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Sam took an idle sip of his sweating beer as he stared up at the clear summer night sky over New Mexico. They'd just wrapped up a case—a chupacabra, finally, much to Dean's delight—and were celebrating with a beer on the back patio of the fancy adobe-style house they'd… appropriated during their stay in Taos. The place was swank, far nicer than their usual bargain-basement motels. It was rare for them to risk the B&E charge by sneaking into such a high-profile type place, but Taos was primarily a ski town and a good chunk of the homes—including this one—were vacant for most of the year. Dean had just about lost his mind over the heated floors, and Sam… well, he'd been too lost in an unexpected deluge of memories to pay much attention to anything beyond the hunt.
It had only taken them two days to find and gank the rogue chupacabra with a preference for humans over livestock. Sam had immediately pulled out his laptop (after a much needed post-hunt shower), eager to find a new case and put Taos in the Impala's rearview mirror. He'd found one—what looked to be a werewolf eating hearts in Wyoming—but Dean had said the case would keep until morning; he wanted one more night sleeping in the best bed he'd ever slept in. Seriously, Sammy, it's like being hugged by clouds. Sam had reluctantly agreed. Yeah, being in this place was stirring up memories and feelings he'd thought were long buried, but this house was way nicer than their usual shitholes, and it was kind of amusing to watch Dean vacillate between envy and outrage over the decadence of the rich.
"I mean, what the fuck are you even lying on, Sam? Who puts a fucking bed outside?" Dean asked, gesturing dismissively at Sam with his beer from where he was sprawled out on a lounge chair a few feet away.
Sam snorted. "Definitely not anybody in our crowd." It was a little ridiculous, this massive, circular daybed in pride-of-place in the bungalow's fenced-in backyard. The cushions were thick and clearly expensive, surprisingly comfortable as Sam lay back and looked up at the clear night sky.
"God, can you imagine Bobby with one of these in the middle of his junkyard?" Dean asked, laughter in his voice as he clearly did his best to picture it. Sam smiled to himself; the bed wasn't so bad, really. The last time he'd visited this small, sleepy town, there hadn't been a daybed involved, but that wasn't a surprise. It had been winter, after all.
He'd been at Stanford then, with a very different trip itinerary. No daybed, but there'd been a hot tub, and being back here now for the first time in years, it was hard not to get lost in those memories. It felt like a different life. It practically was one.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Sam started, lost in his reminiscing as he stared up at the sky. He glanced over at Dean, leaning back on his forearms and gazing at Sam with unreadable eyes. "What?"
Dean's lips quirked into a wry grin. "You ready to tell me what's been eating at you ever since we rolled into town?"
"What? Nothing. I'm fine." Internally, Sam cursed. He'd gone a little too hard with the protestations, and Dean knew it, too, his gaze narrowing. Sam hadn't realized his weird mood had been so obvious, but then again it was Dean. He'd always been a lot more observant than anybody gave him credit for, particularly when it came to Sam.
"Wanna try that again?" Dean asked. His tone was amused, but Sam could hear the thread of steel underneath. Dean was worried, which meant he wasn't gonna let Sam brush him off with placating denials. And honestly, it wasn't like it was some big secret that Sam was keeping from him. His brother just got… weird, whenever Sam mentioned Stanford. They both knew those years happened, but Dean never wanted to talk about what they'd done while they were living separate lives, and generally, neither did Sam. They were apart, and then they weren't. Whatever might have occurred in those intervening years, well… in the end, it didn't much matter.
But Dean had just asked point-blank what was up, and if Sam brushed him off now it'd turn into a whole damn thing, making a mountain of what was really only a bit of nostalgia.
"I've been here before," Sam said, pausing to take another drink of beer before clarifying. "Taos."
"Huh? No, we—" Dean began, and Sam saw the moment Dean realized Sam had said I not we, and if Sam had been here before it wasn't with him. His expression slid into something carefully blank; Sam smothered a sigh and prepared himself for a sulk. "Ah," Dean finally replied. "Stanford?"
As if there was any other time where they'd been apart long enough not to know exactly where the other one was. Sam nodded. "Freshman year. For ski season."
Dean's eyebrows flew up to his hairline. "Ski season was it? Well la-di-da. You stay in some rich chick's winter chalet and drink hot toddies by the fireplace?"
