Dean whipped his towel from where it hung over the shower rod, using his other hand to slam the water off. If he were in a better mood, he'd have shaken most of the water from his hair. Instead, he scrubbed his clean hair into angry, tousled points. Last night he'd banged his head while getting into the car, then again, later on the trunk lid. So far today, he'd stubbed his toe on the corner of the cheap motel bed, slammed his fingers in the closet door and gotten a nice, fresh paper-cut reviewing Sam's notes. He felt like the universe was out to get him; that it wouldn't stop until he was a greasy smear on Heaven's heel.

Waterloo, IA smelled like disappointment, disappointment and shampoo. He wished Sam would hurry up and get back. Sam's been out too long. How long does it take to pick up food and a twenty-five pound bag of salt? Dean was elbows down on the bed, working his way through the press clippings in his jeans. When he heard the Impala, there was no one to see the quick smile, the smoothing of the tense forehead. It only lasted a second and his brow was thoroughly and decently rumpled when Sam pushed through the door carrying cartons of Chinese and several bags.

Dean groaned, "Hey, Bitch. Is Iowa out of hamburgers?"

"Hey Jerk, how are the panties? Still in a tight, twisty knot I see."

"Salt?"

Sam sighed, "Yes. I got the damn salt. You know, we've been brothers for awhile now and I've been thinking about something." Dean stared blankly, waiting for him to continue.

"Dean? Are you absolutely sure we've got the right nicknames? I'm not saying that you're not a jerk, because... Stop me if you've heard this before, you ARE, but if you'd ever like to just borrow 'Bitch' I wanted to let you know that I wouldn't mind sharing. Take it for a test drive, walk around in it a little bit, you might like it. ... Bitch."

That was enough. Dean cracked into a huge grin and Sam only had time to get the food onto the little table next to the door before Dean had grabbed one of the bed pillows with his feet and chucked it, one-handed across the room, nailing Sam in the face as he tried to deflect it.

"So, Chinese then?"

"Yeah, but I got you pie," Sam said, as he shuffled out of his shoes and took a seat at the end of the bed.

Dean put the papers aside and picked up the remote. "Alright, give it."

"Say please."

"What kind of pie are we talking about?"

"Apple."

Dean kneeled on the bed beside Sam and knit his fingers together, begging: "Pretty please, Sam. Can I have the pie? ...plEase?"
It was nothing if not a fair imitation of heartfelt, and the wink at the end was barely noticeable.

Sam held out his hand for the remote and Dean went to go find the pie that was hiding in the bags on the table. He looked back at the screen while Sam scrolled through the channels. "Stop, Sam."

"Where, that movie? Lost Boys?"

"Yeah. Kiefer Sutherland, Chinese food."

Sam smirked, "I liked this movie." He turned to Dean. "Remember when I saw it. I must have been around ten."

"We stayed up and I let you watch it on TV one night when Dad was away, chasing a nest," .

"I remember that it wasn't too scary, because I knew it wasn't real. But, at the same time it was also one of the scariest things I'd ever seen, because I knew. As fake as the movie was, it WAS real. While we were sitting there, watching probably the coolest movie vampire of our generation, Dad was out there."

Dean was so glad that Sam was home. Everything was better when he was there. As much as he liked to think of himself as a strong, lone wolf kind of guy, he was lost on his own, "Vampires. When a vampire bites it, it's never a pretty sight. No two bloodsuckers go the same way. Some yell and scream, some go quietly, some explode, some implode, but all will try to take you with them." He cracked open the clear plastic pie-prison. "You & me, Sam, we're dedicated to a higher purpose. We're fighters for truth, justice, and the American way."

"Was that a movie quote? Did Dean Winchester just make an abstract, pop-culture reference?"

"Part of it was, maybe, yeah," Dean admitted, reddening.

"Who's the geek, now?" Sam teased, tossing him a plastic-wrapped, plastic fork.

Dean loved it when his brother looked at him like this. This is good. Being together like this is fun and easy. The shadow of the work isn't looming overhead like a death omen. When Sam is smiling at him like this, with his big eyes and soft smile, it's easy to forget that they're living in a never-ending series of boxes with quirky feature walls. This is home and home is wherever they are. They'll never really have anything but each other. This is Winchester Normal, population: Two. Everything else that he thought he wanted, for Sam, for himself, those big dreams that he has for the both of them, feel so foreign, so off-limits, that he's pushed himself away from every brush he's had with it.

And just like that, he can feel the dark mood again; like waves on a beach, lapping at his toes. He doesn't deserve The Lost Boys and Sam. He doesn't deserve any Iowa chinese noodles. From where he's sitting, it's all Flowers in the Attic. An absent parent left them here. Put them into hiding; trapping them in a life that is slowly killing them. In every way that matters, they've been cut off from the rest of the world. Almost their whole lives, with only each other for comfort and companionship.

