head, sitting back on his heels. "You want--" And he stopped. He couldn't ask Sam if he wanted to be fucked. Couldn't have sex with Sam like this. He'd tried it once and he'd not only pissed Sam off, but he'd hurt him. He put the dildo down on the bed and looked away.

He heard the sheets rustle as Sam moved and then his brother's arms were wrapped around him. Dean sighed. "Why is everything that goes wrong with me so fucking stupid?"

Sam dropped a kiss on his shoulder and, if anything, hugged him tighter. "Why don't you let me be the judge of if it's stupid or not?" he suggested.

"Because you were just yanking my chain," Dean explained. If he'd thought Sam had seriously been turning him down -- well, Dean would just know not to ask again. He turned a little, and rested his head on Sam's shoulder.

"What was I yanking your chain about?" Sam asked, stroking fingers through Dean's hair. "I mean I yank your chain so much..."

"Yeah. You'd think I--" Dean stopped, and tried again to fight down what he was feeling.

But he was tired of that, and Sam kept telling him it was okay. He tried to figure out how to explain, what he needed to say and what he could get away with never admitting to. He pulled his legs up, curling against Sam.

"You know, all those times I let someone fuck me, or blew them, to get something we needed. I usually didn't get to...ask for anything I wanted. Sometimes they didn't even care if I got hard, or if I came. I asked, once; I was about fifteen and I'd given this guy a blow job. I was getting hard, and after he came I asked if he'd.... He looked at me and said I'd paid for a tank of gas, not for him to be a whore."

"That guy was a fucking ass." Sam shifted trying to wrap more of himself around Dean.

"He wasn't the only one," Dean whispered. "Most of them.... It was just easier to stop asking."

"This is about you asking for a blowjob," Sam finally realised.

"I know you were just kidding," Dean began. But how many times had he heard someone say 'no' when he'd asked for something he wanted?

"But it was too close to what others have told you," Sam said, eerily echoing Dean's thoughts.

Dean didn't answer, not sure what he could say. He didn't want to put Sam in the same category as everyone else. He wasn't anything like...anyone else Dean had ever had sex with. And he knew Sam had been joking.

So why did it bother him so much to hear Sam tell him 'no'?

"I'm sorry," Sam told him, still holding Dean and stroking his hair. "I'll be more careful in the future."

The tone in his brother's voice made Dean wince. "I said it was stupid," he reminded Sam. "You don't have to get all...."

"It's not stupid," Sam argued. "And I'm not getting all anything. Really."

"It's stupid," Dean said, pulling away from Sam. "It was just a blow job, for god's sake, and here I am turning into an afterschool special." He laughed, once. "Maybe I should go back to high school, I can serve as a bad example. 'Kids, don't let this happen to you'."

Dean suddenly found himself flat on his back with Sam holding him down. "It's not stupid, okay? You're not stupid, since I know that's what you're thinking. And it's not about just a blowjob. It's about a lot more than that. I just lost sight of that for a moment and that's what I'm sorry for."

Dean blinked. There was a joke to be made there -- about Sam using his long leg powers for evil or something. But nothing was coming to mind except something he really, really didn't want to do or say or admit to even in the back of his skull where he kept track of the tv schedule for Oprah.

Sam looked down at him, sighed, and leaned down and kissed him. Long and lingeringly, full of feeling. Dean heard himself whimper -- and it wasn't one of those not-really-embarrassing sex whimpers. This was something that made him want to pull away from Sam and hide.

Only the best place he could think of was right where he was, underneath his brother.

Sam kept kissing him until he all but melted underneath him. Then when Sam finally pulled back, he smiled and said, "Now about that blowjob...."

"Don't." Dean was grabbing Sam's arms and holding him still, before he could even process what he was doing. "I mean...I don't need a pity fuck. I...." Dean trailed off, feeling just as stupid as Sam kept saying this wasn't. What the hell was wrong with him, turning down a blow job from Sam?

Sam kissed him again, briefly. "Dean, the last thing you'll ever get from me is a pity fuck. Pity fuck implies that it's some kind of chore. Sex with you is always too much fun to be considered a chore."

"The time I woke you up at four in the morning--" Dean began. He stopped at the look on Sam's face. He wasn't going to be able to get away with making jokes for much longer.

"What do you need, Dean?" Sam asked simply.

"Don't go anywhere," was what came out, though Dean didn't really know what he meant. Although...he realised he knew exactly what he wanted, and Sam probably wouldn't even accuse him of being the girl.

He rested his forehead on Sam's shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment, then slipped his arms around his brother. Tugging him just a bit closer, he let his legs sprawl tangled in Sam's, feeling the entire weight of Sam's body press down on his own. Sam let Dean move him how he wanted, then gave another sigh, sounding content as he settled in.

"Sorry," Dean said, quietly.

"Idiot," Sam told him fondly.

"Yeah. Sorry I'm an idiot."

Sam laughed. "Don't make me whap you."

"Not really one of my kinks," Dean said, with an air of apology. He took a deep breath and let it out, and felt...a lot better. Not like he wanted to let Sam go just yet. He decided he wouldn't think about why he wanted to hide underneath his little brother. Well -- younger brother. He felt pretty well smothered by his behemoth brother at the moment.

"That's okay," Sam told him. "I'm sure you have plenty of other kinks to make up for it."

"I thought that was one of the things you remembered. Er, saw." Dean had to admit he'd been curious about that since Sam had mentioned it last summer. Dean knew what his kinks were -- at the moment. But that didn't mean he and Sam hadn't discovered new ones along the way.

Sam pulled back enough to look down at him. "Would you like the kinks I saw chronologically or in alphabetical order?" he said with a wry smile.

Huh. Dean thought about it. "Alphabetical might be good for when we try them again. But just to hear 'em...you can go chronologically."

"All right." Sam propped himself up on an arm leaning on Dean's chest. "Let's see...does gay sex count? And then there's fucking over the car's hood...roleplaying with and without costumes, bondage--"

"Wait, wait, the fuck--" Dean glared at his brother. "Now you're really yanking my chain. Fucking costumes?" He narrowed his eyes. "There something you need to tell me about your sexual fantasies, Sammy?"

"Wasn't my sexual fantasy," Sam said with a shrug. "You were the one who thought I looked hot dressed as a priest."

"When were you--" Dean stopped as the image appeared, full force, in his head. "Er. Roman collar?" He wondered how the hell he'd ever seen his brother dressed as a priest in order to realise he'd look.... Fuck, yes, he'd look pretty damned hot.

Sam nodded. "Wasn't that bad a look on you, either."

Not really paying attention to what Sam was saying, Dean tried to figure out where he could find priest outfits. Well, it would be something to do this week while Sam was in class. He swallowed and tried to focus on his brother again. "So. Er. You were at 'bondage'?"

Not that his brain didn't try to immediately go off with that one, either. He could tie Sam to the bed, ankles spread and hands above his head.....

Oh, yeah.

"Yeah. There's quite a lot of that. With all kinds of different restraints...."

"Anything particularly strike you as something we should try soon?"

Sam made a show of thinking about it. "One or two maybe." He grinned at Dean. "Or maybe I should just leave it up to you -- let you come up with something."

"Or you could tell me now," Dean countered. He thought about grabbing something sensitive of Sam's to hold hostage -- but it wasn't like Sam couldn't retaliate in exactly the same way. "Or tell me what else we did after 'bondage'."

"Well, there was this one thing with ice cubes that was pretty kinky...."

Dean frowned. "What can you do with ice cubes?" Wouldn't that just make things cold?

"It's where you put the ice cubes," Sam said, cheeks turning red.

Oh, this sounded intriguing. "Where do you put the ice cubes, Sammy?" An idea occurred to him, but... well, surely Sam didn't mean there.

Sam just coughed, and turned redder.

Dean gaped at him. "And it was good?" He wanted to ask which of them had the ice shoved up his ass -- but he was kinda afraid to know. Maybe they'd just been experimenting.

Maybe ice had some weird sexual properties he didn't know about.

"If there was anything we tried that wasn't good, I haven't had a vision of it yet," Sam said, a hint of smugness in his voice.

"You...seriously? Do you want me to shove an ice cube up your ass?" Because there was no way in hell he was letting Sam do that to him, because he remembered putting Nair in Sam's shampoo five years ago. And putting raspberry Kool-aid in the shower head four years ago. And replacing every twelfth word in Sam's English essay with its Latin equivalent right before Sam printed it out, three years ago.

He wasn't about to say 'yes, Sammy, shove ice up my ass and make me have an orgasm'. Not without proof. Maybe not even then.

"I'm open to new experiences," Sam said, actually managing to look innocent while discussing putting ice cubes where no ice cube had gone before.

"Huh. Well, all right. We'll put that one on the to-do list. Right now I want to hear the rest of the done list."

Sam looked at him speculatively. "No," he said slowly. "I think we need to leave a little mystery. Besides," he ran a hand down Dean's chest suggestively, "wouldn't it be more fun to do instead of just talk?"

"I want to hear it," Dean insisted. It wasn't fair that Sam knew what Dean would do, and Dean didn't know what Sam knew Dean would do. Besides... "Listening to you describe it kinda turns me on."

Possibly more than 'kind of', but surely Sam had noticed Dean's reaction to thinking about Sam in a roman collar.

And if he hadn't before, he had another chance now.

"Would you rather I talk or put my mouth to other uses?"

Dean pretended to think it over. "I never did get my growl," he said, as though that answered Sam's question.

"So blowjob, you fuck me, I growl?" Sam asked as if checking directions or a grocery list.

"Long as I don't come with my dick in your mouth, yeah."

Sam gave him a look that made Dean get even harder. "Don't."

As though he would have any control over it, once Sam's mouth touched his dick? "I wanted to think about you as a priest," he whined, trying to make it sound a little faked. "Not think about Mrs. Duncan serving broccoli."

"We could improvise a cockring," Sam suggested.

"I don't know that I want you tying something around my cock," Dean said, scowling a little. "What if I promise to fuck you with something, if I come in your mouth?"

Sam considered. "What would the something be?"

They'd done fingers and dildos, and the whole point was that 'cock' wasn't an option. Dean offered, "You want my tongue?"

Sam stared at him.

There was no way to tell what that meant. "Yes? No? What the hell am I talking about?" Maybe they'd never done that, or Sam just hadn't seen it?

"Tongue and fingers?" Sam counteroffered.

"How many?" Dean held up his hand, wanting to laugh at the fact they were actually negotiating.

Sam smiled faintly. "I'll leave that up to you to decide."

Narrowing his eyes at his brother as though Sam were suggesting they get olives on the pizza, Dean closed his fingers into a fist and raised an eyebrow. Daring him or asking, or possibly both.

Sam's eyes may have darkened just a little, but all he said was a simple, "I trust your... assessment of the situation."

"Hm. Well, all this is pointless if I don't come while you suck me off," Dean said, casually. As casually as he could.

"So...am I trying to make sure you come -- or that you don't?"

At that, Dean frowned. He thought about it for a second then shook his head. "Not a clue."

Sam snickered. "Nice to have these things clear."

"At least we worked out the pizza thing," Dean countered. They'd started arguing about it when Sam was twelve and had suddenly developed a taste for olives. Dean had put his foot down -- or tried, most of the time, until one day about two years ago their dad had asked why they didn't just get olives on half.

"I don't think I can just suck half your cock, Dean," Sam said with seeming complete seriousness.

"Top half," Dean said, putting his hand on his erection, circling his fingers around it halfway down. "Stop here." He grinned.

Sam raised his eyebrow at him. "You sure you want me to stop there?"

"No. Dude, I said I'd use something else to fuck you. You're the one who wants me to fuck you with this." Dean glanced down, and it occurred to him that technically he was hard enough to fuck Sam now.

He wondered how long Sam had been aware of that and whether his brother had been planning on pointing it out. Probably afterwards, when Dean was trying to sleep off the afterglow.

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. "How 'bout I just blow you for, say, five minutes and if you don't come you can fuck me, and if you do, you can fuck me with your tongue and fingers?"

Dean looked at his watch, checking the time -- then set the timer for five minutes. Finger poised over the start button, he said, "Ready...."

Chuckling, Sam slid down Dean's body.

"Wait for it...."

Sam looked up at him from beneath his bangs, still smirking.

He hit the button on his watch, and said, "Go!"

And Sam went, his mouth closing over Dean's cock and sliding down to precisely halfway.

Dean made a noise that he wasn't quite sure the meaning of, and fell back. God, it was absolutely amazing, the way Sam's mouth felt on his cock. He reached down with one hand, touching Sam's head but not grabbing or pushing or anything but touching. Why the hell he hadn't taught Sam to give blow jobs years before, he wanted to know. Just how stupid had he been?

Sam had been pretty good at this even the first time, but since then he'd got even better. Dean wouldn't put it past him to have been researching technique like it was part of a case.

Then Sam did something kinda... fluttery with his tongue and Dean stopped thinking altogether. He made another noise that he hoped meant 'do that again, possibly forever.' Apparently it did because Sam did it again, and again.

Five minutes was probably a slight overestimate, Dean thought, as his brother's mouth engulfed his cock. He could probably last a little longer...unless Sam did anything other than take his mouth completely off Dean and talked about politics.

And Sam didn't seem to be interested in politics at all at the moment, as he brought one hand up to play with Dean's balls as he did that thing with his tongue again.

Dean gasped and tried to hold his hips down -- not very successfully, as they lifted up, shoving his cock towards the back of Sam's mouth. He was gonna come; he tried to tap Sam's skull to let him know now would be a good time to stop, if he wanted to get fucked.

Sam ignored the hint and if anything seemed to increase his efforts.

"Sa-am," Dean tried again, but he wasn't sure if he wanted Sam to stop. He was breathing harder, and he knew he was getting close to the point of no return. He brushed his fingers through Sam's hair, and let his head fall back and let go.

Slowly, Sam worked his way further down Dean's cock, until he'd swallowed him to the root.

Dean's throat closed as he came, eyes rolling back into his skull as he shot into his brother's mouth. Sam didn't stop, although he did ease up as Dean's climax slowed. Dean felt himself beginning to collapse, despite the fact he was already lying down. He sank into the mattress and felt his heart beat -- it was the only part of him still moving.

The world was buzzing and it took Dean a moment to realise it was his watch alarm going off.

Sam finally let go of Dean's cock. "Time's up?"

"Uh?" Dean tried to lift his arm so he could look at his watch. Reaching over with a smirk, Sam lifted Dean's arm for him, glancing at the time himself before holding it so Dean could read the watch. The display was flashing 00:05:00, over and over. Right. Yeah, he should turn that off. Dean lifted his other hand and fumbled for the wrist that Sam was holding up for him. "Make that stop," he said, thinking that might be easier and more reliable.

Chuckling, Sam turned the alarm off and then put Dean's arm down again. "Better?"

Dean nodded, then frowned. "No." He reached down and his hand smacked into Sam's arm. Good. He got his fingers around Sam and tugged. "Up here."

Sam obligingly shifted up Dean's body, settling down beside him, one leg and arm thrown over him possessively. "How about now?"

Dean sighed and snuggled in. Later, when he wasn't brain dead, he'd deny it as loudly as possible. But right he didn't care, and he was comfortable and half-dead and Sam was draped over him like a blanket. Or maybe Dean was just, still, Sam's pillow.

He was okay with that.

"Fuck you later?" he mumbled.

Sam's laughter puffed warm air against Dean's ear. "I'll let you give me a raincheck."