"God, I know," Sam said with a self-deprecating laugh. He'd pretty much thought the same thing when he'd been invited on the trip, baffled and a little derisive even as he'd also been secretly grateful and relieved, thinking maybe he'd actually pulled off the impossible in making people think he was normal enough to invite on ski trips. He cleared his throat, still smiling, though it was tinged with something darker, sadder, as he remembered. "Jess asked me."
"Oh." He could hear Dean take a long gulp from his bottle, like he wasn't quite sure what to say to that. Sam didn't blame him; neither of them were good at talking about their feelings.
"Yeah," Sam continued, preferring to dwell in the memory of the trip rather than the memory of Jess up on that ceiling. "A whole group of our friends were renting a house here over Thanksgiving. She knew I didn't have any plans"—Dean let out a pained noise at this, but it wasn't like they'd ever had a proper Thanksgiving growing up anyway—"and we'd been… talking. Flirting."
"You guys weren't, uh, together yet?"
Sam smiled to himself, remembering the way they'd danced around each other for months, Sam too nervous to make a move. "Nah, not yet. I was into her, obviously, but she'd just broken up with her asshole high school boyfriend, and I didn't want to just be the rebound. We were working up to it though, and then she invited me on this stupid ski vacation."
Dean gave Sam a proud, knowing smile as he pointed the mouth of his beer at Sam. "And you couldn't say no."
Sam huffed a laugh in agreement. "And I couldn't say no. Even though we'd never even looked at a pair of skis growing up."
"Was that your plan, then? Get a bit of one-on-one instruction, a little hot-for-ski-teacher action?"
Sam rolled his eyes, but it wasn't like Dean was wrong in general concept, just execution. "Man, how do you manage to make everything sound so sleazy?"
Dean grinned. "It's a gift. So… you get under her snowsuit?" He waggled his eyebrows and Sam rolled his eyes again, snorting as he punched Dean in the arm.
"Not even close. She ended up bailing on the trip at the last minute—her grandpa had a stroke and she went back home instead."
"Oh fuck, plot twist. And you still went?"
"Yeah, I mean, I'd already paid my share, so I figured, what the hell? See how the other half lives."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, sure, but damn. All that and you didn't even get to first base?"
"Well." Sam swallowed and looked back up at the stars. "Not with her."
"Sam! You dog!" Dean said, sounding far more delighted than he had any reason to. "Is that why you've been so weird and mopey? Feeling bad about remembering some chick that isn't Jess?"
"Not exactly."
They were both silent for a long moment, and apparently Dean was waiting for Sam to elaborate, because he let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Dude, clearly something's weighing on you, so just get it off your chest so you can move on."
"Seriously, Dean? You wanna braid each other's hair later, too? They're just memories, it's no big deal."
Dean's expression morphed, going from curious to genuinely pissed, probably because Sam was throwing Dean's usual stance on sharing and caring right back in his face. Dick move, but Dean didn't really know what he was asking for. Some things were better left buried.
"Riiight. Memories," Dean said, his voice dripping bitter condescension. "Well those memories almost got you dead."
Sam should have realized Dean was stewing over that close call, just waiting for a chance to berate him over it. "None of the lore mentioned how fucking fast they are! It's not like I was standing around with my thumb up my ass."
"It could have broken your neck."
"Yeah, well, it didn't. I'm fine. The chupacabra is dead, and this town will be eating our dust tomorrow. No harm, no foul."
Dean huffed and took a long pull from his beer. When he spoke, his voice was soft and shockingly sincere. "Seriously, man. You've been off since we got here and it's kinda freaking me out. Is it… do you miss it?"
Sam didn't have to ask what Dean meant. Did he miss Stanford? Did he miss the life he tried so hard to hold onto? If only Dean knew.
"That's not what this is about," Sam said, resigning himself to telling the rest of the story. Wondering if there was a way to do it that wouldn't reveal all his secrets. "Kind of the opposite."
"Care to share with the class." Sam drained his beer. Grabbed another. Dean raised his eyebrows. "Like that is it?"
Sam ignored him. "I ended up sharing a room with this guy—James—in the house we stayed in. He didn't go to Stanford so I didn't know him. I think he went to high school with a couple of the dudes on the trip and swung an invite."
"Okaaay." Dean was clearly thrown by what must have seemed a random change in direction, but he was the one who'd pushed for this.
"He was cool," Sam continued, trying to picture James in his mind for the first time in years and finding the image faded and blurry. "Reminded me of you."
