SpN: Twilight Time part 3/3
2/20/10 11:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:Twilight Time (or, What We Did After The End of The End Of The World)
Fandom:Supernatural
Pairing:Sam/Dean
Rating:R
wordcount: 3339
Summary:this is what they did after the end of all things turned out to be not so very end-y at all.
warnings: incest, non-graphic sex, cursing, cake
part one////part two
It's a long drive up the coast, but it's nice. Pretty quiet too, since Dean passes out right away, face plastered to the glass and drooling. The little hitching snores he makes keeps Sam from seeing Dean gasping out tortured breaths, pressed against the window with a wide dark red swatch smearing the glass. Sam stares down the white line and remembers sleep interrupted by screams, shouts, tears….it was a long time before either of them could sleep through the night….
But that was the past--gone--and this was now, and everything had changed for the better. Life was finally what it had always been for everyone else—some flavor of normal. More or less. They were alive, pretty much happy, and neither one of them had ever expected that. (And even if they'd imagined alive, they'd certainly never imagined happy.)
Dean wakes up a little cranky—no surprise--and wants to stretch and eat and that pretty damn soon so Sam pulls of the highway, bumps down a pot-holed, blacktopped road to a diner that from the look of it probably only served grease and more grease on a bun.
Sam holds the door open, winces when the brass bell tied to the handle cracks against the glass and lets out a shrill ring. Dean saunters past, that cocky roll to his walk making Sam's breath catch a little—no surprise. Dean grins at him, the light only slightly dimming when Sam murmurs, "Don't forget what Doc Shinn said about your cholesterol level…"
They shove into a booth—carefully across from each other and not side by side—and Dean snaps, "So what, I gotta order a frickin' salad? I'm almost fifty—any years I get past this is gravy, dude."
There's an instant rise of hot anger that flushes Sam's face. The plastic coated menu starts to blister at the corners and Sam drops it and slaps his hand over it. Dean's eyes jump from the menu to Sam's face and he swallows. "What?"
"Don’t—don't do that Dean. Please."
Dean's ears turn red, and he snatches up his own menu. "Whatever, Uri. Just—relax, all right? You're frying the menu. How 'bout I get a turkey burger…no cheese. Izat better?"
Nodding now, smiling and magnanimous in victory, Sam says, "Maybe later I might be persuaded to blow you." Like he was dispensing a gift. Like it wasn't Dean's right. He smiles when Dean snorts.
"Oh, please. That's a forgone."
The waitress appears at the table quietly, but not quietly enough to startle either one of them. She smiles at Dean, gives Sam a quick once-over and turns back to Dean, eyes wide, smile wide, her hip cocked towards Dean's side of the table. "What can I get you gentlemen this fine afternoon," she drawls and beams when she gets the laugh from Dean she'd been aiming for.
Dean, of course, flirts like he's getting paid for it and Sam stares at the menu and tells himself that this is such a tiny, tiny price to pay--for all he has, for all the joy in his life--this was nothing. God, it was so small a thing. He listens to Dean order a turkey burger and orders the soup of the day for himself.
"Hey."
He feels Dean's foot between his, knocking at his ankle. Sam looks up and smiles. "Hey back. Listen, I'm just going to—" he tilts his chin at the restroom and stands. His fingers brush against the back of Dean's neck, it's a move so quick and subtle only Dean knows. The tips of Sam's fingers flush pink.
The food's there when Sam comes back to the table. Dean grins wolfishly at him, scraps of lettuce trying to escape the corners of his mouth.
They fall into an easy rhythm of banter, tease, grouse, that they've had years to perfect—they riff off each other like jazz, dipping and soaring and building and the payoff's in Dean's laughter. When the waitress comes back, Sam tries not to be pleased that Dean's laughing so hard at something he's said that she's ignored. He doesn't look at her and gloat…it'd be a small, weak victory anyway.
Pretty much like he figured, Dean goes up to the counter and says something to the waitress that makes her blush. She tilts her head towards him and Dean leans in. Whispers something to her and she's nodding and smiling, writes something down on a slip of paper.
