Title: I Wish I Was the Moon
By: geekwriter143
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Originally posted in three parts. He thought it would help Sam let go. :: Sam had been to a lot of school counselors; he knew the drill. :: The main problem with digging up graves, Dean surmised, was that it gave a person way too much time to think.



The first time Dean took Sam into his mouth, Sam was shaking. He cried out and gripped Dean's hair too hard and Dean soothed him, sucking gently, smoothing his thumbs against Sam's hips. He pulled back and kissed Sam's hipbone, kissed his navel, kissed his way up to Sam's jaw. He stroked Sam's hair and Sam just looked up at him, broken and raw and vulnerable in a way Dean had never seen him before.

"It's all right," Dean whispered as he wrapped his fingers around Sam's cock. "It's all right, Sammy. It's OK."

"Oh, God," Sam moaned as Dean stroked him. His entire body was shaking. Dean knew that no one had ever touched him like that before. "Oh, God. Dean, I can't...I'm going to...I can't..."

Dean shushed him, kissed the curve of Sam's neck. "It's OK," he kept whispering over and over again. "It's OK, Sammy. You don't have to hold back. Whatever you need, all right? Anything you want."

"Don't stop." Sam's voice was small. Dean kissed him over and over again and Sam clung to him, arched up against him, dug his fingers hard into Dean's shoulders.

Dean hadn't thought it would be so good. He'd known for a few years how Sam felt about him, had thought of it like growing pains, something Sam would get over as he got older. Sam had just turned sixteen, though, and the crush was only getting stronger. Dean knew things would have been different if they'd ever been able to stay someplace for longer than a few months, but they never had. He knew Sam's crush would shift to another person if only he had time to ever really know another person, but he didn't. He'd tried fixing Sam up with a few easy girls he knew, but Sam didn't want that. He'd tried fixing Sam up with a few easy guys, but Sam hadn't seemed to want that, either. Sam wanted Dean, and Dean had never been able to say no.

One night when their father was gone, Dean had sat next to Sam on his bed. Sam was reading some novel that may or may not have been for school. Sam read a lot. Dean placed his hand on Sam's cheek and stroked Sam's cheekbone with his thumb and said, "Do you want to do this?"

Sam had dropped his book and he'd looked terrified. He'd looked terrified and so lonely and he'd looked at Dean with such longing. He'd started to shake when Dean kissed him and he hadn't stopped since. Dean had kissed him long and slow, smoothing his hands down Sam's arms, holding him so gently.

"Just tonight, Sammy," Dean whispered. "Just this once, OK? Just this once and then we forget about it." Sam had nodded and fisted his hand in Dean's t-shirt and pulled him back for another kiss.

Dean had thought he'd be giving Sam something. He hadn't expected to feel so undone himself, so amazed at how beautiful Sam was like that. Sam's cheeks were flushed, his pupils dilated, his mouth dark and swollen. His body was all awkward angles when motionless, but when he moved, his long limbs were graceful and strong.

"Don't stop," Sam whispered, pressing a shaky hand to Dean's chest. "Don't ever stop." He cried out wordlessly and his head fell back, mouth open, panting.

"I got you," Dean murmured. "I'm right here." He kept his strokes steady, his fist wrapped tightly around Sam's cock. Dean had been with men before. He thought it would be the same, but it wasn't. Before it had just been bodies moving together and getting off. Now it was Sam beneath him, Sam's body in his arms. "I got you," Dean repeated. "Anything you want, Sammy."

"Fuck me."

Dean's hand stilled with the shock of those words. Sam had propped himself up on his elbows and was looking at Dean hotly. He was still shaking, but with arousal, not fear.


"If this is it," Sam panted, bucking up into Dean's touch. "If this is the only time, I want it all."

Dean wet his lips with his tongue. He took a deep breath to stall for time.

Sam slid his fingers through Dean's hair. "Fuck me." It was half desperate plea and half command.

"Sammy, I don't...it's not...you're not ready. It'll hurt and--"

"I do it to myself," Sam whispered against Dean's cheek. "I use my fingers and I pretend it's you."

Dean bit his lower lip hard and groaned, picturing Sam stroking himself with one hand, slipping the fingers of the other hand into himself, riding them, head thrown back in pleasure. "Jesus Christ, Sammy."