"What, devastatingly handsome?"
Sam laughed. "He was alright. A redhead." That part wasn't relevant, but he knew Dean would be irrationally upset about being compared to a ginger, and sure enough, he made an outraged face that had Sam smothering another laugh. "It wasn't really because he looked much like you—he didn't, not really. He just… I don't know. Something about him was familiar. He was cool." Sam didn't usually click with people right away, too used to monitoring his every word in an effort not to give away too much about how he grew up, the things he knew about. He'd had to do that with James, too, but somehow it hadn't felt like as much work with him as it usually did. It had been the same with Jess. "Maybe because we were the only two people there that had ever needed to worry about money. Everybody else was nice, but… I didn't know any of the rules, you know? Never learned them. James was more comfortable around them than me, but it was clear he was a bit of an outsider." Sam had always had a soft spot for the outsiders. The freaks.
Dean was looking at him, a speculative gleam in his eyes and his head cocked slightly as he tapped his index finger against his beer bottle. "Sounds like this James dude really left a mark," he said, his voice a little too even, and Sam knew his brother too well not to hear what he was really asking, what he was assuming. They'd never really talked about it, with good reason, but Dean'd jumped to that particular conclusion too quickly for the thought not to have crossed his mind before. Like he usually was when it came to Sam, Dean was right. And he was wrong.
"He did, yeah," Sam agreed. "Though maybe not in the way you're thinking." Sam shrugged, sighed, looked back up at the stars. "Or maybe it was in the way you're thinking, but it's not the whole story."
Sam heard rustling and a moment later felt Dean settling in next to him on the outdoor bed. It was big enough for them both, but only just, and Sam's heart began to speed up as Dean's arm pressed against his, warm and solid. Sam glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but Dean's gaze was firmly directed towards the night sky.
"So tell me the story, then," Dean finally said after a long moment, so pointedly not looking at Sam that Sam couldn't help but smile. His big brother, trying his best to solicit a heart-to-heart and so clearly uncomfortable that it made Sam actually want to tell him.
"A bunch of us were in the hot tub, relaxing after spending the day skiing," Sam began before Dean immediately interrupted.
"Dude, I cannot believe you just said that sentence with a straight face."
Sam laughed and shoved his shoulder against Dean's. "Shut up. Do you wanna hear or not?"
"Yeah, yeah, okay," Dean agreed, his tone long-suffering. "But if anybody starts talking about their yacht in this story, I'm out."
"No yachts, promise." Not in this story anyway. Sam made a note to never tell Dean about Jessica's twenty-first birthday party. "Anyway, we were drinking—"
"As you should be."
"—And it was a full moon that night. The others were all talking and laughing, but I couldn't stop staring up at the moon."
"Okaaay."
But Sam was too lost in remembering that night to pay Dean's confusion any mind. The way the hot water had contrasted with the cold winter air, causing his skin to pebble; the sweet and sour tang of lime and tequila on his tongue from the cheap margarita mix they'd all been drinking all night; and how the moon had hung low and full in the sky overhead, inspiring in Sam an almost overwhelming longing, swift and sudden and debilitating.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," Sam confessed to Dean and the New Mexican night. Dean was never far from his thoughts, but he'd done his best at Stanford to push Dean down, to lock him up into a tidy box that said "Brother, Estranged" and never think of him. But that night Dean had burst free, letting loose all the messy, complicated yearning that Sam had tried so hard not to feel.
He heard Dean shift next to him, could practically feel Dean's gaze against his face, but Sam continued to look up at tonight's full moon. Fuck, his life had changed so much in the years since that night, and yet here he was, back in New Mexico beneath another full moon.
"Yeah?" Dean finally said, something in his voice Sam couldn't quite place. Was afraid to place.
"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "At that point I hadn't heard from you in four months—I didn't even know it was possible to go that long without seeing you, let alone not even talking…" How many nights had he stared at his phone, willing Dean to call, unable to make the first move, not with his reasons for leaving so fresh in his mind. "Up till then I'd kept myself busy, threw myself into school and tried to make the most of my choice, I guess. And that night… I don't know, I think it really hit me, that I was giving up more than just hunting. How much I missed you." Sam let out a self-deprecating chuckle and tried to breath through the shocking pain of remembrance. He could still recall exactly how it felt, the agony of indecision. "I'd had a couple margaritas, enough to make me sentimental, but there was this full moon in the sky, and all the girls kept going on about how beautiful it was, and all I could think about was you."
