The bright afternoon sun is shining through the windshield onto Mr. Brennen’s spell book on his lap. Sam runs his finger along the worn binding, consumed with thoughts about the leprechaun and his offer. He cycles through the pros and cons of paying a price to one of the Fae in order to retrieve his soul. At the basis of it all is whether he really needs the damn thing. What’s a soul really for? Just so he can be ‘him’ again, according to Dean. Or so he can be a less efficient hunter? There’s got to be some damage to the thing at this point, right? And what would the leprechaun ask for as his boon? Mr. Brennen had ended up losing his first-born to the fairies, and Sam knows he doesn’t have anything like that, he has nothing that would be enough to pay for his soul. So maybe that would be a good deal after all, one he’d never have to pay.
“You’re gonna burn up your brain thinkin’ that hard,” Dean says, grinning over at him with his sunglasses on, and man it is so much harder to figure out what he means when Sam can’t see his eyes. Maybe this is where it matters, having a soul? Maybe that’s what Dean means that he’s not ‘him’. He remembers the unspoken language they used to communicate in, how it had frustrated everyone else. And that’s gone, but the empty space meant for it is still there inside Sam; maybe that’s where his soul would normally be.
Sam now wishes he’d taken that beer when Dean had offered it back in the cornfield and maybe a few more. A little alcohol might have taken the edge off of all this useless contemplation about souls and the relative merits of having one. The conversation they’d just had on the hood of the Impala, where he’d told Dean he had turned down the leprechaun’s offer to retrieve his soul runs on a loop in his mind whether he likes it or not. “It was a deal. When is a deal ever a good thing?"
He mercilessly catalogs all the deals they’ve made in the past, the bad guys they’ve persuaded themselves they had to work with, out of ‘necessity’. The taste of Ruby’s blood still burns in his memory along with the sight of Dean’s amulet in Castiel’s palm. There’s always a tradeoff, always an unseen cost to any of those deals, especially with non-humans. Some of these arrangements have worked out, some not so much. And they can never realistically see all the ramifications of making a deal ahead of time. Sometimes that’s where Dean’s brashness has gotten them into trouble, or occasionally made them come out ahead. Overthinking things has always been Sam’s go-to mode of operations though, and now that he’s soulless it seems to be the best way to proceed.
Dean makes one of those completely annoying hey-don’t-forget-I’m-next-to-you noises and it reminds Sam of what he hasn’t yet considered here in this internal conversation. It’s not just about him and his soul anymore. Because if he’s sticking with Dean and hunting with him, then he needs Dean at his best (whatever that is now) to ensure his own survival. Sam reconsiders, because the toll working for Crowley is having on Dean is so evident no matter how hard Dean tries to disguise it; that and worrying about the whereabouts of his little brother and hunting partner’s soul. Sam sighs and thinks about how much easier it was to work with his grandfather and cousins. Not so much drama, more freedom, but there was something so vital missing before he even knew about his soul being gone, and that was Dean.
Sam thinks about those long months spent with that annoying tic-tock of DeanDeanDean running through his mind, no matter what he was doing. He’d tried so hard to ignore it, to spend his time hunting, fighting or fucking, and it never went away. Before he’d gotten back with Dean he’d thought it would just be the way it was for however long he ending up living. There would be this basic un-met need he’d never fulfill, it was so ingrained into him, that it didn’t even need his soul to still be there. Dean is a necessary part of him, and like it or not, he has to work with that as part of the decision making process.
Dean pulls over after driving just for a couple of hours, and that’s when Sam knows something is really wrong with his brother. They’ve only made it as far as barely over the border out of Indiana, into Illinois on the edge of a town called Danville. There’s always been this unwritten rule that when they finish a case they at the very least hightail it out of that state. Superstition maybe, because it sure wouldn’t help as far as law enforcement goes. Dean’s obviously been running on autopilot during this drive, but somehow he’s found them a small motel, just barely in their price range. Sam will never understand how Dean manages this feat at nearly every stop they ever make. He comes back to the car from paying for a night with their room keys and Dean isn’t impatiently waiting with their bags, he’s crashed out on the front seat. Maybe he should have insisted on driving after all—he’s lucky Dean didn’t kill them both.