"Later today," Dean clarified.

Another puff of laughter. "Okay."

Dean grumbled at Sam's inability to take his intentions seriously, and turned his head towards him, snuggling in that much closer. There wasn't much space left to close, but Dean closed it all the same.

Sam raised a hand and stroked his fingers along the back of Dean's neck. "Love you," he breathed softly.

It took Dean a moment to even realise what Sam had said. But, somehow, he really didn't mind hearing it this time. Another deep breath and Dean felt himself fall asleep.

When Dean opened his eyes he noticed that he hadn't moved the slightest inch, and neither had Sam -- unless he'd slipped out and come back without Dean waking up. Which, he had to concede, was possible. There were times when Dean slept like the dead, and wrapped up with Sammy seemed to be one of the certain ones.

"Hey," Sam said, wide awake and watching him.

"You win." Dean smiled.

"Were we competing?" Sam asked, smiling back at him.

Dean shook his head. "Everything. Whatever. You win." He stretched up a tiny bit and gave Sam a kiss. "I think you win a fucking," he said, thoughtfully. It felt like he hadn't really been asleep long -- a catnap rather than actually losing consciousness for awhile.

He watched Sam's eyes darken at that. "With tongue and fingers? Or tongue, fingers and dick?"

"I think something can be arranged," Dean said, nodding. "You wanna just get comfortable and let me at you?" Before Sam could respond, Dean flipped them over so Sam was on his back. Dean sat up onto his heels and pulled Sam's left leg around so Dean was sitting in between Sam's legs.

"So I'll just lie here and let you do your thing?" Sam asked with a grin, putting his hands behind his head.

"Feel free to grab a book or something." Dean saw some lube on the floor; he leaned down and nearly fell on his face, but managed to get the tube and straighten up. He scowled at the look on Sam's face. "Don't think I've forgotten that you still owe me some growling."

"Make me," Sam challenged.

"You've never learned not to challenge me, have you?" Dean said, shaking his head. He set the lube nearby so he could find it later, and pulled Sam's legs up, exposing his ass. He knew where he wanted to start, but he was pretty sure Sam was expecting to get rimmed first.

"I like making you work for it," Sam said, his voice beginning to get lower and huskier as his cock began to take interest in the proceedings in anticipation.

"This is work?"


He grinned, and scooted backwards until his feet dropped off the end of the bed and he could lower his head.

"You're not going to need kneepads or anything are you?" Sam asked wryly.

Dean didn't respond -- he was pretty sure Sam would shut up fast as soon as Dean got started. He placed his hands underneath each of Sam's thighs, holding them up and spreading them a bit. Then he leaned down and licked the inside of Sam's thigh, making a slow trail downward.

Sam... twitched.

Grinning to himself, Dean continued licking, circling back up and around, making an apparently lazy path along Sam's thigh. Each time he got near Sam's crotch he went a little further, until Sam's cock bumped against his cheek and Dean 'accidently' rubbed it.

"Dean..." The threat in Sam's voice was undermined by how breathy it sounded.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" Dean tilted his head up to give Sam an innocent look, moving his cheek against Sam's cock as he did.

Sam's eyes closed briefly at that touch. "You're taking your sweet time."

"Am I?" Dean said it with surprise. He gave Sam's right thigh a lick, teasing with just the tip of his tongue.

Sam twitched again, more violently. "That tickles."

Oh, hell yes. After a lifetime of being the only fucking one with ticklish spots -- he'd finally found one on Sam. He gave another lick, lighter, feathering the tip of his tongue along Sam's skin. It wasn't anything like Sam tickling him, but after all these years Dean would take what he could get.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, trying to pull his leg away.

Expecting the move, Dean clamped down on Sam's legs and held him down. "Sorry, I thought that was a request." He gave Sam a charming smile, knowing there was no way in hell his brother wold fall for it. But that wasn't the point.

"Oh, you are so going to get it."

Dean ducked down and bit Sam in the softest part of his inner thigh. Not hard, just hard enough before pressing the flat of his tongue on the skin -- then he sucked. Sam made some kind of strangled noise that might've been a word but if it was Dean couldn't make it out. Smirking, Dean licked again -- light and easy and not really touching anything, yet, that he figured Sam was hoping he'd lick.

"I do have class tomorrow morning, you know," Sam said, obviously trying for the casual, slightly impatient tone he'd been using earlier and missing it entirely.

"I'll be done by then," Dean promised, then he began sucking, making faint marks in a line down the inside of Sam's thigh. After the fifth one he stopped, considering if he should try making the symbol for 'water buffalo ghosts forbidden here' or not.

"Whatever you're thinking," Sam said, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at Dean, "don't."

"I just want you to be safe," Dean insisted. He traced his fingers along the marks he'd made, and where the next three would go. Leaving his hand in place, he reached out with his thumb and stroked the underside of Sam's cock.

He heard the swift intake of breath Sam made in response. "You keep me safe," he managed.

"Because I inscribe Vietnamese symbols of protection on you when you're asleep," Dean agreed, fighting back the surge of emotion Sam's words always hit him with. He gave Sam a mock glare. "If you get eaten by the ghost of a water buffalo, I'm never sucking you off again." He shifted his head away from the marks he'd left and gave Sam's cock a questioning lick.

"Well yeah, unless you got eaten too, then your ghost could suck off my ghost." Sam's head fell back as Dean's tongue ran along his cock. "Yeah, that's more like it."

"If I get eaten by the ghost of a water buffalo, I'm not sucking you off, just on principle." Dean nipped the spot right at the base of Sam's cock. Granted, he was totally lying. But the conversation had gotten pretty weird and by this point Dean had no real idea what they were talking about -- or why they were talking at all.

He scooted down a bit more and licked once across Sam's asshole. Sam's gasp was loud. Dean moved away, licking around the edge, turning his head to give Sam's leg a brief kiss. Then he went back and licked again, the same way.

Sam gasped again, then chuckled breathlessly. "Okay, I think you can officially say I like you using your tongue there."

"It's okay with you?" Dean asked, casually, as though he didn't know perfectly well this was nothing compared to the rest of it. Before Sam could answer, Dean pressed his tongue inside Sam's asshole.

"Oh god," Sam moaned.

He'd thought about teasing Sam at this point -- concentrating on Sam's legs and stomach until his brother snapped. But that sound, the low moan that was almost low enough to be a growl.... Dean put his hands on Sam's ass, and fucked him.

He soon had Sam writhing and moaning under him, half formed sentences falling from his mouth though the only words Dean could make out was his name, 'good', 'don't stop' and 'more.'

He thought about stopping -- for almost an entire second, just because he knew Sam would yell at him in that wonderful, cock-throbbing, deep voice of his. But Sam also had a thing about revenge that could span decades.

Dean kept moving his tongue in and out of Sam's asshole, pressing in and moving his tongue around, alternating with an easy lick across the outside, every once in a while.

"D-dean," Sam finally gasped. "I-I need..."

Dean gave him one last good tongue-fuck, then pulled away. He scooted up, pulling his knees underneath him and grabbed the dildo. He lubed it up, quickly. He felt Sam's eyes on him -- or maybe they were glued to the dildo.

Sam shifted, once, then again. Not much, just little almost twitches, like he couldn't hold still while he watched Dean and the dildo he held.

"Hold on," Dean said, knowing what Sam wanted, knowing how much he wanted to be fucked. He got the lube spread onto the dildo, then added more to his fingers and slipped them inside Sam. "Gonna take care of you."

Sam made a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a sigh of relief. But he met Dean's eyes and said in a remarkably steady voice, "I know you will."

Dean glanced away -- down, at the dildo in his hand and at Sam's ass and focused on the fact he wanted to fuck Sam, long and hard. He pulled his fingers out, judging that Sam was slicked up enough. He paused with the tip of the dildo just barely touching Sam's asshole. He had the weirdest feeling he should say something. Do something.

To hell with it. He pushed the dildo slowly in about an inch. Sam gave another of those gasp-sighs, his entire body going still as if every bit of his being was focused on what Dean was doing. Dean put his hand on Sam's belly, pressing his palm flat against the tight muscles there. Keeping an eye on Sam's face and another eye on his ass, Dean pushed the dildo in a bit more, before pulling it back out.

Sam twisted his hips up as he whimpered, trying to get the penetration back. "Tease," he accused.

"Teasing would be if I took a break to stretch my legs," Dean said.

"No," Sam argued, laughter and a hint of threat in his breathless voice. "That would be suicide."

"You've already come once," Dean reminded him. But he put the dildo back in place and pushed, moving even more slowly than the first time.

"Doesn't mean I still wouldn't kill you for leaving me like this," Sam told him, the last word fading into a groan. "Dean..."

"I'd be worried if I thought you could walk," Dean said, and he pushed the dildo in halfway.

Sam groaned, his hips bucking in reaction. "More," he demanded.

"God, you really are pushy," Dean complained, as he started moving the dildo in and out in what he knew was what Sam had been begging for all along. "You do remember that I'm the older brother and that means I'm in charge?"

He didn't actually know if Sam was listening anymore, not now that Dean was fucking him.

"In your dreams..." Sam managed, giving a breathless laugh that trailed off into a moan.

"Excuse me? Just because you got taller doesn't change the fact I'm older than you." Dean kept his attention on what he was doing -- fucking Sam, still sorta slowly but now using the entire length of the dildo. "You still have to do whatever I tell you."

"Why the hell... would I start... now?" Sam asked, his words and breathing falling into time with the dildo's movements.

Dean scowled and opened his mouth, then realised he really didn't have an answer for that. He pushed the dildo in all the way and left it there. The sound Sam made in response was almost the growl Dean had been trying for. He tried moving the dildo, wiggling it from the base without really turning it -- yet.

Sam's breath caught. "Dean..." And yep, there was the growl.

Oh yeah. Dean felt it in his bones -- if he hadn't just come twice, he might have got hard at the sound of it. As it was he felt a half-hearted twitch, and gave the dildo a slight twist to see if he could get another growl.

What he got was more like the growl crossed with a yelp, but that was good, too.

Settling himself a bit, Dean gave Sam's stomach a stroke, then began fucking him with fast, deep thrusts. That finally took Sam beyond words. Not that he was silent, far from it. All kinds of sounds and wordless cries fell from his lips in time with Dean fucking him, his body tense and hands tangled in the sheets as he writhed under the stimulation, trying to get more or to get away, Dean wasn't sure.

Either way it was really hot, though. Dean was almost sorry he'd already come twice, because despite his bragging earlier he didn't know if he could get it up again so soon. Five times in one night had involved a lot more recovery time than one ten minute catnap. But the way Sam looked and sounded made him wish he was hard. He glared down at his cock.

Well, it was still a hell of a good thing -- being able to watch Sam as he was fucked, being able to see the way his face contorted and his muscles tensed, and listen to the sounds he made.

Maybe not being hard had a certain appeal. Watching Sam as Dean fucked him with the dildo was going to fuel his dreams for a long time.

Sam was getting close now, minute tremors going through his body as the sounds he was making were taking on a more desperate quality. It wouldn't take much now to push him over, though with proper control Dean could probably keep him on the edge for a lot longer if he wanted.

He was already going to get killed -- so would more torture really matter? Dean had to seriously think about it. Then he bent down and took his brother's cock into his mouth and fucked him as hard as he dared.

It took about five seconds of that to have Sam screaming as he came down Dean's throat.

Dean swallowed as fast as he could and kept moving the dildo. When he felt Sam's orgasm dying down, he raised his head and looked at Sam. Sprawled boneless, panting heavily and his legs still spread out -- he looked like someone Dean very badly needed to be fucking. Or, until that was possible -- kissing. He left the dildo in Sam's ass and crawled up his brother's body and gathered him up in his arms.

"Hey," he said, smiling.

Sam curled against him, seeking out Dean's mouth like he needed to be kissing him to keep breathing.

Dean kissed him back, or initiated a kiss, or -- Dean had no idea which of them was kissing the other and, frankly, didn't really care. He held Sam close and kissed him -- until finally he leaned back and said "You do know where that tongue has been that you're sucking on so eagerly?"

Sam shook his head. "Don't care," he said, leaning in for another kiss.

Aha. Dean kissed him for another long moment, then asked, "So you think you might be willing to return the favor sometime?"

Sam gave him a look like he was dealing with an idiot. "Like there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you." He paused. "Except eat a fish taco." He tried to kiss Dean again.

"You really need to try a fish taco before you refuse to eat one," Dean told him. "It isn't like I'm trying to make you eat a stale Moon pie."

"Dean, just shut up and kiss me," Sam told him, beginning to wriggle against Dean in a way that reminded him that 18 year olds had a very fast recovery time.

Dean hummed a bit of a song he normally would deny knowing, then kissed his brother the way he wanted to be kissed. Sam's hands curled against Dean's shoulders for a moment then slid down Dean's chest and stomach, to his cock.

He still wasn't hard again, but Dean was perfectly happy to let Sam try to get him that way. "You think three in an hour is too much?" he asked, grinning.

"We're overachievers, aren't we?" Sam asked grinning back as he stroked Dean exactly the way he liked the best.

"We're definitely something," Dean agreed. "Not afraid of blisters? Friction burns?" He gave Sam a kiss that could have meant more, now, or meant to distract him with what was just enough. He didn't really know which he wanted, or maybe it just didn't matter. Here with Sam, naked, making love whether or not he was hard or had another orgasm.

Dean leaned back and shook his head.

Sam smiled at him and the look in his eyes was loving, possessive and hungry all at once. "Can never get enough of you," he said, kissing Dean again.

"Good thing you got me," Dean teased. "Hundreds of broken hearts across the country hate you right now." He sighed, shaking his head.

"Let them," Sam said fiercely. "Don't care as long as I got you."

Grinning, Dean wriggled a bit, letting certain bits of anatomy rub up against certain other bits. Still not getting hard again, but definitely enjoying himself. He slipped his hand underneath Sam's ass, and pressed his finger against the base of the dildo. "Huh. Forgot about that," he said, innocently.

Sam hissed as Dean's touch shifted the dildo. "I didn't."

"Yeah? You coulda said something. I'd have taken it out." He pulled on it, drawing it out a couple inches.

Sam swallowed a moan.

"Was that a 'thank you, Dean'? Or 'do that again and I'll smack you?'"

There was an inordinately long pause before Sam answered. "I'm still trying to decide."

Startled, Dean laughed. He left his hand -- and dildo -- where it was. "I'll wait."

"Bitch," Sam accused, laughing himself.

"Jot de gari," Dean retorted. He gave Sam a nuzzle, kissing his jaw lightly. "Nguoi than maen," he added, hoping he hadn't just mangled it and called Sam a water buffalo.

"Speaking in tongues?" Sam teased, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"You like my tongue," Dean reminded him, licking Sam's neck.

"Mm... I do," Sam said, tilting his head to give Dean better access.

Dean took the hint and licked some more, pausing to suck on a spot just above Sam's jugular. "Chinga tu hermano," Dean whispered, as though it were really an insult -- or an endearment.

Sam snorted. "You gonna get hard enough to be able to?"

"No, I'm telling you to fuck your brother," Dean said. "Though...consider it a general invitation." He reached down and felt for Sam's cock, wondering just how hard he was -- again.

Dean remembered being eighteen, vaguely. The years of being perpetually hard. It was really no wonder he'd wanted to fuck Sam back then. Hell, he'd have fucked a knothole if he'd had nothing else available.