All he needs now is a nice arsenic biscuit.

"Wakey wakey, eggs & bakey!" Dean said as he bounced on the foot of Sam's bed. "If we're on the road in an hour, we'll be in Lebanon, Kansas tonight."

"Well good morning, Sunshine!" Sam said, stretching his long arms and back. "Feeling better?"

"Much. Sorry about last night."

"No problem, how'd you sleep, Dean? I heard you going through something. I almost came over to give you a tap & shout, but you pulled through."

"Yeah?"

"It was strange, 'cause you usually sleep so quietly. Well, whatever was troubling you, it must have gotten what was coming to it."

Dean turned, duffel in hand, "What do you mean?" He knows that his little brother is holding something back.

"Well," Sam said, buttoning his shirt, "At first you were thrashing a little. I was going to help, but then it got... better."

"Better? Like, ...better?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, "Yes." he stressed, meaningfully.

"Sorry," Dean blushed. Poor Sammy. It would have been bad enough if he'd been caught having a nightmare, but knowing that Sam had watched him while he'd had a sex dream was more than he was prepared to deal with, especially THIS sex dream. "Five minutes, Car?"

Shouldering his bag, Sam said, "Let's do it." Dean winced and flipped off the light and closed the motel room door.

The Impala doors groaned open and then swung shut with the solid, metal sound that was as familiar to both men as the sound of their own blood in their ears; they'd stopped consciously hearing it decades ago, noticing only when it wasn't right.

Jeans slid across the cold front seat and the engine started up and pulled out of the muddy lot with a throaty rumble. As the vinyl seats warmed and the coffee cooled in tiny motel cups, Dean leaned toward the radio. The last comfortable, soulful refrains of 'Midnight Special' slid through the cab. Both men, in unison, took a deep breath and let it out audibly. Looking at each other, Sam, the corner of his mouth turned up, said, "The bunker, then."

'Simple Man' filled the gap in conversation until Dean pulled onto the interstate and agreed: "Let's go home."

Sam can see Dean wrestling with himself behind the steering wheel. He's gotten much better at seeing Dean without being noticed - it's a skill that he's built through practice. Watching Dean, the brother, is something he's always done. He only understands the world because he saw it first through his brother's eyes. But, Sam has been watching Dean, the man, for at least fifteen years. His first new feelings pushing him toward college and away from the watchful eyes of his father as much as anything else. He's careful. As far as he knows, no one has ever picked up on his over-vigilant behavior. The level of awareness that he dedicates to Dean is important to the strength of the Winchester team. And what does it really matter if Sam is gratified from their relationship in a way that overlaps one that he'd otherwise seek from someone he was dating? Well, no one really needs to know that, do they?
At least, that is how he felt until last night. Now he's been given a sliver of white-hot hope and that sharp, burning piece of light is working its way under his lung. He can feel it when he takes a deep breath, feels it catch against his angel-marked ribs when he remembers Dean last night - breathless, on his back with both the blanket and his head thrown back, panting:

"Kiss me ... fuck, Sammy. So, so good."

Miles of asphalt slid behind them as the brothers lapsed into an easy silence. Dean had been waiting for this. In the safety of his mind he'd be able to examine the dream from last night with very little chance of Sam catching his eye or suspecting that he was doing anything other than just marking miles. 'Shit, how broken AM I?' he screams behind his eyes. If he's going to un-bundle this baggage he's going to have to keep it locked away, tight. He glances over just far enough to catch Sam's long fingers leafing through the journal and swallows painfully. He can handle the constant attacks from outside. Something's been trying to kill them every second of every day since Dean was in first grade. Whatever this is, is an attack from inside. It has to be, because the alternative is too big, too dangerous, too much to hope for; that it could ever work for a family like theirs.

'Shh. OK, I've gotta figure this thing out. Remember the dream,' Dean says to himself as he buckles down to concentrate. 'Alright. We were out on some aging fishing boat, I remember. The missing crew. It was cold and dark; everything was moving back and forth. The mermaids had been eating the crew (are mermaids even real? [probably]) So I was fighting the mermaid. Yeah. But then, how did Sammy get involved? Oh, that's right. When I got that seaweed-covered whore in a headlock, I looked down and it was Sam, his bare feet looped into the fishing net lying in a loose pile on the decking. That's when it started? Yeah - that's when he moaned and pressed himself back against my cock. Oh. Then, I turned him around and we were in that room with all of the pillows. I remember now. It was dark and warm, like a hunting lodge on aphrodisiacs. Then, there was the fireplace. I pushed him down into the deep leather couch. We were pulled down into it's soft... heated... leathery-ness? It was like skin and chocolate, campfires and red meat. Sam's mouth. I was drunk on his fucking lips. When I kissed him, my whole body started to slip and spin out of focus. I was dissolving. The only reason that I wasn't lost was that I was buoyed by Sammy's beautiful, soft, wet mouth. I wanted to thank him for saving me from drowning. I wanted to taste him, to fill my mouth and throat with him, to get him off with my mouth and to swallow him down, but that stunning, greedy bastard beat me to it.