It hurts, but not any less, or any more, than it ever does. He's never hooked up on any of their 'dates' before, but the woman is his type and Sam knows damn well he has no claim on Dean. No claim and no right to say anything…not after what Dean's done for him his whole life. He smiles vaguely into the distance and wonders. Now, or after lunch. He'll sit in the car and read while he waits, or drive on to the place and wait. He's got a bookmark halfway through a copy of Different Seasons he'd found in the book shelf in Dean's office. He likes that the book is Dean's.
He grins at Dean like a fool when he comes to the table and huffs. "What are you waiting for, Sam, trumpets? Let's go."
They park in the bed and breakfast's lot around early evening. It's a nice spot, close to the front door. The sun's just beginning to set on the robin's egg blue and white wedding cake of a building, a place that's taken architectural gingerbread to dizzying, possibly insane, levels. Dean's muttering softly under his breath as he pulls their bags from the trunk and Sam…Sam just grins, especially when he's pretty sure he hears a soft 'bitch'.. "Wait until you see the bed."
Dean hesitates and shoots Sam a look…"Am I gonna have to sleep on the floor?"
"I wouldn't suggest it, not unless you wanna hire a crane to get you off the floor in the morning—"
"Yeah, well, maybe next time, you can bring a younger guy, hunh?" Dean snaps and stalks off to the door.
Sam stares after him open mouthed before swallowing…it hurts, right at the base of his throat, but he shakes his head and smiles. Dean doesn't mean it. He knows how it works between them—he's faithful, there's no one else but Dean. Never will be again. Dean holds his heart and his soul and every breath Sam takes is full of Dean—because of Dean. Every morning he opens his eyes to Dean curled next to him, he counts it a miracle. Every time Dean walks back in the door—back to him, he counts it a miracle. Dean holds the key to Sam's existence, without him Sam has no life.
It's not that way for Dean. Never has been. And Sam doesn’t expect anything else.
That's not important. Sam knows that ever since…well, he's never been to Dean what Dean is to him. And that's okay. It's enough that Dean's alive. Enough that he's happy, whatever it takes.
Sam collects the key and a handful of brochures from a cheerful gray-haired woman, who smiles and has a little rainbow pin affixed to her sweater. It goes nicely with the pearl earrings, he thinks.
He unlocks the door and waits while Dean drops the bags inside. There's a long moment of silence and then….
"Ho-oly…shit…what the fuck."
Sam starts grinning, takes a step back when Dean whirls around.
"Sam—it looks like a ten year old girl blew up in here."
He winces at Dean's description and then chuckles. "Pretty bad, hunh?" The room is all lace and cabbage roses, aggressively pink and teal. Pink and white striped wall paper grace the walls; the four-poster canopy bed's piled high with lace and satin pillows….
"God, yeah. This beats last year."
Sam nods "It's a lot worse than Cowboy Bob's." Cowboy Bob's had been Dean's choice the year before. Bob's little buckaroo patterned sheets and walls had been bad but this…
Dean hands Sam ten dollars. "You win. Hand's down. I don’t think I'm going to be able to top this, dude—unless I book us a room at a rest stop. Damn."
As a way to celebrate a life spent on the road—or celebrate an escape from that, from staying at places odd and too many times, horrifying--this worked. It had evolved into a game the last fifteen years…Sam tucked the bill away, it'd be Sunday breakfast money when they were home again.
Dean wanders around the room, describing just how much the décor is causing him pain. "Oh, wait—there's a fridge, oooo, stocked—and TV. Thank god. And hey, is that a two person shower in there, sweet." He pulls another shirt from his bag and shrugs it on over the one he's wearing, grabs the keys off the spindly little table next to the door. "I'll be back in a few; you go ahead and get comfortable. Check if there's a pay-for-porn channel," he says and waggles his eyes brows.
Sam freezes. "What?" He blinks rapidly, waiting for his brain to come back on line. "I thought…I thought you were—never mind. Okay," he dredges a smile up from nowhere. "Bring me that book in from the car before you go?"
Dean looks at him like he's gone nuts. "Okay…you're not going to spend all weekend reading are you? I had plans for that giant head of yours. And the other one," he winks and suddenly it's too much. For once, it's too much."