"Me?"
"You." Sam sighed. "Four months, and I had no clue where you were or if you were okay. If you were out there that night under the full moon hunting down a werewolf or a witch or any one of the evil things that could punch our ticket someday. I hated that I didn't know. That I was sitting in a hot tub with all these rich kids who had no clue what people like you sacrificed so they could go on ski vacations without a care in the world."
Sam took a long draft of his beer while Dean bored a hole in the side of his face, before saying quietly. "But you got over that."
No, he never got over it, just learned how to live with his choices, to accept the cost. Sam shrugged, not willing to get into that potential argument just now. "That night… All I could think about was you. Made for shitty company. I didn't realize that most everybody had cleared out of the hot tub while I was being all emo. Not until—"
Sam broke off, realizing what came next and unsure if he wanted to continue the story. He didn't know how to tell it without revealing some things that he wasn't sure either of them were ready to put out in the open. But Dean never met a button he didn't want to push, and Sam was feeling just reckless enough to let him do it.
"Come on, Sammy. You can't leave me hanging like that. What happened next?"
Sam breathed in. Remembered the taste of chlorine and tequila and a warm body pressing him against the side of the tub.
"James kissed me."
Even though Dean had obviously suspected as much, it was clear he was a little surprised—maybe that Sam said it so boldly; Sam hadn't struggled as much with his attraction to men the way Dean had with his. It was the specific man Sam was into that had him more frequently favoring women, desperate for the difference of soft curves and sweet perfume in the hope that it would stop him from comparing his partners to Dean and finding them lacking.
"Okay, so you made out with some dude in a hot tub, big whoop," Dean said, recovering his equilibrium and playing it cool. "Is that your big gay secret?"
Sam snorted. "Not quite. It was just that James reminded me of you. And I'd been thinking of you all night. And then he kissed me and it was… weird."
"Bad weird?"
"No. Not bad."
A long pause, and then, "He the first dude you kissed?"
Sam nodded. Not the first he'd wanted to kiss, but the first that had done anything about it.
"And did you…" Dean cleared his throat, and even without looking at him Sam could tell he was blushing. "Was that all you did? First base?"
"No, that's not all."
Dean was still, quiet. Sam couldn't tell what he was thinking, and when he spoke, his tone was impossible to read. "You fuck him?"
Sam didn't have it in him to be shocked at the question, or pissed at the presumption of it. "Yeah." Sam hesitated, then scolded himself for hesitating. He wasn't ashamed. Maybe he should have been, but he wasn't. "Eventually."
That caught Dean off guard. "Eventually?"
And no, Sam wasn't ashamed, but still, he felt the hot flush stain his cheeks. When he spoke, though, his voice was firm, clear. "Yeah. First, he fucked me."
Dean's stunned silence was deafening, so Sam focused on the sound of the light breeze rustling the prairie sage and the steady cricket song that hadn't let up since night had fallen. Dean shifted, and Sam didn't know why his first thought was that Dean was adjusting himself… Wishful thinking, perhaps. Something about New Mexico seemed to bring those long-buried feelings right up to the surface, made them impossible for Sam to ignore. But if Sam was a master at repression, Dean was the goddamn world champion.
"I—uh—didn't know you did that," Dean finally said, his voice a bit strangled, breathless.
"What, guys?"
"Well, yeah, that too. I mean, I kinda suspected but—um. I was talking about…"
Sam took pity on him. "Getting fucked."
Dean scratched at his cheek, stubble rasping beneath his fingernails. "Yeah. Guess I just assumed you'd…"
Dean trailed off, flushing, and Sam couldn't help but prod. "You thought about me like that?"
Dean spluttered, which was just as gratifying a reaction as Sam had hoped for, before Sam took pity once again.
"Yeah, I do. Sometimes. Not often. Not in a long time."
"You like it?
Sam wasn't sure if like was the right word. It was hot, and he got something out of it that he didn't always get from other kinds of sex, even if he wouldn't have said it was his favorite. Sometimes he wanted it, though. He'd wanted it that night, even if it hadn't really been about James, not truly.
"Yeah," Sam said, not sure he wanted to get into all the nuance. And then, because he was still Dean's little brother and couldn't help but poking him, just a little. "Don't you?"