'Am I gay? NO. It's just Sammy.

'Maybe I am ...probably not.

'I've never had a blowjob like that before. It was... There was NO blowjob, it was in your head, Rip van Winkle.

'I think I must be gay, because I loved it. I think I'm Sammysexual.

'It was just a dream. People aren't responsible for the stuff that floats up out of their subconscious.

'Do I want it to happen again? I might be gay if I want it to happen again.

'Is he watching me? I think he's watching me.

'Play it cool, Dean, Don't let him know you're gay.

'Cooler than that.'

"Hey, Sammy," I want to touch your hair.

"Hey, Dean. You OK?"

"Fine. I'm just fine," I love you.

"You look troubled. Is there anything that I might be able to help you with?"

He turned to face Sam, "Just working through that thing last night, no big deal."

"Clowns or midgets?"

The opposite, actually - a serious Sasquatch. Still want to help your big brother, dimples?

"You're a little bit twisted, Sammy. I've never been more proud of you," he smirked.
Dean pointed to the signs marking the next exit ramp.

"It's only eleven, Dean."

Dean sat up a little higher, "It's not an emergency or anything. I think it's just the caffeine making me squirrelly."

Sam moved his back against the door frame so that he could see his brother and rolled his eyes, "We can stop anytime you want, Rocky."

"Let's keep going. I can wait."

"You sure you don't want to get off here?"

"Maybe later, Sammy."

"Wake up, Dean. It's dinner time." Sam pulled into the lot. They'd made good time and it was looking like they'd make it home before dark. After the lunch stop, Sam had taken over while Dean napped. It had looked very peaceful. No love for Sammy, evidently.

"We're almost there. I only just closed my eyes, can't it wait?"

"The fridge is empty and so am I. You want to stay here? Fine." Sam slammed the door. It was a huge overreaction. His nerves were raw. He knew he was being an asshole. He had been speeding through Nebraska while watching Dean curled in on himself. The last four hours was a never-ending loop of the dream he'd overheard last night. Even though he was closer to having Dean than he'd ever thought possible, he couldn't stop the desperate anger. He wanted to scream out an apology even as his fingernails cut into his palms - tight inside his fists. He was ruining it.

Dean stayed in the car, shaken. He'd been blind-sided by Sammy and he felt nauseated. A deep fear began to creep in. How was he going to fix this and what if he couldn't? He wanted to be angry too, but he couldn't even muster a scowl. Dean sat in the rapidly cooling car for almost an hour being totally and completely honest with himself; it was an exciting and novel sensation - honesty. Who would've thought?

He ran a fine-toothed comb through his past and found a lot of things that needed examining. He wasn't gay. He'd decided that much, but he's not really straight, either. There's so much of the last twenty years that he's been afraid to look at too closely. The truth of it threatens everything that he knows to be safe and ...normal. Dean's love for his brother is bigger than that of a sibling and it's understandable. He almost raised Sam by himself. There is pride in knowing that Sam is an exceptional man. Dean taught him and kept him safe, but he feels an obligation toward him and even a little bit of ownership of him. Sam is his partner, his best friend and his reason for living.

Heaven had a warped sense of humor when they built Dean's heart - the poor thing can't tell one kind of love from another. It's all-encompassing, and too much for one man to take. He feels all of the love that one human can feel for another and it is centered on just one person - Sammy.

Sam stared into the reflection on the black coffee.
If Dean wasn't coming in, he'd take him something.

Sam returned with a paper bag and downcast eyes. They are silent for the whole last hour.

Neither wanted to make it worse, and neither knew how to make it better. Dean ate the wrapped sandwich that Sam pressed into his hands as he drove the last leg. The music cooperated. Sam even smiled over at him when Dean couldn't help but pound out the bass-line to 'Some Kind of Monster' on the steering wheel. The sun was setting as they pulled up to the bunker. The first one to speak was Dean.

"I've been exploring the Men of Letters genealogies. It's interesting stuff, definitely more your speed, Sammy. You should come see." Olive branch, baby boy?

"Yeah. let me drop off my gear."

"I'll go pull them," Dean offered with a hopeful smile. He went straight to the back study and started pulling tomes, stacking them on the table between the lamps. When he'd moved the third one he spotted a small switch on the back wall of the bookcase. Always the impetuous one, he flipped it. A false front snapped out and opened; revealing a small paneled cabinet at the same time an iron security door slid shut at the far end of the room, trapping him in the study. Aww, come ON.

