Title: A Whisper Beneath the Moon
By: DamaskanRose
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Warning: WiP
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: So maybe this isn't your typical "no chick-flick moments" Dean...I hope you enjoy this side of him; I know I am.
Summary: They give in; it's willing and warm. And hopefully better than this summary.


Sam watched his brother; he was lying on his back, his dark clothes rested in stark contrast to the white of the sheets. His eyes were closed, both hands up under the pillow, but his chest rose and fell in a rhythmic, rolling wave. He knew Dean was asleep; knew he would have been able to wake him with a breath. Being a light sleeper was a hazard of the trade.

He just hadn't counted on wanting, needing, to wake him up so badly.

Lately, when he looked at Dean, something felt tight in his chest. Something ached in a way he couldn't explain. Sam was afraid that he was going to slip up around him, that his expressions would expose the need that was slowly driving him crazy.

To distract himself, Sam shifted on the uncomfortable mattress, flipping the dial on the radio. Brandy streamed softly out of the small speakers; a ‘70s song, but not one Dean would appreciate. Figures, he thought, looking over at his brother. Dean's foot was moving to the beat; he had a smirk on his face. "Always knew you were a sucker for that candy pop music, Sammy."

"You're awake?"


"Why didn't you say something?"

"Didn't want to interrupt all that thinking you were doing," Dean said, shifting his head so that he could look at Sam.

"Huh," Sam said. "That's never stopped you before."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, but didn't continue. He swung his legs to the side of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his face in his hands.

Before Sam consciously thought of what he was doing, he was on his knees in front of his big brother, taking Dean's face gently between his own hands.

"Whoa, dude, you going to kiss me or something?"

Sam watched as his brother's pupils expanded, nearly pushing out the heady hue of his irises. He'd always thought Dean's eyes were too beautiful to belong to a man; they belonged in the face of some fallen angel, one searching for retribution. Or redemption. Shifting his gaze down, Sam looked at his brother's full lips, the perfect Cupid's bow. Before he could push the thought out of his mind, it occurred to him that that was exactly what he wanted to do. Without thinking, he admitted softly, "I want to."

"You what," Dean asked, his darkened eyes searching Sam's face.

"Kiss you," Sam said, clearing his throat when he realized that the words barely made it out. He tried again, "I want to...taste you."

"Thank God," Dean breathed, leaning forward until his forehead rested against Sam's.

"Dean, please don't test me; I'm not strong enough," he said, his dark eyes pleading.

"Yes, you are," Dean said. "You're a Winchester."

"That may be, but I've never..."


"I've never wanted anything..."

"Sam, spit it out," Dean said. Sam could feel the smile that lit up the words. He took a deep breath; on the exhale he whispered against his big brother's lips: "I've never wanted anything more than I want you."

"And you're just telling me this now?"

"How the hell was I supposed to know how you'd react? At best I thought you'd throw the words back in my face. At worst–"

"It never crossed your mind that I'd want you, too?"

Sam pulled back slightly, gazing at Dean's face. Hesitantly he asked, "Do you?"

"More than anything," Dean said, echoing his brother's sentiment.

Smiling, Sam rubbed his thumb across Dean's full bottom lip, loving the texture, the way it made Dean's eyes close, his long lashes fluttering down. He waited until Dean opened them again before speaking. "May I?"

"Don't make us wait any longer, Sammy," Dean whispered. And when he smiled, Sam felt his heart contract.

Tilting his head, Sam licked his bottom lip, rolling it under his teeth. He heard Dean's breath hitch and watched as his big brother's lips parted in anticipation. And then Dean's hand was sliding up the back of his neck, pushing through his hair, urging him closer.

Sam growled low in his throat and gave in. He brushed his lips softly over Dean's; if he had let himself imagine this, he never would have thought they were so soft. Nothing about his big brother was soft, but Dean had never held back when it came to Sam, and his kiss was no different.

Dean pulled Sam's bottom lip into his mouth before releasing it in favor of his tongue. They pushed at each other's lips and mouths with gentle insistence; little sounds of helpless pleasure caught between them.

Sam flicked his tongue against Dean's lips before moving to trail feather light kisses along his strong jaw.

"Sammy, we need to...I want to..."

"I know," Sam said. The aching need in Dean's voice nearly broke him.

He urged Dean back, guiding him onto the bed so that his head rested on a pillow. Feeling the distance between them acutely, Sam joined his brother on the bed, urging Dean's legs apart with his knee. He eased his body down just enough to brush Dean's.

"I'm not gonna break, Sammy," Dean said. With one hand on the curve of Sam's back and one tangled in his hair, Dean took his brother's weight, happy when Sam was resting fully on top of him.

Sam lowered his head to Dean's throat. Warm, his skin was so warm, Sam thought. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of his brother, pressing it into his memory. Closing his eyes, Sam drew in another breath.

Dean's fingers were pressing along Sam's spine; his body arched, his head coming up. He opened his eyes to find Dean watching him with his fallen angel eyes. "What?"

"I love you."

