Long nights in cheap motels have eroded almost all their boundaries. They move around each other with long practiced ease. Sam never gets tired of watching Dean, his calloused fingers stripping a gun, the curve of his back as he stretches out the kinks from the road, a feast for Sam's eyes.
Fresh from the shower, towel slung low on his hips, drops of water glistening on his skin, and Dean is a whole other temptation. Sam watches and wants, he knows it's wrong - but right and wrong don't matter anymore. Dean is all he sees, and all he needs.
Sam knows the psychology, that smell can trigger memories and emotions. The metallic scent of blood is something he's become all too familiar with, and the horrors it evokes shatter his control. Sulphur makes his heart race, as he searches for the threat. Fire is the worst, the soot and ash fill his throat and throw him back to his darkest times.
Home for Sam isn't fresh baked cookies, or the sweet citrus of Jess' perfume - it's gun oil and old leather, the acrid tang of greasy junk food and cheap whiskey. Dean's favourite things bring him comfort and peace.
They live their lives to the rhythm of rumbling engines and classic rock. The clanging pipes of old motels and the rattle of beds banging against too thin walls.
He doesn't mean to listen, but Dean's anything but quiet. He's in the shower, rushing water doing nothing to muffle the delicious sounds. The slap of flesh and breathy moans tempt Sam closer, he wants more than anything to slip inside, to replace Dean's hand with his own, and be the one to bring Dean pleasure. He's so lost in his fantasy, he almost misses it when Dean whispers his name.
He tells himself it was a mistake, that he'd imagined it all. He's wanted Dean for so long, that the thought Dean might want him back is almost too much for him. It's become an obsession, watching for any tiny hint that Dean might feel the same way
Seeing Dean hurt again is the final straw, and when he's done cleaning the wounds, he doesn't move away. Instead he leans in and presses their lips together, for just a second Dean freezes, but then his mouth opens under Sam's and he gets his first taste of Dean's hunger and desire.
This is better than Sam's fantasies, he doesn't have to hold back anymore, Dean is his completely. He wants it all, to run his fingers over every inch of Dean's body, to lick and bite and mark Dean as his. He wants to feel Dean come apart in his arms, and learn how to make him scream.
Every touch just makes him want more. The scrape of Dean's stubble over his too sensitive skin, Dean's hands griping him hard enough to bruise. It's all he's ever wanted, proof that Dean wants him too, that this is what they both need.
Dean's not psychic, he isn't one of Azazel's special kids. But when it comes to Sam, he sees more than he should. It's not so much sixth sense, as Sam sense, he knows Sam in every way.
He knows when Sam starts to watch him differently, feels the weight of his stare, sees the hidden hunger in his eyes. He can't make the first move, no matter how desperately he wants to give into his desire. It has to be Sam, Dean can't cross that line. The first kiss is awkward, but he doesn't care, the hiding is finally over.