"See you when you get back," Sam snaps. "And keep it down when you do." He stalks into the bathroom with the sweet two-person shower and locks the door. Turns on the water to mask the sound of Dean leaving but hears through the door anyway, "Hey…you're okay, right? With me running out real quick? Promise, I won’t be gone long. I just have to—to do something. You know."
"Sure Dean, sure." Sam leans against the door and breath leaves him in a shuddering gasp. There are thirty cabbage roses in the border, he's almost counted all the leaves before he's calm enough to leave bathroom….
Sam's stretched out on the four poster, stupid frou-frou pillows piled up behind his head, he's got his reading glasses perched on his nose. He opens the book where he left off and settles in to read. The door pops open just as he clenches his toes, cracks them with a sigh. Dean's standing there, giving him that face. "It's gross when you do that—s'creepy."
"Dean?" Sam jerks upright, drops the book.
"Geez." He drops a small cardboard box on the table. "You act like I'm not supposed to be here—told you I'd be right back."
Sam is gulping, it hurts to swallow, he blinks hard but he can feel his eyes fill anyway. His breathing speeds up—
"You—you thought I wasn't coming back, or—or. Damn it Sam! Damn it! You thought I was going to hook up? With that broad at the diner, right? Shit—that's so fucking typical of you!"
Sam just breathes and wonders how he got to be the bad guy here.
Dean glares at him. "How could you? How could you think that this is—this is not important to--"
He whirls away, taking his face, his eyes, away from Sam. He slams his fist down, right on the little box and pink stuff squishes out of the sides. He lifts his fist and slams again, and yellow crumbs and more pink stuff explodes across the little white and rose table—the legs creak alarmingly, and Sam hisses in shock, calculating how much more their bill will be if the precious little thing collapses. He blinks again and realizes the pink stuff, the yellow crumbs, are what's left of a cake after it's beat up.
Dean whirls back to face him and Sam jumps again, but Dean doesn't look furious anymore, he just looks sad. "What will it take? What's wrong with me?" He runs his hands through his hair; the gray's more visible when it's wild and rumpled. Dean tugs a handful and asks again, "Why don't you care? Fifteen years…why don’t you leave?"
Sam feels like he's been gaffed. His hand flies up to his chest and presses his heart back into his chest. "You want me to leave? You…I will leave if you want that."
"No! No you idiot. I don’t want you—look, I know you love me. I know *how* you love me. That most of this is…gratitude. And obligation. So yeah, sometimes, I need to get out and forget. That you don’t want it like I do."
Sam feels like the hook has ripped from his belly to his throat. "I want you more than anyone, anything, more than---than. *You* know how much. I want you so much that I'd rather let you fuck strangers than let you go."
Dean just flops down where he was standing, hits the floor, pale as a sheet and breathing hard. "Let me go? You can't let me go. I'd die without you. We aren’t…*anywhere* on the same page are we?"
"You want me. Just me?" Lights flash inside Sam's head. He feels nauseous, elated…stupid. Glorious.
"God…" Dean groans and forces himself upright. His knees pop and he hisses and digs his fist into the small of his back. "Bitch," he mutters—stalks to Sam and wraps his fingers in Sam's collar, pulls him right off the bed and into his lips. Sam melts into it—force of habit. Learned response. Love.
"You understand? I couldn't go on one more day if you weren't in it with me. I don’t want anyone else but you. If you're giving me permission to love you like I want, then…I only want you. And I want to tell you I love you all the time."
"You do! You do that already." Sam can't help but grin and Dean shakes him with the fist still in his shirt.
"In words. You deserve to hear it in words. And you know…gifts. Sometimes." He turns to the box and peels the crushed lid away from what's left of a little pink cake. Driven into the mess of crumbs and frosting is a tiara. A few strands of translucent decorating frosting drop onto the table…"It said 'my little princess'," he says sadly. "It was awesome. You were going to shove it right in my face." He sounds…so totally sad that Sam scrapes a glob off the box-top and wings it at Dean, hitting him right in the forehead.
"I love you." This is what Dean was doing in the diner. Ordering this…magnificently hideous cake for his partner. For him. Sam looks at the grin on his face, the glob of frosting sliding downward, the way Dean scrapes it off with a finger and plops it in his mouth and Sam's beginning to think when Dean ordered it he said it was for his boyfriend.