Sam hoists him out of there as carefully as he can, knowing that Dean likely hasn’t fessed-up to all of his injuries. Sure enough, his brother groans the most when he’s touched anywhere near the rib cage, and the bruises and knots on his head are spectacular under the sodium lights of the parking lot. Sam catches himself staring, examining, calculating, and gets on with finding their room and making Dean as comfortable as possible without hospital-serious painkillers.
A couple extra nights in the same place won’t kill them, at least that’s what Sam convinces a pretty out-of-it Dean. He pays for two more nights and grabs them some supplies from the local gas-station/mini-mart. After a few nights of researching the details and ramifications of fairy deals while Dean tries to sleep and recover from the brutal red hat beating, Sam convinces himself it’s worth it to take the chance. The thing that decides him is Dean’s response to being taken care of while he recuperates. His brother looks at him with this soft gratefulness that makes Sam’s skin itch and ache to be touched. It’s not the mechanical bodily satisfaction he’s come to anticipate with the women he’s slept with; it’s something else, something deeper.
As Dean slips into yet another fitful doze, Sam methodically searches through his memories for something to help explain that itchy feeling and finds a deeply buried and intensely repressed desire for his brother. It’s always been there, hiding in plain sight, woven through all the memories of learning how his body worked. He’s never told anyone about it, but he puts it all together and is astonished to find he never really admitted it to himself how much he wants and needs Dean, but there’s more to it beyond that. Sam may not have a soul right now, but he recognizes he’s irrevocably in love with his brother. Which of course, explains the DeanDeanDean when he’d first been brought back from Hell that he could never understand.
Dean wakes up when Sam is trying to get him to drink some lukewarm Gatorade from a plastic cup. His eyes open, sticky and bleary and he tries to focus on his brother’s face. “Thanks, Sammy,” he slurs.
“You need another pain pill?” Sam asks.
“No…don’t wanna,” Dean says, and he hates how young and pouty he sounds. But if being beaten up by an asshole fairy doesn’t entitle him to a few down days, he doesn’t know what does.
Sam smiles down at him, and it’s almost his Sam’s real smile. So close to the real thing, it twists something in his heart, remembering what’s missing. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because I love you, Dean,” Sam says, face serious as a lit-up engine failure light on the Impala dashboard.
Dean shakes his head and lets his eyes refocus on Sam’s face, waiting to see the smirk or wink he knows is coming. This version of Sam must be fucking with him, because he doesn’t know, he can’t know. He’s Robo-Sam, right? “Come again?”
“I love you, Dean,” Sam repeats, those soul-less eyes of his still managing to twinkle with a heart-breaking familiarity.
Dean closes his own eyes and figures he must be dreaming, maybe a concussion or a hallucination. “I know,” Dean finally says in his best Han Solo voice.
“You do? I was sure that I hadn’t ever told you. But it’s true, I do love you in every way possible,” Sam says, the surprise in his voice making Dean open his eyes. He searches Sam’s face, looking for the lie, the gotcha has got to be coming soon.
“I meant that in the Star Wars, Han Solo way…oh never mind. ‘m goin’ back to sleep now,” Dean says, making his voice as sleepy as possible. He struggles to put on the most convincing performance of being asleep he can manage because he needs some time to process this.
Soulless has told him that he has access to all of Sam’s memories and feelings, so he’s either telling the truth because he doesn’t understand what it really means, or he’s made some calculation that this is what Dean wants or needs to hear. And yeah, it totally is, Dean admits to himself. It’s pretty much exactly what he’s always wanted to hear his brother say. But not like this, not from this empty shell of Sam. If it’s true, that his Sam loved him like he’d always hoped and wished for…then it’s even worse that the real Sam’s not all here.