Sam was half hard and stiffened even more under Dean's touch. "Do you want me to?" he asked, voice going lower again.

Shivering at the tone of Sam's voice, Dean said, "And you said I had no refract-whatever time." He pulled at Sam's cock, trying to see if he could get his brother hard. Rather -- how quickly, since it was obvious that Sam was getting hard.

"Yeah, well I'm eighteen," Sam said, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes as Dean's hand worked him. "What's your excuse?"

"I'm twenty-two," Dean protested. "That's not ancient." His cock was definitely showing signs of interest as Dean rocked against Sam with the movement of his hand.

Sam's hand found and closed around Dean's cock once again, matching the rhythm of Dean's hand on him.

"Mmmm." Dean pressed his mouth to Sam's neck again, loving the feel of Sam, Sam's hand, Sam's cock -- everything, all of it, relaxed and easy and so good. He could spend all day like this -- and it occurred to him they were well on their way to doing so. "You didn't have plans for tonight, did you?" he asked, as if he really cared. Well, not unless Sam had a test or paper due tomorrow.

"Actually? This was pretty much my plans for tonight," Sam said.

"Don't your professors ever assign homework?" Dean kept moving his hand and kept rocking his hips into Sam's grip.

"They did. Some readings. I did it in the library while waiting for you to pick me up."

Dean gave Sam a dubious look -- even though he knew Sam probably had done exactly what he'd said. "I didn't take that long to get you."

Sam smirked. "I asked you to pick me up two hours later than my classes ended today."

"Ah. So you cheated?" Dean twisted his hand slightly, around Sam's cock -- deviousness should be rewarded, he figured.

Sam's breath caught and his own hand tightened on Dean's cock in turn. "I...planned out my time for optimal productiveness," he said.

It took Dean a moment before he could speak. "The fact that you can say that while I'm doing this," Dean said, gasping a little and he squeezed his hand again, "Tells me that either I'm doing it wrong or your brain is a lot scarier than I realised. Never tell me if you're thinking about school while we're doing this, OK?"

Sam chuckled. "You don't want to hear how I'm planning out the thesis of my first essay?"

"Yeah, but not now," Dean said. Then he frowned. "Wait. What's it on?" He ran his thumb across the head of Sam's cock. "I mean -- I might not want to hear it at all," he clarified.

"Mm, do that again."

Dean moved his thumb as instructed, and repeated, "I might want to hear it, and I might not."

"And I might want to tell you and I might not," Sam retorted, adding an extra twist to his hand moving on Dean's cock.

"Oh god." Dean felt his eyes trying to roll back, and took a moment to inhale some oxygen. He responded with a twist of his own hand and a circular motion with his thumb every time his hand reached the tip of Sam's cock. "You gonna...make me...check your spelling?"

He'd done that for Sammy in elementary school. Later, checking Sammy's spelling had just been an excuse to read his papers and tell him he'd done a good job.

Sam's eyes were going a bit vague with pleasure. "If you want to read it when I'm done," he said, a bit shyly.

Dean was having some trouble forming sentences, but he kept his hand and his hips moving, and managed, "Depends on the subject. I'm not... god... reading anything boring." He'd meant to specify the subject, but all his brain could give him was "do that again, Sam."

Sam chuckled, low and sexy. "You'll have to decide for yourself if it's boring or not." And then he did that again.

"If you do that while I'm reading...I won't get past the first sentence." Or possibly the part where it said "by Sam Winchester." Dean retaliated with his own tightened grip, stopping to run his thumb back and forth, lightly, more firmly, and around in circles on Sam's cockhead.

Sam groaned. "You still want me to fuck you?"

"You gonna tell me about your thesis?" Dean countered, continuing to move his hand. He nibbled on Sam's neck some more, kissing the red spot he'd made earlier.

"Not right now," Sam said with a breathless laugh.

"Then I guess you'd better fuck me." Dean moved his hand faster, and bit down on a spot on Sam's neck that usually made him scream. It wasn't that he didn't want to be fucked, but making Sam come was just as much fun as coming himself. What he got out of Sam wasn't quite a scream, but it was close.

Dean shifted a little, rolling back on his side and pulling Sam with him. He kept jerking him off, kept sucking him, and reached down with his other hand and grabbed the base of the dildo in Sam's ass.

He pushed it all the way in, and twisted it. That got the scream, his hand tightening around Dean's cock as Sam came. Dean gasped, and tried to shove his dick into Sam's fist to fuck himself. Mostly he just tried to hold onto Sam, both hands and mouth still wringing every bit of scream out of him that he could.

As Sam's climax faded, his grip on Dean grew more deliberate and he began jerking Dean off in exactly the way he liked it. "Your turn," Sam said, voice rough and broken from his screaming.

"That sounds fair," Dean gasped, and he lost his grip on Sam as he lost control of his limbs. Only his cock seemed to have any direction -- staying in Sam's hand and getting jerked off.

"That's it," Sam said, whispering directly into Dean's ear as his hand continued to move. "Come for me, Dean. I wanna see."

Dean whimpered once, trying blindly to find Sam's mouth to kiss him, even though he wanted to hear Sam talking. He let his hips do the work of thrusting into Sam's fist as the rest of him fell backward on the bed.

Sam turned his head, finding Dean's lips with his own. "Now, Dean," he murmured against Dean's mouth, tongue darting out to lick.

With a grunt, Dean found himself coming. Nowhere nearly as hard or as long as before, but coming all the same in Sam's hand. He opened his mouth, hoping Sam would kiss him again.

Kiss him, Sam did, slow and lingering, the kind that would leave his taste in Dean's mouth for hours.

Dean muttered, trying to sound coherent and failing completely.

Sam chuckled and kissed him again, shifting around a little, and winced. "Could you...?" he asked gesturing at the dildo.

"Sure." Dean reached down, bumped into the dildo, got hold of it, and eased it carefully out. He tossed it on the floor and gave Sam's asscheek a gentle rub. "You OK?" he asked, face half-pressed into a pillow.

"I'm not sure I have any bones left, but other than that, yeah."

"Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones," Dean sang, softly. He patted Sam's stomach. "We'll get you new ones tomorrow." He couldn't decide if he wanted to sleep for a week, or just stay awake and not move for a year. Sleep was winning, but, awake, he could hear Sam's heartbeat and smell his scent, and Sam's sleepy voice was nice to hear.

Sam chuckled, the sound slow and lazy. "Have I ever told you how much I like your voice?" he asked suddenly.

Smiling, Dean glanced at him. "Yeah." He had, in fact, been sort of trying to remember he could sing in front of Sam. It was weird, after years of trying not to let anyone really hear him unless he could claim to be drowned out by the radio.

Sam snuggled closer. "S'nice," he said sleepily. "Sing some more?"

He thought about it, considering and discarding a few songs that immediately came to mind. He thought about a few songs he was much too tired to sing, and the only slow ones that were coming to mind... Dean smiled as he remembered a song he'd found a recording of, years after he'd forgotten all but a few lines. His mom had sung it sometimes, or maybe she'd had a recording of it -- he couldn't remember and had never had the guts to ask Dad.

Rubbing Sam's back, and closed his eyes.

This old house is falling down around my earsI'm drowning in a river of my tearsWhen all my will is gone you hold me swayI need you at the dimming of the day.

He felt Sam falling asleep as he sang, and wasn't too far behind him when he'd finished, slipping into a dream where Mom was in the living room, smiling at him and singing.


It was a close battle between going back to sleep, or giving in to the fact he desperately needed a gallon of water. The need to rehydrate won, and Dean opened his eyes to a nearly pitch black room. Late, unless you were going out to dig up a body. Dean slid his arm out from under Sam's head and carefully pulled himself backward out of bed. A glance at his watch told him it was nearly ten o'clock.

He glanced down at Sam, who had barely moved. Rubbing at his head in an effort to wake up, Dean padded in the dark towards the kitchen. The light coming in through the windows let him navigate the furniture and reach the kitchen sink safely; he grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap, drained it, refilled it, drained it, then filled it a third time and carried it back toward the bed.

Sam was stirring now, not fully awake, but shifting slightly, his brow furrowed in a tiny frown as he sleepily searched for Dean's presence.

It was, Dean could admit with no one to hear him thinking it -- completely adorable. He sat down on Sam's side of the bed and held the glass of water carefully so it wouldn't get knocked over if Sam woke with a start. When one of Sam's arms hit down on the empty side of the bed it was enough to wake him up fully, his eyes opening and looking around in alarm until he spotted Dean sitting beside him.

"Hi." Dean held up the glass. "Thirsty?"

Sam looked at him for a moment, brain obviously still half asleep. He finally nodded and took the glass from his brother, drinking it dry. Dean took the empty glass from him and stood up to head back to the kitchen. He refilled the glass, thought about maybe keeping large jugs of water in the fridge, and took the glass back to Sam.

Sam took it with a muttered thanks, and drained it almost as fast as he had the first time. By the time he was done he looked much more awake.

"Name, rank, serial number?" Dean asked, to see just how awake he really was.

"If you don't know who I am by now," Sam replied rolling his eyes at Dean's question, "then we are in serious trouble."

Yep, Sam was awake. Dean sat down heavily on the bed, bouncing on the mattress as hard as he could without making it look completely obvious. Then his stomach growled. Which, ok, they'd missed dinner and had had a bit of exercise....

Sam chuckled. "Guess I don't need to ask what woke you up."

Dean just flipped his brother off, and he headed back to the kitchen. He knew there wasn't much by way of food -- tomorrow was grocery shopping day, and the leftover Chinese and pizza were already gone. He started opening cabinet doors to double check what was available.

"You want a sandwich?" he called over to Sam. He grabbed the bag of Doritos and ate a handful as he went back over to the bed.

Sam made a face. "Not from what's left in the apartment," he said. "How about we go out for food?"

"PB and J," Dean told him. "Peanut butter doesn't go bad." He ate another handful of Doritos and noticed the bag was almost empty. He held it towards Sam. "You want some Doritos?"

"You mean one of the whole ten chips that are left?" Sam asked dryly. "And peanut butter might not go bad, but bread does. And has."

"I don't have to share at all, you know." Dean pulled the bag back. "How could the bread go bad? We only got it a week ago." Then he remembered he'd got it at the discount bakery, where they sold the stuff that was about to hit its expiration date. Usually they ate through food fast enough that sort of thing didn't matter.

"We're going to have to go out if we want real food," Sam told him.

Dean looked down at the bag. "This is real food." It wasn't enough food, but the convenience store was a lot closer than anything that would be open at this hour.

Then again, he'd have to get dressed for either option, and if he went to that much trouble he'd rather sit down and have his coffee brought to him.

He gave Sam a grin. "The drive-through at Del Taco is open 24 hours."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I said real food."

Narrowing his eyes, Dean said, "We've had this conversation before. Fish is real food. Tacos are real-- okay! Okay! Geez, where do you want to go? Denny's or...um... Tad's bar serves wings and nachos until 3am."

"Denny's will do nicely," Sam said, getting out of bed with a smug smile and pinching Dean's butt again on the way over to his clothes.

"You're not convincing me to walk around naked ever again," Dean warned him, then followed at a safe distance to grab his own clothes -- scattered all over the place. Maybe there was a disadvantage to their apartment being one big room.

Sam snorted. "Like you've ever needed convincing to do that."

"I won't if you're going to keep pinching me!" He thought about pouncing Sam and demonstrating the effect of having one's naked ass pinched -- but he was pretty sure that wouldn't lead to them getting dinner anytime before morning. Dean threw on his clothes and ignored the fact he probably needed a shower. The people at Denny's were used to worse, he knew. At least this time he wasn't reeking of demon slime.

Sam was putting on his own clothes without benefit of shower as well. "I pinch you whether you're naked or not," he pointed out.

There really wasn't anything he could say to that, so Dean just sat down and put on his shoes. Still stained with something from last July, but they didn't reek and the stuff had stopped before it ate through the soles. Probably demon blood, but for all he knew it had been diet soda. He flipped Sam off again just for good measure. Then he went over and grabbed Sam by the jacket and hauled him in for a kiss.

Sam kissed him back willingly, then pulled away to put on his shoes -- the new ones that Dean had bought for him. "Y'know," he said as he did so, "you probably should've got yourself a new pair, too. Or instead. You need them more than I do." He paused. "Not that I'm giving these back."

"Relax," Dean said. "I"m not about to go wrapping my feet in newspapers. I've still got cash." And he did, although he had to fill up the car with gas first, and there were groceries to buy, not to mention the fact they were going out for dinner.

Besides, he didn't really care if he had new shoes, since he tended to ruin them after one good hunt.

"Which you rarely spend on yourself," Sam finished, pulling Dean to him by his shirt and kissing him.

"Because I don't need shit," Dean told him, fighting the urge to push Sam away. "Except food. One of those pans of eggs and meat, maybe. And pancakes. And some pie." Now he was really hungry.

Sam chuckled and kissed him again. "Let's go then before you faint from hunger," he said, letting the discussion of shoes and spending cash go.

Giving his brother a nudge towards the door, Dean gave Sam's ass a hard pinch as he went past.

"Hey!" Sam said trying to grab Dean's hand.

"What?" Dean moved his hand out of the way, but not out of reach -- back and forth as Sam tried to grab it. He laughed.

Sam shoved him between the shoulder blades. "Get moving. Jerk."



"Buffalo lover."

"What?" Sam laughed, then shot back, "Since when were you a buffalo?"

"You wouldn't let me ward off the ghosts of water buffalo," Dean gestured at Sam's leg as he hurried down the stairs. "I figure...." He shrugged.

Then he ran, trying not to trip and break both their necks.

They managed not to break anything on the way to Denny's, including the waitress' polite smile as they jostled each other in the restaurant, until they were sitting in a booth near the back. Dean couldn't decide if he was insulted because they'd been seated away from the drunks and stoners, or grateful.

Sam picked up his menu and looked it over. "You still getting one of those skillet things?"

"Yeah. Why, you gonna order the exact same thing I do?" Dean grinned, not bothering with the menu. He pretty much had his order memorised from the thousand other times they'd eaten at Denny's after killing something.

"Nah. Was thinking of getting a burger with the works." Sam glanced up from the menu. "And you're not stealing my fries."

"I am if you're ordering them," Dean said, then gave the waitress a wide smile. "Coffee, please, black. Meat Lover's skillet, an extra side of bacon, well done, a side of biscuits and gravy, and fries."

Sam raised his eyebrow at him then ordered his burger and fries and added on a side of onion rings.

"That's it?" Dean frowned. "You not feeling well?"

"Not everyone is the bottomless pit that you are," Sam replied.

"Dude, you're eighteen. You define bottomless pit." He looked up at the waitress who hadn't left, not sure if they were really done. "We'll order dessert after," he assured her. "That'll fill him up."

"That was only when I was still growing," Sam said, after the waitress left.

"Sammy, who does the grocery shopping?" Dean leaned his elbows on the table, grabbing a few packets of sugar to start building a house of cards with. "I know exactly how much you eat."

"Did you take into account the food I add to my plate for you to steal?" Sam asked, watching him build the sugar house.

"No." Dean got the base made, four packets leaning up against each other. "One or two fries doesn't count."

"One or two?" Sam echoed disbelievingly. "Forgot how to count, did you?"

"One or two," Dean insisted. "It isn't like I steal half your burger." He gave the waitress a charming smile as she set down his coffee, protecting his one-story house of sugar with his hand. "Thank you, darlin'," he drawled.