Yeah. He was willing to bet Dean said boyfriend.
Sam's staring and Dean's eyes darken, and just when Sam expects him to wing the frosting back, he growls, "Get naked and get on the bed."
It's funny, Sam thinks, that after all this time, it only takes Dean staring into his eyes to get him hard. The fact that he's pointing at the bed with one hand and yanking his pants off with the other doesn't hurt….
The cake doesn't go to waste. There's frosting on his nipples that gets licked and sucked off until he's squirming with the need to have Dean's mouth elsewhere, and frosting that gets jammed into his navel, and Dean has to search it all out, twisting and jabbing into that little space and it really surprises Sam—he's gone forty years without realizing just how fucking sensitive it was. Frosting and crumbs land in his pubic hair but it's okay, Dean makes sure he gets every little bit that had been slathered on Sam's dick. It's noisy and loud and sloppy, just like Sam likes it, just like the first time, when both of them were shocked stupid by what they'd done together.
Dean's wet, thick fingers slide inside, and Sam grunts. Every time is good. Every time it feels like Dean's saying I love you, with his fingers, his body. He feels full, and stretched, he groans, and Dean laughs, a warm gust of air right in his ear. "You like that?"
Every time, fifteen years of "you like that?" when Dean's inside and Sam groans, "fuck, yeah." Every time. Like it? He fucking loves it.
Loves Dean inside him, slow, thick burn, pulling him back and forth, see-sawing between pleasure and a little, just a little, pain. That's what Dean's always given him, and the pleasure far outweighs the pain.
Dean's close now, panting, pushing harder, pulling Sam closer, grinding into Sam and now words come, Sam feels Dean thicken, lengthen and after all this time he knows his tells, knows the minute he's going to come and that—that's so hot, Sam thinks it's amazing that he knows him like that. Dean's a second, a breath, a heartbeat from coming so Sam says, "I've never loved anyone like I love you"—or words to that effect—and Dean gasps and comes. It's beautiful, it's amazing, it's incredible, like it always is.
It takes a bit before he catches his breath, and when he opens his eyes again, Dean's right there, grinning into his face. What can Sam do? He has to smack the back of his head. It's only right.
Dean yelps and laughs at once. "Bitch! You made me drop your present." He's rubbing the back of his head like it really hurts, but grinning and wincing—kind of a tip off it doesn't. Dean rocks back on his heels and Sam reaches out for his hip, splaying his fingers across the spray of freckles there. Pulls Dean closer.
"Here." Something bounces off of Sam's chest, a small bag stuffed with tissue.
"What the hell, Dean, you seriously bought me something?" Sam lifts the bag and sniffs it suspiciously. Dean might be over forty but his sense of humor is firmly entrenched in his teens. Sam's known, ever since he could walk, to check anything Dean told him or gave him carefully. He still remembers that year Dean had convinced him all the candy bars in his Halloween candy were poison or possibly filled with needles but the chalky gross Necco wafers were just fine—bastard. He eyes Dean while he pulls the tissue out and Dean looks too fucking uninterested, too innocent for this to be anything but bad…but they'd just had the most intense conversation of their lives and not even Dean would be stupid enough to prank him now…maybe.
In the ball of crumbly tissues is a small box. He opens the box at arm's length just in case…there are two rings inside.
"Dean?"
"So, I was gonna tell you this weekend, no more dating, hook-ups, whatever. Time's too short. And I don't want to share anymore. Of course, than we go ahead and have this massive melt-down. But great make-up sex, hunh?"
Sam looks up from the platinum bands in his hand, two rings, one for him, one for Dean, engraved with a ring of leaves and…."It's been a long time since…you know. It's just been you for the last ten years."
Dean drops his eyes, flushes. "Yeah…I kind of thought that. I just…I love you."
Sam smiles, the room's under water and Dean's face swims up in his sight and his lips are on his…when Sam can speak again he says, "I feel bad, I only bought you a pie."