Dean sucked in a breath, and Sam wasn't sure if he was shocked or offended or both. Sam was pretty sure Dean hadn't ever hooked up with a guy—not for lack of opportunity, or even lack of interest, because Sam'd noticed the speculative gleam in Dean's eye when a particularly handsome guy caught his gaze. Still, even if Dean hadn't ever let himself go there with a man, he went on enough about his wild sexual exploits with the ladies that Sam would honestly be shocked if none of those experienced women of his ever went for Dean's ass.
It was a very nice ass.
"I—I haven't—I've only been with women."
That was what Sam had expected, but he hadn't expected to hear the note of apology in Dean's voice, as if he were embarrassed to admit he'd not been brave enough to act on those urges they both knew he had. Sam was gonna ask if he'd really never even let a chick peg him, or at least slip some fingers in mid-blowie, but before he had a chance, Dean continued:
"What was it like? Your first time."
And that… was not what Sam had expected to hear. He'd already revealed more than he'd intended, and if he continued telling this particular story… well, it would be hard not to cross lines that were best left untouched. Dean should know better, but maybe whatever it was about this night that was making Sam feel reckless had infected him, too.
"We made out in the hot tub for a while. Until things started to, uh, escalate." James was a good guy, he'd have been fine if they'd stopped at kissing, but Sam'd had Dean on his mind and in his heart and he'd wanted more, wanted to chase the magic of the evening and deal with the consequences in the morning. "He said he wanted to blow me, then fuck me. Asked if he could. I said yes."
Dean let out a heavy breath. "Just like that?"
Sam shrugged, remembering how, with his eyes closed and thoughts of Dean playing like a symphony in Sam's mind, James's rough voice growling in his ear had sounded, just for a moment, like his brother's. Of course he'd said yes.
"Just like that." Sam drank down the last of his beer, cool, hoppy fizz on his tongue. "We went back to the room we were sharing, and I'd never fooled around with a guy before but James had, and he knew what he was doing." A different time, different guy, Sam would've felt self-conscious about his lack of experience, but that night—the whole weekend—with James had been so surreal, Sam could almost believe it was a dream. "It was a bit awkward at first, took longer than I expected before it felt good, but I got there."
Dean was silent, and Sam looked over at him, surprised to see Dean's gaze steady on him, eyes glinting in the darkness. Sam swallowed, feeling oddly like prey.
"What were you thinking about?" Dean asked, low and intense. "When he was fucking you, what were you—"
"Don't ask that, Dean," Sam cut him off before he could finish, lips pressed into a hard line as he gritted out, "You know."
Dean looked strangely triumphant, and Sam knew how this night would end. It was too late to turn back now, and he really didn't want to anyway. His stomach flipped as Dean spoke again. "You said he reminded you of me. How much?"
If Dean wasn't going to back down, neither would Sam. He met Dean's stare dead-on, kept his voice perfectly even, matter-of-fact, as he replied, "Enough that, at the end of the weekend, James kissed me goodbye and told me I should tell this Dean guy how I felt about him."
Dean took in a sharp breath like he'd been sucker-punched. Sounded like it, too. "You didn't take his advice."
Sam gave him a weary smile. "No, I didn't. I spent all weekend thinking about you. Wanting you and missing you, but I couldn't go back, that was why I couldn't go back. One of the reasons anyway. I didn't want to hunt, and I didn't want to want you, and I still thought I could be normal, have that apple-pie life. I went back to Palo Alto, and as soon as Jess got back from her grandparents' I asked her out."
Sam wondered if he knew then what he knew now, if he'd make a different choice. Maybe Jess would still be alive. Maybe their dad would be, too. But there was no way to know for sure, and Sam saw first-hand with their dad what living a life of what-ifs and regret could do to a person.
"Do you still want that?" Dean asked.
"What? Jess? Normal? You?"
"Any of it."
Sam looked at Dean and knew they were on the precipice, on the verge of tipping over and tumbling into the abyss. Nothing had happened yet—it could still be dismissed as drunken teasing and exaggeration, easily buried with the rest of the things they never talked about. Sam could turn back from the ledge, steer them back down safer roads. That's what he should do.
Instead, Sam jumped.
"I'm still here, aren't I?"