Dean imagines Sam’s soul twisting and writhing on the rack in Hell, all too familiar sounds and scents washing over him. He hears Alistair’s encouragement to take Sam apart again. He hears Michael and Lucifer cheer him on, leering in the shadows of the Cage. Dean cuts and slices and Sam screams and cries and bleeds and it’s so good, it’s so perfect. He sees it all there in Sam’s core, the love he always knew was there. Just as deeply buried as his own love for Sam is, in the same places, wrapped up in the same memories of their lives together. Their souls are forever joined, stained black in identical patterns. He screams as Sam’s soul is ripped away by Lucifer and Michael’s claws, and he tries to fight them, but Sam’s blood covers him, seeps in way down deep to where he’s the thirstiest and fills him to overflowing. He wakes to Sam’s hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.
“Hey, Dean, wake up, you’re having a nightmare,” Sam says in that voice he probably thinks is reassuring and soothing.
Dean twists away from the thing wearing his brother like a Halloween costume, rolls as far away across the bed as he can, and wraps his arms around himself, hissing at the pain of his broken ribs. The images of the nightmare roll through on the screen of his closed eyelids, and he just wants to die right then and there. It can’t possibly get any worse than this, can it?
“Here, have another one of these, it’ll help you sleep deeper. I think the pain must be waking you up. I mean…you’re having nightmares again,” Sam says, handing him one of their pain pills, the big ones they save for broken bones.
Dean takes it and gulps it down with the plastic cup full of water without saying anything. What can he say? I’m sorry I love you too. So much that I never could tell you back when it would have mattered. The pain and loss of something he never had pushes him back into sleep, deeper down where it can’t reach him. He doesn’t notice how wet his pillow is from his tears, or how his brother gently wipes them from his cheeks.
Sam brings his fingertips up to his mouth, licking Dean’s tears off, the deep emptiness inside him throbbing so violently he almost throws up. The need for Dean to be okay isn’t just a calculated requirement, it’s much more basic than that. The salty taste of his brother’s tears reminds him that they are bound together on an elemental level. Their blood, sweat and tears come from the same place. Even though he lacks a soul, he finally recognizes the need to at least try to get it back. For Dean’s sake more than for his, he has to try.
The spell ingredients are all easy to find in the Impala’s trunk. Sam draws the summoning circle design on the linoleum floor of the kitchenette and re-checks the wording of the spell in Brennen’s book. He doesn’t care what the leprechaun will ask him to give, as there isn’t much of a chance he’ll ever have a kid for the fairies to take. He looks over at Dean’s sleeping form one last time, reassuring himself that it’s worth the chance.
He casts the spell and the leprechaun appears with a shimmering pop, like a soap bubble bursting. This time he’s wearing a snazzy tailored green coat containing seven perfectly even rows of seven shiny buttons marching up and down the front of it.
“You again? I just got done with counting your damn salt,” the leprechaun says with a frown.
“I would like to accept your offer, to get my soul back,” Sam says, standing up straighter so that he’s looking down on the shiny top of the leprechaun’s balding head.
The leprechaun cranes his neck back to look up at Sam. “You can’t be serious! Why in the world would I do that for you now?”
“I thought you said that you like to mess around with the angels,” Sam says.
“I do, you are certainly right about that. Okay then, do you agree to the terms?” the leprechaun asks.
“I’ll owe you one boon, right? At some point in the future?” Sam asks.
“Correct, I will determine the boon and the time I collect it. You will have no warning,” the leprechaun says.
“I accept the terms,” Sam says.
“Well then, I will be right back with your soul,” the leprechaun says with a horrible smile that shows off his crooked, sharp teeth. The buttons on his jacket clink together with a musical tinkle as he disappears with another quiet pop.
It doesn’t seem like more than five minutes goes by. Sam spends them pacing back and forth in the motel room, not anxious or hopeful, just determined to get through whatever comes next. The leprechaun returns with that little popping noise. This time he’s holding a glass vessel in both hands, cradled up against his chest, glass clinking against all those buttons. The glow of whatever is contained in the jar is hard to look at or describe, but Sam feels instantly drawn to it, a wave of possessive fury hitting him. That’s mine.
