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Never Have I Ever

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The motel they’ve been staying in the last few nights is nicer than their usual flophouses. Dean doesn’t think Jess should be subject to the levels of crap they generally put up with. She’s normal people, not…not one step-above-homeless grifters like they were (are again, probably always will be). Most people don’t even know places like those exist; those rent by the week motels with parking lots full of broken glass, used condoms, and the criminally precocious children who call them home.

The three of them stumble into the motel room, the argument from the car comes with them. “Do you have any idea, any at all, what a vengeful spirit can do to a person?” Dean slams his bag onto the bed nearest the door.

Jessica tosses her backpack onto the other bed. “Yes. Because you’ve told me seventeen times already.”

“Well try listening for a change.” He scrubs his hand through his hair. “I can’t do my job and look out for you at the same time. Christ, Sammy was better at fourteen.” He says that last part quietly into his bag, as if he is talking to himself.

Jess hears it anyway, and her eyes swim with unshed tears. She knows, okay? She knows there isn’t much she can do, that she’s more a liability than anything else. Especially if that thing is still after her, which they have to assume it is.

Dean sighs, rubs his hand across his mouth, and turns away, not making eye contact, like he always he does when he’s inadvertently hurt someone.

Sam shoves past both of them, his fingers brushing against Dean’s jacket. Dean flinches away. As usual.

God, does Sam need to touch Dean. He can feel it in the ache in his back teeth, the tension in his thighs, and the clenching of his hands. And he knows Dean needs it, too. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him all the time, feels him stop by the bed Sam shares with Jess and just breathe, hand hovering over Sam’s head. But as long as Jess is there, Dean will never, ever cross that line.

Sam wants to tackle him, to let Dean beat the crap of him, and then fuck him within an inch of his life. Then everything would be better. Then they could talk. Ninety-nine kinds of fucked up, but it works for them, as much as anything does.

Even with his back to them, he can feel the glare Jess is sending to Dean.

Jess crosses her arms, and glares at Dean. “If you would train me, I wouldn’t be such a liability. I was –“

“Yeah, I know. First crossbow or whatever the fuck at your high class prep-school.” He starts pulling weapons out from the various places on his body he’d had them stashed. Fatigue and stress make him drop them heavily on the bed. “Doesn’t mean shit in the real world.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the first person in this room to point that out, right Sammy?” Dean’s exhale reaches towards a laugh, misses by a mile. He won’t look at either of them.

Sam presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. Dean still getting payback for what he sees as Sam’s of betrayal. Flaying it out of Sam in tiny, sharp pieces of flesh.

He can feel Jess’s eyes on him, and he turns to her with a silent sigh. Her hands are planted on her hips and her head is tilted like a hawk about to swoop down on some unsuspecting rabbit. “Tell him, Sam. Tell him, I’m not useless.”

“Yeah, Sammy. Tell me.” Dean’s staring at him with the same look in his eye.

Sam snorts a little at the mental picture of Dean with his hands on his hips. He closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose. He opens his eyes and glares at both of them. “I’d love to tell both of you several things. But I’m a little preoccupied, remember?” He turns his back to them and shrugs off his jacket.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean says at the same time as Jess gasps. They both move towards Sam’s side of the room. Son of bitch ghost had some nasty claws. The blood doesn’t show much on the shredded remains of his black t-shirt, which is why they always have so many black t-shirts.

Sam remember the feel of Dean patching him up, fixing him. He almost relishes getting injured so Dean will have to touch him. But he doesn’t even get that anymore. Jessica’s taken over the first aid, since it’s one of the only things Dean will let her do.

After two weeks on the road, she’s more used to the blood and bruises than she used to be, but she still doesn’t like it. After twenty-two years, Sam’s still not a big fan either.
She’s good at it. Not as good as they are, and she tends to use more antibiotic ointment and less whisky, but she’s good. She credits ten years of Girl Scout first aid classes.

“Here,” Dean calls. She turns, catches the airborne first aid kit.