"Sam-MAY!" he shouted. "I'm in here."

"Dean?" Sam came whipping around the corner to find his way blocked by an impressive, new metal wall. There was a small inset along the edge with an almost cheery countdown display that read '59:36.' "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, found a secret stash of cool stuff, I think. ...probably."

Sam tried to stifle a laugh, but a small, sardonic chuckle escaped. This whole day has been just perfect. He can't wait to start over fresh, tomorrow. "There's a timer. Let me go check the control room real quick. I'll look for anything that says you're in any more trouble than the obvious lack of a restroom."

"I'm not going anywhere." He took a seat against the cool metal door and wondered how long it was going to take to get out of here and what his Man of Letters grandfather would say if he could see him now.

Much later, he heard the familiar tread of the youngest Winchester, returning.

"Dean, I'm back. It seems safe enough. I'm not sure what happened, but the timer's cycling down. There are almost forty minutes left. All of this tech is old. It's run by magic that it'd take a lifetime to learn. If I had to guess, it looks like you tripped a fail-safe. The door should open on its own. Then again, we don't always have the best luck, do we?" Sam sat against the door with his feet sprawling out into the hall.

"No, Sammy, we don't." His voice was softer when he asked, "Talk with me?"

"Sure Dean. What do you want to talk about?"

"Maybe you could help me understand what happened on the drive back." Sam could tell by the tone in his voice that he'd been shaken and he felt like shit for having hurt Dean. "Are you avoiding me, Sammy?"

Panic. "Oh my God, Dean." He paused for just a bit too long and was trapped, not knowing where to go from there. "...Wait, do you hear that? I think there's an alarm going off somewhere. I've got to go find it. I'll be right back." Liar! I'm a dirty, stinking liar. There was no alarm. The bunker was absolutely quiet. He felt awful for lying about an alarm, but he was panicking and couldn't risk making any more mistakes. Not today. Not with Dean. He stood and began to pace, trying to stifle the desire to scream at this new lie.

"It's alright, take your time. I'll head on over and take a look through the new documents while you're gone."

Sam waited until he was sure that Dean had moved away from the door and sighed into the silent hall, "I want you so much."

From the other side of the wall, from the same place against the floor came the response: "Not as much as I want you, Baby Boy."

"Dean!" Sam dropped to his knees in front of the metal wall.

"Yeah, Sammy." The voice was breaking with emotion, defeated.

"Holy hell!" His throat was rapidly swelling shut. Hyperventilating. He's pretty sure his heart's trying to escape.

"Tell me, Sammy. Tell me when. Tell me how long? I need to hear."

"I'm afraid, Dean."

"Please."

"Alright. Give me a minute." He resumed his position, sitting against the door and tried to clear his throat. There is no way that this is not going to kill me, I can't survive this. His jaw tightened as he prepared to completely undo the careful work of the last fifteen years. Hiding his feelings has been so incredibly important that imagining his life without the secrecy is terrifying. It's Dean. He can do this for Dean. He shifted his weight against the wall and started low. He can barely hear himself, but Dean wouldn't let even one word get away. His future depended on each word as they fell, one by one from Sammy's lips, "I think I must have been seventeen, watching you and Dad do those stupid training drills. He had you running stairs and you were glossy with sweat.
"Is this what you want to hear, Dean?"

Dean's voice was raw and dangerous, "Yes, Sammy. I need to hear it."

"The only thing I wanted was to lick you clean. I wanted to push you against the kitchen table and tongue-bathe you. All of you." He took a deep breath before he continued. The inside of his head was swimmy and under extreme pressure. "He, Dad, locked us in the basement for three hours for that tandem exorcism, remember? It must have started getting serious, because the lights went out. It was almost grave-like, being underground. As we stood there in the dark, I wasn't cold, Dean. You thought I was cold and afraid, so you put your arm around me to make me feel safer, but I only shivered more. The whole time I was shivering against your warmth... I'm sorry Dean, but it was only because I wanted you to fuck me hard in that thick, oppressive darkness so badly that I can still taste it. I wanted you to wrap yourself around me and take me - against that cold concrete floor. I can still remember the smell of that wet, musty basement and, God help me, I only want it more."

A low, strangled moan vibrated against Sam's back from the other side of the wall. Sam nearly lost his words as a wave of arousal threatened to suffocate him. He took a stuttering breath and continued, "I wanted you to light me up from the inside, to burn and fill me with your heat while those clueless old men shuffled around above us."

"Keep going, Sam," Dean growled. Sam's cock was straining so hard against the limits of the denim that he had to shift against the cold floor. "I think this might be the worst one, but sometimes, I'm so sorry, Dean, but sometimes I can hear you in the shower. I can hear you touching yourself. I'm such a disgusting creep, but I jerk off to the sounds you make while you're coming and I have to race to compose myself so you never find out."