Sam looked at his brother and tried to calm the sensations threatening to overwhelm him. He swallowed, but couldn't get words past the thickness in his throat. Sam felt his brow crease in frustration; he needed to tell him, needed Dean to know that his heart had always belonged to his big brother. But all he could do was send his eyes, frantically it seemed, over the features of Dean's face.

It was only when he reached the freckles scattered across his brother's nose that he felt the first tear slip over his eyelid. Dean's thumb was there, wiping it away.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice breaking. "God, Dean, I love you so much."



"Kiss me?"

Lowering his head, he obliged. Another tear fell, sliding between Sam's lips and Dean's. Dean licked it, taking it in his mouth, laving it against Sam's tongue so that they both tasted the bittersweet salt. Sam heard himself whimper, felt Dean's hand glide soothingly up his back. "Dean, please...stop being my brother."

"What do you want me to be?"

"My lover."

"Sam, I..."

"Make love to me, Dean."

"Sammy, I...I don't know how," Dean said. Sam could feel Dean's heart beating anxiously against his chest. At his admission it jerked. Sam could sense the panic building; Dean had always been so afraid to let Sam down, afraid that he wouldn't live up to his opinion of him. Sam had to get through to him before he lost him, lost this, to Dean's insecurity.

"Me, neither, but that's not going to stop me. Nothing's ever going to stop me again."

Sam watched resolve settle along the angles of Dean's face, saw the imperceptible nod of his head. They were going to do this. ~*~*~*~

They were going to do this, Dean thought.

His muscles quivered, straining to bear Sam's weight, his lungs working to keep his accelerated breathing from taking him under. None of it mattered. Dean had never felt more alive, more aware, then he did right then, pressed to the mattress under his little brother's body.

He had always known Sam's foundation was built on determination; it was a trait Dean had done his best to foster, never knowing that on the day Sam left it would tear him apart. And here he was, faced with it again, but this time all of that formidable determination was focused on him.

Sam seemed to know exactly what he wanted now; Dean was going to make sure his little brother never lived to regret his choice.

Sliding his hand under Sam's shirt, Dean kneaded the muscles in his brother's lower back. He heard the sigh, felt the contentment vibrate through his Sammy, and smiled. Closing his eyes, he stroked his cheek against the smooth skin of Sam's.

"I'm usually the patient one, you know," Sam said, clearly enjoying Dean's cat-like caress.

"We're not going to rush this," Dean said, pulling back a little to make sure Sam understood that. "I want you to remember every touch, every sound, for the rest of your life."

"I will," Sam said, his voice full of reverence, turning those two simple words into a prayer, a promise.

Dean smoothed his hands up Sam's back until his shirt, trapped between their bodies, impeded his progress. Sam lifted himself and reached back to grasp the material; he quickly pulled the shirt off, tossing it over the edge of the bed. Sam then tugged at Dean's shirt; he pushed up to allow his brother to pull the thin cotton over his head. When his back was flush against the mattress, Sam began to lower himself down, his skin sliding against Dean's by precious inches. Dean's rough moan was muffled against Sam's shoulder, but he couldn't bite back a startled growl when Sam rocked his hips into the cradle of Dean's.

"This is torture," Sam whispered.

"No, Sammy, not being able to touch you...for so long...that was torture," Dean said. "But this...if I ever let myself believe in Heaven, this would be mine."

"Sweet talker," Sam said, nipping at Dean's lips.

"That's why I get all the–"

Sam's mouth came down on Dean's with force, silencing his response. What do you know, Dean thought, his baby brother was jealous. When Sam pulled away to take a ragged breath, he lay his forehead against Dean's. "That's not going to happen again, Dean."

"What isn't," Dean asked. He felt panic course through his veins and he held Sam tighter, knowing that the dark blues and purples of fresh bruises would stain his brother's tanned skin by morning.

"There isn't going to be anyone else ever again. Not for either one of us," Sam said. It wasn't a question; it was a demand, one that Dean was more than willing to accept. He let the tension, the fear, slip away.

"There never was," Dean admitted. "Not for me."

"And I was just too blind to..."

This time it was Dean who stopped the rush of words, but there was no force to it. He imbued the kiss he gave his little brother with tenderness, laying claim to him with willing devotion.

"You see me now, Sammy," Dean said quietly.

As Sam's hands moved over him, Dean realized the truth in that. It were as though Dean could feel all of the pieces that had shifted and shattered within himself beginning to heal, to fuse around what they were building between them. ~*~*~*~

He could have stayed like that forever: kissing Dean for long, lazy hours. It would have been enough just to feel their muscles shifting and flexing to accommodate the other. But then Dean would tentatively thrust his hips up, sending pulses of pleasure through Sam's body.

"You feel unbelievable," he told Dean.

"And you have no idea of what you're doing to me."

The way Dean was looking at him, all dark heat and wicked intent, was enough to send Sam over the edge. Dipping his head down, he took his brother's mouth roughly, pushing at his tongue, demanding more. Dean matched him stroke for stroke; his full lips taking as much as they gave.