Dean goes back to cleaning and reorganizing the weapons. Sam notices him grimacing every time he moves his left arm and he knows Dean’s hurting, too. Jessica’s stony silence doesn’t cover her hurt as well as she thinks it does.

“All better,” she says, patting Sam’s shoulder as she tapes down the last piece of gauze.

“Hey,” Dean comments. “Maybe we should get you a nurses’ costume. You could wear that while you fix us up. That would be a help.”

Jess’s hand freezes on Sam’s shoulder, and he has quick second to think oh my god, before Jess launches herself across the beds at Dean.

Sam is about to grab her, when he hears Dean laughing. Forget it now, the asshole deserves whatever Jess does to him.

Dean’s still laughing as Jess hits the bed. “Easy, tiger,” he says, holding his hands up, and backing up. “I didn’t mean –“

Jess does a mad scramble off the other side of the bed, and when she straightens up, she’s holding one of Dean’s gun and is pointing it at Dean. Not good.

“Jess!” Sam yells.

“It’s not even loaded, Nimrod,” Dean says.

Jess throws the gun at his face.

Dean’s reflexes are good enough that he avoids a bloody nose, but she manages to catch him on the cheekbone. “Fuck,” he says, touching his fingers to the bloody cut.

Sam is between them now. “Enough!” he says, “I swear to god, I should handcuff you guys together until you get along, like some bad sitcom.” Dean’s eyes widen and, yeah, there it is. He knows Dean. Jess isn’t his usual type, too much like him, too smart, too aware, but he can’t keep his eyes off her. Whenever he thinks Sam or Jess isn’t looking, he just stares, at both of them. Sam knows, because he’s looking too. And if he’s not mistaken, so is Jess.

Dean snorts, breaking the moment. “You know the only time you can get handcuffs on me is when I let you.” He looks right at Sam as he says it. Sam feels an almost painful stab of lust as the memory Dean’s words bring up. Jessica, smart girl that she is, couldn’t have missed the implications, but she lets it lie there, like she’s been doing this whole time.

“God, I need a drink,” Sam says before he can stop himself. Dean and Jess agree loudly. Winchester coping mechanisms at their finest. Jess wasn’t much of a drinker before this. She’s learning.

“I think we’re out,” Dean says.

“I’ll go get something,” Jess offers. “I could use some air.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to let you drive my car, honey,” Dean scoffs.

Jess launches herself at him again. “Don’t fucking call me honey!” This time, Sam does jump up and grab her around the waist.

“Okay, okay. Seriously,” He winces with pain as Jess’s struggles reopen his cuts. “Shit.” Jessica stills, and a quick worried look passes over Dean’s face. Sam’s not above using it. He plays up the pain a bit, holding his side, and limping back to the bed. “Dean, can you please go get us something to drink, and some food? Please?”

Dean shrugs back into his jacket, jingles the car keys nervously. “Yeah, yeah, sure.” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck, and stares intently at his feet. “Ah, Jess, is there, um, something particular you want? Some wine coolers? Hard lemonade?”

“Tequila,” Jess says, voice hard.

Dean’s laugh is short, but sincere. He looks up with a small smile, and shakes his head. He looks over at Sam, raises his eyebrows, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he says, shakes his head again and leaves.



In the shower, Jess lets the hot water pound over her neck and shoulders as she leans her head against the tiles. She’s shaking from anger, fear, stress, and adrenaline letdown. What she really wants is four shots, a good hard fuck, and then about twelve hours sleep. She can’t believe the how the adrenaline affects her. She slides her hand idly between her legs, wishing she knew how long Dean was going to be gone, so she could try to talk Sam into joining her shower. She sighs. Yeah, that’s not going to happen. There is no privacy in motel rooms.

How did the boys handle this feeling when they were teenagers? she wonders, reaching out to turn up the hot water. She almost laughs, picturing young Dean and Sam, stumbling back after a hunt, strung out on adrenaline, high on another day of cheating death. They probably fought over who got first shower so they could do exactly what she’s doing now. Hell, they still fight over it. Sometimes she thinks they’re going to wrestle over it.