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean cried out, his head in his hands.

"Tell me, Dean."

"Sammy?"

Sam waited until Dean began to speak.

"I only ever jerk off in the shower when I'm thinking about you, Sammy."
And now it's Sam's turn to choke back a deep-throated whimper.

"The flat tire in Idaho," it was quiet for a minute before Dean could start again. "When we spent a night in the backseat to keep warm. The windows were fogged and it felt like the Impala was all that was left of the whole world. As cold as we were, I was wrapped up in your breath and the scent of your skin and hair.

"It was torture." Dean chuckled, darkly. "I was painfully hard all night long. Hours and hours of my body screaming for you. Begging to have - to take what I held in my arms. As the sun was rising, I was sure that it was almost over. Then, as the first light came in through the back window you rolled over - you shifted against my chest and sighed. That's all it took. You breathed on me and I... I finished, Sammy. I came in my pants because you exhaled. God, it's embarrassing to remember. I told myself that it was anything other than what it was, because I was terrified that those feelings would RUIN everything. I almost convinced myself that it hadn't happened.
"I love you. I love you, and only you. I'm done. My soul is knit to yours. I couldn't tell you when it happened, but... I can't ever see you hurt, Baby Boy. I've died to protect you and I'll do it again if I get the chance, as many times as it takes." The last few words tapered off until Sam thought he might have heard them inside his own head.

Sam felt feverish, but began again, needing to get the words out, "I'm going to drink you in until it doesn't hurt anymore. Dean, I want to lose myself in you and never come up for air. You're so far away right now that it's painful. The physical part, I don't know how... I've never... yet." Both men blushed at this confession of inexperience. Neither had been with another man before, but like everything else, they'd figure this out.

"I want to learn. I need you, Dean. I need to feel you. I want to give you everything. I'm so incredibly lucky to be your brother, but it's hurt so much knowing that you didn't want me like this."

"But I do, Sammy. I want you so much. I think I always have," Dean's words were rushed in his eagerness to reassure his brother. Screw 'chick-flick moments', he'd be King of the 'chick-flick,' because it was the truth and the words wouldn't stop coming. "My heart skips when you smile and it bleeds when you cry. It's not mine and hasn't belonged to me since the day you were born. If there is a name on my cursed and unworthy heart? It's yours. It's always been yours, Sammy. I've always loved you. It should be wrong, but it's true. I've loved you like a parent and I've loved you as a brother. I hope that you give me the chance to show you how much I love you as a man. Please. Take me. I belong to you. Teach me how to make you happy. I will be whatever you need."

From somewhere inside the wall, a small, sharp click.

Somewhere in there, between the awkward pauses and whispered oaths, the timer had expired.

The door retracted. Bringing them together as smoothly as it had separated them.

"Can I touch you, Sammy?"

"Yes. So much yes," he said as he reached for his brother.

Dean's hands made a quick, frustrated grab for his own hair before he knotted them into the front of Sam's shirt. Suddenly concerned, Dean asked, "Is this okay? Can we do this?"

"Shut up! Hell, yes we can have this!" Sam's eyebrows moved together in an intense scowl and he was almost frantic. He had his hands cupping Dean's jaw, his thumbs resting against the careworn face. Deep breath.. Calmer now, his eyes steady and penetrating, he said, "This, is ours. No one is taking this away. Especially now that I know you want it, too." He brought their lips together in the softest of warm, breathy, sweeping passes, back and forth, teasing, back and forth and once more, before deepening the kiss until Dean took over.

Sam's vision went fuzzy with the strength and passion behind the kiss of his experienced older brother. Dean pulled him in tightly, so Sam moved one arm up behind Dean's neck and slipped the other under the edge of his shirt. Fingers brushed against the hot silk of Dean's skin. "Don't you dare stop," Sam warned, and his mouth was again full of Winchester. They raced to make up for wasted time. Kissing, nipping and working to get enough air as they pressed heated, open kisses to exposed skin.

"I won't stop, Sammy. I promise. I don't think I'd know how," one of Dean's hands moved to caress Sam's sleek, rippled torso, the other one locked itself into the soft, fragrant hair at the base of Sam's skull.

Dean pulled back, stopping, damn him. Sam wept inwardly at the distance. Dean was overwhelmed with emotion when he asked, "What do you want, Sam? What can I do? It's yours ...anything, EVERYthing. Name it."

Sam groaned, "I want you to ward and barricade the doors." There was wetness on his face and he scrubbed it away with the heel of his palm. "I want to break the phones. We need to find the biggest bed with the best shower and I want leave a trail of clothes all the way there. The only problem is," he held his hand up and turned it front to back, the fingers twitching, "I can't stop shaking."