“That was quick,” Sam says. He stops his pacing and takes a deep breath to calm down that strange possessive anger. He steps closer to the leprechaun, hoping to see what he’s got in the jar. Is that really what his soul looks like? Mineminemine is all he can think and feel.
“Here you go, Sam,” the leprechaun says, scooping the impossible brightness out with one hand, which he immediately thrusts deep into Sam’s belly. It seems like his hand goes all the way into his guts and Sam feels a warmth return along with the pain of being invaded. The warmth floods through his system, and he feels the leprechaun’s hand retreat. There is a brief moment of relief, but then with a catastrophic burst, the memories of Hell that his soul has experienced descend upon him.
The last thing Sam sees and hears clearly is the leprechaun laughing at him as he collapses to the floor. The asshole stands there watching him go crazy pretty much instantly. ‘I guess this is his revenge for having had to pick up all the salt,’ Sam thinks before he succumbs to the ravages of his memories of Hell.
When Dean is woken up by Sam’s screams, he has no clue what has just happened. All he knows is that Sam is writhing on the floor, incoherent and screaming.
“Sam! What the hell’s going on?” Dean yells, trying to hold onto Sam’s thrashing body. Sam knocks him back against the bed and he almost passes out from the pain from his broken ribs. Sam is screaming in some language that Dean can’t make out and flailing with fists and kicking feet. He reluctantly knocks Sam out with a well-aimed punch and manages to tie him up to the bed. The silence is awful because he can see Sam’s body is still fighting with itself, rigid and twitching.
He looks around the room and sees the summoning circle chalked on the floor. He finds Mr. Brennen’s spell book open to a fairy summoning spell, along with the ingredients that Sam left out on the motel room’s rickety table. It doesn’t take him too long to figure out what Sam has done.
“Sammy, why didn’t you tell me what you were trying? What the hell did they do to you?” he asks his now silent brother.
Sam doesn’t answer either question, he just moans and shivers, arm muscles knotted up solidly, pulling against the rope Dean has him secured with.
Dean reads through the spell again and thinks about what Sam’s probably done here. It’s got to be the deal he’d mentioned that afternoon. The leprechaun dude offering to bring back Sam’s soul from Hell. Sam’s gone and gotten his soul back from the guy after all, even though he’d said it would have to be a bad deal, and questioned the actual need for having a soul. Dean remembers how chilled he’d been at that thought, that Robo-Sam would refuse to even try. What had changed? He rubs at his eyes and feels the crust from his dried tears, and remembers what Sam had said to him before he’d last fallen asleep. It was the truth, and even soul-less, Sam has tried this because he knew what the love between them could mean.
Realizing the reason Sam took such a drastic course decides things for Dean. He is going to get the leprechaun to come back and fix Sam. The dude had probably just slammed the torn-up soul back into his brother without any repair work. You had to be careful with the wording of deals with fairies, it was in all the fairy stories he’d ever read to Sam. He redraws the summoning circle and casts the spell. The leprechaun appears with a wide grin of surprisingly sharp teeth on his face and his arms crossed over a chest full of shiny buttons on his green coat.
“Well, that certainly took longer than I thought it would,” the leprechaun says, eyes twinkling with malicious delight.
“I need you to fix him,” Dean says, pointing at Sam tied to the bed, straining against the rope, his eyes closed tight, mouth open in a silent scream.
“What is it you will offer me in return if I were to entertain such a request?” the leprechaun asks.
“A boon, like you did with Mr. Brennen and Sam I guess,” Dean says.
“A boon of my choice and at my time of choosing,” the leprechaun says, leaning forward with an eager grin.
Dean takes a second to think about it again, he figures he will never ever have a chance to have a kid of his own, and given how things went with Ben, he probably shouldn’t be trusted with one. Besides, and most importantly, Sam is the main thing, always has been, always will be. “Yes, I agree,” Dean says.