Tumblers spin and click in her mind, a bad eighties movie montage of looks and touches and things Sam has implied about somebody he would never name. No. She freezes, her hand on the faucet.

She thinks about everything she’s learned in the last two weeks. Shit had come at her fast and furious from every sides, things she could hardly believe. Things she would never have believed if she hadn’t seen Dean miraculously blast through her bedroom door and fire both shotgun barrels into the terrifying thing that had cut her open and pinned her to the goddamn ceiling. Sam had been right behind him, knife in his hand, a still-warm chocolate chip cookie clenched between his teeth.

She washes her hair slowly as she thinks about all the things the boys haven’t told her but she’s pieced together. Thinks about the children haunting the spaces of the stories they shared. Those lost boys, growing up with only each other for comfort. Stories of John’s hunting trips revealing in negative Sam and Dean left alone time and again with a distant friend or an over-worked motel maid. So, yes. It could have happened.

She thinks about the sexual tension that is gathering tighter and tighter around them. She had thought it was about her, that she was the center. She hadn’t had sex with Sam since they hit the road. And she knows Dean wants her. She’s known since she was thirteen what it feels like when a man wants her.

Dean must know it, too. With that fucking way to gorgeous face, he must have been the object of desire for years. So he knows she’s looking back. That she likes him, despite herself. When he’s not being a dick, Dean is funny, and brave and charming. And whip smart. Smarter than he gives himself credit for. He’s someone who cares deeply, with a heart that shows through the walls he’s built up around himself.

But it’s not her, she sees now. It’s Sam. Sam was the piece she was missing. She couldn’t interpret the longing she saw on Dean’s face, the tension in the air when they were close. She was an idiot. They want each other. She and Dean both want Sam, and Sam wants them both. The more she thinks about it, the more she’s sure the boys had fucked before. And it if they are going to survive this, the three of them, the more she’s convinced it has to happen again.

It has to include her, too, because anyone who thinks she’s not going to get a piece of that action is seriously insane. Those Winchester boys are fucking hot.

Picturing it, Jess slides her hand between her thighs again, rubs her fingers roughly across her clit. By the time she comes with a choked cry, legs trembling, she’s got a plan.


Dean’s gone about forty-five minutes. When he gets back, Sam’s leaning up against the headboard, Jessica slumped down and snuggled against his chest. Sam catches Dean’s eye in time to see a sweet, authentic smile on his face at the picture they make.

When he notices Sam’s caught him staring, Dean doesn’t hide it. “All I ever wanted for you, Sammy boy,” he says quietly, placing his apology pizza on the table near the window.

Sam’s eyes prickle with sudden tears. He’s the one who looks away this time. He nudges Jess gently. “Hey, you hungry?”

“Hungry,” she says without opening her eyes.

“You gotta open your eyes if you want pizza.”

She groans, pressing her forehead into his chest. “Life is so hard.”

“It’s a cruel world,” Dean agrees, pulling a bottle of tequila out of a bag and setting it down near a case of cheap beer. “But I got veggie pizza for you California folks, chock full of…whatever it is vegetable have that’s good for you.”

Another peace offering. He’s trying, Sam knows. God knows they all are. The yellow-eyed demon’s looking out for them. Jessica can’t go home, and she can’t stay with them like this. Dad’s in the wind, and nobody knows what’s going on. Something’s gotta give.

“Save me some pizza,” Dean says, as he moves to the bathroom. He showers quickly, yelling “Fuck, the water’s cold!” through the door.

“Blame, Jess.” Sam calls back. “She was in there forever!”

Soon they’re all settled on the beds, beers and pizza in hand, some Godzilla movie on TV. Sam wonders where these motels get the old TV shows from, if they’re piping them in special from some sort of secret signal back to 1960. But it’s okay, he’s always liked Godzilla. Mothra is Dean’s favorite. Sam thinks he just likes the tiny Japanese girls.

The movie ends with Godzilla walking despondently into the sea. Jess breaks the moment of silence Sam and Dean are having for the brave, misunderstood monster. He was just trying to save them from the other, worse monster. Okay, so maybe Sam can relate, just a little.