Dean laughs, cups Sam's face. "Sammy, baby! When will you learn--there's no such thing as *only* pie."
fin
Fandom:Supernatural
Pairing:Sam/Dean
Rating:R
wordcount: 3339
Summary:this is what they did after the end of all things turned out to be not so very end-y at all.
warnings: incest, non-graphic sex, cursing, cake
part one////part two
It's a long drive up the coast, but it's nice. Pretty quiet too, since Dean passes out right away, face plastered to the glass and drooling. The little hitching snores he makes keeps Sam from seeing Dean gasping out tortured breaths, pressed against the window with a wide dark red swatch smearing the glass. Sam stares down the white line and remembers sleep interrupted by screams, shouts, tears….it was a long time before either of them could sleep through the night….
But that was the past--gone--and this was now, and everything had changed for the better. Life was finally what it had always been for everyone else—some flavor of normal. More or less. They were alive, pretty much happy, and neither one of them had ever expected that. (And even if they'd imagined alive, they'd certainly never imagined happy.)
Dean wakes up a little cranky—no surprise--and wants to stretch and eat and that pretty damn soon so Sam pulls of the highway, bumps down a pot-holed, blacktopped road to a diner that from the look of it probably only served grease and more grease on a bun.
Sam holds the door open, winces when the brass bell tied to the handle cracks against the glass and lets out a shrill ring. Dean saunters past, that cocky roll to his walk making Sam's breath catch a little—no surprise. Dean grins at him, the light only slightly dimming when Sam murmurs, "Don't forget what Doc Shinn said about your cholesterol level…"
They shove into a booth—carefully across from each other and not side by side—and Dean snaps, "So what, I gotta order a frickin' salad? I'm almost fifty—any years I get past this is gravy, dude."
There's an instant rise of hot anger that flushes Sam's face. The plastic coated menu starts to blister at the corners and Sam drops it and slaps his hand over it. Dean's eyes jump from the menu to Sam's face and he swallows. "What?"
"Don’t—don't do that Dean. Please."
Dean's ears turn red, and he snatches up his own menu. "Whatever, Uri. Just—relax, all right? You're frying the menu. How 'bout I get a turkey burger…no cheese. Izat better?"
Nodding now, smiling and magnanimous in victory, Sam says, "Maybe later I might be persuaded to blow you." Like he was dispensing a gift. Like it wasn't Dean's right. He smiles when Dean snorts.
"Oh, please. That's a forgone."
The waitress appears at the table quietly, but not quietly enough to startle either one of them. She smiles at Dean, gives Sam a quick once-over and turns back to Dean, eyes wide, smile wide, her hip cocked towards Dean's side of the table. "What can I get you gentlemen this fine afternoon," she drawls and beams when she gets the laugh from Dean she'd been aiming for.
Dean, of course, flirts like he's getting paid for it and Sam stares at the menu and tells himself that this is such a tiny, tiny price to pay--for all he has, for all the joy in his life--this was nothing. God, it was so small a thing. He listens to Dean order a turkey burger and orders the soup of the day for himself.
"Hey."
He feels Dean's foot between his, knocking at his ankle. Sam looks up and smiles. "Hey back. Listen, I'm just going to—" he tilts his chin at the restroom and stands. His fingers brush against the back of Dean's neck, it's a move so quick and subtle only Dean knows. The tips of Sam's fingers flush pink.
The food's there when Sam comes back to the table. Dean grins wolfishly at him, scraps of lettuce trying to escape the corners of his mouth.
They fall into an easy rhythm of banter, tease, grouse, that they've had years to perfect—they riff off each other like jazz, dipping and soaring and building and the payoff's in Dean's laughter. When the waitress comes back, Sam tries not to be pleased that Dean's laughing so hard at something he's said that she's ignored. He doesn't look at her and gloat…it'd be a small, weak victory anyway.
Pretty much like he figured, Dean goes up to the counter and says something to the waitress that makes her blush. She tilts her head towards him and Dean leans in. Whispers something to her and she's nodding and smiling, writes something down on a slip of paper.
It hurts, but not any less, or any more, than it ever does. He's never hooked up on any of their 'dates' before, but the woman is his type and Sam knows damn well he has no claim on Dean. No claim and no right to say anything…not after what Dean's done for him his whole life. He smiles vaguely into the distance and wonders. Now, or after lunch. He'll sit in the car and read while he waits, or drive on to the place and wait. He's got a bookmark halfway through a copy of Different Seasons he'd found in the book shelf in Dean's office. He likes that the book is Dean's.
