The Truth 3/5 & timestamp

[rain_n_snow]

Sam came out of the shower feeling a million times better, and wanting to stand there, in front of Dean, mostly naked, and secretly watch, just see if it moved Dean. See if he could detect any want, desire in those deeper-than-anyone-else-knew green pools. Coming out and finding Dean gone caused a lurch in his stomach, acidic and burning, for a few long seconds before his brain kicked in and he noted that Dean’s duffel was there, next to his bed.

Nothing missing but Dean and the keys. He had probably gone to get food. Sam hated when he did that, left without saying where he was going, without saying goodbye. Shit, what a girl. ‘Do you need a love note with hearts above the ‘i’s’, Samantha?’ He could hear Dean’s voice saying, but with no real heat, just the implication that Sam was needy, and Dean liked to tease him. It was how they moved around each other, how they knew it worked. Just a little thing they did, how they both masked their real feelings and hearts. It sufficed. It always had, because they couldn’t let themselves think about more.

Until now. Now Sam promised himself it was just a matter of time. He knew Dean needed time to deal. But Sam had been patient for enough years to wait much longer. Neither of them was going anywhere. It was just a matter of time.

Returning with food, Dean pushed open the door to be greeted by a freshly showered, mostly naked Sam. Shit, he really hated Sam sometimes. He was lying on his bed, all six feet whatever of him, with just a pair of worn boxers covering about ten of those inches. At least he was on his stomach, facing the television, apparently flipping through channels, but that long, lean, muscled back was enough to take Dean from zero to hard almost instantly. Dean registered all this in a matter of a few seconds, and looked away, not that the image wasn’t burned into his brain, waiting to torment him later when he tried to will away his erection long enough to get to sleep.

Sam pushed into a sitting position and reached for the bag Dean held out. He fastened his gaze on Dean’s eyes, but saw no acknowledgement of his state of dress, just regular Dean. As if he didn’t notice at all. Hell, he probably didn’t, it wasn’t like they hadn’t seen each other in the same and even less a million times. But he wanted to see the want. He was aching to see his own need reflected in those gorgeous heavy lashed eyes. Hmmm. New tack. He would need to push further. He would ponder that later.

Sitting cross legged on his bed, Sam dumped the salad, baked potato and chicken sandwich out onto the bed. He grinned to himself, he loved that Dean knew him so well, but had always taken it for granted. He knew Dean just as well, but somehow it warmed him to know that Dean held all that knowledge and cared enough to make sure Sam had what he wanted, always. Down to the right kind of dressing. Nice.

Dean watched the quick flash of dimple under damp shaggy hair and groaned inwardly. Awesome. Mostly naked, dimpled Sam. That wasn’t painful at all. Someone really hated him. There apparently wasn’t enough torture in Dean’s life to suit the gods. His skin felt too tight, tingled like it was going to come apart.
He averted his eyes and attacked his own greasy burger and ketchup drowned fries.

Finishing his food and tossing the bag into the garbage can near the dresser, Dean silently headed for the bathroom. He was nasty, he could feel it all over himself, and he could smell Sam’s fresh skin and that was about enough of that, thanks.

Standing under the hot water, thankful for the strong water pressure for a change, Dean realized that despite the fact that he was hard, again, or maybe it was still, he hadn’t jerked off in days. Since, well…since. And he stopped a moment to contemplate that. Guilt. Yeah, he knew he already felt bad enough for all the shit he had laid on Sam the other night, and the idea of jerking it thinking about him now had him pretty twisted up. He looked down at his erection and willed it into submission. He was also pretty sure Sam would be assuming that’s what he was doing right now, and that freaked him out to think Sam was freaked out by him. What a fucking mess.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, facing the television and waited for Dean to make an appearance. He was hard, his boxers tented from the thoughts he had been entertaining the whole time Dean was showering. Was Dean jacking himself thinking about Sam? Thinking about all those hot things he had told Sam he pictured whenever he did it? He hoped so.

