Sam moves cautiously, silently, down the hallway using every trick in the book to not give himself away. Dean isn’t easy to sneak up on even he’s drunk. Stone cold sober, it’s almost impossible. Luckily his guard is always down around Sam. He’ll be pissed if he catches Sam spying, but, damn it, Dean has been so weird for days. Going to bed early, sleeping in a t-shirt and boxers when Sam knows damn well that Dean likes to sleep naked. “Easier access, Sammy,” he’s said more than once. “Why play coy? We all know what we’re here for.”
Except apparently they aren’t here for that anymore. They haven’t had sex for a week. An entire week of careless touches and heated kisses that stop as soon as Sam tries to get his hands under Dean’s clothes. Sure, Dean had given him that blow job in the kitchen a couple of days ago. That was awesome. His brother’s mouth more than lived up to the promise of his lips. But Sam wants some real together time. Skin to skin, body to body. Hours in bed with nothing to do but screw around and fight over who is going to get out of bed and get the food this time.
Sam hangs back as Dean turns the corner towards the shower room. Perfect. Sam knows his brother’s routine. Turn the water on, let it get hot while he gets undressed, then the slow slide under the water with a sigh. Sam’s going to ambush him in the shower, trap him there until he talks.
Sam hears the water rain down against the tiles, counts to ten, walks into the bathroom, and stops dead.
Dean is standing stark naked in front of the full-length mirror. He’s grabbing the soft flesh about his hips and scowling like a woman in a Special K commercial.
The sight of both the front and the back of Dean Winchester’s glorious naked body at the same time gets Sam so hard, so fast, that it makes him dizzy and he clutches the doorway for support. Some sort of strangled groan pushes out of his throat.
Dean’s looks up. His ridiculously green eyes with their long dark eyelashes are round with surprise and embarrassment, his gorgeous mouth hangs open just the slightest, and his freckled skin is pinking up from the steam of the shower.
Sam has taken all a man can take.
He wonders briefly why they’ve never fucked in front of the mirror before as he crosses the distance between them in three steps. Dean gasps out Sam’s name as Sam wraps his arms around him and drags Dean against his body.
“So fucking gorgeous,” Sam growls, pressing his mouth onto the curve between Dean’s neck and shoulder and biting.
He feels Dean shudder, feels his ass thrust back against Sam’s hips. Then, incredibly, he feels Dean try to pull away. His arms tighten around Dean’s chest and hips, fingers digging into the same soft flesh Dean had been grasping. “Don’t,” he says. “Please.” Dean stops, his hand dropping down onto Sam’s, but he’s still tense in Sam’s arms, ready to break away. Sam kisses him again. “Please stop running away from me,” Sam says.
Dean sighs, letting his head roll back onto Sam’s shoulder and squeezing his hand. “I’m not running away from you, Sammy, it’s just...”
Whatever Dean is saying gets lost because all Sam can focus on is their reflection in the mirror; Dean is naked and held against Sam’s larger, fully-clothed body. He wants to have this talk, to find out why Dean won’t sleep with him. He really does. But the steam is making Dean’s skin all slick and pink. And Sam can’t stop running his hands all over his brother’s body. He slides both hands up to pinch Dean’s nipples. Dean sucks in a deep breath and lets it out on a moan, and Sam’s mouth finds his neck again.
“God, Dean. You feel so good. Look so good.” He licks the steam and sweat off Dean’s shoulder. “Taste so good.” One hand drops down to Dean’s hips and pulls him hard against Sam. Dean presses back, looking for more friction from Sam’s jeans and hard cock. “I gotta fuck you now, God, Dean. Please?”
Dean lifts his head to find Sam’s eyes in the mirror. Sam can see himself, can see that he looks a little wild-eyed and desperate. More importantly, he can see the same look in Dean, can see Dean’s cock filling and lifting. Without taking his eyes off of them, Sam grabs Dean’s arms and pulls them up to wrap around Sam’s neck. “Keep them there,” he says against Dean’s ear.
Taking Dean’s deep groan as a yes, Sam drags his nails lightly down over the sensitive skin of Dean’s inner arms, keeps going as far as he can reach, trailing red lines down Dean’s body, his chest, his stomach, his inner thighs, then circling to the outside and back up again. Dean pants against him.