Sam nodded his own thanks for his drink, then rolled his eyes at his brother when she left. "You're doing it again."

Dean blinked. "Doing what?"


He got as far as opening his mouth to brush it off, then felt the punch to his gut. "Sorry," he said, making it as sincere as he could. He hadn't really meant to, nor meant anything by it. "Habit, I guess." Staring at his house of sugar packets, Dean started to balance one for part of the roof, then just gathered them up and put them back.

Sam took them back out and put them back out in the middle of the table and began rebuilding the sugar house. "It's no big deal," he said, looking up through his bangs at Dean. "I don't mind that kind of flirting. I just... didn't think you knew you were doing it."

"Then why mention it?" Dean asked, frowning. "If it doesn't bug you and she doesn't think I'm serious--" He shrugged. "Hell, even if she does I'll just tell her my boyfriend will kill me." He gave Sam a half-smile.

Sam returned it. "Not kill. Just hurt you severely," he joked, then got serious again. "I just wanted to know if you were even aware you were doing it, that's all."

"I love the way you hurt me, baby," Dean said, in a definitely-flirting, fuck-me-now tone. In a normal tone he asked, "So why do you want to know if I know I'm flirting?" He still didn't get it -- either Sam was mad and wanted him to stop, or he was jerking Dean's chain about flirting when he wasn't available.

Did it really matter if he knew he was doing it?

"Intel," Sam said. Dean waited for more, but that was all.

Narrowing his eyes at Sam, Dean tried to figure out what the hell that meant. "To find out what kind of girl I like?"

Sam shrugged. "To find out if it's just reflex or if you're trying to yank my chain and make me jealous."

That took him aback. "Oh. Hell, Sam--" He glanced over to make sure their waitress wasn't near, and leaned forward to say, quietly, "Dude, if she isn't hot, it's just reflex." He leaned back and added, "If she's hot, I'm yanking your chain. Unless you wanna do a threesome." He waggled his eyebrows.

Sam raised one of his own. "You think you could share me?" he asked challengingly.

Dean thought about it for all of two seconds, then scowled. Hell, no. "You can watch." Then he grinned. "Hell, you could just rent me out--"

"No," Sam broke in, tone and expression fierce. "I couldn't. I wouldn't. You're worth too much for that."

"Relax, I'm just kidding." Dean frowned a little at how intense Sam was. It wasn't that he didn't know Sam had a...thing about Dean having sex with people for favors. But -- well, he'd promised Sam he wouldn't talk about it anymore, after he'd gotten so upset about it back in Reno.

He tried to think of something to say, to change the subject, and all he could come up with was how he didn't steal food off Sam's plate -- and they both knew that was a total lie, so that conversation wouldn't last very long.

"So, you... said you had an essay due soon?"

Sam blinked at him for a moment.

Dean just shrugged apologetically. "I promised you I wouldn't...talk about that other stuff. So it's all I can think of unless you wanna grab a newspaper and look through it for a job."

"It's not that I don't want you to be able to talk about it if you need to," Sam said with a sigh. "Like earlier tonight. But..." and here Sam's voice got fierce again, protective and almost angry, "it's not a joke."

"I wasn't trying to joke about it," Dean said, feeling a little confused. "I mean, when you got so pissed off at me in the cemetery in Reno. I was just...trying to tease you since I thought you were getting jealous."

Sam just looked at him for a moment. "What would you think if I teased you about renting me out?" he asked, seeming honestly curious.

"I'd think you were joking." Dean shrugged again.

"Would it be any different if you knew that I would actually do it -- had actually done it?"

His jaw clenched, hard. Dean was glad he wasn't holding anything in his hands because he was sure he would have broken it. "There is no fucking way you are ever going to--" He broke off the hiss, because he knew what Sam was trying to explain. A horrible thought occurred and he looked up at his brother, trying to fight off the dread. "You didn't--?"

"I didn't," Sam assured him obligingly fast. "I've never had to. But that there," he said, waving a hand at Dean to indicate his reaction, "that's how I feel about it with you."

He relaxed so fast he thought his head would spin, letting out a breath. It faded into a sigh, and Dean picked up one of the sugar packets that had fallen from the building Sam had made, turning it around between his fingers. He focused on it, spinning it in circles, as he spoke quietly.

"Sam, I've been doing this for eight years. It...isn't something I can just say 'hey, bad idea, don't do that anymore'. I mean I don't -- I told you I wouldn't, now that you and me are...." He laughed, the irony of it just hitting him. That he had agreed to not whore himself out, because he was sleeping with his brother.

"I know," Sam said quickly, reaching over and squeezing Dean's fingers briefly. "And I'm not worried that you will because you told me you won't. It's the part about it being a bad idea that I'm focusing on here. That you get that it is and that it is because you're worth so much more than anyone could ever pay."

But Dean shook his head. He knew Sam was wrong, but he also knew that Sam didn't really understand. He swallowed -- said nothing as the waitress dropped plates of food on their table, smiling as she asked if they needed anything more. Dean just shook his head and looked at the mountains of food he no longer wanted. They couldn't afford to order food they didn't eat, so Dean picked up his fork.

"The first time," he said, playing with his food, "I was fourteen. You remember when we were in South Carolina, and Dad went on a hunt and was gone for about a week?"

Sam nodded. "He was all beat up when he came back. Kept insisting it was nothing serious, but..."

"He would have died, if they'd had him much longer," Dean whispered. "I couldn't find him, but...Dorinda Lee, she was one of their servants, or pets, or whatever. She knew where he was. She wouldn't tell me unless...." He took a deep breath, but that didn't make it any easier. "I couldn't very well say 'hey, let Dad die, I don't wanna have sex'."

"God." Sam had gone pale and was staring at Dean with wide, sad eyes.

"The most expensive thing I ever bought," Dean finished.

Sam reached across the table and squeezed Dean's hand again, this time not letting go. Dean held on, letting the touch of Sam's hand ground him and pull him back out of the memory of that night. He almost never let himself remember -- he'd never gone all the way before, never more than kissing and groping, and here was this older woman bargaining with his dad's life for something he wasn't even sure he knew how to do.

But he'd done it, and Dad had come home safe, and Dean had always known that it had been worth it.

After that...he just hadn't thought much about it at all. Something he'd had that he could use to get stuff they needed. It had always been pretty simple, until Sam had found out and had started in on how maybe it wasn't so simple after all.

He stared at his plate and tried to take a bite of eggs. He had a bad feeling if he ate anything, he'd end up puking.

Sam wasn't touching his burger either. "Does Dad know?" he asked quietly, swallowing hard.

"God, no. I told him I'd talked someone into telling me where he was. Which.. was kinda true."

Sam gave a laugh that had nothing of amusement in it. "I don't know whether to tell you to tell him or not."

"No!" Dean said, voice cracking on what felt like a shout but was really only a whisper. "Please, Sammy...." He didn't need his dad to know -- much as he wanted to pull his phone out and call him, talk to him -- about anything other than what Dean had done. But there was never any reason to talk unless there was a job involved, so Dean knew he couldn't call. He realised he was squeezing Sam's fingers tight, and loosened his grip. "He'll just tell me I shouldn't have...what I did wrong or that he would have got out on his own."

"Maybe," Sam said. "Maybe not." He shook his head. "Doesn't matter if you're not ready to tell him anyway." He squeezed Dean's hand again, then began running his fingers lightly over the knuckles. "I wish," he began softly, not looking up from their joined hands. He laughed a little before continuing. "I wish a lot of things. But what I wish most right this moment is that I had been older, that I could've helped somehow or at least been there for you."

Dean shook his head. "There wasn't anything you could have done." Except do what Dean had-- and there was no way in hell Dean would have ever let that happen. He took another long look at his dinner, then asked, "You wanna get a couple to-go boxes and go home?"

Sam looked ruefully at his burger and nodded.

"Sorry," Dean began. He hadn't meant to ruin both their dinners. He looked around for their waitress, hoping she hadn't just disappeared for her break.

"Don't," Sam said, squeezing his hand hard. "This isn't something you need to apologise for, okay? So don't."

"I just meant for ruining our appetites." Dean tried to grin, and felt himself fall miles short. He spotted their waitress and caught her eye; he gave her an easy grin and nodded her over.

They got their food boxed up, paid, and left. Dean could feel Sam practically vibrating beside him as they walked out to the car. So he wasn't exactly surprised when, the second they were in the car with the doors shut, Sam reached over and pulled Dean into his arms, holding on tightly.

Dean squeezed his arm between Sam and the seat, tugging him closer. "Hey, hey, it's all right," he said, trying to sound more soothing than he really felt.

Sam gave a short laugh that sounded disturbingly close to tears. "I think you're stealing my lines."

Reaching up, Dean ran his hand along Sam's forehead, brushing though Sam's bangs with his fingers, then rested his thumb under Sam's chin, fingers splayed along his jaw. "It's okay," he said, feeling calmer. "I'm okay." He gave Sam a short kiss, then pulled him into a tight embrace. Sam held on just as tightly, burying his face against Dean's neck. Dean just sat there and held onto him, whispering again that he was fine, none of it mattered, everything was okay.

Finally Sam pulled back and searched Dean's face for a long moment. "Do you believe that?"

Frowning at the weird ways in which his little brother's mind worked, Dean nodded. "Yes, Sammy. Everything's really okay."

Sam shook his head. "No, I mean the rest."

Dean went over what he'd been saying, figuring out what Sam probably meant. He hesitated, knowing that, more than anything, he didn't want to keep talking about this in the Denny's parking lot. "It doesn't matter," he said more firmly. But the look on Sam's face made him add, "It can't."

Sam's face softened a little at that and he reached up laying one of his big hands against Dean's cheek. "It doesn't matter in that it changes nothing between us. I still love, want, and need you. I'm sure I always will -- you're in my blood and in my soul..." He gave another of those soft laughs, this time more warm than bitter. "Hell, I couldn't get untangled from you if I tried."

Dean just stared, feeling a bit like he was in shock.

And like maybe he wanted to wrap himself up in Sam.

Sam smiled a little at whatever expression Dean was wearing and gave him a quick kiss. "Guess maybe I need to tell you stuff like that more often."

Shaking his head, Dean tried to kick his mind past what Sam had said, still rolling around in his brain.

The smile got a little bigger. "Yeah, I think I do," he said, giving Dean another kiss.

"Dude, what--" Dean got as far as a hand on Sam's chest, and stopped himself before he pushed his brother away. Completely on their own, his fingers curled into Sam's shirt, hanging on tightly as though one of them were about to fall off a ledge.

Sam kissed him again. "It doesn't matter because it doesn't change who you are and it doesn't -- couldn't -- change how I feel. Nothing could do that."

"That's not what you said about fish tacos," Dean said, still fighting the urge to wrap himself up in his brother. He suddenly wanted to be home, right then, so he could do more than just kiss him in the front seat of the car.

"I said I won't kiss you after you eat fish tacos," Sam clarified. "Not that I won't love you."

Shivering, Dean put his head down, resting his forehead on Sam's shoulder. There was no good way to make him shut up, Dean knew, that wouldn't just make him keep going.

"It doesn't matter in any of the ways that count the most," Sam went on. "But it does matter because you're still hurting over it."

"Dude, I'm not hurting--" God, could they get any more fucking lame? Next they'd be saying things like 'intervention' and 'embrace your inner' whatever. He pushed himself away from Sam, turning around in the seat. He grabbed the steering wheel and said, "Let's get out of here before we're arrested for loitering."

He head Sam sigh as he moved back over to the passenger seat. "Yeah, whatever."

Scowling, Dean just threw the car into gear and pulled out.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes as they drove towards home. Dean knew he probably owed Sam an apology, but he honestly couldn't think of how to say he was sorry for being so fucked up. If he said that, Sam would just tell him it wasn't his fault or some such shit. He could feel Sam watching him; it made him feel exposed, as if his brother could see right through him, see all the things he'd done wrong, all the ways he was wrong.

It pissed him off -- Sam had no right, had no reason.... Except Dean knew he did. Knew that of anyone on the entire planet, Sam had the right -- even deserved to be able to see it.

That didn't make it any easier to let him, though.

They were close to home before Dean tried breaking the silence. "Sorry," was what came out, and he was pretty sure Sam probably felt like smacking him for constantly apologising.

"Still love you," Sam replied.

Dean sniffed. "Dickwad."

"You're amazing, y'know that?"

Dean looked over at Sam, totally confused. "Huh?"

Sam was smiling at him. "You're amazing," he repeated. "Everything you've been through, everything you've faced, everything you've had to do. You just put your head down and do it and keep going. Keep surviving."

He was pretty sure he had no idea what Sam was talking about. Why, rather. Or... hell, Dean had no idea what he was thinking. "You say that like it's weird. I always thought the hard part was learning to shoot things that looked like people."

"And you do that too, when you have to," Sam added.

Now Dean knew Sam was making no sense. "Um, yeah?" It was like Sam saying he did a nice job walking up stairs. He'd been doing it most of his life -- why mention it now? "So do you," Dean reminded him, not trying to hide the fact he wasn't following the conversation anymore.

"And you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Sam asked, smiling fondly at him.

"You're talking about killing evil things," Dean said, though he had a feeling that wasn't really right.

Sam shook his head, still smiling. "I'm talking about how you always do whatever needs to be done."

"What else could I do? It isn't like I could just...let Dad get killed or let us starve or freeze or...whatever." He waved a hand, then turned the corner onto their street. God, he had to stop thinking of it like that. They'd only lived here for a couple months; it wasn't.... Even if it maybe was.

"And that's what makes you amazing -- you never even consider that you can't or won't." Sam snorted in amusement suddenly. "You're like Yoda. You just do."

"You're saying I'm short?" Dean gave his brother a half-hearted glare.

"You're shorter than me."

Dean pulled into the parking spot that had, somehow, become known as 'his'. Then he reached over and thumped Sam. "I'm not short, I'm not green, I don't talk funny and I'm still older than you."

Sam waited until Dean turned off the engine before he said, "You talk a little funny."

"I do not." He gave Sam a glare.

Sam didn't say anything, just picked up their containers of food and got out of the car. Dean followed him, slamming the car door -- then realised a second too late he might not have wanted to wake up the neighborhood. He gave Sam another hard glare. "Tong kumong! Yomango," he started, then ran through all the phrases he'd ever learned from Kwan -- hoping none of their neighbors could understand a word he was saying.

"You're just proving my point here, dude," Sam said with a smile, heading for the apartment building.

"And extra rice," Dean added, because if there was any phrase he would never forget, it was that one. The lady at the Korean restaurant had even told him he was saying it right, there at the end.


Dean opened his mouth to call him baby brother, then stopped, because they weren't supposed to be that, here. He scowled instead, then charged. Sam shot him a grin then took off at a run up the stairs. Dean didn't try to outrun him -- knocking him over would spill their food everywhere. But he kept on Sam's heels the best he could as they headed up the stairs.

When Sam drew ahead, Dean started calling him names in Vietnamese. Sam juggled the boxes of food to free one hand to shoot Dean the finger over his shoulder. When he ran out of Vietnamese, Dean switched to Spanish even though he figured Sam knew as much Spanish as he did. He trailed off into the two French insults he knew, then, as he stood behind Sam at the front door to their apartment, Dean said, "Baldy."

"You really don't want to get laid again any time soon, do you?" Sam asked glancing over his shoulder as he pulled out the key and unlocked the door.