Dean's eyes laughed and his voice was thick and velvety with sin when he said, "Done. Break the phones up real good and meet me in room number twenty-seven." Then, he leaned in, and whispered deep and rough against Sam's ear, "I can be your hands, little brother. I'm going to taste you and I'm going to mark you. The first round is on me."

In the end, it was easier than they expected to lock out the world. Sam decided instead of destroying the phones completely, to lock every phone and piece of portable tech in the trunk. And because the bunker was already thoroughly warded, they only had to work together to move the heavy, blast-proof, iron door into place and fasten the cross bar.

They looked up at each other, smiling and slightly winded after a job well done. Sam said, "Now, we might never get out of here."

"Good," Dean answered and those easy smiles faded, eyes darkening, Sam harshly grabbed his brother. He pulled Dean's shirt off over his head and threw him against the wall, crashing into him - teeth and hands, aggressive and elated. Sam drove his mouth in against Dean's neck and was surprised by Dean's leaning into him, even tilting his head to give Sam more. Dean's laugh was loud and genuine as Sam pinned his brother's arms over his head and ran his tongue in one slow and scalding pass from Dean's sternum right up to the underside of that beautifully sculpted chin.

... And then Dean was suddenly missing. Sam fell against the wall where his brother had been only a few seconds before. He had been very distracted. He wasn't sure how it happened, but Dean had escaped. Sam shook his head and started chuckling as he threw off his shoes and his jeans before running after his brother. Both men, racing through the venerated halls of the bunker, only half-dressed and fully aroused.

As Sam rounded the corner, he landed surprisingly gently against the cold marble floor and Dean was on him, working his way up Sam's body, lifting and bunching Sam's shirts as he climbed. Sam lifted his head and shoulders to help Dean remove the wad of clothing. Sam heard playful growling. A set of teeth grabbed and held the skin of Sam's neck. There was steady and delicious pressure as the teeth were withdrawn and he was marked with the largest and most delightfully juvenile love-bite. "MINE." Dean practically purred, "Hey, baby boy. Gotta keep an eye out for ambushes," and planted a kiss on Sam that was so intense, that the younger brother was immobilized until Dean was on the move again.

Stunned and pulling himself up, he was just able to catch sight of Dean hopping on one foot as he kicked out of his jeans. As he disappeared around the last turn, he shouted, "Twenty-seven, Sammy."

When Sam got to the room, Dean was waiting in the doorway, his eyes huge with eagerness, barely contained joy and a flash of mischief. Sam melted into him, braiding his long, olive-toned limbs into Dean's muscular, golden ones. "Found you. Now you're going to get it."

"I wanted to beat you here, Sammy. I made you something, what do you think?"

It was difficult to focus on anything that wasn't Dean-colored, but he made the effort to pull his eyes away for a few seconds at a time. The room was beautiful and finished. It must have been an impossible project. There was a king-sized bed instead of the spartan, twin bunks in all of the standard rooms. There was an adjoining bathroom. This room must have been designed originally for a married couple. Families of Letters. Weird.

"We never really had much of anything growing up. I know you've already got a room and you can stay there, if you want, but I really wanted to do this for you, Sammy. You deserve to feel safe and comfortable. I wanted you to finally have something that was really GOOD and not just good enough. What do you think?"

Sam could see that Dean was nervous and excited. This was a gift, a thoughtful one. As distracted as he was, he needed to wait just a few minutes more. This gift was an act of love as meaningful, if not more so, than anything else they'd planned for this evening.
Dean carefully watched Sam's reactions, hopeful and expectant.

"Dean, it's stunning. ...but," he paused.

"What's wrong?"

"It's... it won't work. It's almost there, but it's not right. We can fix it, if you'll help me."

Dean looked a little bit crushed, but he said, "Of course, Sammy. What does it need?"

"Let's see. I think it's mostly just too empty. Could we start by putting your shampoo in the bathroom? That would help." There was a slow smile starting on one side of Dean's mouth. "It really needs someplace to keep your albums. The bookcase is almost perfect, but where are we going to hang your weapons? Yeah, I would never feel safe and comfortable in here without you, Dean. I'd be ...cold? Do you think you might be able to share with me?
This room could never be GOOD without you in it."

He can read the fear in Dean's face. He's got more to lose than he's ever had before and that kind of happiness is terrifying. Dean is the bravest man that he knows and Sam can hear the depth of feeling when he answers:

"Oh, hell yeah, Sammy."

"We should move in some of your clothes," he said, running his palm down Dean's back and lifting the waistband of the black boxer briefs. "Let's start with these. Take 'em off?"

Without breaking eye contact, Dean slipped out of the boxers and kicked them up to catch them and put them into Sam's waiting and outstretched hand. Sam turned and walked over to the dresser. He opened the top drawer and dropped them in, "There."

Dean took a second to glance down at Sam's own underwear and then back up, raising an eyebrow.