“Fuck, Sam. You really want this?” Dean asks
It’s hard to tell over their harsh breaths, but it almost sounds like a real question. Which is ridiculous. Besides the fact that he’s head over heels in love with his idiot brother, can Dean not see himself? Anybody with eyes would want to fuck Dean. Still, Sam can see the uncertainty in Dean’s eyes. He doesn’t know what’s causing it, but he knows how to fix it. “Yeah, I want this,” he says, unwrapping Dean’s hands from his neck and guiding Dean forward until he leans with his palms flat against the mirror, ass out. “Right now,” he says leaning just enough away from Dean that he can pull his shirt off over his head, “right now I’m trying to figure out if I want to fuck you against this mirror, blow you in the shower, or drag you into the bedroom, tie you to the bed, and keep you there for the next three days.”
Dean’s mouth moves silently as he watches Sam unbuckle his belt and drop his jeans and briefs to the floor.
“Your thoughts?” Sam asks, stepping out of his jeans and kicking them away. Thank god he was stalking Dean barefoot. He steps up, pressing his erection against the crack of Dean’s ass and reaching around to grab Dean’s dick at the same time.
“Um, shit, Yes?” Dean answers as he starts to rock slowly back and forth.
Sam chuckles. “Good answer.”
He keeps one hand on Dean’s dick and reaches up to pull his t-shirt off with the other. When the material clears his head, he sees Dean staring at his reflection, tongue darting out to lick his lips. Then Dean’s eyes drop, and Sam can feel him inhale. He swears Dean is sucking in his gut.
Is that the issue? Is Dean...worried about his body? Sam does an internal eye roll but, really, who is he to judge Dean’s insecurities? Between the two of them, they have enough issues to choke a team of psychiatrists. Sam’s going to show Dean he loves every inch of him if he has to fuck him all night to prove it. Because Sam is a giver like that.
He leans forward over Dean, nipping and biting his way across Dean’s shoulders, tracing every freckle with his tongue. He can’t stop rocking his cock against Dean’s ass. Slippery with sweat and the precome dripping from his cock, he’s shaking with the need to bury himself in Dean’s hot body.
Dean’s arms tremble, stretched out over the sink. His fingers squeak down the mirror, the room filling with steam. “We’re...we’re wasting water,” Dean stutters, groaning as Sam pulls a long stroke up his cock.
It takes all of Sam’s willpower not to rut against Dean until he comes, spilling over his back and down his thighs. “You’re right,” he says, pulling Dean upright. He spins Dean around and plastering their mouths together, walks him backward to the shower.
The water is almost too hot and each breath pulls the sultry air into Sam’s lungs until he’s dizzy with it. Dean’s hands land tentatively on Sam’s chest.
“Jesus, Sam. I swear you’re getting bigger.” Dean's fingers trace the muscles in Sam’s chest, down his stomach to taut abs and the deep cuts of his hipbones. “You’re fucking perfect.” His laugh tries for humor but doesn’t quite reach it. “I swear, I can’t keep up.”
Okay. Sam has to nip this in the bud. “You never have to,” he says. “Your body has been driving me insane since you were sixteen years old.” He pushes Dean’s hand down to his dick. “Feel?” Dean drags his hand over Sam until Sam, chest heaving, has to hold himself up with a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Stop, stop. Please.” He shudders on the brink of orgasm.
“Sixteen, huh?” Dean asks with a smirk. “You were only what eleven, twelve? Perv.”
“Shut up.” Sam reaches for the shampoo, pushes Dean back until the water cascades over his shoulder. “Tilt your head back,” he orders, pouring the shampoo into his palm.
The water spills over Dean’s face, beading in his eyelashes and falling over his plush lips. Sam almost can’t breathe as he is hit for the millionth time by the beauty of Dean’s face. He reaches around Dean, bending down to take him in a deep kiss as he rubs the shampoo into a lather on Dean’s head. Dean clings to Sam’s arms, taking everything Sam is giving.
Silently, Sam scrubs his fingers through Dean’s hair, scratching against his scalp, until Dean is sighing, eyes closed. He rinses the shampoo out and then positions the shower head so the water beats down on Dean’s shoulders, waterfalling over this chest. “Stay there,” Sam says.
Rubbing the soap between his palms to get a thick lather, he spreads his hands wide and gentle on Dean’s chest. He cleans Dean’s neck, shoulder blades, chest, kissing as he goes. He caresses each arm. Massaging Dean’s palms and fingers, the webbing between them. He kisses each fingertip. He sucks each nipple into hard points, tasting soap and the shower water. By the time he’s kneeling in front of Dean, hands rubbing circles into his stomach, tremors run through Dean’s body. His stomach rises and falls against sam’s fingertip. Soft skin over hard muscles and the most inviting bit of give. Irresistible. Sam bites into it with a groan. Dean whimpers. Sam looks up to see him, eyes closed, head tilted back, arms spread against opposite walls to hold himself upright. His cock is hard and red, precome pearling at the tip, running down the length of it to be washed away by the shower spray.