“That was horrible,” she comments. “Worst movie I’ve ever seen.”

Sam is aghast. “Jess, that is so heartless. Godzilla’s not the monster –“

“Seriously?” Dean asks, interrupting the same pro-Godzilla argument he’s heard a thousand times. “This is the worst movie you’ve ever seen?

“Never have I ever seen a worse movie,” she says with a smile, challenge plain to hear in her voice.

Sam and Dean exchange a look. Dean holds up his beer in a toast. “To Troll 2,” he says, and drinks.

“Troll 2,” Sam agrees, finishing his beer in one long swallow. Sam’s four beers into the night. He runs with the opening Jess has given them. He grabs the bottle of tequila and pours a little bit into his empty beer can. Maybe this is a good idea. Maybe this will help them get some things out in the open, get some things off their chests that need to be said. Of course, he thinks wryly, how could an idea that starts with straight tequila be anything but good?.

Then Dean takes the decision and the tequila out of his hands. He walks to the dresser and grabs three of the sanitized-for-their-protection cups, pouring a healthy shot into each one. He stands next to the bed where Sam and Jess sit, and holds them out. They take them.

“Never have I ever,” he says holding up his cup, “gone to college.”

Sam and Jess drink.

Dean smiles, and settles back down on his bed.

Sam’s got one for Dean. “Never have I ever snuck out of the house to have sex with twins.”

“Too easy, Sammy” Dean laughs, but his swallow turns into a spit take as Jess silently sips her drink.

“Jessica Lee Moore!” Sam exclaims, hand clutched to his chest like a scandalized church lady. Deans nods, impressed.

An hour and a half later, they are three quarters of the way through the bottle and they’ve learned Dean has never done ecstasy (much to Sam’s surprise), Sam has never cheated on a test (to no one’s surprise), and Jessica has never had a broken bone. Dean and Sam feel like they deserve more than one drink for that one. “I’ve had three broken at the same time,” Dean brags.

“Only in your family would that be a source of pride,” Jess remarks. She slithers off the bed, down into the space between them, dragging Sammy with her. She tugs at Dean’s foot until he slips off his bed as well. It’s a cramped space, too small for the three of them, and their legs tangle nicely together. They’re all in soft clothes, armor off for the time being. Night presses against the window. No one bothered to turn the lights on as the room darkened around them. The blue light from the muted television provides just enough illumination for them to see each other. The tequila and the laughter have drained off the last of the horror of today’s hunt and softened the edges of the constant fear that surrounds them.

“Yeah, well,” Dean explains. “We didn’t have a lot to brag about growing up. Gotta take it where you can get. Speaking of which, never have I ever,” Dean says, looking at Sam, “been caught shoplifting.”

Jess and Sam both drink.

Dean tips his cup towards Jess. “I’ve got some good tips for you.” His eyes drop to her breasts, and Sam sees his pupils expand. Dean licks his lips. “Seriously, with those,” he motions to her breasts with his cup, “you should get away with everything.”

Sam sees her nipples tighten under Dean’s gaze. He shifts his hips on the ground, as much to ease the pressure on his dick as to brush against Jess body.

He’s dizzy now from tequila, from their bodies pressing against him on either side. He reaches over and pats Dean’s leg. It’s supposed to be brotherly, but his hands have other idea, and he can’t seem to stop them from running up and down the soft denim. Dean’s thighs are hard, and he can feel the muscles clenching up. He knows Dean wants to push into the touch and pull away at the same time. Sam keeps staring at where his hand moves up from Dean’s shin, up over the curve of the knee, down the other side.

Jessica clears her throat gently. They both look over, but she won’t look at them. She pours a big slug in the cup, holds it up without making eye contact. “Never have I ever had sex with my brother.”

“You don’t have a brother,” Sam says without thinking.

“Define ‘had sex with’,” Dean says at the same time.

Now it’s Sam turn for a spit take. Jessica pounds on his back as he chokes against the burn in his nasal passages. “I knew it,” she whispers triumphantly.