Sam smirked and kicked them off, adding them to the drawer. "Better?"

"Better. Come here."

"You're so beautiful, Dean. I'm afraid to touch you."

"I think you're going to have to, baby boy. I haven't been able to feel my feet since you took off your shorts."

"Alright, then," Sam laughed, "Hold still. I want to try something," he closed his hand around the back of Dean's neck. The other hand trailed over Dean's shoulder and ran down to lace itself into his fingers. It's the first time they've held hands since they were children. Dean's eyes closed as he took a deep breath and held it. Sam lifted the joined hands and kissed Dean's palm. "I want to feel your skin."

For as long as he can remember, Dean's skin has been a rare and exotic thing; both forbidden and carefully rationed. Even when he could see it, he wasn't allowed to look. Now, he's got every inch, ALL of the skin. Sam was sure that his own expression was one of reverence and joy.
Dean's body - Sam's very own holy relic.

Sam was eager to explore this new treasure. He ran his hands through Dean's hair and down his neck, behind his ears. Then he moved down each arm and traced the gaps between the different muscles. When Sam moved across his chest he looked up to see Dean watching him, all heat and devotion. He smiled and returned to his task, running his thumb against a nipple before putting his tongue out to feel it. Dean's sharp intake of breath caused Sam to smile hugely and glance up and admire the concentration that Dean was using to keep his arousal under control. He moved to the broad expanse of Dean's back. Sam gently bit the shoulder before taking a moment to cup his hands around the only ass he's ever wanted like this. It was so deliciously perfect. He dropped to his knees and brushed his lips against the small of Dean's back. With his fingers on either side of Dean's rib-cage, Sam raked them down in long, smooth strokes.
Dean is ticklish.

He moved around to stare back up at Dean, before running his fingers down his chest and along the edge of his dusky and handsome cock. All of Dean was precious, but the sensitivity of this skin is what made it special. Sam used his fingers to gently grip and twist his brother and ran his tongue along the salty moisture waiting there. He wet his lips before pressing the head through them and down, through the channel he made with his tongue. Even though they'd only just started, Dean whimpered as if he were close. He should be, he's been waiting and wanting this for fifteen years. Sam smiled and hummed eagerly, feeling Dean respond, tasting his excitement, smelling his warmth. Sam used one hand to delicately roll Dean's balls and to slide against the tender skin of his inner thigh. Dean had his hands in Sam's hair and as the gentle massage intensified, Sam could tell right when Dean was going to come. He worked in several faster, deeper thrusts, carefully slamming him in, wetly, through tensed and rolled lips while he relaxed his throat. Dean panted, "Sammy. Sam? It's, Oh my God, Sammy." It's the dream all over again, but this time it was real. And when Dean unloaded spasm after spasm of hot, thick semen, Sammy was there to swallow it down and to gently lick him clean - just like he'd always wished he could. He had to catch Dean when he lost his balance.

Sam lowered his brother to the mattress and slid in behind him to wait while Dean remembered how to speak and to breathe. He wrapped his arm over him and pressed his hand to Dean's heart. The rhythm slowed and Dean flipped over to face him, "Sammy, how did you learn that?"

"I didn't, I just felt what you wanted, I think. Was it okay?"

"Let me show you. Unless you want to try coming inside me," he offered.

"Shit, Dean. That should be.. I don't know. It's beautiful, and filthy and the best thing I've ever heard. Write it in my Christmas card, yeah?"

Dean laughed and pressed kisses to the soft skin of Sammy's neck. "I can feel your pulse, Sammy and my chest ...aches. I love you."

Sammy teased, "That's the orgasm talking, big brother."

"Let's find out," he said, as he started down, to work wet kisses around Sam's navel.

"Alright, Dean. But you should know ahead of time that I'm already hopelessly in love with you."

His tongue was circling Sam's hipbone when he heard the words. His face split into a huge smile that made the tongue work impossible. Of course Sammy loved him, but even during all of the confession time earlier, he'd never said the actual words. Dean hadn't known just how badly he'd needed to hear them. He groaned into the skin at Sam's hip and came back up for a long, deep kiss. He could taste himself on Sammy's tongue and the intimacy was intoxicating. "Shower, Sammy." He pointed toward the open door with a stern smile, arm fully extended.

Sam was confused and intrigued - he didn't move right away and was waiting for more information.

Dean dropped his voice and it smoldered as he explained, "I've been reading. I'd like to try something, Sammy. But there's something else, too. Since this morning, I've been wanting to rub soap all over your body. I'd like to slip against you with my hands tangled into your hair and to lick the water from you. The shower seems like the best place for something like that," and winked as he watched the lust flood Sammy's face, his eyes closed and rolled back as he pictured it.

"Go start the water, Sammy, I need to grab something."