The leprechaun nods and approaches Sam’s bed, standing next to Dean. He bends over Sam, moving his hands above his belly in complicated patterns that Dean can’t really follow, hopefully whatever he’s doing is really fixing Sam. Dean watches his movements and sees one of the buttons on the leprechaun’s coat barely dangling by a thread. It shines and shimmers and takes his attention away from the pain that Sam is in as his soul is repaired. He remembers something about fairies’ buttons being useful so he stealthily pulls it off and pockets the thing without the leprechaun noticing.
Standing up and stretching his short arms over his head, cracking his neck, the leprechaun smiles up at Dean. “He is fixed now. He’ll need to sleep a few hours I’d imagine. Pleasure doing business with you, Dean. I’ll be seeing both of you later.”
Before Dean can say anything, the leprechaun pops out of the room, reminding Dean of the noise Sam would make when he’d blow a big bubble of chewing gum when he went through that annoying phase when he was six or seven.
He sits on the bed next to Sam and runs his hand over the mess of his brother’s long hair, rearranging it until it’s out of his closed eyes. Sam’s chest moves up and down as he takes the slow breaths of a restful, painless sleep. Dean puts his hand over Sam’s heart and feels it beating, nice and strong. He prays that Sam will wake up and be okay. “Please, please, just let him be okay now.”
Castiel pops into the room with that feathery rustle and stands next to the bed. He tilts his head to one side, examining the two brothers. One is deeply asleep and one is in terrible pain. “Dean, what have you done?”
Dean looks up at him in surprise. He always forgets that any kind of prayer is like a CB call to the angels. “We…had a leprechaun bring Sam’s soul back. And he fixed him. I hope. Can you check him?”
Castiel rolls his eyes and lays a hand on Sam’s belly, testing to see if the soul is indeed back where it belongs. He nods and tries his best to smile when he sees Dean’s worry.
“Your brother should be fine now. His soul is back, and it is whole. I don’t know how this leprechaun managed it.”
“He said he had another way around things that you angels didn’t know. Thanks, Cas,” Dean says with a relieved smile.
Cas waves a hand over Dean and heals him of his own injuries. “You are welcome, Dean. I hope that whatever the fairies take from you will be worth it.”
“Worth not having my brother’s soul in the Cage with Lucifer for eternity? Yeah, whatever it is will be worth it.”
Castiel shrugs with that blank look on his face and blinks out of the room, leaving Dean to realize that eternity is probably not a big deal to an angel, much less the whereabouts of one’s soul since Cas doesn’t have one of his own.
Sam sleeps the whole night through, hardly moving at all. Dean wraps himself around his brother and tries to get some rest too, but all he can do is worry that Sam won’t be Sam when he wakes up. He tries to imagine how much worse it could be, because Sam without a soul was bad enough. If the leprechaun screwed him up even worse, Dean swears to himself that he’ll find a way to rip that little guy apart.
In the early morning, while Sam is still asleep, he takes the button he swiped out of his pocket and examines it under the bedside lamplight. There are markings that could be words or maybe pictures, he can’t quite make them out.
“Dude, what’re you looking at?” Sam asks.
Dean drops the button on the table, flips off the lamp and rolls over to face his brother. “Sam? Is it really you?”
“Yeah, finally, it’s all me,” Sam says.
“I can’t believe it! It fucking worked,” Dean says, sitting up, hands running all over his brother, as if he needs to be checked for injuries.
“But it didn’t though, at least not at first. I collapsed on the floor over there, but now I’m tied up. What happened?” Sam pulls at the rope holding him to the bed.
Dean quickly undoes the knots and gathers Sam into a hug. He finally answers into Sam’s shoulder. “You idiot, I woke up and you were screaming and thrashing on the floor. Must have been the Hell memories coming back all at once when the leprechaun re-installed your soul. I had to knock you out because you were going to hurt yourself or me.”
“What else though, Dean? Nothing could have fixed that,” Sam asks, trying to push Dean away so he can see his face.
“I summoned him back, the leprechaun, okay? Got him to fix you,” Dean says, mesmerized by the light he can see behind Sam’s eyes. It’s really really my Sam.
“Why?” Sam asks in a whisper, eyes widening in surprise.
