The curtain looked almost blue from the light outside. The window was open, but there was no breeze, no movement in the air at all. It was near three in the morning, and everything was still. Outside the only sounds were a few crickets hiding in the weeds outside the window. Inside, he could hear the clink of pipes and the shower water still running, and the sharp clank as the water was shut off. He listened to Dean moving around in the bathroom; the sound of metal against metal as he pulled the shower curtain open, the sounds of him moving around as he toweled off and dressed himself in a pair of underwear.
“You sleep yet?” Dean asked, stopping next to the bed and putting his watch on the nightstand next to Sam’s.
Sam was lying on his stomach in his underwear, sheets kicked down around his ankles, arms under the pillow. The sound of his body against the sheets was a soft rustling as he turned over to look up at Dean. “No,” he answered. There was no use in lying; the bruises under his eyes would give him away.
“You know,” Dean said, “you kind of have to sleep at some point.”
Sam didn’t say anything. He knew Dean was right, but right now, sleep wasn’t an option. He needed it, God he needed it, but it wasn’t anything he wanted. There were things in sleep, things he saw and felt that he never wanted to see or feel. He scrubbed a hand over his face as Dean sat on the edge of the bed. “Can we maybe not talk about this right now?” Sam asked.
“Sure,” Dean replied, stretching out next to his brother. They both know that pushing each other to talk about things they don’t want to talk about almost always ends badly, so it’s better to just leave it alone until one or both of them is ready to say what needs to be said.
Sam shifts, rolling onto his side with his back to Dean, and Dean rolls to face Sam, spooning up behind him like they don’t do often enough anymore. They tangle their legs together, and Dean puts his arm over Sam’s waist, hand resting just above where his hip cuts down into his groin, and his other arm under Sam’s neck. Dean presses his warm, dry lips on the back of Sam’s neck.
“I don’t know how this ends,” Sam says.
“Well, neither do I,” Dean says in return, thumb rubbing soothing arcs against Sam’s skin, just under the waistband of his boxers. “It’ll all be fine, Sammy,” Dean says dismissively – neither one of them are really stupid enough to believe that lie anymore, but it’s nice to hear it anyway and pretend for a while.
They’re quiet for some time, and the silence is really ok; it’s comfortable instead of strained like it used to be. After years of this it makes sense that it’s so easy between them now. It’s almost habit the way Dean presses soft kisses to the back of Sam’s neck and shoulders, the way Sam shifts against him that lets him know Sam has the same warmth and desire pooling in his belly that Dean does. Dean moves his hand from Sam’s waist and uses it to tug on Sam’s shoulder, turn him over onto his back, and their lips slide together easily. They stay like that for a long time, kissing slowly, until Sam pushes his hips forward and his hard-on presses against Dean’s thigh.
Even though Sam seems insistent, Dean takes his time. He pushes Sam’s boxers down slowly, and drops them off the side of the bed when Sam pulls his feet out; Dean doesn’t make any move to undress himself. He presses warm, wet kisses to the hollow of Sam’s throat, his hands pressing into Sam’s skin – a quiet plea to just stay still, to just let Dean do this.
He kisses over Sam’s heart, the ruined mess of the tattoo that used to be on his left pectoral, nothing more than mottled scar tissue now. When he looks up at Sam, Sam is watching him with quiet desperation. Sam never took it slow; it was always so rough and so quick that Dean doesn’t know how Sam ever enjoyed any of it, even if it was at Sam’s insistence. Dean doesn’t want to rush this – they have time right now, whatever time it is they have left, they have it right here and Dean doesn’t want to waste it with a rushed and painful fuck.
He kisses Sam’s bellybutton, sucks a bruise over Sam’s hipbone, and lets his tongue slip against the skin between Sam’s thigh and groin, tasting salt and sweat and Sam. Sam breathes hard above him, and Dean’s own heart is tripping in his chest; he hasn’t done this in a while, and he just wants it to be good, he just wants Sam to enjoy it.
“Come on,” Sam urges.
“We’ve got time, Sammy,” Dean says softly, nose brushing against Sam’s pubic hair.
“Just… Come on, Dean. Just fuck me,” he says, shifting and pressing his hips up. Dean puts both hands on Sam’s hips and presses him down. He shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “Let me. Just… let me do this. Okay? Just let me do this, Sam.”