Sam stood under the hot water and waited, while he combed his hair back with his fingers. The glass shower door was steamed. He was so anxious that when he saw Dean's hand come to the door handle, he was startled.

"Can I come in?"

Sam pushed open the door and wrapped his hot, wet fingers around Dean's wrist - pulling him in, through the steam and under the water. His other arm was holding at least one towel and it was rapidly getting wetter. "Oh no."

"It's fine, watch," Dean put two small bottles on the stone seat and shook the towel out, folding it in half. He spread it out on half of the shower's slate tiles, careful not to block the drain. "See? Soft and non-skid. ...Whoa!" Dean's jaw gaped as he stared at the glistening, monumental sculpture, the man that was his little brother. Sam brightened at the appreciation, stepping closer. Dean whispered, wickedly, "I'm going to be SO good to you."

He picked up the first bottle and filled his palm with a healthy amount of creamy, fragrant foam. It was spicy and sweet - warm and just woody enough to be masculine. Dean had brought his shampoo, just like Sam had asked. He split it between his hands and started working it through Sam's hair and along his arms. Dean went back for a second handful before spreading it over Sam's back and his own chest. "Get in here. You're going to smell like me."

Not needing any more invitation that that, Sam wrapped his long arms around Dean. The first went around his back and up behind his neck, the second, around his waist and grabbed a handful of ass. They slid together so slickly that Sammy cursed while Dean laughed against his wet hair. "I want to see if I can reach your prostate, Sammy. It's supposed to be good, want to try?" He felt Sam nodding into the wet hollow of his neck, and then Sammy's mouth was on him again, hot and violently frustrated.

His teeth were in the way, he'd never be able to climb into Dean's mouth like this. He had so much to say but he can't find the words.

"Let me help, we need to get you rinsed. It was wrong to make you wait this long. I've got you. I'm going to use my hands and mouth at the same time. I think you need to be standing for that to work, but let me know if you need to sit. OK, Sammy?"

He picked up the other bottle and helped to rest Sammy's shoulders against the warm stone wall. He took a position on the wet towel - on his knees in front of his brother.

One of Sam's last rational thoughts was how perfectly angelic Dean looked from this position, water coursing through his hair and beading on his skin. When he felt Dean's mouth close around the swollen head of his cock, he threw his arms up and pressed them against the wall behind him. And when he felt the lubricated hand slide behind his balls and into the cleft of his ass, his toes curled tightly into the wet towel and he whimpered, "Dean! ...fuck. I'm not going to last," he panted, but he's waited too long to miss even a second of this. Sam took a deep breath of steam and held it while Dean made small circles over the tight opening. As he pressed in, Sam felt burning pressure. He'd been sure that this was going to hurt, and he'd welcomed it, but this stinging intrusion was a blissful sensation. The needy home of Dean's mouth intensified and the tight burning only made it better, anchoring him.

Dean was in to his second knuckle and Sam started to relax around his finger, "OK, Sammy, here we go." He looked up to see Sam throw his head back, teeth bared. He pressed in to the third knuckle and curled it forward against Sam's inner wall. The prostate was there, smooth and rubbery, like a little nut. "I've got it, can you squeeze my finger?"

Sam pulled his inside muscles tight and groaned at the strange new feeling, electric and full.

"I'll stay right here; squeeze me all you want, OK?" Dean took him into his mouth again. He curled his tongue around the head, first pulling up before sliding down the full length of Sam, until he came to rest at the back of Dean's throat. Dean set up a rhythm and Sammy matched him, pulling and relaxing his inner muscles.

"Can I have more, Dean?"

Not even slowing, Dean pressed in his middle finger so that both fingers were curled into Sam's prostate. His second hand moving to carefully stroke the base of the shaft, strengthening and increasing the pace.

"Dean!" he pleaded as he locked down on the fingers, "I... oh my God. You're amazing!"

Dean smiled around Sam's full erection as he took him even deeper, pulling back only to press him right back down to the back of his throat again. When Sam came, it was locked onto Dean's hand, deep in his throat and screaming his name.

Dean rinsed them one last time and got Sam tucked into their big, shared bed. The sun was rising outside. Spent and intoxicated they tangled themselves together. Sam put his hand on Dean's neck and kissed him tenderly. "Later, we'll need to break out of here," he smiled. "After breakfast and after shopping, before we check the phones and... the rest of it," His voice dropped to a carnal growl, "I'd really like for you to fuck me in the backseat, Dean."

Trying, and failing to suppress a libidinous grin, Dean winked, "Rock, Paper, Scissors. OK? Winner gets fucked in the backseat."

"Go on three."

** I think it's done, but if it continues to write itself, I'll definitely share. Thank you for reading. Double thank you for reviewing.

** 17 OCT 2016 - chapter merge / typos & tweaks.