He grins at Dean like a fool when he comes to the table and huffs. "What are you waiting for, Sam, trumpets? Let's go."
They park in the bed and breakfast's lot around early evening. It's a nice spot, close to the front door. The sun's just beginning to set on the robin's egg blue and white wedding cake of a building, a place that's taken architectural gingerbread to dizzying, possibly insane, levels. Dean's muttering softly under his breath as he pulls their bags from the trunk and Sam…Sam just grins, especially when he's pretty sure he hears a soft 'bitch'.. "Wait until you see the bed."
Dean hesitates and shoots Sam a look…"Am I gonna have to sleep on the floor?"
"I wouldn't suggest it, not unless you wanna hire a crane to get you off the floor in the morning—"
"Yeah, well, maybe next time, you can bring a younger guy, hunh?" Dean snaps and stalks off to the door.
Sam stares after him open mouthed before swallowing…it hurts, right at the base of his throat, but he shakes his head and smiles. Dean doesn't mean it. He knows how it works between them—he's faithful, there's no one else but Dean. Never will be again. Dean holds his heart and his soul and every breath Sam takes is full of Dean—because of Dean. Every morning he opens his eyes to Dean curled next to him, he counts it a miracle. Every time Dean walks back in the door—back to him, he counts it a miracle. Dean holds the key to Sam's existence, without him Sam has no life.
It's not that way for Dean. Never has been. And Sam doesn’t expect anything else.
That's not important. Sam knows that ever since…well, he's never been to Dean what Dean is to him. And that's okay. It's enough that Dean's alive. Enough that he's happy, whatever it takes.
Sam collects the key and a handful of brochures from a cheerful gray-haired woman, who smiles and has a little rainbow pin affixed to her sweater. It goes nicely with the pearl earrings, he thinks.
He unlocks the door and waits while Dean drops the bags inside. There's a long moment of silence and then….
"Ho-oly…shit…what the fuck."
Sam starts grinning, takes a step back when Dean whirls around.
"Sam—it looks like a ten year old girl blew up in here."
He winces at Dean's description and then chuckles. "Pretty bad, hunh?" The room is all lace and cabbage roses, aggressively pink and teal. Pink and white striped wall paper grace the walls; the four-poster canopy bed's piled high with lace and satin pillows….
"God, yeah. This beats last year."
Sam nods "It's a lot worse than Cowboy Bob's." Cowboy Bob's had been Dean's choice the year before. Bob's little buckaroo patterned sheets and walls had been bad but this…
Dean hands Sam ten dollars. "You win. Hand's down. I don’t think I'm going to be able to top this, dude—unless I book us a room at a rest stop. Damn."
As a way to celebrate a life spent on the road—or celebrate an escape from that, from staying at places odd and too many times, horrifying--this worked. It had evolved into a game the last fifteen years…Sam tucked the bill away, it'd be Sunday breakfast money when they were home again.
Dean wanders around the room, describing just how much the décor is causing him pain. "Oh, wait—there's a fridge, oooo, stocked—and TV. Thank god. And hey, is that a two person shower in there, sweet." He pulls another shirt from his bag and shrugs it on over the one he's wearing, grabs the keys off the spindly little table next to the door. "I'll be back in a few; you go ahead and get comfortable. Check if there's a pay-for-porn channel," he says and waggles his eyes brows.
Sam freezes. "What?" He blinks rapidly, waiting for his brain to come back on line. "I thought…I thought you were—never mind. Okay," he dredges a smile up from nowhere. "Bring me that book in from the car before you go?"
Dean looks at him like he's gone nuts. "Okay…you're not going to spend all weekend reading are you? I had plans for that giant head of yours. And the other one," he winks and suddenly it's too much. For once, it's too much."
"See you when you get back," Sam snaps. "And keep it down when you do." He stalks into the bathroom with the sweet two-person shower and locks the door. Turns on the water to mask the sound of Dean leaving but hears through the door anyway, "Hey…you're okay, right? With me running out real quick? Promise, I won’t be gone long. I just have to—to do something. You know."