He had been hard most of the time the last few days just thinking about all those things. Not that they were much different than what he had been picturing himself during his ‘alone time’ for years, but now he had the sound of Dean’s whiskey sweet voice playing in his head saying all that shit. Narrating the whole thing. And damn if that wasn’t hotter than anything he had ever experienced.

How long had Dean been in the bathroom? Did he have time to take care of it before he came out? Getting caught would be seriously embarrassing, but he was starting to hurt. Why hadn’t he taken care of it in the bathroom himself earlier? Oh yeah, he had been hurrying to get back to Dean, to see if he could use his body to get a reaction, and that hadn’t worked. Missed opportunities all around. Not confident enough that he had time, Sam sighed and concentrated on willing his erection to just go away.

Dean opened the bathroom door and catalogued Sam’s position in the room. He had to pass right in front of him to get to his duffel and his bed. Thank God he had spent time thinking about old men and dead kittens to get himself under control. Holding his towel at his hip, he passed Sam without a glance.

Sam didn’t feel the same need to ignore, apparently, because Dean could feel Sam’s eyes tracking his movements. He probably thought Dean was just going to snap and rape him or something. This was painfully awkward. Fuck it. “Chill the fuck out, Sam. I’m not going to ever act on any of that, ok? Shit. You don’t have to watch me like I’m a rattler coiled for attack. Just fucking let it go. I have. I’m not going to think about that anymore. It was just a thing, whatever…”

Flinching as he turned and realized Sam was totally in his personal space, Dean gasped when Sam’s hand fell to the back of his neck and he laid his lips against Dean’s.

Dean jerked back as if burned, “What the fuck, Sam?”

Sam leaned toward him again, not willing to take a moment of surprise as a definite no. But Dean put his hand against Sam’s chest. “No. Are you fucking kidding me? No.” Dean sounded, well, he fucking sounded disgusted.

Thrown momentarily by the sound of that voice, Sam’s forehead wrinkled. “Why not, Dean?”

He turned away, pulling his hand from that enticingly warm, soft flesh stretched over taut muscle. “Because no. Because you don’t get to martyr yourself for me, Sam. I don’t want your pity, or your empathetic bullshit. You don’t get to do this for me.”

Sam watched as Dean picked up his duffel and shoved past him, heading back toward the bathroom, and slamming the door behind him before the words really sank in.

“Open the door, Dean. What are you fucking talking about, man?” Sam knocked on the door. When he got no response, he jiggled the handle, then pounded.

“Fucking shut up, Sam. Just leave it. I’m not kidding. I’m not talking about this. Not now.”

“Not ever, you mean? I know you, Dean. You would have never told me any of that shit without the truth spell and you know it. Now you don’t get to shut yourself in the bathroom and hide like a fucking coward.”

Sam knew how to push Dean’s buttons, obviously, and the door flew open. “Why don’t you know how to shut up, Sam?”

“Umm, I don’t get to shut up because you never say a fucking thing, Dean. Damnit. I didn’t kiss you…”

Dean cut Sam off, arm thrown up as if to avoid attack. “No. I don’t want to talk about it, Sam. I.Dont.Want.To.Talk.About.It. I am not going to talk about it. Don’t want to hear any bullshit about why you tried to fucking kiss me, cuz seriously? Not ok. Not happening.”

“We’re gonna talk about it, man. We really are. I’m sick as shit of you and your secrets.” Sam heard the words, and he knew they had come out of his mouth, he recognized his voice, after all, but he wanted to snatch them back. As if.

“Yeah, well. If you didn’t want to hear the secrets, you shouldnta fucking forced them out of me.“ Dean grabbed the keys off the nightstand and threw himself toward the door, but Sam was ready for that little avoidance maneuver, and slammed his palm against the door next to Dean’s head.

Sam sighed, frustration and guilt and a lifetime of denial in the sound. “You know that’s not what I meant, Dean. I meant I want you to talk to me. Just because you told me those things doesn’t mean we’re finished talking about it. I need to understand. We need to figure out where we stand.”