“Oh, fuck, Dean.” Sam can’t wait any longer. He licks a long stripe up the underside of Dean’s cock then closes his lips over the tips the head into his mouth, digging his fingers into Dean’s ass as he pulls him deep into his mouth.
“Jesus, fuck, fuck,” Dean pants. One hand flies to the back of Sam’s head, holding him in place, the other clamps over Sam’s shoulder. He’s fucking Sam’s face, all finess gone. Water pours down his body, over Sam's face and can barely breath. It’s perfect. He pulls Dean further down his throat and swallows.
Dean grunts, fingernails digging into Sam’s skin. The slight pain is the only thing keeping Sam from coming just from the feel of his brother’s cock filling his mouth. He pulls off, gasping for air, but keeps his hands locked on Dean’s hips.
Letting him take one deep breath, Dean grabs Sam’s dripping hair and pulls him back down on his cock, pumping fast and hard into his mouth. There’s the Dean Sam’s been looking for. He grips his cock hard, staving off orgasm. “Yeah,” Dean sighs and comes long and hard, pulsing down Sam’s throat. Come drips out the sides of Sam’s mouth.
He uncurls from the floor, hands dragging up Dean’s body the whole time, and turns his face to the spray. “Better?” he asks Dean with a wet smile. Dean smiles back, eyes hooded, body slack, and reaches for Sam.
Sam twists out of the way. “Uh uh. I’ve got plans. Plans we need to be dry for.” He grabs the shampoo. “Out of the way and let me finish.”
The clean sheets feel crisp and cool against Sam’s bare skin, but not nearly as good as Dean’s body feels. “God I’ve missed this,” he says as he pulls Dean tighter against him, reveling in the feel of naked skin after a week of t-shirt and sweatpants.
Dean wraps an arm around Sam’s neck, his other arm wedged beneath the pillow. There’s always an extra arm somewhere when they lay face to face like this. “It wasn't about you, you know.”
Sam slides his hand down Dean’s side, over his hipbone and into the space between them. Dean sucks in his stomach just a bit.
“But it is about me,” he says. “It’s about how you think I would judge you. How you see yourself through what you imagine are my eyes. Do you really think I could look at you and see anything but perfection.”
Dean snorts. “C’mon, Sam. I know what I look like. I got the face, I know. But you...” He runs his hands over Sam’s biceps, squeezing the rock hard muscle. Trails his fingers down the speedbumps of Sam’s abdomen. He shakes his head. “Damn.”
Sam grabs his hand. He’s still hard, hasn’t flagged since he left the shower. How could he, with a naked Dean in his bed. He pushes Dean’s hand down further, until his fingers drag through the curls around the base of his cock. When Dean’s fingers trail lightly up his hard cock, he shudders, and lets go.
“Fuck,” he sighs. “Feels so good. How - god.” Dean strokes harder and Sam presses into him, trapping his hand between them. He has to get this out before he fucks Dean so hard they both forget how to speak. Which is going to be very soon.
“Dean, god.” He thrusts against Dean because it feels so good. Dean tangles his fingers in Sam’s hair and tugs hard. Sam’s mouth falls open on a silent groan.
“I, I look like this because, because I can. I got the genetics for it.”
“We have the same genes,” Dean reminds him. The dark of his eyes expand and he bites his bottom lip.
“Yeah we do,” Sam breathes into his mouth. He rolls them over until Dean is underneath him. Keeping his mouth locked onto Dean’s, he grabs Dean’s legs behind the knees and yanks them apart until they wrap around Sam’s hip. It’s twisted, but something the fact that they are brothers just ratchets up the heat. Sometimes they get off on it. Tonight is one of those times.
He pushes up until he is sitting back on his heels, Dean legs splayed around him. Dean’s hard again, cock curving up over his body. Sam wraps his hands around Dean’s hips and pulls, lifting his ass right up against Sam’s cock. “Sometimes, sometimes I feel like I don’t know who i am, you know. There’s been...” He stops, runs his hands down Dean’s legs, up his side. Dean is so solid, so real. And always Dean. How can he not know how much Sam needs him?
“Sammy?” Dean cranes his head off the pillow.
Sam sigh. “There’s been so many people, beings, angels, demons, even lucifer, in my head. Since I was a baby. Sometimes, a lot of time. I can’t trust my thoughts. My memories. But this?” He runs his hands down his own chest and stomach. “This I know is mine. This I can control.”