"Sure Dean, sure." Sam leans against the door and breath leaves him in a shuddering gasp. There are thirty cabbage roses in the border, he's almost counted all the leaves before he's calm enough to leave bathroom….
Sam's stretched out on the four poster, stupid frou-frou pillows piled up behind his head, he's got his reading glasses perched on his nose. He opens the book where he left off and settles in to read. The door pops open just as he clenches his toes, cracks them with a sigh. Dean's standing there, giving him that face. "It's gross when you do that—s'creepy."
"Dean?" Sam jerks upright, drops the book.
"Geez." He drops a small cardboard box on the table. "You act like I'm not supposed to be here—told you I'd be right back."
Sam is gulping, it hurts to swallow, he blinks hard but he can feel his eyes fill anyway. His breathing speeds up—
"You—you thought I wasn't coming back, or—or. Damn it Sam! Damn it! You thought I was going to hook up? With that broad at the diner, right? Shit—that's so fucking typical of you!"
Sam just breathes and wonders how he got to be the bad guy here.
Dean glares at him. "How could you? How could you think that this is—this is not important to--"
He whirls away, taking his face, his eyes, away from Sam. He slams his fist down, right on the little box and pink stuff squishes out of the sides. He lifts his fist and slams again, and yellow crumbs and more pink stuff explodes across the little white and rose table—the legs creak alarmingly, and Sam hisses in shock, calculating how much more their bill will be if the precious little thing collapses. He blinks again and realizes the pink stuff, the yellow crumbs, are what's left of a cake after it's beat up.
Dean whirls back to face him and Sam jumps again, but Dean doesn't look furious anymore, he just looks sad. "What will it take? What's wrong with me?" He runs his hands through his hair; the gray's more visible when it's wild and rumpled. Dean tugs a handful and asks again, "Why don't you care? Fifteen years…why don’t you leave?"
Sam feels like he's been gaffed. His hand flies up to his chest and presses his heart back into his chest. "You want me to leave? You…I will leave if you want that."
"No! No you idiot. I don’t want you—look, I know you love me. I know *how* you love me. That most of this is…gratitude. And obligation. So yeah, sometimes, I need to get out and forget. That you don’t want it like I do."
Sam feels like the hook has ripped from his belly to his throat. "I want you more than anyone, anything, more than---than. *You* know how much. I want you so much that I'd rather let you fuck strangers than let you go."
Dean just flops down where he was standing, hits the floor, pale as a sheet and breathing hard. "Let me go? You can't let me go. I'd die without you. We aren’t…*anywhere* on the same page are we?"
"You want me. Just me?" Lights flash inside Sam's head. He feels nauseous, elated…stupid. Glorious.
"God…" Dean groans and forces himself upright. His knees pop and he hisses and digs his fist into the small of his back. "Bitch," he mutters—stalks to Sam and wraps his fingers in Sam's collar, pulls him right off the bed and into his lips. Sam melts into it—force of habit. Learned response. Love.
"You understand? I couldn't go on one more day if you weren't in it with me. I don’t want anyone else but you. If you're giving me permission to love you like I want, then…I only want you. And I want to tell you I love you all the time."
"You do! You do that already." Sam can't help but grin and Dean shakes him with the fist still in his shirt.
"In words. You deserve to hear it in words. And you know…gifts. Sometimes." He turns to the box and peels the crushed lid away from what's left of a little pink cake. Driven into the mess of crumbs and frosting is a tiara. A few strands of translucent decorating frosting drop onto the table…"It said 'my little princess'," he says sadly. "It was awesome. You were going to shove it right in my face." He sounds…so totally sad that Sam scrapes a glob off the box-top and wings it at Dean, hitting him right in the forehead.
"I love you." This is what Dean was doing in the diner. Ordering this…magnificently hideous cake for his partner. For him. Sam looks at the grin on his face, the glob of frosting sliding downward, the way Dean scrapes it off with a finger and plops it in his mouth and Sam's beginning to think when Dean ordered it he said it was for his boyfriend.
Yeah. He was willing to bet Dean said boyfriend.