"You won't hurt me," Sam whispered. "Please, Dean. I need you to."

Dean had become the one who was shaking, so nervous that he could barely grasp the bottle of lube he kept at the bottom of his duffle. Sam waited for him on the bed, feet flat on the mattress, legs apart, stroking his cock, his balls, down to his hole, then back up again. Dean tried not to look, tried not to see how achingly beautiful Sam was. One time. That was it. Just that one time.

Dean fumbled with the condom, pointedly not noticing the way Sam took the lube, spread it on his index and middle fingers, and slipped both inside himself. Dean tried not to notice the soft gasp Sam made or the way he rocked his hips slow and invitingly.

"Like this?" Dean asked, kneeling between Sam's legs.

Sam nodded, reached out and placed his hand on Dean's hip to steady him. He lifted his legs and closed his eyes and Dean watched Sam's face as he slowly slid inside his own brother. "Jesus Christ," Dean whispered.

"Mmm," said Sam. His eyes fluttered open. They were shiny with tears, but the tears hadn't spilled over.

"God. You OK?"


"You sure?"

Sam nodded. "I'm sure."

"You don't want me to stop?"

Sam hooked one of his long legs around Dean's waist and shook his head. "Never."

Dean closed his eyes, tipped his head down, and concentrating to keeping the strokes slow and even. It felt incredible to be inside Sam that way, to feel their bodies so connected. It was like every nerve was on fire; every stroke of Sam's hands over his body made him shiver.

"You all right, baby?" he asked, smoothing Sam's hair back.

Sam nodded and turned his head to kiss Dean's palm.

The rutting instinct was kicking in and Dean knew that soon he wouldn't be able to control it, that his hips would move almost of their own volition. The ache inside him was growing and he kissed Sam's face over and over again. "Jesus Christ," he said, because he didn't know how to say what he was feeling, didn't even know what he was feeling well enough to put it into words. "Christ, Sammy, I...God."

Sam arched up against him and moaned low in the back of his throat. It sounded almost like a purr. His cock was hard and jutting against Dean's stomach. Dean wanted to reach down and stroke it but he couldn't coordinate the movements--it was all he could manage to hold his body up against Sam's and thrust into him over and over again. He felt heat welling at the base of his spine and he bit his lower lip hard.

Dean could feel Sam shift just enough to get a hand between them, felt the repetitive movement of Sam jerking his own cock.

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean breathed. "So good inside you."

Sam cried out, then, his body tensing, his head thrown back, and Dean felt warm wetness spurt up against his stomach and chest. The muscles around his cock tightened rhythmically and that was it, he couldn't control himself any longer. His hips snapped forward a few more times and he was coming, his face pressed to Sam's sweat-slick shoulder to muffle his cry.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean stepped into a hot shower. Sam was asleep, naked with the sheets twisted around his legs. Dean would talk to him the next morning, make sure he knew that it really had been just a one time thing.

Dean closed his eyes, let the water rush over his face. What the hell had he just done? He'd only wanted to give Sam what he wanted so he could get over it, but Dean himself felt open and raw, more than he ever had before.

He didn't know then what he'd know later; Sam was a drug--the most addictive kind. He didn't know that once would never be enough, that as time went on he'd want it more, need Sam more. He didn't know that even after years nothing but pats on the shoulder, after two years of no contact at all, he'd still wake in the middle of the night shaking and craving Sam's touch.



Sam kept his head down as he walked the halls of his latest high school. He kept his eyes on the floor, looking up just enough to make sure he didn't bump into anyone. No one said hello to him as he passed, and that was fine. He was OK with that. He'd learned a long time before that if he didn't make friends, it didn't hurt as much each time he had to leave.

He turned the corner and headed into the front office. "Hey," he said softly to Nancy, the head secretary. He helped her out sometimes when he had a free period, did filing and answered phones, and she let him sit at the back desk most days and eat his lunch there while he studied. "I'm supposed to see Ms. Hammond."

Nancy smiled kindly at him and said, "She's expecting you. Go on in."

"Hi, Sam," Ms. Hammond said as Sam walked into her office. "Thanks for coming to see me."