“Jesus, Sammy.” Dean reaches up and pulls Sam down on top of him, wraps his arms and legs around him. It’s pure comfort, not sex, as they hold each other. They’re both so damaged. They never know when something will turn, even something as good as this thing between them can be haunted.
Dean runs his hands down Sam’s back and Sam’s face is pressed into the space between his neck and shoulder. Dean smells good after the shower and Sam breathes in deep. Dean’s hands creep lower and lower, finally smoothing over the curve of Sam’s ass. Sam smiles against Dean’s neck and opens his mouth, sucking a bruise into that freckled skin.
Dean shudders under him and brings a hand up to the back of Sam’s head, pressing him in deeper. Sam grinds his hips roughly against Dean, his body letting him know that it’s been waiting a long time for an orgasm and sooner rather than later would be great.
“God, Sam. Enough with the talking. Fuck me already.”
Sam rolls off Dean and lays on his back. “Ride me. I want to see you.”
He can see the blush on the back of Dean’s neck as he rolls onto his side to reach the lube from the night stand. When he tries to turn back, Sam holds him in place with a hand on his lower back. “Give it,” he says, reaching his other hand over Dean for the lube.
Nudging Dean’s top leg forward with his knee, Sam slicks up his fingers and sinks one deep into Dean. They both groan and Sam bites the back of Dean’s shoulder. “You’re beautiful, and you know it,” he tells Dean, pumping two fingers now in and out relentlessly. Dean grunts and rolls his hips against Sam’s hand.
“But you, you only see your looks as a weapon, a tool to get you things. You think you’re only fooling people.” He pushes a third finger in.
Dean sprawls forward, almost face down on the mattress. His hand clenches the pillow by his head. “Sam, god, Sammy. Don’t -”
Sam thrusts in, presses hard against his prostate, pulling a wavering moan out of Dean. He leans over Dean, hand still, feeling Dean pulsing and hot around his fingers. “But I see the real you, Dean,” he whispers into his brother’s ear. “And it’s more beautiful than they will ever know.”
Dean moans like he’s dying, like he’s watching Sam die. “Fuck me, Sam. for the love of God, just stop, stop talking and fuck me.”
It’s been too long, Sam’s too close now. He pushes Dean onto his stomach and yanks his hips up into the air. Quickly slicking up, he slides deep into Dean in one smooth move. Dean pushes up onto his elbows and fucks back against Sam as hard as he can.
Sam pounds into Dean, harder than he wanted to, harder than he should. His fingers scramble for purchases on Dean’s thigh, his hips. Finally Sam grabs onto Dean’s shoulder and hauls him even deeper onto his cock. “God, I fucking love you,” he says.
Dean drops down on one elbow and reaches underneath himself. Two strokes and he’s clenching around Sam, trapping him inside. Sam couldn’t move if he wanted to. Not that he wants to. He waits for the vice grip of Dean’s ass to relax a little then he slides out. Panting for air, he flips Dean onto his back, and slide back into him. Dean looks at him with such love. His eyes so soft and his smile real and honest and just for him. Just for Sam.
“Sammy,” Dean says and Sam comes with a loud cry.
He collapses down onto of Dean. Dean grunts and pushes him off, but not before giving Sam a quick kiss on the side of the head. Dean reaches off the side of the bed for one of the towels.
“Now do you believe me?” Sam asks. “Everything I love, I see when i look at you.”
“So, like permanent beer goggles?”
Sam grabs the towel and cleans Dean up. “You’re such an asshole but I’m ignoring you.” Dean’s going to hate this, but he has to say it, at least once. He never wants to see that look on Dean’s face again that he saw in the mirror earlier. Not because of him. But he can make it easier.
He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. “I see you, Dean. All of you. Good, bad, ugly,beautiful. My annoying big brother, the righteous man. I see all the mistakes you’ve made and all the good you’ve done. And sometimes it takes my breath away. Sometimes I hate what you say or do. But i always love you. And I’ll always want you.”
Dean doesn’t say anything. Sam feels him breathing next to him, their arms brushing against each other. He’s worried he’s said too much and he tenses, getting ready to make some excuse to leave. Dean grabs his arm.
“Yeah?” he asks, still looking at the ceiling. One hand strays almost accidentally to his stomach. “All that?”
Dean can’t say it back, Sam knows. But when he turns to Sam and gathers him close in his arm, burying his head in Sam’s chest, Sam hears it just the same.