Dean took it for the invitation it was, though a part of Sam was still surprised when Dean leaned over and kissed him. Dean was brave, fearless bordering on reckless when it came to facing down monsters and demons, but he'd always been careful with Sam, with the unnamed and unacknowledged thing that simmered between them. Even with Sam all but giving him the green light, Sam couldn't quite allow himself to believe that anything would actually happen, that Dean would take the leap with him. Maybe it was the beer, or some lingering jealousy over James, or maybe it was this perfect New Mexican summer night, lying beneath the stars in some rich person's bungalow, a little glimpse of the kind of life neither of them would ever have.
Sam's empty beer bottle slipped from his hand as Dean pressed him back against the daybed, rolling off the cushions and shattering against the cobblestones. In the back of his mind, Sam made a mental note to watch out for broken glass later, after, but the thought didn't last long, obliterated by the skillful glide of Dean's lips against his own.
A lifetime of living in extremely close quarters meant Sam had seen Dean in pretty much every situation imaginable. He'd seen him seducing pretty girls at bars, watched him kiss and fondle and flirt, pretended to be asleep while Dean fucked his latest conquest in the next bed. But seeing was a whole different ballgame from experiencing, and as annoying as the realization was, it was clear Dean's cockiness when it came to sex wasn't entirely unearned. Sam's big brother knew how to kiss, the slow sweeps of his tongue making Sam's toes curl in his boots. He spread his legs so that Dean could settle more firmly between his thighs, slotting them together from mouth to groin.
He was hard—had been since he started his ill-advised trip down memory lane—but more shocking was the fact that Dean was hard too. His brother was hard. Because of Sam. It was a heady realization, and Sam moaned into Dean's mouth as he ran his fingers through short, surprisingly soft hair. He wondered if this was all that was on the menu for tonight, a bit of kissing, maybe some dry humping. Sam wouldn't exactly be disappointed if that were the case—it was more than he'd ever had of Dean before—but if he could get it, he wanted more. He wanted everything with Dean, always had, but stirring up those half-forgotten memories of his other life had awakened a particular itch that hadn't been scratched in far too long.
Sam slid his hands down Dean's broad back and then up under his shirt, digging his fingers into firm flesh. He loved the way Dean felt, the full weight of him pressing Sam down against the cushions, the skin of his back warm beneath Sam's fingertips. Sam wanted more, wanted to feel Dean everywhere, fuse their bodies together until they were one. He slid his hands up Dean's spine, taking the fabric with them, until Dean made a frustrated sound against his mouth and pulled away, sitting back on his heels between Sam's thighs and stripping off his shirt, tossing it into the darkness. Sam stared up at him, the full moon illuminating the cuts and contours of his pecs and abs, the swell of his biceps, the stark black of his anti-possession tattoo. His eyes looked black too, not demon-black, but blown out with lust and desire, his expression so hungry it made Sam's stomach ache.
"Take off your jeans, too," Sam said, his gaze lingering on Dean's obvious bulge, wanting to see, to taste.
Dean hesitated, and for a moment Sam wondered if he went too far, if he'd ruined it, but then Dean was licking his lips, fingers toying with his waistband.
"You, too, Sammy. You're looking a little overdressed."
Thank fuck the night was pleasantly cool—Sam knew how quick the temperature could drop at night in the desert, but tonight the air was almost warm, though maybe that was just the white-hot desire blazing between them. Doing his best not to dislodge Dean, Sam stripped off his shirt before undoing his fly, beating back the frisson of self-consciousness as he kicked off his boots, then shoved down his jeans and boxers. There was no way to smoothly take them off while sprawled out on the daybed, so he aimed for quick efficiency, hoping that Dean was too distracted with his own logistics to totally lose his hard-on watching Sam flail like a dying fish trying to escape his clothes.
No such luck—by the time they were both naked, Dean was smirking down at him with obvious amusement, though at least he hadn't lost his erection, his dick hard and flushed as it bobbed in the summer night air. Dean opened his mouth, no doubt to give Sam shit about his distinct lack of grace and coordination, but Sam had better uses for Dean's mouth. Before he had a chance to say a single bitchy word, Sam reached up and pulled Dean down on top of him, swallowing any possible snark with a hungry kiss.
Dean easily shifted gears, kissing Sam back with an eagerness that made Sam's stomach flip. It was still a little surreal, that he was actually kissing Dean, that all of this was truly happening. He wondered what the repercussions would be—he wasn't naïve enough to think there wouldn't be any, especially with how well he knew his brother. But that was a problem to deal with tomorrow in the harsh light of day. For tonight, he was taking everything he could get.