"You're still sore about that, huh?" Dean shook his head like he didn't know damn well Sam would probably always carry a grudge about that. It wasn't like his hair hadn't started growing back right away, and the buzzcut look had been so amazingly cute on him that Dean had jerked off to the images for six months.

"The hair is offlimits," Sam said firmly.

Daringly, Dean reached up and ran a hand through Sam's hair -- gently and almost teasingly. "Blue?" he asked, as if he really had ever wanted to see Sam with colored hair.

"Never. Get. Laid. Again," Sam said, enunciating each word clearly and knocking Dean's hand away as he opened the door and stepped inside.

Following him, Dean watched him -- looked at Sam's face, and the way his hair framed it. Covering his eyes, the curls at the very ends. "I like your hair," he said, not really realising he was saying it out loud until the words had gone.

That got him a startled look, which morphed into suspicious before settling on shyly pleased. "You do?"

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "One reason I played so many jokes on you over it. Trying to...you know. Make sure you never realised." He moved closer, raised his hand again to run fingers through Sam's hair, down his cheek. "You look...just exactly like you."

Sam chuckled. "Who else would I look like?"

Dropping his hand, Dean shook his head. "You could look like Yoda." Moving further into the apartment, Dean wondered if he just wanted to go back to bed. He was almost feeling hungry again, but food could wait until morning. Or maybe a couple hours of tv -- that way at least Sam wouldn't keep trying to make him talk.

Sam was gathering cutlery and opening the food packages. "Everything's still warm if you want to eat," he said overly casually.

"I'm not hungry," Dean said, and he sat down on the couch. They'd got a small tv from Mrs. Froson's attic -- no cable, but enough local channels Dean could usually find something to zone out on.

He heard Sam sigh and then his brother was coming over carrying both containers of food anyway. Sitting down beside Dean, he handed one to him. "Try anyway?"

He took the styrofoam box and settled it on his leg, and picked up the remote. He ignored Sam as he started flipping through the channels. Paid programming on three of them, two showing sitcoms, and a black and white movie he didn't recognise. He settled on the movie and started watching.

Sam was quiet beside him, eating his burger and occasionally throwing glances Dean's way but not making any move to start a conversation. Dean left his own food alone, and tried to stop thinking. The harder he tried to focus on the movie, the more he thought about how stupid what he'd said really was.

"I just meant I like the way you look and since I love you, seeing you makes me think about that," he finally mumbled, even though he knew he was probably making it worse. He'd never really had to be good with words -- a smile and a few dirty words or charming phrases and he'd get whatever he was after. Somehow, with Sam, he was always being forced to say things he didn't quite know how to put.

Sam glanced at him again without saying anything, but he was smiling. A moment later he held over his box of food. "Want a fry?"

He really had no idea if he was hungry anymore, but Dean recognised the offer for what it was, and took a french fry. As he ate it, he scooted down on the couch a little so he could rest his head on Sam's arm. He felt Sam briefly run his fingers -- which better not be greasy from eating -- through his hair.

"Dude, you need a napkin, you go get one," he said, not sounding quite as stern as he would have if he knew for sure Sam had just wiped his fingers off in Dean's hair. He reached over and tentatively grabbed an onion ring.

"Should I take your food and hold it so you can feel like you're stealing it from me?" Sam asked, dry humour mixed with affection in his voice.

"No, I'm good." Dean ate the onion ring, then focused his attention on the movie. He still had no clue what it was about, but at least he recognised one of the actresses from other old movies he'd seen. Not that it meant much, as she wasn't all that hot, or good an actress.

"What are we watching?" Sam asked after a while as the movie got increasingly surreal.

"Did you see me looking at the TV guide?"

"We don't have a TV Guide."

"Then what makes you think I know what we're watching?"

"Point," Sam admitted, and all was quiet for another few minutes. Then, "Dean? Why are we watching this?"

Had Sam completely missed the whole male socialisation thing, growing up? Dean glared at him. "So you won't keep trying to make me talk about my feelings."

Sam snorted. "Last I recall, I was making fun of the way you talked and you were telling me I had pretty hair."

Dean just shrugged and kept staring at the television. What was he supposed to say, that Sam had hurt his feelings when Dean had completely mangled his attempt to give Sam a compliment?

"Just for the record, I like your hair, too. And you still talk funny."

He flipped his brother off and kept watching the movie. He thought maybe it was a romance and murder mystery. He couldn't decide if the lady's fiance or brother was the suspect, or if it was a complete stranger who she was going to end up falling in love with halfway through.

"Can we stop watching if I promise not to get you to talk about your feelings?"

"I guess." Dean hit the power button on the remote, glancing over at Sam. He wasn't sure what was wrong with watching a movie that didn't make any sense. Hell, Sam had watched cartoons for years and those made less sense than this movie had.

Sam nodded. "Thanks."

"Not a problem." Dean stayed where he was, staring at the now-blank TV screen. He probably should put his food in the fridge.

"So, you given any more thought to the school thing?" Sam asked after a moment or two.

Dean turned to his brother. "What?" As though he'd had a chance? "All we did today was have sex and sleep. When was I supposed to think about school?"

"When you're not thinking about your feelings?" Sam suggested, straight faced.

There was only one real answer to that: Dean smacked him on the shoulder. Then, "No, I haven't thought about school." He fingered the remote, wondering if he'd agreed to stop watching TV, or just the movie. And if he cared what he'd agreed to.

"You could think about it now," Sam pointed out, sounding so mild and matter of fact. Like it wasn't a huge deal.

Christ, but he didn't want to deal with this now. He felt like he'd been dragged through a swamp by the ankle -- which he could claim, from past experience, was not any fun whatsoever. He was tired and annoyed and hadn't eaten, despite the fact he had food and wasn't really hungry, anyway.

It was on the tip of his tongue to just tell Sam he'd go, to make him stop asking about it. Or he could promise to think about it, and maybe Sam would leave it alone for a few days. Except then he'd start asking what Dean had decided, and the whole thing would start over. It might be easier in the long run to just give Sam a few minutes and think about it now.

So. What did he want to do? He knew he didn't want to sit in a high school classroom. But Sam had mentioned doing it online. He had no idea if it would work or not, and there would be a lot of stuff to look into, like getting his transcripts and figuring out how to enroll under one name when he was living under another. But he could at least...maybe look into that.

"I guess I could do it online," he finally said, quietly. Even if it didn't sound great, it was a lot better than sitting in a classroom.

Sam gave him one of those smiles that lit up his whole face. "Okay."

It was always impossible not to smile back when Sam grinned that way. Dean didn't bother fighting it, letting his mouth curl up in a half-smile because he still had no idea what he was going to do, if it was possible to get everything he wanted done online -- but anything that made Sam this happy was, in Dean's world, a damn good thing.

"Do you think I'll be able to enroll as myself?" he asked, not sure if it was a rhetorical question or if Sam had already looked into it. "I mean, they can't check to see whose name I signed on the lease or anything?" It still might cause trouble if he needed to prove he'd graduated while they were still living here.

But if he was going to do this, he wanted his diploma to say 'Dean Winchester.'

"It would probably be easier if you enrolled under Winchester," Sam replied. "Means we can just submit your transcripts; we won't have to forge the name on them first."

Nodding, Dean reached over and snagged another onion ring. "I suppose that's what I should do first? Get my transcripts?" He could remember two of the schools he went to; didn't know if they remembered him fondly or not. But maybe just the last one he went to was all he needed -- wouldn't they have gotten his previous transcripts when he'd enrolled?

It was always easier with Sammy's transcripts because the kid had always gotten a copy of them when they'd left, and could simply hand them over when they started someplace new. Now, of course, Dean thought maybe that was a good idea. At the time he'd always just called his little brother a geek.

"Uh," Sam coughed. "I... um... might have already sent for them." The last was said in a rush, almost as one word.

Dean's eyebrows went up and he stared for nearly five full seconds while Sam turned slightly pink around the ears. "You knew I was going to do this," he said, grinning.

"Well, you said you wanted to go back to school," Sam shrugged a little self consciously. "It just seemed logical to get them so you wouldn't be held up."

He gave Sam a brotherly nudge with his elbow, and stole a piece of bacon from his own dinner. "You, um, have any suggestions about which program? I mean, there's got to be more than one online school?" If not, that made his choice a lot simpler.

"There's a few programs which I think would fit you," Sam said, getting more enthusiastic and less self conscious as he warmed to his subject. "I got info on them for you to look over and pick which one you want to take."

"What's the difference?" Dean asked, grabbing his fork. His eggs were cold, but that hadn't ever really mattered. "Do they offer different classes or something?" He really had no idea what high schools online were like, or what possible difference there could be -- except maybe the quality of whoever was teaching the class.

"Some different classes, some different focus in the same classes. I've got the brochures and printouts with my laptop; you can look them over after you eat if you want." Sam reached over and stole a piece of bacon from Dean's food.

Dean let it go without comment -- he had three more pieces of bacon. He stole a fry from Sam, despite the fact he had some of his own. "I don't even know what I'm missing," he said after a moment. "English, I think."

"You're missing English, one science, one language and an arts credit," Sam said immediately.

Again, he stared at his brother, jaw dropped open. After a moment he grinned. "Yeah?" Why was he surprised that Sam had unearthed all that, too? "You... really...." He didn't want to say this wrong and piss Sam off. "You can take care of that part of it for me?" If all he had to do was actually take the classes, then maybe it wouldn't be so impossible after all.

Sam gave him a look like he doubted Dean's ability to see the obvious. "Of course," he said. "Hell, after all the college and scholarship applications I had to fill out, I feel like an expert on this sort of thing."

"Yeah, this should be easy." He felt that stab of whatever the hell it was, that his baby brother was in Stanford and he was trying to just finish high school. He'd seen all the forms Sam had had to fill out -- they reminded him of the forms Caleb had had to do his taxes that one year.

He liked playing pool and winning bets. Cash only, no need to even remember the next day how much there had been.

An awful thought occurred to him. "Sam? With this scholarship and...living here officially and everything. Are we gonna have to do taxes next year?"

Sam gave him a startled, thoughtful look. "I dunno. Probably. At least I will because of the scholarship."

Grimacing, Dean asked, "Can I run away from home and go kill evil things?"

"Well... you probably can get away without doing any," Sam reassured. "Unless you get a legitimate job or something."

Wrinkling his nose, Dean whined, "I don't want a legitimate job. I wanna beat morons at pool and shoot evil monsters and never, ever fill out a federal tax form." He took another bite of his eggs and ham and realised he'd somehow eaten a third of it. His brain filled in something else Sam had said, and he looked up, feeling confused and a little horrified. "Did you say art?"

"Arts," Sam clarified. "Could be art, but could be music or drama or something like that, too."

"Drama?" Hell, he didn't really need to get his diploma. He could live with being a dropout his whole life if it meant not taking drama. "They probably don't offer rock n' roll as a music option, do they?"

"They might somewhere; I know there's a course on jazz. And what's wrong with drama?" Sam asked, sounding offended. Sam had, of course, not only taken drama but joined the drama club in his junior year.

"I'm no good at acting," Dean said, trying for smooth and knowing that for one, he didn't sound all that convincing and for two, he'd done enough acting in his life in front of social workers and people who wanted to hear how attractive they were that his claim was a total lie. "It's fine if you're any good at it -- that play you were in, you were good. But if I'm getting up on stage it had better be a stadium with ten thousand screaming fans and me playing a guitar."

Sam just nodded. "It's kind of hard to take drama online anyway."

"How can I take any art online? Isn't that just for stuff like English or math?" Of course he'd passed all his math classes, even when he'd had to do his homework in the backseat of the car, alongside Sammy doing his own schoolwork. "Do they have art history or something?"

And didn't that sound completely boring?

Sam gave him a smile. "I'm sure we can find something a little more up your alley than art history."

"Good." Dean frowned, glad he didn't have his brother's innate ability to turn any frown into an automatic pout. Because he wasn't pouting, certainly not at the idea of having to take an art class. Music was all right, if they could find something that wouldn't make his ears bleed.

He stole another onion ring from Sam's takeout box and noticed that it was the second to last one. He kinda hoped Sam had gotten to eat some of them.

"We will find something that you won't hate," Sam reassured him, quickly grabbing the last onion ring before Dean could.

"If not, you can take it for me." He grinned, waggling his eyebrows. Then he pressed his cheek against Sam's arm and looked up at him in much the same way his brother had done to him his entire life, begging for Count Chocula and the last egg roll and one more story before bedtime. "Sammy? Will you do my language class for me?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Considering what you keep throwing at me at the oddest of times, I'd think you'd be able to handle the Korean course just fine without me."

"I don't think they offer 'Cursing in Korean' for high schoolers," Dean countered.

"Not cursing, no, but there is a Korean course." Sam smiled. "One of the advantages of taking things online is a greater choice."

"Really?" It was possible Sam was yanking his chain, but Dean had a feeling he wasn't.

"Really. There's a whole catalogue of languages you can choose from."

"Would I.... I wouldn't learn to speak it, would I? Just read and write?" He glanced towards the closet, where he had the bag of stuff he'd managed to acquire over the years. The sort of trivial stuff they never had much room for, so Dean had learned to keep it small. Kwan's book was in there.

"Depends on the course, I think," Sam said. "But yeah, online is probably going to be more written based."

He didn't even know what the book was -- he didn't know the title, or what it was about. For all he knew Kwan had given him a dry history textbook or something on world economics.

But maybe now he could find out.

"Okay," he said, looking away from the closet. He glanced down at his dinner and saw there was barely two bites left of his eggs. He glared at Sam. "How much did you steal?"

"Just the one piece of bacon." Sam smirked. "You ate the rest."

Frowning, Dean thought that he didn't really feel hungry at all -- which meant Sam was probably right. He wasn't going to admit to anything, but when he looked over to see if he could steal one more fry from Sam -- just on principle -- he saw that Sam didn't have any left.

"So. I guess I'm gonna do this, huh?"

Sam smiled. He leaned over and grabbed Dean's shirt, pulling him close and kissing him. "Yeah, you are."

Nudging Sam back, Dean set his takeout box on the floor, shifted the rest of their dinner trash there as well, then he picked up Sam's hands and put them back on his shirt. He leaned backward, pulling Sam forward.

"You want something?" Sam asked chuckling.

"Dessert." He tugged Sam just a little bit closer, and resumed the kiss.


Dean stared at the laptop's screen, frowning. He tried again; still sucky. Normally he didn't really care about the background -- Sam's laptop had some weird-ass protective rune wallpaper, and the computers at the libraries he'd used always had library logos all over them.

But this was his laptop, and he couldn't freaking decide whether to use the band shot of Metallica, the cover art to Ace of Spades, or the abstract thing that looked like the audiowaves from a good headbanger song.

Sam had brought the computer home yesterday, after Dean had spent a couple weeks hustling his ass off to get the extra cash. He'd also been pouring over the brochures and paperwork that Sam had given him -- in between spending a lot of time watching TV and having sex with Sam so he could stop thinking about it already.

Sam had pretty much left him alone about it, but when Dean had handed him the cash for the second computer, his eyes had done that lighting up thing that pretty much always made Dean want to kiss him senseless.

The kiss and the sex after had got Dean out of admitting he hadn't actually picked a program yet, and trying to get his laptop set up the way he wanted had distracted him from it all morning. But his brother was due home soon, and Dean had a feeling that if he didn't have a decision made today, Sammy would start in with the sad puppy look and the soft-spoken "Dean..."