Sam didn't remind her that it hadn't been his choice, that she'd sent him a slip telling him to report to her office, not an invitation. He shut the door behind him and slid into the chair opposite hers. He'd seen a lot of school counselors. He knew the drill.

"How are you settling into life here at Washington?" she asked. He could tell she really wanted to know. She was the kind of counselor who really cared about her students. She was young. Sam gave her another ten years before she burned out.

"It's fine," he said. "I like it so far." And he did. He would have liked Washington a lot if he let himself. He didn't let himself. They'd been there three months already. He knew they wouldn't be staying much longer.

"You're getting great grades," she said with a smile. "Top of the class." Her smile faded a bit.

Sam shrugged. He knew what was coming next. He was getting great grades but he didn't seem to be making friends. He wasn't getting involved in extracurriculars. He had fantastic potential and she could see him doing great things at Washington High.

"Sam--" she started.

Sam knew the drill. Make nice with the school counselors. Make nice with the people from CPS. Make them think that life was hunky-dory and that Sam was a normal, well-adjusted kid who had never once stood lookout as his father dug up a grave so they could salt and burn the corpse. Sam was tired of making nice.

His eyes flickered over to the rainbow flag pinned to her bulletin board beneath a flyer for the fall social and he knew he was taking a chance. He knew that finding a sympathetic ear in the middle of nowhere Montana wasn't very likely, but Sam had good instincts. It was like he could sense people sometimes. He knew he could tell Ms. Hammond the truth. He couldn't tell her everything, but he could tell her a lot. He said, "There's this guy."

"Yeah?" she asked. She leaned back in her chair, relaxing a little bit. Sam realized that she knew exactly what he was talking about, even from those two words. He realized that it put her at ease, which meant it was familiar to her. He got a flash of Ms. Hammond and a woman with red hair laughing and dancing around the kitchen as they washed the dishes.

"I'm in love with him," he said softly.

"Mmm-hmm," said Ms. Hammond.

"I didn't think he knew." Sam closed his eyes.

"But he does?"

He nodded. It had been over a year, but he could still feel Dean's mouth over his, Dean's fingers twined in his hair, Dean's cock inside him. He blushed and opened his eyes. "I thought he'd hate me."

"And he doesn't?"

Sam shook his head again. "It's not...we can't..." He didn't know how to say it, how to tell her how he couldn't look at Dean without aching, how he thought about him every minute of the day. He didn't know how to tell her that he knew it wasn't normal but he couldn't help himself. He didn't know how to tell her that the guy he was in love with was his own brother. He finally said, "It's complicated."

"You can tell me about it if you want. I've got time."

"He just...he doesn't think it's right."

"What do you think?"

"I love him." Three stupid words. Three stupid words that didn't mean anything. "But it's been a year. Over a year. He's not going to...It's never going to be more than what it is."

"But you love each other?" Ms. Hammond seemed so sad that Sam wanted to lie to her, to reassure her.

"I love him," Sam said. "I pretend I don't, but I think he knows I still do."

"And him?"

"He's never really loved me like that." It killed him to say the words out loud, but they were true. "He only...he wanted to make me happy. That's the only reason he did it." The back of his throat felt bitter and hot. He looked away from her. He was not going to cry. You need to get over it, Dean had said. You need to forget it. It was stupid. I never should have...just forget it ever happened, OK? Sam had nodded, but he couldn't forget. How could he ever forget?

"Oh, Sam." He hated the pity in her voice, hated that he'd told her the truth and let her see how pathetic he was.

He cleared his throat. "It doesn't matter."

"Are you sure?"

He laughed weakly. "No. Look, I..." he ran his fingers through his hair. "I appreciate all this. I appreciate that you're worried about me and want me to make friends and whatever, but the truth is that it's just not worth it. We won't be here much longer. We never are."

Ms. Hammond nodded and placed her hand over a manila folder on her desk. "I've seen your records. You move around a lot."


"How do you feel about that?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I've never known everything else. I guess...I don't know. Maybe I'll go to college next year." He tried to imagine living in the same city for four years, but he couldn't. He tried to imagine what it would be like to make friends without having to worry about never seeing them again.