“Hey, I just like to be clear,” Dean says, expression as innocent as he can make it. “Are we talking just hand jobs, or like, full on penetration?”

“Jesus, Dean.” Sam’s cheeks are burning. Whoop, there it is. The elephant in the room has trumpeted.

“What are you? Bill Clinton all of sudden?” Jess laughs, reaching over to punch Dean on the thigh, right where Sam’s hand seems to still be. “Anything that ended up in one or more orgasms counts.”

Dean laughs, “I like her, Sammy.” The smile he gives both of them is one Sam hasn’t seen in years. It’s real and full of love and admiration. “Okay, then,” he says, and throws back the inch of tequila in his glass.

What choice does Sam have? Dean only has one brother. He drinks. “Though I think a few hand jobs barely counts as sex,” he mutters into his empty cup.

“Oh, really?” Dean asks, his voice dropping an octave. He shifts beneath Sam, reaching over him to grab Jessica’s ankle. “So if I were to, say, get my hands down the pants of your way-out-of-your-league girlfriend here, you wouldn’t mind? That wouldn’t count?”

Sam’s paralyzed for a moment. Is it getting hot in here? Jess put it out there, and Dean picked it up. Now it’s Sam move. Sam’s gonna call his bluff. Any second now.

He’s interrupted by Jess. “I think it would count, Sam. And it would be hot.”

When Dean leaned over, he’d trapped Sam’s hand between his thighs. Now Jess slides her hand over Sam’s rapidly hardening cock. Dean licks his lips, eyes dark and locked on Jess’s face. And, just, fuck it. Fuck it. If it messes everything up, they can blame it on the tequila and someone’s concussion. Because for this to be happening, someone’s got to have a concussion. Maybe all three of them.

“Do it,” Sam croaks out. Their heads jerk towards him, Jess’s hand tightening. Sam thrusts his hips up so Dean can see. He throws back another shot, right from the bottle. “Do it.”

Jess and Dean share a look, and before Sam has time to register anything, Dean’s pulled him up and he’s straddling Dean’s lap, Dean’s hands are clamped around his hip, and their mouths sealed together. Jessica kneels behind him, pulling her shirt over her head.

Her hands slip up under his shirt, and he whines as she pulls him away from Dean’s mouth. “Slut,” she says, yanking his shirt off and throwing it somewhere. He moans as she leans heavily against him, trapping him between her soft, amazing breasts and Dean’s hard chest.

Dean clutches them tighter together, pulling Jessica in with a hand on the back of her head. He breaks away from Sam to kiss her over his shoulder. Sam wants to see that so badly, but he’s too close. He struggles, rubbing his hard cock against Dean. Jess laughs through the kiss, and slides her hands between them to rub at Sam’s nipples. “Fuck,” he curses, head dropping back.

Dean grabs his head back, plunders his mouth, and sucks the air from his lungs. Gods he’s missed that. “Missed you,” he says, pulling away, resting his forehead against Dean’s. “Missed you so much.”

He can feel Jess’s fingers combing through his hair. He loves her so much, he doesn’t deserve her.

“I know, Sammy,” Dean is saying. “Missed you, too.” He kisses Sam again. “Missed this.”

Jess pushes to her feet behind him. She’s holding Dean’s hand. “Up, up. Everybody on the bed, naked now.”

Dean laughs as he pushes Sam back, urging him up. “You heard the lady.”

Sam’s mind can’t keep up with his body, with their bodies. He’s naked on the bed before he knows it. He’s on his back, Jess on one side, Dean on the other. He can’t look away from Dean. He knows he should be looking at Jess, checking in with her, but him and Dean, they’ve never had this before. He’s never been naked with intent, with Dean. It was all rushed, desperate make out session against a wall, hands down the front of each other’s pants. There was that one memorable night where Sam dropped to his knees while Dean was still handcuffed to the chair, a vampire’s headless corpse at their feet.

“Dean,” he says, desperate.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He can’t stop touching Sam, running his hands over every inch of him. Sam feels his skin burning up under the touch.