For a minute, Dean thinks Sam is going to shove him away, lock himself in the bathroom and take care of himself, but he doesn’t. After a minute, Sam nods, and Dean touches him. The head of Sam’s cock is so soft against his lips, and he lets his tongue slip out to taste and Sam whimpers somewhere above him. He opens his mouth to take Sam in, as much as he can without triggering his gag reflex, and uses his hand at the base of Sam’s cock to make up for what he can’t get into his mouth. He can feel Sam’s thigh muscles tighten, his whole body tense and too tight. He pulls off of Sam’s dick and looks up at him.
“Relax,” Dean says.
“We don’t have to rush all the time,” Dean says. “Just… relax, and feel it.”
For a minute Sam says nothing, just looks down at Dean; he’s not used to this – neither of them are – this side of Dean that’s almost tender and loving. Sam knows that it takes effort for Dean to let his walls down, to be open like this, and he doesn’t want to take that away from his brother; Dean deserves this as much as Dean thinks Sam does. Sam nods again and relaxes as Dean slides his mouth over him. Sam doesn’t bother to hold in the moan that forms almost immediately at the feeling of Dean’s mouth, so Dean sets a pace; not too slow, but not fast enough to make Sam come. It goes on just like this for a while, until Sam starts thrusting his hips up, his breathing too harsh through his open mouth. Dean pulls off slowly and Sam’s fingers dig into his shoulders.
“No, no…Why’d you stop?” Sam asks, sounding almost like he’s going to cry.
“Tell me what you want,” Dean says quietly.
“Jesus, Dean, I want to come,” he replies, letting his head fall back and hit the headboard.
Dean shakes his head and moves up Sam’s body, careful to avoid touching Sam’s dick at all. He tips Sam’s head forward and kisses him deep enough that Sam’ can taste himself on Dean’s tongue. When Dean pulls back he makes Sam look at him. “Now, tell me what you want.”
“You,” Sam says, his voice wrecked. “God, Dean; I want you, in me, right now.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, and kisses Sam again. “Gotta open you up first.”
Sam knows it’s useless to protest, and tell Dean to forget the prep and just fuck him so he’ll feel it every time he moves for the next few days, so he nods and lets Dean pull away long enough to get lubricant and come back. Sam’s grateful, at least, that Dean doesn’t take things too slowly now; he gets lube onto his fingers and gets two into Sam. Dean knows Sam’s beyond ready, but he wants to do this right; he wants this to feel good, not hurt, and he knows he can do that for Sam. Dean gets three fingers in, crooks them just right, and Sam cries out; Dean knows this is enough prep. Sam is shaking when Dean pulls his fingers free and lays down right alongside Sam.
“Come on,” Dean says, tugging Sam’s arm until he gets it. Sam sits up, turns over, and straddles Dean’s lap. “Take what you want, Sammy.”
Sam kisses him fiercely, tongue and teeth, slicking Dean’s cock for him. Sam pulls back to watch Dean’s face while he sinks down. Sam feels every last inch, the stretch and burn of Dean inside him; until he feels so full he might burst. Dean’s hands come to rest on Sam’s hips, and when Sam reopens his eyes, there is so much to see. They don’t profess their love daily; in fact, they rarely say it at all – it’s just understood – and this time Sam can see it all in Dean’s face.
Sam doesn’t hold back his moan, and Dean thrusts up harder; Sam gasps in air, body winding tighter. “Oh God,” Sam moans. “Harder.”
This time, Dean doesn’t try to talk him down; he thrusts up hard into Sam, and Sam bows forward, hands on the headboard for leverage. Dean shifts slightly, and hits just right, making Sam cry out, coming between them, on both of their stomachs, warm and sticky. He crashes his mouth into Dean’s, sucking on Dean’s tongue and pushing back with his own, until Dean’s thrusting up so hard and fast it’s almost impossible to keep up his rhythm. Dean tears his mouth away from Sam’s when he comes, sucking in gulps of air like he’s drowning. They sit that way for a while, not moving and just breathing, until it’s too warm, sticky, and uncomfortable. Sam eases up off of his brother, and lies down next to him while Dean cleans up with a shirt from the floor.
“Sam,” Dean finally says. “Everything is going to be fine.”
“Yeah,” Sam replies, turning on his side and letting Dean wrap around him. “Maybe it will.”