"I've seen your test scores and they're spectacular. What schools are you going to apply to?"

"I've been thinking about Stanford," he said. He didn't know where the words came from. It wasn't true. He hadn't been thinking about college at all, had only been dreading graduation when high school, his only grasp on anything remotely normal, was over. As soon as he said it, though, he knew he wanted to go to college, wanted to get out of his crazy life, wanted to escape. Maybe if he didn't have to see Dean every day of his life he could get over it, let it go.

Ms. Hammond smiled. "I pulled out a few applications for you before I asked you down here. Stanford's one of them." She passed a thick stack of papers his way, and as he took them from her he saw a flash of himself walking down a cool Palo Alto sidewalk with his arm around a beautiful girl. He saw a flash of himself being happy. The back of his throat felt hot again.

Sam slid the applications into his backpack, safely hidden between his calc 2 textbook and his American lit notebook. He filled out the Stanford application in study hall, and when he left for California a year later, he didn't let himself look back.



Dean slipped as silently as he could into the motel room and was closing the door slowly when Sam said, "So, I found some background out about our potential ghost."

Dean jumped, then pressed his forehead against the door. "Christ, Sammy. I thought you were asleep. It's three in the morning."

"Yeah," Sam said, seemingly unconcerned as he munched on a carrot. "Couldn't sleep so I decided to do some research. How was the, uh, bar?" He smirked up at Dean from where he was sitting on the end of the bed.

Dean rolled his eyes. He tried not to think about the guy he'd just left, his longs legs and shaggy hair and the desperate, needy sounds he'd made as Dean had sucked him off. "What'd you find?'

Sam shifted the computer so that Dean could see the screen. "Turns out Sarah Greenfield may not have been a perfect saint who died peacefully in her sleep the way her family claims."

Dean scanned the headline on the screen. "Mysterious circumstances? OK, no one mentioned any mysterious circumstances."

"Guess they want to remember her as a saint, not a sinner."

Dean sat next to Sam on the bed. "Twenty seven years old, mysterious circumstances, unknown man...you thinking illicit love affair gone bad? Maybe she was murdered."

Sam leaned in and sniffed at Dean's shoulder. "Dude...is that Drakkar Noir?"

Dean moved away from him. "You know I don't wear cologne."

"It is, isn't it? It's cologne and..." Sam barked out a laugh. "Dude, you smell like another guy's cologne, whiskey, and come." He leaned back, laughing and covering his mouth with one hand. "Does Dad know that you--"

"I don't give a shit what he knows," Dean snapped, standing up and stalking to the other side of the room. "Can we just talk about the case?"

Sam's laughter tapered off. "Look, I'm not...I mean, I don't care, Dean, I just didn't know."

"It's not a big deal," Dean said with a shrug. What was he supposed to say? That he only slept with guys who reminded him of Sam? "You think Sarah Greenfield's the ghost?"

"She's buried in Mount Tabor cemetery, not ten miles from here."

Relieved to have a distraction, Dean said, "Let's go."


The main problem with digging up graves, Dean surmised, was that it gave a person way too much time to think. He tried to think about cars, about which weapons he needed to clean and or sharpen next. He tried to think about what names he and Sam should choose for their next credit card scam.

He couldn't stop thinking about the kid he'd fucked earlier that night. He couldn't stop thinking about Sam.

He'd never meant for it to happen. He'd never meant for his brotherly love towards Sam to twist into desire and another kind of love all together. It was his fault and he knew that. It was his own fault for sleeping with Sam in the first place. It was his fault for acknowledging Sam's stupid teenage crush.

Looking back, he wasn't even sure that it had been a crush. Looking back, he worried that maybe it had just been Sam looking up to him as an older brother. Looking back, Dean wondered if he'd taken advantage of Sam's hero worship, if he'd seen it as a crush on Sam's part just because he'd wanted to.

He wondered if Sam remembered or if he'd been able to forget. He wondered if Sam resented him for it, if in that one night he'd ruined any possibility of ever deserving Sam's trust.

Dean knew what he'd done wasn't right. He'd known it even then, and it filled him with shame to know that he'd used his brother to satisfy his own twisted desires.