Jess throws her leg over his, and he feels the soft scratch of her curls and the wet warmth of her again his hip. He wrenches he gaze from Dean and turns to her. “Is this okay? I mean, he’s... we’re… I would, would never,” he pants, breathless at the feel of Dean’s mouth moving on his skin. “Fuck.”

“It’s good, it’s okay,” she says. She looks smug, like she’s so proud of herself. She should be, Sam thinks. “I love you,” she says.

“I love you – holy fuck!” his back arches as Dean’s mouth closes over his cock.

Jessica slides her leg out of the way, and pushes up on one elbow. Oh, she wants to get in there, wants to sit on Sam’s face until he can’t breathe, but there’s no way she’s not watching this.

Dean has got skills, and one day she’s going to ask him about them. His mouth is opened wide, lips pressed tight around Sam’s cock. Sam’s panting, one arm throw across his eyes, like he can’t bear to look. His other arm is around Jess’s shoulders. She’s going to have bruises there later.

Dean gets one hand around the base of Sam’s dick. He pushes Sam’s leg up and out of the way, sliding down further. Sam moans as Dean shifts his head in a motion Jess knows means he’s corkscrewing his tongue around Sam’s dick. Dean grunts his approval at Sam’s moans, shifts until Sam’s leg rests on his shoulder. Sam groans like he’s dying.

Jess pulls Sam’s hand away from his eyes, shoves her arm under Sam’s neck, lifting his head. “Look,” she commands.

He does, meeting the green flash of Dean’s eyes, dick deep in Dean’s throat. He pants, not able to stop his hips from thrusting up. “Christ, Dean. Fuck, fuck.”

“He likes a little teeth,” Jess offers, eyes wicked.

Dean pulls off just a bit, Sam’s dick pulling his lower lip down, and looks up at her through his illegally-long lashes. “Yeah?” he purrs, tongue licking a slow circle around the head. “Good to know.” He guides Sam’s cock back into his mouth, slides down slowly, tortuously. Oh she is so getting that mouth between her legs as soon as possible. If he’s anywhere near as good as Sam, she’ll be a happy woman.

Jess can feel Sam shuddering against her as Dean’s teeth scrape gently down the sides. She’s breathing heavily, too. She can feel the slickness between her thighs, her clit pulsing with her heartbeat. She reaches down, rubbing her nipples as she does, trying to relieve the almost painful tightness. She spreads her legs, pushing two fingers inside with a shuddering exhale. “Shit.”

“Jess,” Sam sighs, turning his head to kiss her. She feels Dean’s hand on her thigh, wet with his spit and the pearly fluid leaking from the head of Sam’s cock. Sam always gets so damn wet. She loves it.

Sam and Dean trade grins. Dean pulls slowly off Sam’s cock with an obscene slurping sound and a smirk.

“Asshole,” Sam groans.

Dean shoves Sam over to the side with a pat to the hip. He yanks Jess down flat on the bed with a hand behind her knee. Pushing up to his knees, he straddles their legs where they touch. “May I?” he asks, sliding his hands between her legs. He looks at both of them for permission. Sam nods, eyes wide. “No way,” Jess breathes.

“Not my first three-way rodeo,” Dean says, sliding his thick fingers into her. She gasps and grinds down on his hand.

He uses his hands on both of them, fisting Sam’s cock with his left hand, and fucking hard into Jess with the other. Sam’s trembling and cursing under his breath, and Jessica is flushed down over her collarbones. “Jesus, harder,” she begs.

Sam knows what she needs. He pushes up on his elbows. As he leans up over her, his dick pulls free of Dean’s grip, but he doesn’t care. “Harder,” he says to Dean. “She can take it.”