"What do you want?" Dean asked, his voice a low rumble as he nibbled on Sam's ear. Sam gasped.
"You got stuff?" Sam knew what he wanted, but he hadn't exactly planned for this, and he wasn't one to keep an emergency supply of lube and condoms on his person at all times.
Dean pulled back and looked down at him with wide, luminous eyes. "Inside," he said, and his voice was just a little shaky. "Don't want to wait that long."
"Nothing in your wallet?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow. He tsked. "Disappointing."
Dean snorted, lips twitching into an amused smile. "I've got a condom, lubricated. But, uhh… I'd definitely need more than that. Like, a whole river of lube at least."
Sam gave him a wolfish smile. "I don't." He gave Dean a quick peck. "Get the condom."
Dean scrambled, twisting and bending over the side of the daybed to rummage around for his jean's pocket, pulling the condom out of his wallet with a triumphant, "Hah!" Sam shivered when Dean turned back to him, spread his legs wider so Dean could slot between them, foil packet pinched between his fingers.
"You sure, man?"
Sam nodded. "I don't need much prep, that should be plenty." He smirked up at Dean. "Don't worry, when it's your turn I'll do it nice and slow, baby."
"Oh, fuck you," Dean snarled as he tore open the condom and slid it on his dick. But Sam didn't miss his subtle shiver, the way his cock had twitched and his breath had caught. Dean liked the idea of Sam taking him. Sam liked it too—a lot—but tonight he wanted Dean inside him. If they didn't get a next time, he wanted to have Dean like this, at least once.
Dean used his fingers to scrape the rest of the lube from the condom wrapper, smearing the bit of excess against Sam's rim. Sam gasped and forced himself to relax, and when Dean pressed against him with a single finger, he slid inside with little resistance. It had been a long damn time since Sam had been fucked by anybody, but his ass had always been sensitive, and he often indulged in a bit of ass play when he had the time and privacy, mostly on nights when Dean was out getting drunk and getting laid. He even had a slim, discreet vibrator that he'd buried at the bottom of his bag, though he'd only used it a handful of times, too paranoid about the noise or having Dean walk in on him. Still, the regular attention meant that he really wasn't lying when he said he didn't need much prep, and after a few pleasant thrusts of Dean's finger, Sam clenched down and bucked. Dean laughed.
"Yeah, yeah, okay, hold your horses." Dean slid his finger out and moments later the head of his dick was right there, blunt and fleshy as he pressed against Sam's rim. It was more stretch and pressure than Sam was used to, but he welcomed the burn, pushing out to help ease the way as Dean slowly sank inside. He kept his eyes on Dean's face the whole time, watching with a smug satisfaction as Dean's mouth opened with heavy, panting breaths, his eyes going glassy with pleasure as he focused on Sam's ass. Sam wondered what he looked like to Dean, the rim of his hole stretching wide around Dean's cock, Sam's big body splayed out for Dean to enjoy. He was pretty sure if the roles were reversed he'd come within seconds of feeling Dean's tight heat—he'd need to work on his stamina beforehand to avoid embarrassment if he was ever allowed to return the favor.
They were both panting by the time Dean was all the way in, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at Sam with something like awe. It made Sam feel powerful, invincible, and he tugged Dean down, smashing their lips together in a hungry kiss before growling, "Move," against Dean's lips.
Dean didn't need telling twice, starting up a slow, slightly tentative, rhythm at first, feeling Sam out, before quickly picking up the pace. Sam wrapped his ankles around Dean's calves, grounding himself as Dean's dick moved inside of him. He was so fucking full. Full and taken while pressure built up inside of him, making his dick ache and his hands twitch against Dean's bare back. He felt wild with it, like pure energy was coursing through his veins, making him want to buck and scream and scratch as he vented out the primal pleasure of fucking. Sam was barely even conscious of his fingers digging into the expanse of Dean's shoulders, his nails scratching down Dean's back as Dean took him.
Dean hissed, then moaned, fucking Sam harder as Sam's nails dug into his flesh. Sam wondered if he was getting off on the pain, or if the sting was just encouraging him to finish faster so Sam would stop scratching him up, but right now he didn't really care. All he cared about was coming, preferably soon, his dick so hard it was almost painful.