He didn't even blame Sam for leaving--not really. He knew Sam had probably been dying to get the hell away from his perverted older brother from the first moment Dean had touched him.

Dean felt a wave of nausea hit him. He leaned on the shovel and gripped the handle tight, playing it off as just taking a break to catch his breath. What he'd done...he knew Sam could never forgive him. He could never forgive himself.

"You want me to dig for a while?" Sam asked. He and Dean had been taking turns digging and standing guard.

"I think I'm almost there," Dean said, and he was. His shovel hit the wooden lid of the coffin not a minute later. Sam jumped down into the grave next to him, helped him pry open the lid and salt Sarah Greenfield's corpse before dousing it in kerosene. They hopped up out of the grave before Dean lit a match and dropped it down onto the corpse. They were silent as they watched it burn.

"You think that'll do it?" Sam asked once the blaze had died down to a few glowing embers.

"Nothing to do but wait for tomorrow night and see if the ghost comes back," Dean said, picking up the shovel so he could start refilling the grave with dirt. "Come on. It's almost dawn."

On the drive home, he tried to think of a way to bring it up, a way to find out if Sam thought of what he'd done was abusive or just irresponsible. He didn't know what to say. What could he say? By the way, remember that night when I fucked you? Do you think that counts as rape or just me being the worst older brother in the history of the world?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam pinch the bridge of his nose. "Everything OK?" he asked.

Sam shrugged. "I guess. I just...digging up graves in the middle of the night isn't my idea of a good time."

Dean grinned and shrugged. It wasn't his, either, but it was part of the job.

"I just wish we could find Dad, find the damn demon that killed Mom and Jess so that I can get back to my life."

"This is our life," Dean said.

"You know what I mean."

Dean clenched his jaw and nodded. Oh, yeah, he knew. Sam still couldn't wait to get away from him, even after all that time. "You'd really do it," he said darkly. "You'd really just go back."

Sam sighed loudly. "Do we have to have this conversation again? It never goes anywhere."

"I just don't get it. Knowing all you know, with everything you've seen, you could still just walk away."

"Once we find the demon, what reason do we have to do this?"

"What reason?" Dean demanded, anger flaring in his gut. "How the hell can you say that? What about the fact that there's evil out there and it's killing people and we're the only ones who can stop it? How's that for a reason?"

"We're not the only hunters in the world."

"No, we're just the best."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"We've been raised on this, Sammy," Dean said. "What other hunter can say that? We've been doing this our whole lives--"

"And that's exactly it! This has been our whole lives and we didn't even have a say in it. And I tried--you know I tried to have a say in my own life, but Dad never gave an inch--"

"He kept us alive!"

"All I wanted was one thing that was my own, but I couldn't even have that. Dad had to control everything."

"We were kids, Sam. He knew we couldn't make those decisions."

"We were kids!" Sam shot back at him. "We deserved a fucking childhood."

"We had childhoods."

"Yeah? You think other kids spent days at a time holed up in motels while their fathers were out hunting ghosts and demons? You think other kids learned Latin incantations before they learned multiplication? You think other kids stopped even trying to make new friends because it wasn't worth the bother every time they moved to a new town?"

"Friends are overrated," Dean said.

"They're really not."

"Nice to know you value people you've only known a few years over your own flesh and blood."

"I don't, but they are good to have, which you'd know if you ever had any."

"I have plenty of friends."

"You have plenty of fucks. It takes more than an hour and a few beers to really know someone."

"Right. Because all your college buddies know you so well. Even your fucking girlfriend didn't know the real you."

Sam clenched his jaw. "She knew me."

"You didn't ever tell her the truth about you, about our family."

"No, but I told her the truth about you."

Dean huffed out a breath. "Oh, yeah. I bet you told her some choice fucking stories."

"I told her the truth about you and me," Sam whispered. "I told her that I'd been in love with you."

Dean swerved into the oncoming lane, then back again. Thankfully there hadn't been another car on the road for miles. He pulled the Impala over to the side of the road. "You what?" He couldn't quite catch his breath and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Sam stared straight ahead. "I told her the truth." His voice was so soft Dean could barely hear him. "I told her how I'd felt about you. I told her what happened."

Dean was silent for a long time. "Sammy..."