He settled on a wallpaper of a chopper that reminded him of Dennis' bike and picked up the three brochures he'd set aside. They seemed like the best options, but Dean really couldn't decide which was better. Two of the programs offered Korean, but the third offered a class in rock music history that the other two didn't.

As he stared at them, he realised he knew which one he should probably pick -- and as soon as he picked it, there would be no stopping Sam in getting him enrolled. He set the brochures down, putting the one by itself. As he leaned forward to play with his laptop again, he heard the front door open.

"Hey," Sam greeted him, coming in and dropping his knapsack down before coming over to drop a kiss on the top of Dean's head. "Playing with the new toy?"

"Yeah. What do you think?" He closed the mail window and showed Sam the wallpaper.

Sam chuckled. "I would've bet you'd have a picture of the car."

"I don't have a picture of her." He had thought about finding one online, but it wouldn't have been his baby.

"We'll have to fix that," Sam said, a little absently, his attention on the laptop. "What else have you set up?"

"Um. That's kinda it." Dean shrugged, sheepishly. "I tried doing something with the email, but you're the only one I have to send email to and you're right here, so...." It had seemed kind of pointless.

"You still should do it," Sam encouraged. "You can email me when I'm in class and save me from boring lectures."

"I don't even know your email address," Dean pointed out.

"Here." Sam scooted forward and clicked on the mail program; Dean watched as he typed, doing what looked like a lot more than just putting his email into the address book. After a minute, Sam leaned back. "There; you're all set to annoy me during class."

Dean smirked. Then he caught sight of the brochure he'd set aside. Now or never he figured, and he picked it up. "I...um. Think I decided."

"Yeah?" Sam asked, in such a casual tone that it was obvious he was anything but.

"This one...it has the Korean class, and...it's the one you said was affiliated or whatever with...." He trailed off because he didn't really understand what Sam had said. "The one where if I have to take classes in person, I can do it at Stanford."

He wasn't completely crazy about the idea of sitting in a class with college kids and taking the stuff for high school. From what Sam had explained, they would be regular college classes but he'd be graded differently, or have less to do, or something. If he had to take an art class, or wanted to take conversational Korean, he'd have to do it in person.

"You sure?" Sam asked, though his eyes were already doing that lighting up thing Dean loved so much.

"Yeah. They don't have the rock history class, but...I mean, I could take something for art at Stanford. They probably have something I could do." Dean glanced at the brochure again and took a deep breath before he held out the brochure to Sam. "I guess..." He paused, then said more firmly, "You can enroll me in this one."

He felt his heart pounding, like he was waiting with gun in hand for a demon to come barreling out of the woods.

Sam took the brochure from him, with a wide smile. "You've got it," he said.

And now he felt like Sammy was there beside him, armed and just as dangerous.

"So. Er. You think...I probably have to wait until January before the next semester starts?" He didn't know if waiting would a good thing, or not. He could be patient when he had to -- but for something like this he was liable to drive himself, or possibly Sam, nuts. On the other hand he really wasn't sure he was ready to start right away.

"It'll take a few weeks at least to get all the paperwork for the application in order," Sam said, and Dean recognised the look his brother got when he was mentally making and reviewing a to do list. "After that, we'll see what we can do."

"A few weeks, okay." Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. That was do-able. Probably.


Did Sam mean three, or seven? Six to eight weeks, like all the credit card applications he'd ever filled out? Would two months drive him--

"I'd guess about three weeks," Sam said, smiling at the startled look Dean gave him. "I can practically hear you thinking."

"What am I thinking, smartass?" Dean wrenched his thoughts quickly over to the image of Sam bent over the arm of the couch, naked ass in the air -- just in case his brother's visions could really see into other people's heads.

Sam looked at him assessingly, then his mouth quirked up into a smile. "Well, okay, but I wanna eat first. It's been a long time since lunch."

Dean shoved his brother away. "That's a gimmie. I'm always thinking about sex." Which wasn't exactly true, but...no, it really kinda was true.

Sam couldn't really read his mind, could he?

His brother just continued to smile at him knowingly.

Scowling, Dean thought about telling Dad just which eight-year-old Winchester had ruined one of his, at the time, favorite knives trying to carve a Norse rune for knowledge out of a concrete block.

"No, you won't," Sam said.

Okay, either Sam was yanking his chain -- completely and totally possible, even likely. Or he really was....

But he'd have said something, wouldn't he? He'd told Dean about his visions -- which, granted, had just been because they'd both been out of their minds horny and telling him was the only way Sam could convince him to shut up and have sex with his brother.

And it wasn't like Sam told Dean everything. Witness the whole 'applied to college' shit, and Dean suddenly remembered how Sam had originally been planning to up and go, without telling anyone, leaving him and Dad--

He made himself stop, because that was all last year. Things had changed. Not just the fact he was living in sin with his brother, but that...probably meant Sam wouldn't keep something like this from him.

Sam was looking at him, expression shifting over into one of concern. "What's wrong?" he asked bluntly.

"You wouldn't keep shit like that from me, would you?" He was almost positive...well, no, he wasn't. He could handle the idea of his little brother playing mind games with him for fun -- hell, who'd been the one to teach him how, after all? But thinking about Sam actually lying to him about something important....

Sam rolled his eyes. "Of course not," he said immediately, then adding in fond tones, "Idiot."

He would have let it go, but being called an idiot for rightly worrying about his baby brother made him narrow his eyes. "Because you've never lied to me before." He thought about the time Sammy had insisted, over and over, he had no idea who'd ruined Dean's Def Leppard shirt, despite the fact Dean had found the torn rag under Sam's bed.

"Not about the important things," Sam said, holding Dean's gaze seriously.

"What the hell is more important than Def Leppard?"

Sam looked at him entirely uncomprehendingly. "Huh?"

Well, that answered Dean's lingering doubts about Sam's telepathy. "You ruined my shirt, then stood there and lied to my face--" Dean poked Sam in the chest, hard.

Sam looked clueless for a few beats more before Dean saw him remember the incident. "Dean, I was six."

"You were old enough to know that Def Leppard rules." Dean glared. "And old enough to not touch shit I tell you not to touch. And old enough to not pick the most obvious place in the world to hide stuff you didn't want me to find."

"You think maybe it's time to let this grudge go? Considering it was twelve years ago?"

"It was my Def Leppard shirt! Dude, how can you think I will ever let this go?" Dean glared harder. "You cut it up!" Dean gave his brother a fast grin. "But at least you let me make you a real cape."

"It didn't even fit you anymore," Sam pointed out, showing absolutely no regret or remorse, then returned Dean's grin. "The cape was pretty cool."

"The cape was damned cool, and you were right to wear it 24/7 for four months. And it hardly matters that my shirt didn't fit, because I was saving it for you -- I was going to teach you all the words to every song they ever recorded, turn you into a good rocker instead of--" He waved a hand at Sam. "This emo whatever." He shook his head sadly. "I don't know where I went wrong."

"You love me just the way I am and you know it," Sam said with absolute confidence.

Dean grimaced. "I accept you and all your weird-ass, insane faults, if that's what you mean. I don't love the fact you keep bringing boyband CDs into my apartment."

"Our apartment," Sam corrected. "And there's only so many times I can listen to Motorhead in a row before going clinically insane."

"Hey! I mix it up with other bands." Dean gave Sam's arm a sort of gentle smack.

"Only when I start going for sharp implements to destroy the stereo."

"I had the Black Album in the stereo all last week!"

"Did you hear what you just said? All last week. As in on constant repeat." Sam shook his head. "I love you, dude, but I don't care how good the music is, that much of it is too much of a good thing."

Dean slowly grinned. "You like Metallica." In his entire life he couldn't recall Sam ever admitting such a thing out loud.

Sam rolled his eyes again. "You're willfully missing the point."

"Yeah, yeah, you don't like hearing the same album more than once or twice." Dean waved a hand. "You said you like Metallica! Dude, you are so busted." He paused. "Not that that's a surprise; who doesn't like Metallica?"

"I never said I didn't like Metallica, just that I don't like listening to anything a gazillion times in a row."

"You've always said you don't like the crap I listen to," Dean countered. "I bet you like Ted Nugent and Black Sabbath, too."

Another roll of Sam's eyes. "Whatever, dude."

Dean took a hold of Sam's arm, and pulled him forward, across Dean's lap. He was really too tall and lanky -- that move had worked so much better when Sam was ten. Dean lamented the fact Sam wasn't ticklish, because it would be so nice to tickle him until he threw up.

Sam came willingly, then twisted to look up at Dean. "Something you wanted?" he asked innocently.


"And pulling me across your lap is going to get you a milkshake how?" Sam asked, amused.

"I can steal your wallet," Dean said, and he reached for Sam's ass, groping him thoroughly.

"It's in my backpack," Sam told him. "But feel free to keep groping."

"Why is your wallet in your backpack? Sammy, you have any idea how easy it is to steal someone's backpack?" He glared, seriously concerned, but kept groping Sam's ass.

"I bought something on the way home and it was easier to put it in there," Sam said. "Don't worry, I kept it where I could see it at all times."

"Oh. Okay." Dean nodded, glad to know his brother hadn't forgotten everything they'd ever learned, after just two months of college. "So you're gonna buy me a milkshake?" he asked, grinning hopefully.

Sam grinned. "Got you something better."

"What's better-- wait, you got me something?" Dean looked over at Sam's backpack. "Dude, if you got me Ozzy Osburne's new album I will fuck you 'til your brain disintegrates."

"Not quite," Sam said, then nodded in the direction of his backpack. "Why don't you go take a look?"

"Megadeth's album?" It had come out a few months back, but Dean hadn't gotten a copy of it yet. He shoved his brother off his lap so he could stand up -- dumping him onto the floor, but he figured that was Sam's fault for telling Dean to go look in his backpack.

"Hey," Sam protested, from where he was now sitting on the floor.

Dean ignored him and went over to Sam's backpack. Opening it, it was easy to see the bag shoved inside it that hadn't been there that morning. Dean pulled it out, not recognising the name of the store. Giving Sam a confused look, he opened the bag and took out the box.

He stopped, holding the box in his hands. Stared at it, then looked up at Sam to make sure he'd grabbed the right thing, that there wasn't some small thing stuffed in a side pocket of the backpack that Sam had meant, and this was something else.

He opened the box and pulled the paper inside away and saw... boots. Black leather biker boots, just like he'd mentioned wanting once to Sam.

"You're starting school, you get new footwear," Sam said, smiling at him now, still sitting on the floor.

Dean couldn't stop staring. Boots. Biker boots, like he'd been wanting since forever, but had never been able to afford. Well, he might have, but there was always something more important that needed spending on.

He reached in, touching the leather with one finger. Smooth, and he bet that once they got broken in they would be comfortable as hell. And strong enough he could wear them on hunts and not worry about turning an ankle or getting his foot bitten off. "You--" He stopped, and just looked at Sam.

"They're what you wanted?" Sam asked, sounding completely confident that he already knew the answer.

All he could do was nod. Well -- one other thing. Dean sat down and kicked off his sneakers, hauling the boots out of the box.

He heard Sam laugh and get up off the floor, coming over to stand behind Dean and wrap his arms around him. "Happy going back to school," he murmured.

Dean paused long enough to turn his head and give Sam a hard kiss. Then he put his boots on.

Damn. They felt amazing. He stood up and took a step, looking down. Hell yes.

He gave Sam a grin. "Wanna go out?"

"For food?" Sam asked. "I'm starving."

"We can eat, yeah. Maybe...you wanna go to the Venture, after?" He'd only been there a couple of times, by himself, looking for good pool tables. The Venture had two, but mostly no one played real games. There was a lot of hustling, though -- the Venture was a gay bar with decent music and a fair dance floor, and lots of guys in corners sucking and groping and making Dean almost wish he was available to accept offers.

Sam's eyes had narrowed. "That's that gay bar you told me about?"

Shrugging, not sure if Sam liked the idea, Dean said, "I just thought...I wouldn't make you dance or anything but we could make out and not get our asses kicked." Not that the average barfly stood a chance of kicking their asses, but Dean didn't really feel like getting into a fight, even for recreation.

"No, it sounds like an interesting evening," Sam said, looking more intrigued than apprehensive.

Dean grinned. "You wanna get changed, or you gonna go for the emo-college student look?" Dean was already heading towards the dresser to grab a shirt. If he was going out -- out, like a date, he wanted to look as hot as it was possible for Dean Winchester to look.

Which was, in his opinion, pretty damned hot.

Sam looked at him speculatively. "What do you want me to wear?"

Looking him over, Dean thought about it. "Roman collar?" he suggested, giving his brother a not-so-gentle leer. Before Sam could respond he asked more seriously, "You got anything without sleeves?" He couldn't remember seeing anything like that in his brother's laundry, but it was possible he'd just missed it.

But Sam shook his head. "I kinda like my sleeves."

"OK, we have got to change that. Remind me to get you some wifebeaters." Dean shook his head. "How about that light blue T-shirt?"

"It's too small," Sam said, wrinkling his nose a little in distaste.

"Um, yeah?" Dean didn't think his brother was that clueless.

"It's really, really tigh-" Sam broke off and his eyes widened in comprehension. Then he blushed. "Oh."

Grinning, Dean walked over to him and gave him a kiss. "I want everyone in the club to hate me."

Sam's hands slid around Dean's waist, holding him in place as he leaned in for another kiss. "They'll take one look at you and I'll be the one they hate."

"Oh, hell yes." Dean smirked. "They can hate us both for not sharing."

Sam chuckled and kissed him again. "You really want me to wear that shirt?"

"Yeah? Did I stutter?"

"Okay." Sam pulled away and went over to the dresser where he kept his clothes, and set about digging through the bottom drawer.

Dean leaned against the back of the couch, crossing his arms, and stared his fill as Sam bent over. He only wriggled his feet a little bit, getting them settled into his new boots.

Sam paused in his rifling. "Enjoying the view?"

"Yeah. Well, you've got pants on, but otherwise I'm good." Dean was struck by a thought. "You don't own any khakis, do you?"

"Why?" Sam asked, finally pulling the light blue T-shirt out of the drawer.

"Nothing shows off a nice ass better."

Sam paused in the stripping off of the shirts he wore and the putting on of the blue T-shirt. Dean took the opportunity to leer at him again. He got to see Sam in various stages of not-fully dressed all the time, but he still liked taking the chance to really enjoy the view.

The guys at the club were seriously going to hate him when they saw his brother.

"I'm not sure how...showy my ass would be in the khakis I have," Sam said, pulling the T-shirt over his head. "I bought them for when I needed something for interviews and other potential collegy stuff."

"Put 'em on and I'll check you out."

Sam shrugged. "Okay," he said, digging back into the drawers until he found the khakis, then stripped off his jeans and put them on.

Actually, Dean thought the t-shirt and boxers look was a good one on Sam, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to convince Sam to leave the apartment like that. As Sam turned his back to him, craning his head over his shoulder, Dean stared.

"Yeah." Dean stopped and cleared his throat, and said more clearly, "Yeah, that'll be just fine."

Maybe he should go to the club armed.

Sam looked down at himself, then shrugged again. "If you say so," he said, sounding a little doubtful.

"Sammy, you look like an advertisement for fucking." Dean shook his head. "I'm not sure it's safe to take you to a club -- not unless you don't mind getting groped by a hundred strangers."

Sam looked down at himself again. "You're biased," he finally declared.