Dean dropped his forehead to the door. “We stand where we always have. You knowing my deep dark twisted thoughts doesn’t change anything. It’s the same as it’s always been. We just need to get past it. And neither of us need you doing stupid shit to try to appease me, or make me feel less like a perv or whatever that shit was about.”

“Dean, sometimes I swear you want to hurt yourself, you want to take all this black shit and smear it on your soul. Why?” Sam leaned into Dean, letting his chest rest against his big brothers broad back, eyes drifting closed at the feel of all that muscle just beneath the layer of soft worn cotton.

He breathed into Dean’s ear. “Do you not remember I tried to kiss you before? Did you forget? Because I haven’t. You can’t call that appeasement, because it happened before you told me anything. But you can’t let me take any blame, can you?”

Shivering from the feel of Sam, so close against him, that mouth so close to his ear he could practically feel it, Dean answered bitterly. “Whatever, Sam. Like that meant anything. You were so fucking drunk, you didn’t know who I was, let alone what you were doing. You’ve always been a touchy drunk.” It was one of the reasons Dean liked to get Sam drinking.

He loved how his baby brother would wrap his arms around him, or run his fingers through Dean’s hair, or just lean against him when he was really out of it, drunk or sick or exhausted. But the kiss, that had scared Dean. He had wanted to respond, to throw Sam onto the bed and keep kissing him until their lips were raw, bloody from the desperate contact. Of course he remembered.

He remembered with startling clarity how his stomach had launched itself right into his chest cavity, constricting his heart when Sam’s lips had ghosted across his. He remembered that millisecond where he wanted nothing more than to lean in and take, to suck those sweet lips, to bite and nibble every inch, to lick into Sam’s mouth and see if he tasted as incredible as he had dreamed. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Sam would wake up the next morning and know that in his stupid drunken moment of too much affection Dean had taken things to a level they couldn’t recover from. So, Dean had drawn back, every muscle in his body, every nerve screaming at him in protest, and he had tucked Sam into bed and spent all of two minutes in the bathroom thinking about it before he came, spilling across his own hand with Sammy’s name on his lips.

Dean pushed hard, unbalancing Sam and jerking open the motel room door and stumbling out into the night.


Sam waited, and then tried calling Dean’s cell, and when he got no answer there, which was really unacceptable, he went looking for his brother. Dean was easy enough to find any time. A bar? Someplace nasty and full of nastier women? Yeah, that’s where to look for Dean. His big brother was nothing if not predictable.

Finding him in the second of what appeared to be the only two dives in this crapass town, Sam clenched his fists. Not surprisingly, Dean’s lap was practically full of one of those nastier women. She was pressed half against and half over Dean and Sam felt a burn deep in his gut, and feelings of pure rage washing through him. Sam would never hurt a woman, of course not, but images of other bad things accidentally happening to her flashed through his mind and, well, Sam couldn’t help those, right?

Both Dean and the whore, as Sam subconsciously decided to refer to her, appeared too drunk to make good on the promises they were undoubtedly making. Sam was next to Dean in a few short strides, once again pressing close, this time his lips brushing directly over Dean’s ear as he ground out. “You fucking dump that bitch out of your lap and leave here with me now, or I will make a scene, man. Don’t doubt it for one second. You think I won’t, then try me.”

Dean focused immediately on his brother, everything he had been trying to block out surfacing and sobering him more than he liked. His body had reacted more to that brush of lips against his ear, that breath on his neck ,than he had to the slow grind this girl had been doing against him for the last half hour. Dammit but Sam had too much power over him, too much.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He pushed her away gently but abruptly and stood from the booth, unable to remember her name, or maybe he hadn’t asked? “Gonna have to take a raincheck on this one. Next time maybe? Looks like a family emergency.” He shrugged and turned, not looking to see if Sam followed.

Sam leaned in close to her and hissed, just loud enough for her to hear, but a wealth of venom in his voice, “He’s mine, sweetie, all mine. And you can’t imagine how fucking good it is. Trust me, there won’t be any raincheck.” And after seeing the shock and anger on her face, he laughed and followed his brother out the door.


chap 4

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