“Because you…you were soulless, and you didn’t even really want your soul back. But you went and risked everything, dealing with the fairies again just to get it because I told you that you needed it. You were trying so hard to figure out your memories of your feelings and it wasn’t fair that they’d leave you like that, not after everything you did, saving the whole world,” Dean says all in a breathless rush.
Dean watches Sam smile as he probably fills in for himself what Dean has left out. Dean always forgets how damn smart his brother is.
“Is it because of what I told you last night?” Sam asks, arms tightening around Dean.
“Yeah, that too,” Dean says, unable to stop himself, but not caring because it’s Sam, his Sam right here in his arms.
“Dean, can I tell you again? Now that I’m all here?” Sam asks, hesitantly searching Dean’s face.
Dean nods, transfixed by the slow smile forming on Sam’s beautiful lips.
“I love you, Dean, in all the ways there are possible.”
Dean closes his eyes and lets the words sink into his heart. Finally hearing them said out loud, when Sam can really mean them is almost too much, no it’s everything. He opens his eyes to see Sam looking at him with real worry. And that’s not okay, not when what’s between them is lying there sparkling in the morning light, waiting to be picked up and acted on.
Dean leans in the last few inches and kisses Sam soft and slow. He holds Sam close and feels his brother melt into him. Pulling back for a little breath, he meets Sam’s eyes and finally says the words he’s always wanted to say out loud, “I love you too, Sammy.”
Sam smiles at him, shy and somehow even more beautiful. He wraps Dean up in those long, strong arms of his and Dean has never felt more safe, or at home than he does then. They fall back on the bed and hold each other, taking turns touching faces, running hands through hair and kissing for what feels like hours. It’s never been like this, not with anyone else, slow and inevitable, powerful and overwhelmingly right.
Sam rolls over Dean and flips on the light. They’ve been napping and making out for so long the room has gotten dark and gloomy in the corners. The light catches on something shiny sitting on the lamp table—it has a strange glow that’s hard to ignore. He picks up the leprechaun’s button and holds it out to Dean. “What the heck is this?”
“Oh, that’s a button I snagged off the leprechaun when he was fixing you,” Dean says. “Thought it might come in handy at some point.”
“Yeah, it probably will since we’ve both gone ahead and made a deal with one of them. But you’d know better than me since you were in Oberon’s court, right?”
“It’s kinda hazy, I don’t remember a whole lot from the time I was there,” Dean says, turning away from Sam.
That’s when Sam knows something bad happened while Dean was captured by the Fae. “If there’s something you need to talk about, you know you can tell me. I know for me it’s hard to get past stuff without ever talking about it and you’re different. But I’ll listen and I won’t judge, it won’t change anything between us.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind if I remember something that bugs me. So, uh, speaking of changing things between us, I was wondering…do you remember any of what you did this last year?” Dean asks.
“Yeah, I do now. And a whole lot of it’s really bad. I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it,” Sam says.
“I figured…I mean, Soulless said you’d killed people and stuff, and I just—I want you to not get stuck on feeling guilty about it, okay? It wasn’t you, you weren’t really here. Your body was, but that guy was not you.”
“He was part of me though, all of that is in me, Dean. Like it or not, that’s who I am.”
“No, just no way, don’t you do this to yourself, Sammy. I’m telling you, that guy was not you. Sure, maybe you remember everything he did with your body while you were stuck in the Cage, but you were not even here. Separate those memories out, don’t take on the guilt, ‘cause it’s gonna kill you, and I can’t deal with that again right away, okay?”
“No promises, but I’ll try,” Sam finally says.
“I’m speaking from experience here, that’s what I did with my memories of Hell. Stuck ‘em away in a box buried deep. I had to so I could keep going.”
“I get it, Dean—uh, thanks,” Sam says, kissing the top of Dean’s head.