Shaking his head again, Dean just said, "Don't say I didn't warn you." He went over to his side of the dresser and grabbed a clean white t-shirt and changed into it. The jeans he was already wearing -- and his new fucking boots -- completed his outfit. He tucked the shirt in and struck a pose for Sam, leaning back against the dresser.

Sam stared at him consideringly, then licked his lips. "Is it too warm for you to add the leather jacket?"

Giving his brother a grin, Dean said in a low, seductive tone, "I can do that." He walked over to where he'd left his jacket thrown across the foot of the bed. He slipped it on then turned, sticking his hands in his jeans pockets. He needed a pair of jeans one size smaller for the best effect, but these would do for tonight.

Sam licked his lips again as he kept watching Dean. "Oh yeah," he said, voice taking on a little of that huskiness it got when he was aroused.

Dean ran one hand across his belly, right above the waist band, noticing how Sam's eyes seemed to get riveted to his hand. He toyed with the button of his jeans, and asked in the same suggestive tone, "You still want a quick bite?"

"I...." Sam said, then seemed to run out of words.

He ran his thumb down alongside his zipper, making his cock twitch -- he'd gotten a bit hard when Sam had first modeled his outfit for him, then moreso when he'd displayed himself for Sam. "We could grab a bite here," he said, still running his fingers along his growing erection, making it perfectly clear what was on the menu.

Sam's lips twitched at that. "Not sure exactly how nutritional that would be," he said, but took a few steps towards Dean nonetheless.

"Protein," Dean reminded him. "Good for the skin." He moved his hand up to his waistband and slipped his fingertips inside, brushing the head of his cock. "Mm," he half-whimpered, half-moaned.

Sam took a few more steps. "You look like you need something."

"Yeah, I think.. damn, I think my jeans are too tight." He popped open the top button, and tugged at the zipper. He rubbed the palm of his hand down the denim stretched tight over his cock. He watched Sam, staring at him, transfixed.

Fuck, but that was enough to make him come. If he didn't want to have to change clothes, though, he was going to need a blowjob.

But Sam seemed to have other ideas. He had stopped coming closer and was just standing and staring at Dean in a completely predatory way. "Touch yourself," he suggested in a voice that went straight to Dean's cock.

Dean made a strangled noise, and had to check to make sure he hadn't just swallowed his tongue. He was almost completely hard, now, and he had a feeling he could probably come just from the way Sam was looking at him. But he did as he'd been told, running his fingers down the length of his shaft, as far as he could without pulling his jeans completely open.

Sam's lips twisted up into a smile, no less hungry than his stare. "Open your jeans all the way first. I want to see."

He did so, going so far as to push them down, pausing to make sure it was OK. He wanted to shove them down to his knees and jerk off while Sam watched -- but he wanted to wait and do it as Sam directed.

"Touch yourself," Sam suggested again, moving to lean against the back of the couch to watch.

"I need...Sam," he said, already moving his hand the way they both wanted. "Need to...lay down or lean against something." The mattress wasn't nearly high enough to brace against, and Dean knew from experience he would fall over if he tried this standing up without anything to hold onto.

Sam looked around then got up and pulled one of the kitchen counter stools over to near where Dean was standing. "This do?"

Dean just nodded, and he perched one hip on the stool, leaving his other foot flat on the floor. He continued to stroke himself, trying to keep his jacket from obscuring Sam's view.

"Good," Sam said, nodding in approval and moving back to his spot leaning against the couch.

Still watching.

Dean let his head fall back a little, not enough to overbalance himself, but enough that Sam could think about licking his neck. He stroked himself slowly, following his full length with a grip not quite hard enough to make himself come too fast.

"What are you thinking?" Sam asked, his tone mildly curious, like they were having a normal conversation where Dean wasn't jerking off.

"Think," Dean tried, and had to swallow. "Think you seeing me like this is--" He stopped his hand, squeezing his cock hard.

"Is what, Dean?" Sam asked, in that low husky voice again that was almost like a physical touch when he said Dean's name.

"Wanna make you come, watching me," Dean gasped. It was enough to make Dean come, but he held on, forcing back his orgasm until he could get his brother just as hot and bothered as he was.

"Do you," Sam asked, though it came out sounding more like a demand than a question.

Nodding fast, Dean had a feeling that he wasn't going to last long enough to get Sam any closer to coming than he was right then. He kept moving his hand, though, because stopping really wasn't an option. He could feel his muscles tightening, let most of his weight fall on his leg touching the floor because if the stool tipped over he was going to break his skull open.

"Oh yeah," Sam murmured, voice almost a growl. His hands were gripped tightly on the back of the sofa as he leaned forward as if to get a better look. Dean could clearly see Sam's erection pressing against his khakis. "That's it," his brother encouraged. "Wanna see it. Wanna see you."

God, the way Sam said that...the way he was looking like he wanted to swallow Dean whole. He kept moving his hand, reached in with his other hand to tug at his balls. He wanted to come, wanted to make Sam come, make him lose control so he came the fuck over and touched Dean.

He dropped his head back, feeling the stool wobble just a little. He held on, leg braced to catch his weight if the damn thing tipped over at the wrong moment. If Sammy wanted a show, he'd get a damn good one, Dean told himself.

"God, the way you look right now," Sam all but groaned. "You're so hot...."

Dean couldn't help the grin. "You know it," he said, smirking as well as he could when he was just about to come all over his hand. He slowed his hand down a little, not wanting to end it just yet.

Sam's tongue darted out and licked at his lips, his eyes fixed on Dean's hands and what they were doing. "Wanna see you come," he said. "Wanna see you come, knowing it's because you're thinking about me."

That made him laugh. "Sammy...god...." His hand sped up, apparently of its own accord. "Been doing that for fucking years."

Sam's eyes flicked up and met Dean's with a dark and possessive gaze. "Not with me watching," he said.

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Hell of a lot better." He let his head fall forward, wanting to keep his eyes on Sam but wanting to lose himself in this -- if Sam would just keep talking. Dean opened his mouth to ask him, but just groaned. So close, so fucking close and he just needed one more....

Sam continued in that deep, dark growl of a voice. "No one else gets to see you like this. Never again. Just me. You're mine."

At Sam's words, Dean came so hard his head spun and his legs shook. He barely had presence of mind to keep his seat on the stool. Sam was across the room to him in a blink, framing Dean's face in his big hands and kissing him like he was oxygen he needed to keep breathing. It took Dean a couple tries to get his hand on Sam, then he held on, afraid he'd tip them both over. He let Sam kiss him, mouth open and taking everything he could get.

This was what he wanted. Every time, all the time, Sam on him and with him and he could totally get behind the idea of never even looking at another pretty face when it was Sam kissing him like this.

"Mine," Sam murmured against his lips, not letting go.

Dean nodded, trying to say something to agree with him, but nothing came out. He closed his eyes and leaned forward against his brother. He took a breath, and managed, "Always."

He felt Sam drop a kiss on his forehead, Sam's arms sliding down and around him to hold him tightly. "Love you," he told Dean softly.

He sighed, pressing his head against Sam, rubbing his cheek slightly. "Yeah." He could feel the twinge -- make a joke, push Sam away. But it was easier to ignore it this time and just settle into his brother's arms. Right now all he wanted was to be here. Be Sam's.

Knowing Sam loved him didn't scare him quite so much.


Groaning, Dean rolled onto his side, pulled the blanket over his shoulder and snuggled deeper into the blankets, and Sam, and thought maybe it was all right that they hadn't actually made it to the club or even out the front door.

Now he had a chance to get Sam those A-shirts first and talk him into going to the club wearing just that and the khakis. He was pretty sure it would take a lot of convincing, but a few more nights like last night and Dean thought maybe Sam would see the wisdom in dressing for sex.

The warmth beside him shifted, and Dean muttered, "Next time we go out, let's actually go out."

A sleepy chuckle sent a different kind of warmth through Dean. "Whose fault was that?" Sam asked, an arm curling around Dean's side, pulling him closer.

"Yours," Dean said, as confidently as he could while fighting the urge to go right back to sleep. He wondered what time it was in the grand scheme of not letting Sam miss class. He kissed a bare shoulder and thought about how maybe Sam could take responsibility for getting himself out of bed. He didn't have to be anywhere.

"I wasn't the one who started posing like an invitation to sin," Sam pointed out, a hand lazily trailing over Dean's chest.

"You...." Dean tried to remember what Sam had done that could be at all twisted to show his fault for the whole evening. "You watched."

"Yeah," Sam said, and there was a world of smug satisfaction in that one word.

"See?" Dean lazily gave his brother a poke in the ribs. "Clearly your fault. I wouldn't have come all over my only white t-shirt if you hadn't been watching. Then we still could have gone out." He yawned and closed his eyes again. Whatever time it was, it was too early for him to be awake.

"I wouldn't have been watching if you weren't so... so..."

"Hot. Handsome, fucking sexy...." Dean offered, helpfully. "I could go on."

"I notice 'modest' isn't on that list," Sam said dryly.

Dean raised his head and opened his eyes to look at Sam. "I've heard that word before. What's it mean, anyway?"

"It means someone who doesn't wear their boots to bed."

Dean tensed, then relaxed as he realised his feet were bare. "Hey--" Then he cut himself off, because he suddenly had a clear and distinct memory of Sam grousing at him and tugging at his boots while Dean was trying to be asleep already. "Er...."


"I like my boots?" Dean offered.

"I'm glad," Sam said, "but not in bed. They'll ruin the sheets."

"It wasn't my fault," Dean insisted. "I was mostly brain-dead when I fell over. How was I supposed to do anything like take off my boots, or remember my name?"

Sam leaned up on one elbow and looked down at Dean, expression halfway between earnest and amused. "I'd buy that, I really would, if you hadn't kept whining about wanting to sleep in them."

"When I'm dead you can bury me in them," Dean said. He had a flash of memory, his old bedroom and Mom standing beside his bed telling him he couldn't wear his cowboy hat to bed. Dean thought maybe he wouldn't share that information with Sam.

"Less talk of being dead, okay?" Sam chastised.

Dean glanced at his brother, worrying for a moment. He knew Sam had seen some nasty stuff in his visions of the future -- though it was apparently a future that they'd changed, already. But, given the sort of life they led, it had pretty much always been more likely they'd die young, than not.

He suspected that this was the normal sort of 'let's not talk about you being dead' and not some vision-memory crisis. He gave his brother's chin a kiss, then worked his way down Sam's throat. "When do you have to be... is today Friday?"

"All day." Sam chuckled. "You forgot, didn't you?"

"No! I just...when do I need to ever know what day it is?"

"When you're trying to keep track of my schedule?"

"Trying?" Dean glanced up, annoyed that Sam would imply he'd gotten any of Sam's schedule wrong all semester. Then he realised what he'd just admitted to and glared at his brother. "Will you stop messing with me when I'm not awake?"

Sam laughed. "But it's fun."

"Mean." He jabbed Sam in the ribs again. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Lots of things," Sam said, swatting Dean's hand away from his ribs. "Lots and lots of things."

"Ha. Did not." He moved his hand down a bit and poked again. "If you can't even think of one--"

Sam swatted his hand away again. "Dude, quit poking me!"

Laughing, Dean moved his hand and poked. Sam twisted away, then moved to straddle Dean, his hands going unerringly for his ticklish spots. Dean got his feet on the mattress and shoved, tilting them both sideways as he grabbed for Sam's wrists. Sam let out a yelp when this sent them over the side of the mattress onto the floor.

Landing mostly on Sam, Dean didn't really feel any sharp pains of contact with the floor -- not that it would have stopped him, though the sheet now wrapped tightly around his leg was going to make it tough to maneouvre. He went for Sam's arm, trying to get him pinned.

That's when his phone started ringing.

Dean gave his brother one last jab in the stomach, then scrambled across Sam's body to reach for his phone, sitting on the box they'd overturned to use as a nightstand. A glance at the number and he grinned, flipping the phone open fast.


"Is that how you're answering the phone now?" His father's voice sounded more amused than anything.

"It is when the caller ID says it's somebody using your cell phone," Dean pointed out. "What's up, Dad?" Dean found himself relaxing; there wasn't anything urgent in his dad's tone to make him think this was any sort of emergency.

He did suddenly realise he was laying naked on top of Sam, also naked, both of them reeking of sex. Dean shoved himself backwards, bounced off the side of the mattress and fell sideways, leg still wrapped up in the sheets.

Sam started laughing and there was a brief pause on the phone before Dad said, "Just what are you doing?"

"Killing my brother," Dean said, managing to sound like there was nothing strange going on, no sir, I haven't just woken up from having sex with Sam. "You in town?" he asked, and his throat went dry.

Dear god, all they needed was for Dad to be calling from the edge of town, asking for directions to their place.

Heart pounding, he looked around frantically.

No, there was really no way to pretend they weren't sharing an apartment the way only fucking couples did. They might be able to claim they just couldn't afford a second mattress....

But the spunk-covered clothes in a pile on the floor? Tool box full of toys and lube that just screamed "I am fucking another man"?

"No, I'm in Clayton, just north of Spokane," Dad said, cutting through Dean's incipient panic attack before it could become a raging panic attack. "I take it from that remark that you boys are getting along okay?"

"If Sam would ever learn to clean up after himself, yeah, we'd be doing fine." He reached over and thumped Sam before he could give too much voice to his objection. "So, you driving down to Palo Alto?" Dean felt his heartrate slowing. If Dad said yes, they at least had time to get ready. Sixteen hours to drive from Clayton, more than enough to do whatever the hell they'd need to in order to make it look like everything was normal.

"Actually I was wondering if you wanted to drive up here and meet me. There's a nice little poltergeist case I'm working and I thought you might want to help."

"Yeah!" Dean sat up, grinning. He looked over at Sam, and asked, "You think it'd take more than a couple days? Sam's got classes on Monday." Of course it would take...sixteen hours just to get to where Dad was, and sixteen hours to drive back. Dean was fairly sure he could shave three hours off the drive time each way, but it still only left about twenty four hours to take care of the poltergeist.

"A hunt?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean nodded at him. "Poltergeist in eastern Washington," he told his brother.

"I can't promise that it won't take longer," Dad was saying. "It doesn't seem particularly malevolent, but it is tricky. There's probably going to be a lot of leg work involved."

"Yeah, poltergeists can be like that." Dean frowned. He hated to have Sam miss class, and this could conceivably take up to a week. Not to mention Sam had a quiz next Thursday, and a paper due the following week which he'd be hard-pressed to work on if he was out of town on a hunt.

Sam it seemed had picked up enough of the conversation from Dean's end to figure out what Dean was frowning over. "Go," he told Dean.

"But you can't--" Dean began. He knew they'd talked about it, how Dean would go on hunts sometimes while Sam was at school. Dean had always thought of it as something they'd do when Sam was free -- but as soon as Dad had mentioned the job, Dean was practically vibrating with the desire to run for the car and drive up to meet him.

He already knew the car's trunk was packed with everything he'd need, though he might want to refill the reservoir of salt, top it up just in case.

Sam grinned at him and plucked the phone out of his lax hand. "Dad? Dean'll come. I have a test next week or I'd tag along too." He paused, then smiled. "It's going well. Classes are challenging but that's what I wanted."

Leaning back against the mattress, Dean watched as his brother actually looked happy while talking to their dad. Before this summer, that hadn't happened since Sam was thirteen.

He gave Sam's leg a nudge, interrupting him in mid-sentence. "How're you gonna get to campus?"