As their kiss deepened, Sam's heart throbbed painfully in his chest. It had never felt so out of control, so insistent on making him take measure of the very fact that he was alive. But that was Dean; his big brother could make a candle light the darkness because he was the spark, igniting life and all of the passions and desires that made it worth living.

Reluctantly, Sam lifted his head and concentrated on the face gazing up at him. Through the sweep of Dean's lashes, Sam saw the barely concealed warmth, the sheer, sultry power that his brother exuded. With his head sinking into the pillow, the play-with-me spikes of his hair absorbing the room's mute, ivory lighting, Dean made the simple white cotton of the casing sexier then it ought to be.

Sam almost felt as though he had no right to touch something, someone, so beautiful.

"Can you feel my heart," Sam asked.

"As if it were my own."

"God, Dean, when you say things like that---" Sam buried his face in Dean's neck as tremors shook his body. His big brother's arms tightened around him.

"I want to get under your skin, Sammy. I want you to need me, to want me, when I'm with you, when I'm not."


"I want you to think about my hands on you. I want you to crave my taste, the feel of my body, hard against you, for you."


"That's right, Sammy, I want you to beg for me because I...I would go down on my knees for you if you asked. I'll be whatever you want me to be so long as you look at me like you are right now," Dean whispered.

Dean rose up on his elbows, the taut muscles in his stomach rippling. With a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder Dean pushed him onto his back. Sam stretched out his long legs and relaxed into the firm mattress; he lifted his head to watch Dean. His big brother focused on Sam's eyes; he began to crawl up Sam's body. Sam knew his brother was dangerous, that his control and focus were qualities to reckon with, but he never realized that Dean knew how to turn it into something provocative. Right then Dean was the incarnation of sin, but Sam had never felt more blessed.

He pulled at his lower lip and Dean grinned, one corner lifting, flashing a come-get-me dimple. Tossing his head back on the bed, Sam groaned. By the time Dean reached Sam's bare stomach, Sam was moving restlessly under his big brother. He lifted his hips as Dean pressed his lips to Sam's naval. Dean took his time, teasing Sam with soft kisses and hot licks. Sam writhed under Dean's mouth as it hovered just above the waistband of his jeans.


"Please...tell me you don't want to stop," Sam said, hearing his own need coiled in his voice.

"Stop? Even if I tried," Dean admitted, but shook his head, unable to continue the thought with words. "But I do want you to sit up. And turn around." Dean shifted back so that Sam could slide his long legs out from under him.

"Like this," Sam asked, turning to face away from the bed's headboard. He felt Dean move closer, spreading Sam's legs to slip between them again, his chest tight against Sam's back.

"Perfect," Dean answered, his mouth hot on Sam's throat.

Sam let his head fall back on Dean's shoulder; he grasped his big brother's hip with one hand, and brought the other up to catch in his hair. He could feel Dean's hands on him, knew when he reached the button on his jeans, and sighed when he felt the slight tug there. But when Dean didn't continue, when his thumb slid into his jeans and simply, maddeningly skimmed Sam's hipbone, Sam opened his eyes. He met his big brother's heated gaze in the mirror across from their bed and felt his breath catch in his throat.

Dean was watching him; his ginger coated eyes burned with possession as they tracked every inch of exposed skin before raking up to tangle with Sam's. Without dropping his gaze, Dean settled his lips in the curve of Sam's neck, and laid his words against Sam's pulse: "You're mine now, Sammy. I want you to watch as I make you come."

Sam struggled to relax as Dean drew on his skin, pulling at it, scraping his teeth against it. Dean looked like a vampire, feeding on his essence, on the rough purr that Sam couldn't hold back, instead of blood. Some part of Sam's thoughts latched on to the knowledge that Dean was trying to mark him, was almost desperate to, and he smiled despite the impossible surge of pleasure flooding his mind. Dean licked the spot he had been so intent on before withdrawing the heat of his breath from Sam's skin.

"Think about all of the things I'm going to do to you, that you're going to do to me," Dean said, his voice soft, and as unimaginably sexy as the grin he offered Sam.

With a low groan, Sam leaned his head back again, resting it in the cuff of Dean's shoulder. Focusing on their reflection, Sam somehow knew that they were created for the kind of intimacy they now shared, knew, too, that their bodies fit together not on a whim, but by design. Tenderness tempered the heat in Dean's eyes as if he had sensed Sam's thoughts. "This is how it should be, Sammy."

"This is how it's going to stay."

Dean's hand paused above Sam's heart. When he spoke, his voice was soft, vulnerable. "I swear, Sam, you better not change your mind tomorrow."

"I'm going to wake up in your arms tomorrow, Dean. And when you look at me, I'm going to tell you that you are my life. That you are the one person I would die for, the only man I want to live for."

"I love when you talk pretty like that," Dean said, smiling. Sliding his hands down miles of smooth, tight skin, Dean caught the zipper of Sam's jeans. He lowered it slowly; the sound lost to Sam's suddenly ragged breathing. Pushing the coarse material down low on Sam's hips, Dean trailed his fingers back up his brother's thighs. When Dean paused, his hand so close, Sam groaned.