Dean groans as he complies. “Fucking gonna kill me, the two of you.” He braces himself on one hand, slamming into Jessica. Sam puts his mouth on one of her nipples, flicking it with his tongue, while he reaches for the other one. As her moans get louder, he waits, timing with Dean’s thrusts, until he feels Dean push in deep. He bites and pinches her nipples at the same time and she arches up high, coming with a wordless wail. Dean’s up on his knees, one hand trapped by the clamping muscles of her cunt, the other a death grip around his own dick to stave off the orgasm. Sam relents on her nipples, pulling off as she starts to come down from the peak. He catches Dean’s eye, wait for his shoulders to relax as Jess’s death grip on his fingers relents. Sam nods. Dean smiles, and thrusts back into her, curling his fingers up and pressing while he grinds the palm of his hand against her clit.

“Oh you fucking fucker!” she yells, coming again. A gush of liquid follows Dean’s fingers out, and he does it again and again, thrusting over and over. Sam nips at her skin, mouth bruising her breasts and collarbones, until she grabs Dean hand and pulls it out, clamping her legs shut.

“Enough, enough, fuck. Stop, god,” she pants. The bed beneath her is soaked. She waves her hand weakly, “Go, go, fuck your brother. I’m going to just…die…now.” She shudders with an aftershock as Dean pulls away. He reaches down to the floor, and grabs up the scratchy comforter, pulling it across her as he climbs over Sam’s body.

Dean’s braced on his hands on either side of Sam head. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Sam answers, shakily. Dean’s cock is hard, and it brushes against Sam’s with each breath. “Good job with the, uh, -“ he jerks his head towards Jess.

“Uh huh,” Dean says, lowering down, eyes locked on Sam’s. There’s desire there, in the blown-out pupil, but also a little fear. Sam can feel the tenseness in Dean’s muscles beneath his hands.

Sam relaxes his hands by force of will, smoothes them down Dean’s back. There’s so much he should say, and he can’t for the life of him think of what to say first. He inhales and feels Dean’s body rise with his. “Dean,” he breathes.

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean is perfectly still.

“Kiss me, De. Please. God, kiss me.” He closes his eyes against the burning in Dean’s eyes.

“Okay, Baby boy. Okay.” And he sinks down all the way. Warm soft lips on Sam’s, fingers clenched in his hair.

It’s like the first time. Better than their first time. Like his first time kissing Jessica. Something inside of him he didn’t even realize was cold melts away with the feel of it. It’s almost chaste, these first kisses. Gentle, in a way he didn’t know it could be between them. A soft relearning of each other. A homecoming.

He feels Jess try to slip away quietly. As one, Dean and Sam both reach out for her.

“Stay,” Dean asks.

“Please, baby,” Sam adds, turning to look at her.

She nods, and Sam reaches for a kiss. Dean pulls away just far enough for Jess to slide in. As the kisses get heated, Sam breathes heavily, rolling his hips against Dean, and it’s Jess’s turn to pull away. “Don’t want to be greedy,” she says, making space for Dean to lean back down.

Sam’s mouth opens under pressure from Dean’s lips, and the feel of Dean’s tongue, hot and wet, fucking into Sam’s mouth is a revelation. Dean’s arms are trembling against Sam’s sides, and sweat is pooling in the small of his back. Jess runs her hand down the length of his spine, fingers slipping just the smallest amount into the crack of his ass, and he collapses down onto Sam with a strangled groan. He buries his head in Sam’s neck, biting and kissing the thin skin there. Sam traps him against his body with a hand on the back of his head, and spread legs, strong thighs clamped against Dean’s hips.

It feels so good, their hearts thundering in their chests, cocks pressed together, sliding in the wet and heat of their bodies. The move together, Dean pressing down on Sam, rolling like the sea. Sam braces his feet and thrusts up, lifting Dean from the bed with every move.

They’re beyond words, the only sounds are their deep moans, the hitch of breath caught in throat, the soft curses, as they come together over and over. Jess can’t help but touch all that skin, glowing with sweat in the flickering light of the television. She runs her hand over the swell of Dean’s ass, riding the up and down movement. Kneeling up next to them, she leans over to reach lower. Her nipples graze Dean’s ass and he falters. “Fuck.” She drags her breasts deliberately across the soft skin, and he shudders. “God, fuck. Jess. I…”

She feels Sam’s hand reaching for her and she angles her body towards him. He grabs onto her hip, fingers biting into the cheek of her ass. With a soft laugh, she slides her hand down over Dean’s ass, between his legs. She curves her hand around him, cradling his balls in her palm as he thrusts against his brother’s body. Her breasts are pressed against him now, the three of them writing against each other.