"Hang on a minute, Dad. I have to explain about buses to my brother." He pulled the phone away from his ear and gave Dean a look. "Do I really need to explain?" he asked.

"If you can take a bus to class, why the fuck am I driving you every day?"

That just got him another look, this one of the 'my brother is an idiot' variety.

Dean lunged forward and grabbed the phone away from Sam. "Hey, Dad, you remember when I asked you if I could return Sam for a puppy? Can we still do that?"

He could practically hear the air of amusement over the phone though Dad didn't actually say anything to that comment. "I take it your brother's convinced you to come?"

"I was gonna come anyway," Dean said, as casually as he could. "I didn't know if Sam would want to tear himself away from his riveting lectures."

Sam whapped his leg.

Dean flipped his brother off, then reached over and shoved his brother's head towards the mattress. "So, I can be there tonight," Dean told his dad -- and he felt a surge of excitement. He hadn't actually thought much about the hunting, other than the one job they'd done in Reno. He'd been thinking it was nice to take a break, do nothing but kick back and goof off.

Suddenly, he couldn't wait to get on the road.

"Good," Dad told him, sounding both pleased and as if he was adding that to his plan of attack. He gave Dean the address and room number of the motel he was staying at.

"Great. I'll be there." He paused, and held out the phone slightly, silently asking Sam if he wanted to talk to Dad again. They weren't really much of a chatty family, but hell, weirder things had happened.

Sam took the phone, but only to say, "Good luck. And try to send him back in one piece. He gets cranky when he's healing."

"Cranky? Who the hell was it complained for two months when he broke a couple of fingers?" It had really only been a couple of weeks, but Dean didn't much believe in being fair when Sam was slandering him.

"I gotta go, Dad," Sam said, rolling his eyes at Dean. "There's this little case of fratricide I need to commit." He paused listening, then laughed. "That's a good idea. I'll have to try that." Another pause. "Okay. Take care." And then he tossed the phone back to Dean.

Dean saw that the call had disconnected, so he dropped the cell on the bed, and lunged for Sam, knocking him back against the mattress. "Try what?" he demanded.

"Hmmm?" Sam said distractedly, leaning up and nuzzling along Dean's jaw.

Jabbing Sam in the ribs again, Dean pulled away -- not too far. He didn't bother asking again, because he knew there was no way Sam would just come out and tell him the truth. "You gonna be okay while I'm gone?"

"I'll be fine," Sam told him with a reassuring smile, stroking his fingers through Dean's hair.

"You won't let strange demons into the apartment? Don't talk to cute guys, and don't drop the soap in the showers," Dean continued, fighting the urge to jump up and get dressed and be gone.

Mostly because he was also fighting the urge to lean into Sam's touch, and kiss him, and delay leaving for a couple hours.

"You've gone on hunts with Dad and left me alone before," Sam pointed out reasonably, his fingers slipping down to the back of Dean's neck.

"That was before," Dean said, leaning in to give Sam a kiss.

"Yeah," Sam said, in between short, nipping kisses. "But that doesn't make me less capable. Just means I might miss you more."

Dean couldn't keep himself from wrinkling his nose. There was a time when he'd thought he'd shoot himself before getting so soft in the head. But that was also before. He knew he was going to miss Sam, as well. "You mean you'll miss kicking me in your sleep," he teased.

Sam smiled. "That too," he said, before kissing him again.

"You admit you kick in your sleep!" Dean kissed him back, then started to poke him, then thought of the only place Sam had ever been ticklish. Instead of tickling, though, he found himself just stroking Sam's leg. "Sam, I have to go; Dad knows how long it takes to drive from here to Spokane."

"Then we'll have to make this quick," Sam replied, shifting, so that Dean was cradled between his legs and wrapping his arms around him. He breathed against Dean's ear, "I'm not letting you leave until you fuck me."

The objection he had been about to voice died a quick and painless death as the words 'fuck me' hit him -- right in the cock. Dean groaned and surged forward, rubbing against Sam. "Right here on the floor," he breathed, half-asking, half already turned on by the thought they wouldn't even have the chance to move before Dean was buried deep.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, voice going low and husky. He arched up, his cock rubbing against Dean's skin. "Hard and dirty. Want to be able to feel you even after you're gone."

"You think you'll feel me for a week?" Dean was already reaching for the tube of lubricant that was on the nightstand, grateful that he had a tendency to leave multiple tubes of the stuff all over the place. He didn't want to let go of Sam even long enough to crawl to the other side of the bed for the toy box.

Sam's gaze was hot and heavy on him, another touch. "That's your challenge, isn't it? Making sure I do?"

"Or I could just leave the dildo in your ass when I leave," Dean said, grinning. But he'd got lube on his fingers and wasted no time getting them inside Sam. He kissed Sam hard as he lubed him up, stretching him and rubbing him with fingers and tongue in similar motions.

Though Sam was obviously trying to hold still, his hips still moved, tiny little thrusts in time with Dean's fingers, little whimpers of pleasure coming deep from his throat as he kissed Dean back.

Grinning, Dean whispered, "Guess I don't have time for too much of that, huh?" He slid his fingers out and got more lube, and spread it over his cock, rubbing himself fully hard while he watched Sam. Thought about fucking him and hearing those noises he made when he was being fucked hard.

Sam was watching him right back, desire and need darkening his eyes as they focused on Dean's hand on his cock. Dean took one second to consider their positions, and realised he didn't really want to break his brother's neck fucking him too close to the wall. He grabbed Sam's arm and spun them around, or tried to. The damn sheet was still around his fucking leg and Dean kicked at it, cursing in a blend of Korean and Vietnamese and ignoring the way his brother was laughing at him.

But along with laughing, Sam reached down and somehow managed to untangle the sheet in one deft move, then letting Dean move and shift him around as he wanted. "You are going to fuck me eventually I hope."

"Not if you're gonna be a smartass," Dean growled. He gave Sam a sharp smack on one bare asscheek, then got onto his knees. OK, no, no way he was giving himself carpetburn on his knees before driving for sixteen hours. Which meant...fuck, he didn't care. He grabbed Sam's hips and hauled him in close, then got one hand on his cock, jerking himself just enough. Then he was guiding his cock against Sam's asshole and shoving himself inside with one slow press.

The sound that came from Sam's mouth as Dean slid into him held equal parts relief and arousal in it. "Yeah," Sam gasped. "Need this..."

Dean pulled back only enough to tease Sam, not enough to slip all the way out. Then he held onto Sam's hips tightly, and pushed his way in -- he wanted to fuck him, now, hard as he could, but he watched Sam's face to make sure he wasn't hurting him.

Sam's eyes were fastened on Dean's face in turn, and whatever he saw there seemed to be making him even hotter. "More. Please, Dean..."

"Don't wanna... fuck, Sam," he breathed out as Sam moved his hips and Dean just had to. Fuck slow, fuck careful, and if Sam wanted to feel him for a week then Dean wouldn't stop him. He slammed in, groaning as he felt his entire cock encased in his brother's body. "Oh fuck," he whispered, trying to get his arms braced on something he could lean on.

"Yes, like that," Sam groaned, his hands coming up and bracing themselves against Dean's shoulders.

Dean just thrust into him again, rocking him backward. He finally got his hands on the floor, palms flat, and was able to quickly get into a rhythm that made them both gasp for air. Sam held onto him tight enough to leave bruises and continued to urge Dean on with words like "harder" and "please" and "more" and "Dean" in between gasps and those little whimpers that did more to get Dean off than almost anything else.

He pounded into Sam, no longer caring about being easy or careful -- Dean needed to fuck him, needed to feel Sam underneath him for as long as he was gone and could get back here, do this again. He had an image of getting fucked when he got home -- turnabout was fair play.

"Christ, Sammy," he gasped, and slammed them both practically through the floor.

Sam just held on and demanded more and Dean could hear his impending climax in his voice.

"Gonna..." Dean slammed in again, "Feel me...all...fucking...week...." He thrust in hard enough he practically lifted Sam off the floor. Dean hoped like hell he wasn't leaving rugburn on Sam's back -- that wasn't exactly what he wanted Sam to feel while he was gone. But he wasn't about to slow down, shoving himself into Sam again and again like they would both die if they didn't come right that second.

With something close to a wail, Sam did just that, coming without his cock even being touched.

"Oh, fuck," Dean moaned, and he could feel his own orgasm coming. The sight of Sam coming, hearing his voice, hoarse and low made Dean's spine shatter. He slammed in one more time, then he was coming, hard and fast.

He collapsed on top of Sam afterwards and felt his brother's arms wrapping around him and holding him tightly. Dean muttered something that was intended to be...he had no idea. Eyes closed, he thought about not moving again, ever.

But Sam poked him after a few minutes. "I love you, Dean, but I can only be a pretzel for so long."

With a groan, Dean shoved himself upwards. Vaguely upwards, as the world seemed to tilt after a moment. He landed against the mattress with a thump, and opened his eyes.

Crap. Now he had to stay awake for sixteen hours. He groaned again, moving away from Sam and onto his back. "I hate you," he said.

"No, you don't," Sam said, rolling over to half sprawl over Dean.

He wrapped his arms around his brother's waist. "I have to fucking drive to Washington now." He gave Sam a glare and ran his hand up and down Sam's back.

Sam stretched languorously against him, moving enough to prop his head up on his folded hands on Dean's chest as he grinned. "That's why I didn't offer to fuck you."

Giving his brother a smack on the stomach, Dean glared at him. "I really hate you. You're fucking me when I get home, and now I have to drive to Washington and spend a week with Dad, thinking about it."

"You would've been thinking about it anyway," Sam said with an easy confidence.

"Well, yeah. But now I need coffee and my Motorhead tape you fucking hid from me." He closed his eyes and tugged Sam a bit closer, wishing he had time to indulge in a real cuddle.

Sam came willingly, snuggling close and holding him tightly for one long moment before regretfully pulling away with a sigh and a kiss. "You go take a shower, I'll make you some coffee," he said.

Reluctantly, Dean let him go. He gave himself a moment to regroup, then stood up. He had two pair of jeans that weren't in need of washing yet; they'd have to do. Shirts, socks, underwear, plenty of those already stashed in his hunting bag. Boots -- Dean grinned. Shit-kicking and taking names boots. Toiletry bag -- he'd have to check it, because even though he could borrow stuff off Dad, he'd have to listen to his father tell him how he should be prepared.

Rubbing his face, Dean headed towards the bathroom. Salt, yeah. And check the oil in the engine. He'd need to stop for gas -- did he have any credit cards he could use? He thought there were a couple still with credit left on them, though one was over a couple months old and was probably cancelled by now.

The downside of living a clean life; he'd have to scrounge some cash from the box in the closet and deal with his dad's sarcasm when Dean didn't have a card he could use. Dean grabbed Sam's towel from the shower door and dropped it on the floor. Sighing, he stepped into the shower to get ready to leave.

When he finally left the bathroom, he had Sam's towel wrapped around his waist and another over his shoulders as he rubbed at his hair. Sam had pulled on an old pair of track pants and was in the process of folding up Dean's clothes and stuffing them into Dean's favourite duffel. "Coffee's on the counter," he said.

"Dude, you didn't have to....thanks," he amended quickly. He went over to the counter to grab the thermos of coffee.

"Considering I delayed you, seemed the least I can do," Sam said, sounding not in the least repentant. He did the duffel up and moved it over to beside the door.

Grinning, Dean went over to meet Sam, giving him a kiss. "I feel all domesticated. Leaving the wife home as I take off for a business trip. Like normal people." His grin shifted into a smirk.

Sam whapped him. "Jerk. Go get dressed."

"Bitch. Abusive, nagging...." Dean ducked out of range of his brother's long arms, and headed for the dresser. He let the towel fall onto the floor then bent down to grab a shirt out of the bottom drawer.

"You don't have time for us to do an encore," Sam told him.

"Hm?" Dean gave Sam an innocent look, glancing back at him and otherwise not really moving out of position.

"Stop being a walking invitation to sex and get dressed," Sam said, heading for their closet and slapping Dean's ass on the way by.

"Hey, it isn't my fault I'm god's gift to good boys and girls everywhere." Dean rubbed his ass, and gave Sam a stern look. "I did tell you that sort of thing isn't a turn on?" He did slip on his shirt, though, and grabbed a pair of underwear before Sam could accuse him of delaying again.

"That's kinda the point in this case," Sam said, digging in the closet and coming out with the box they kept their extra cash and the credit cards in.

"I'm dressed!" Dean protested, though technically he was still putting on his underwear and didn't know exactly where his jeans were, other than the ones Sam had packed for him. He went over to take the cashbox from Sam.

Which Sam promptly held out of his reach. "You're not dressed unless you plan on going without pants."

"How do you think I'll get out of speeding tickets?" Dean didn't bother trying to reach for the box -- there was a limit to how much he'd humiliate himself in front of his brother.

"Just don't get caught," Sam advised then pointed towards the bed where the other clean pair of Dean's jeans were laid out. "Pants. Now."

"Normally you say that when you want them off," Dean complained. But he went to grab his jeans and put them on before Sam could throw him out of the apartment in his skivvies. He sat down and slipped his boots on as well, unable to hide his grin. Then he stood up and spread his arms, as though ready for inspection. "Satisfied?"

"As much as I'm going to be without stripping you again," Sam said, setting the box on the counter and opening it up, pulling out the money and dividing it up.

Dean took the stack Sam handed him, removed a few of the twenties and handed them back. Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Dad'll have a card he can use for stuff," Dean explained. "I don't need this much."

"You never know how much you'll need. Isn't that what you always say?"

"And what if you need--" Dean stopped because Sam was looking at him with that face. Dear god, one of these days he was going to grow a backbone and be able to stand up to that puppy dog look of his baby brother's. He tried taking back half of what he'd peeled off.

But Sam put it all back in his hand, covering it with his own until Dean closed his fingers over the money. Sighing, Dean put all of it in his wallet. There was no law that said he had to spend it, and if Sam found himself needing cash before Dean got back, well, Dean was only too happy to say 'I told you so.'

He looked around, at the thermos of coffee, over to his duffel. "I guess I'm ready."

"Yeah," Sam said, looking around. Dean expected him to continue, but Sam stopped there.

Smiling a little more than he really felt, Dean reached up and brushed his brother's chin. "You be naked when I get back?"

Sam returned the smile. "As long as you give me a little warning." He leaned in and kissed Dean, but pulled back before it could grow heated. "Say hi to Dad for me."

"I'll call from the corner," Dean promised. He forced himself not to kiss Sam again -- when the hell had this become so difficult? He'd left Sam before, for longer than a few days, maybe a week.

He knew what the difference was, but -- he'd loved Sam before now, and left him home alone. He made himself step towards the door, grabbing the thermos of coffee and his duffel, so he wouldn't be tempted to grab onto Sam.

"Right. I'm taking off," he said, breezily, forcing himself to sound like Dean Winchester, Hunter of Evil and not Dean Watkins, pussy-whipped house-husband. He swallowed, and thought maybe one more kiss couldn't possibly hurt; he stepped back towards Sam.

Sam smiled and kissed him again, this time letting it linger. "Go on," he said, voice slightly husky when he finally stepped back again.

"I'm going, I'm going." Dean gave his brother a quick once-over, for no reason other than he wanted to make sure he had him memorised. Then he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him and telling himself he should be grateful he wouldn't have to argue over what music he got to listen to for the next sixteen hours.

the end