Sam gets up from the bed and heads to the bathroom. While he’s in there he takes a long look at himself in the mirror. He actually recognizes himself now, which is a good thing. Before when he was soulless he’d avoided mirrors, because there was this disconnect between what he saw looking back and what he knew was supposed to be there. It’s a good surprise to see himself again. He takes a short shower and wraps a towel around his waist, but when he opens the door, the room is empty. Dean’s gone.
A wave of unease crashes over him. It was too much, of course it was, all at once like this. He shouldn’t have said anything. Dean was just feeling sorry for him, or grateful that he wasn’t a soulless monster. He’d taken advantage of that, and now Dean was gone and who could blame him? He sagged against the doorframe and twisted his hands through his wet hair, wishing he could go back in time and find some damn restraint. Maybe he could have put off ruining everything good between them.
“Got us some lunch,” Dean says, opening the door with a crash while he juggles some take-out cartons. He sets them down on the table and looks over at Sam, confusion beginning to show on his face.
Sam feels the tide of regret recede immediately, being replaced by the most powerful burst of love he’s ever felt for Dean. He strides across the room, heedless of his towel falling off halfway, and pulls Dean into his arms, holding onto him like he hasn’t seen him in years.
“You thought I left you, didn’t you?” Dean mumbles where he’s squashed into Sam’s chest.
Sam squeezes him more tightly for a moment and then lets him go, stepping back so he can see Dean’s face. His hands are still on Dean’s shoulders though, and he’s never ever going to get enough of touching his brother like this. “I’m sorry.”
Dean pulls him down for a lingering kiss that he ends with words whispered against Sam’s lips, “I’m not.”
And then Dean’s hands are roaming down Sam’s naked skin, both cupping his ass, squeezing and pulling, and Sam is surprised at how hard he is already. One kiss and he’s rudely poking into Dean’s belly. Dean laughs, low and pleased, when he feels the contact and wraps a hand around Sam, stroking him a few times, a bit more pressure at the tip which makes Sam groan.
Before Sam realizes what’s happening, Dean is sinking to his knees, kissing his way down Sam’s torso, licking and biting along his hips. His hand is still stroking him in a slow rhythm that’s making Sam lose focus, it’s too slow, it’s not enough, it’s everything. Not it’s not, because Dean’s lips are wrapped around him now, suckling, tongue teasing and pressing inside. The moans coming out of Dean are going straight into Sam, shaking him to his core as his brother’s mouth surrounds him. He feels the softness inside, the perfect heat and incredible suction and thrusts shallowly a few times.
Dean’s hands land on his ass and pull him in deeper so that he’s hitting the back of Dean’s throat; the spongy softness is the last thing he remembers clearly because he loses himself, coming so hard he almost blacks out. Dean steadies him though, as he licks him clean. Sam regains enough of his control so that he can pull Dean up into his arms, get a hand on the front of his jeans, gripping Dean through them. Dean moans at the contact and thrusts into Sam’s hand. He undoes Dean’s belt buckle and yanks his jeans and briefs down. With a hand around Dean’s hardness, he walks him backwards until Dean falls onto the bed, eyes dark with desire, never leaving Sam’s.
Sam jacks him off slowly, reveling in how wet his brother gets, using it all to make the glide better. He can’t wait any longer to taste, so he kneels on the floor between Dean’s legs and licks up the length of him slowly, the bitter salty musk filling his senses. The warm silk of Dean’s skin is the softest thing he’s ever touched with his tongue. He licks his way down to the base of Dean’s cock, one hand gently cradling his balls, a finger circling back a bit further. Dean squirms in his hands then, and Sam backs off, not wanting to push Dean too far this first time. Instead he braces his hands on Dean’s hips, holding them down with his body weight, taking Dean into his mouth for the first time.
Sam’s never let himself picture this, and now that it’s happening, it all goes too fast. A blur of the sounds of his brother coming apart from the pleasure, his own mouth gone soft, jaw aching from the pressure, his own tears salty at the edge of his lips. Then he’s swallowing down everything Dean gives him, licking the rest of him clean until Dean pushes him away with a moan.
He crawls up onto the bed and pulls Dean into his arms. There isn’t enough time for any words because they fall asleep almost instantly.