Sam’s hand bites deeper and she feels his legs trembling against her body. Every muscle in Dean’s body tightens and she feels his balls draw up tight. She opens her mouth on the muscle of his ass, biting and marking up the pale skin.

Dean shudders in a deep breath. “Oh, fuck. Sam…” and he curls in around them both as his orgasm punches through him. Sam’s hands fly to his shoulder, fingernails leaving red trails as Sam cries out, each breath like a sob when he comes.

The stay tangled together for a while, breathing, coming back to full awareness. They can’t seem to stop touching and kissing whoever, wherever they can reach. The bed is too disgusting to stay in for very long. Sam and Jess jump in the shower while Dean throws on his jeans, and runs barefoot and shirtless to the car.

After, the three of them are squeezed onto the one bed. Sam’s in the middle. He’d though it would be Jess there, but the other two had maneuvered it quite subtly. Jess is curled up under his arm, head to his chest. His fingers card through her hair, separating the knots. Dean is mostly sitting up, jeans still on, knees bent, and a beer dangling from his fingers.

Sam leans heavily against Dean’s shoulder, and wishes he knew what to say.

It’s not quite awkward, but he can feel awkward waiting in the wings. He exhausted and he just wants to sleep. They can - they have to - talk in the morning. But there is no way three people their sizes can sleep in one double bed. Judging from the sleeping bag Dean threw on the other bed, he’s had the same thought. How do you tell the brother you just had sex with that you want him to get out of the bed?

“Guys?” Jess says into his shoulder. Dean turns to look at her, the same soft concern on his face that Sam had seen directed at him his whole life.

“Yeah, babe?" Sam kisses the top of her head.

“Don’t…don’t think less of me, but,” her voice catches. She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “I’m really scared.”

Dean and Sam share a look. Sam doesn’t know what to say. It’s all his fault Jess is in this situation, what can he possibly say to comfort her?

But Dean, Dean is always there for them. His expression is all compassion now. He reaches across Sam to cradle Jess’s face. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.” He pats her hair gently. “Sam’s scared all the time.”

“Hey – “

“Why do you think we sleep with the bathroom light on?”

“Jerk,” Sam says, head-butting Dean lightly.

Jess snorts a shaky, very unladylike laugh.

“It’s going to be okay,” Dean says. He slides off the bed, walking around to Jess’s side. He kisses her, tugs at the covers until she’s under them, curled up against Sam. “We’ll figure something out in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jess answers, three quarters asleep under Dean’s care.

Dean gives her one last kiss, then straightens up. He goes into the bathroom.

Sam can hear him peeing, then brushing his teeth. Sounds Sam’s heard thousands of times. He hears the lights click off. Hears Dean padding around the room, shutting the television, straightening up a tiny bit. The lullaby of familiar noises sends Sam sliding towards sleep. Before he goes completely under, he feels Dean stopping by his bed, like he’s done every night since they fled Palo Alto by firelight. This time, though, Sam feels Dean’s hand in his hair.


“Go to sleep, Sammy.”

Dean plants a soft kiss on top of his head, then turns. Sam grabs him before he can leave. Dean’s beautiful green eyes are inches from his. Sam searches for the truth in them. “Are we? Gonna be okay?”

Dean sighs, kneels down next to the bed. He leans in close, mouth almost touching. “Can I?” he whisper, breath warm on Sam’s lips.

Sam nods, his mouth brushing Dean’s plush lips. Dean leans in and kisses him. It’s deep, thorough, and full of love. When he pulls away, he’s almost smiling.

“Yeah, Sammy. We’re gonna be okay.”

Sam hears him walk over to the other bed, the nylon slide of him getting into the sleeping bag. The last sound he hears before sleep drags him under is the soft clink of the tequila bottle against the lip of Dean’s glass.