"You talk about me leaving like it was some huge betrayal, but what the hell else was I supposed to do? Stay? Watch you bed a different girl--or guy, apparently--in every town and act like I was OK with it? I had to get away from you."

Dean nodded. H still couldn't speak.

"I thought if I could just get away from you...I thought I'd be able to forget, but I can't. I don't think I ever will."

"I'm so sorry." Dean swallowed hard, took a deep breath. "I've wished a million times that I could take it back. If I could make it go away, if I could just take it back--" His voice broke and he turned away, ashamed of the tears filling his eyes and threatening to spill over. "I never meant to fuck things up. I never meant to hurt you."

"Things were already fucked up. You didn't do anything to hurt me."

"I'm your brother. Jesus, Sammy, I shouldn't have done anything."

"I wanted you to."

"Did you? Because I can't...I tell myself that you did, but I'm not so sure anymore."

Dean felt Sam's hand rest gently on his shoulder. "I did want you to. It wasn't your fault I left."

"It felt like my fault. It feels like my fault you're desperate to get away even now."

"It's not," Sam told him. "It's just...it still hurts. It's nothing like what it was before. I've had time to accept the fact that you'll never feel the same, but it still stings a little."

"I'm in love with you." Dean didn't even know he was going to say it until the words were out.

Sam didn't say anything and Dean didn't look over to check his expression. He could hear Sam breathing quick, shallow breaths.

"Sam, I--"

"What am I supposed to do with that?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know. I just--"

"Six years of nothing, of beating myself up over the way I felt and you...?" I don't even know what to say right now."

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"You're not...look, I won't...just tell me the truth, here. If you're just saying that to make me stay..."

Dean looked over at him finally. "I'm not."

Sam nodded and swallowed hard. "OK. So we both..."

Dean nodded slightly.

"So what do we do now?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted. He looked forward again, ran his hands over the steering wheel. I think maybe we should just--" He stopped speaking as he got a lapful of Sam.

"Jesus," Sam whispered, his mouth against Dean's. Dean was too shocked to react, just let Sam kiss him over and over again. Sam shoved him against the car door and finally Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders, kissing him back, lost in the mindless bliss of Sam's body against his.

"Ow," Sam said suddenly, twisting within Dean's embrace. "Steering wheel. OK. Back seat?" His voice was breathless and his eyes were dark in the gray light of dawn.

Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder as Sam moved to climb into the back seat. "Wait."

"Dean," Sam whimpered.

"Not in the backseat." He shifted the car into gear. "Motel. In a bed."

Sam slipped back into the passenger seat and stared straight ahead. Neither one of them said another word for the rest of the drive.

When they got to the motel, Dean was shaky enough to have trouble unlocking the motel room door. What the hell was he doing? What were they doing? He startled when he felt Sam's hand on the small of his back, rubbing in gentle circles.

Finally, he got the motel door unlocked and stepped inside. "Sam," he said, starting to turn, "maybe we should--"

Sam shoved him against the closed motel room door and kissed him hard.

"Sammy," Dean whimpered as Sam pressed the heel of his hand against Dean's hard on. "We should talk about this."

"No," Sam said simply. He gripped Dean's t-shirt and tugged him forward, urging him inch by inch until the back of Sam's legs hit the bed. "Come on," he whispered, pulling his shirt off over his head as he climbed up and knelt on top of the drab comforter.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy," Dean whimpered. He tugged his shirt off and followed, climbing onto the bed next to Sam. He didn't even have to think about it, just slid his hands up Sam's bare torso, slid them back down and around to Sam's back so he could pull him close for another kiss. He spread his legs and could feel Sam's cock hard against his own.

Sam kissed his way down Dean's neck, leaned to suck on a nipple and, God, when had that become such a turn on? It had never felt that good with anyone else. Dean groaned, then kissed and sucked on Sam's shoulder, his hands stroking all the bare skin he could reach.

"Wanted this," Sam whispered as he kissed his way back up Dean's chest and neck. "Wanted this for so long."

"Me too," Dean admitted. His eyelids fluttered closed as Sam deftly unbuttoned his fly and reached in to stroke his cock. He gripped Sam's shoulders tightly and let his forehead rest against Sam's.