"Fuck, Sam," Dean gasped as Sam's nails reached the base of his spine. "You're close, right? Tell me you're close, man."
Sam was close, his belly tensing and dick leaking as his climax raced towards him like Baby zooming down an empty stretch of highway. Even better, Dean was clearly close, close enough that he was worried about crossing that finish line first, which was hot as hell. Just to test, Sam slid his hands down to cup Dean's ass, before digging his nails hard into those firm, biteable cheeks.
Dean's moan was porn-star filthy, as was the look he gave Sam as he fucked into him hard in retaliation.
"You dirty cheater," Dean growled, his thrusts growing frantic as Sam scratched up his ass.
"Didn't know"—Sam gasped as Dean ground his dick against Sam's prostate—"you were such a masochist."
"I'll show you mosochist," Dean muttered, which didn't make a lick of sense, but then Dean wrapped a hand around Sam's dick while doing his best to fuck him through the daybed, and nothing made sense anymore except the burning need to come.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck," Sam groaned as his cock erupted, spilling over Dean's fist and all over Sam's belly. He clenched down hard on Dean's thrusting dick, and Dean swore. He fucked into Sam a half a dozen more times before seating himself deep, his expression scrunching up in what was undoubtedly his O-face. He looked ridiculous, but Sam was too strung out on endorphins to give him shit for it—he'd reserve that for the next time Dean annoyed him.
Dean pulled out slowly, though not so slow that Sam didn't wince when he finally slipped out. His asshole felt loose and tender and not-quite-right—it was always his least favorite part of getting fucked, those post-coital moments where Sam felt that ridiculous worry that his asshole would never tighten back up. Luckily he was distracted by Dean, who was tying off the condom and tossing it onto the cobblestones beneath them, before collapsing next to Sam on the daybed. He let out a surprised breath when he landed on his back, and Sam swore.
"Shit, roll over, let me see your back."
Dean glared at him. "Sam, I was attacked by a chupacabra like four hours ago. I think I can handle your pansy-ass scratching."
"Pansy-ass scratching?"
Dean smirked at him. "You think this is the first time I've fucked somebody so good they've dug into me? Ain't my first rodeo, Sammy."
"Yeah, I figured," Sam said, leaning over Dean and grinning down at him, pleased at Dean's sudden wariness. "Seeing how much you got off on it."
Dean flushed, then scoffed. "Whatever. What I got off on was how tight you were."
Sam hummed. "That, too." He trailed a hand down Dean's side, cupping his hip. "Think you're tighter."
"Wouldn't you like to find out?"
Sam stared at Dean, letting the truth shine through as he replied, "Yeah, I would."
Dean's flush spilled down his throat. Fuck, he was pretty. His beautiful big brother.
He was also starting to look a bit like a caged animal, eyes darting around warily, and Sam wasn't sure if it was anxiety over the thought of being fucked, or if the enormity of what they'd just done together—what Sam wanted to do again—was finally hitting him. Sam decided to back off… for now.
"Seriously, man. Let's go inside so I can check those scratches." Dean opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but Sam didn't let him. "I get it, you're a big strong hunter, so it would be really embarrassing if you got an infection from some sex scratches because you were too proud to let me put some damn ointment on them."
Dean heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Fine, if it'll stop your nagging."
Sam snorted as he slid off the daybed and leaned down to pick up his clothes, making sure to give Dean a good look at his dick as he stretched. "Eh, I didn't say that." He grinned and jerked his head towards the bungalow. "Come on, I'll even get you another beer, you big baby."
"Get me two!" Dean called after him as Sam made his way towards the house, leaving Dean behind to scramble for his clothes.
"Don't forget to grab the condom! Don't want to leave our DNA as proof of who broke in," Sam called back, grinning as Dean swore and began searching in the dark.
Sam looked up at the moon one last time before heading inside, hanging full and bright in the New Mexico sky. He thought of all the full moons they'd spent together hunting evil, and the ones they'd spent apart while Sam chased a dream he could barely remember having. He used to hate the full moon as a kid, hated it for the way it seemed to bring dark and dangerous creatures out of the woodwork, disrupting any chance of stability while he worried and waited for his family to come home safe and sound.
He looked back at Dean, naked and grumbling to himself as he gathered up his clothes, skin pale and glowing in the bright moonlight. Sam smiled.
He didn't mind the full moon so much anymore.