"Nice?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. He couldn't speak. All he could do was hold on and thrust up into Sam's touch.

"Lay back," Sam whispered.

Dean shivered, dipped his head down so he could press his face against Sam's neck.

"It's all right," Sam whispered. He pushed on Dean's chest gently. "Just lay back."

Dean let Sam pull the comforter down, then sat on the bed, up high near the pillows and kicked his jeans off. He ran his hands up and down Sam's thighs, dared to slide one hand up further and ghost over the hard ridge of Sam's erection.

Sam grinned down at him, his dark eyes filled with lust. He unbuttoned his own jeans, slowly slid the zipper down. Dean couldn't look away, couldn't look at anything except for Sam's long, lean body, his hard cock, his strong thighs. Sam pushed his jeans down to his knees, then sat and pulled the off the rest of the way. He tossed them over the edge of the bed and turned and he and Dean were kissing again, stretching out on the bed, legs intertwined.

Dean pulled Sam's body close against his, shuddered when their cocks brushed together. It was all he wanted, all he'd ever wanted, him and Sam together like this, the only two people in the world.

He pulled Sam's leg up so that his thigh was nestled against Dean's hip. His cock was pressed against Sam's, and nothing had ever felt so good. He ground his hips, clung to Sam, kissed him fierce and sloppy. Their kisses became more frantic and then, as their breathing got ragged, the kisses stopped and they were just pressing their mouths together, sharing one another's air.

Sam was stronger than he remembered, his body not much more than skin, muscle, and bone. He hadn't had biceps like that before he'd left. He hadn't had such an amazing ass. It had been nice before but, Jesus, Dean felt like maybe it had been made just for his hands. He pulled Sam closer again, couldn't get enough of him, wanted to feel him everywhere. It was like he wouldn't ever be close enough to Sam unless he was inside him.

Dean moaned, remembering that night. For the first time, he really let himself remember what it had been like. He let himself remember without all the guilt and shame and self-loathing that usually went along with it. He remembered how frightened Sam had been, how eager he'd been for Dean's touch. He remembered how beautiful Sam had looked stretched out beneath him. He remembered how raw he'd felt afterwards, like he'd just done something he could never take back and didn't want to, like he'd never have anything as good ever again.

But he did have it. He had Sam right there, hard and arching against him, making soft little moans in the back of his throat, whispering Dean's name, whispering things like love and yes and always.

Dean's orgasm caught him nearly by surprise. Suddenly he was coming and crying out and holding Sam so, so tight. Sam pushed him onto his back and slid his own cock through the hot pool of come on Dean's belly, the expression on his face intense and needy, his arms shaking just a bit, his full lower lip caught between his teeth. He collapsed against Dean as he came, hips jerking, teeth sharp against Dean's skin.

They were sticky with come and with sweat, but Dean didn't let go. He stroked the nape of Sam's neck and down between his shoulder blades. He slid his hand down into the dip at the small of Sam's back, then back up again. Sam shifted after a minute so that most of his weight was on the bed instead of Dean. He propped himself up on one elbow, gently caressed Dean's face. "You all right?" Sam asked.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?"

Sam shook his head. He was looking at Dean the way no one else ever had. He was looking at Dean like there was nothing else in the world he could ever love more. "You all right?"

Dean nodded.

"Good." Sam kissed him gently.

"I...maybe we should...that is I don't--"

Sam kissed him again. "Do you really want to talk about this right now?"

"No, but...no."

"Then let's not talk about it. We don't have anything new to say, anyway." He lay back down, put his head on Dean's shoulder. "Go to sleep."

Dean nodded and stroked Sam's arm. "You, too. No dreams."

He could feel Sam smiling against his skin. "I'll try. We have to be up tonight to see if we got the right ghost." Sam's words were starting to slur together and he hummed softly, something he only did when he was starting to fall asleep.

Dean closed his eyes but didn't sleep, not for a few hours, anyway. He listened to Sam's breathing become shallow and regular. He listened to the people next door start to move around and shower before checking out. He held Sam in his arms, shifted just enough to reach the blankets and pull them up when he felt a chill. The sound of the maid vacuuming the next room lulled him to sleep.