Sam's staring and Dean's eyes darken, and just when Sam expects him to wing the frosting back, he growls, "Get naked and get on the bed."
It's funny, Sam thinks, that after all this time, it only takes Dean staring into his eyes to get him hard. The fact that he's pointing at the bed with one hand and yanking his pants off with the other doesn't hurt….
The cake doesn't go to waste. There's frosting on his nipples that gets licked and sucked off until he's squirming with the need to have Dean's mouth elsewhere, and frosting that gets jammed into his navel, and Dean has to search it all out, twisting and jabbing into that little space and it really surprises Sam—he's gone forty years without realizing just how fucking sensitive it was. Frosting and crumbs land in his pubic hair but it's okay, Dean makes sure he gets every little bit that had been slathered on Sam's dick. It's noisy and loud and sloppy, just like Sam likes it, just like the first time, when both of them were shocked stupid by what they'd done together.
Dean's wet, thick fingers slide inside, and Sam grunts. Every time is good. Every time it feels like Dean's saying I love you, with his fingers, his body. He feels full, and stretched, he groans, and Dean laughs, a warm gust of air right in his ear. "You like that?"
Every time, fifteen years of "you like that?" when Dean's inside and Sam groans, "fuck, yeah." Every time. Like it? He fucking loves it.
Loves Dean inside him, slow, thick burn, pulling him back and forth, see-sawing between pleasure and a little, just a little, pain. That's what Dean's always given him, and the pleasure far outweighs the pain.
Dean's close now, panting, pushing harder, pulling Sam closer, grinding into Sam and now words come, Sam feels Dean thicken, lengthen and after all this time he knows his tells, knows the minute he's going to come and that—that's so hot, Sam thinks it's amazing that he knows him like that. Dean's a second, a breath, a heartbeat from coming so Sam says, "I've never loved anyone like I love you"—or words to that effect—and Dean gasps and comes. It's beautiful, it's amazing, it's incredible, like it always is.
It takes a bit before he catches his breath, and when he opens his eyes again, Dean's right there, grinning into his face. What can Sam do? He has to smack the back of his head. It's only right.
Dean yelps and laughs at once. "Bitch! You made me drop your present." He's rubbing the back of his head like it really hurts, but grinning and wincing—kind of a tip off it doesn't. Dean rocks back on his heels and Sam reaches out for his hip, splaying his fingers across the spray of freckles there. Pulls Dean closer.
"Here." Something bounces off of Sam's chest, a small bag stuffed with tissue.
"What the hell, Dean, you seriously bought me something?" Sam lifts the bag and sniffs it suspiciously. Dean might be over forty but his sense of humor is firmly entrenched in his teens. Sam's known, ever since he could walk, to check anything Dean told him or gave him carefully. He still remembers that year Dean had convinced him all the candy bars in his Halloween candy were poison or possibly filled with needles but the chalky gross Necco wafers were just fine—bastard. He eyes Dean while he pulls the tissue out and Dean looks too fucking uninterested, too innocent for this to be anything but bad…but they'd just had the most intense conversation of their lives and not even Dean would be stupid enough to prank him now…maybe.
In the ball of crumbly tissues is a small box. He opens the box at arm's length just in case…there are two rings inside.
"Dean?"
"So, I was gonna tell you this weekend, no more dating, hook-ups, whatever. Time's too short. And I don't want to share anymore. Of course, than we go ahead and have this massive melt-down. But great make-up sex, hunh?"
Sam looks up from the platinum bands in his hand, two rings, one for him, one for Dean, engraved with a ring of leaves and…."It's been a long time since…you know. It's just been you for the last ten years."
Dean drops his eyes, flushes. "Yeah…I kind of thought that. I just…I love you."
Sam smiles, the room's under water and Dean's face swims up in his sight and his lips are on his…when Sam can speak again he says, "I feel bad, I only bought you a pie."
Dean laughs, cups Sam's face. "Sammy, baby! When will you learn--there's no such thing as *only* pie."
fin
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(no subject)
2/21/10 06:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
2/21/10 03:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/21/10 07:37 am (UTC)But you just killed me there at the end. I am seriously dead right now -- brain dead that is.
Congratulations, hon! You've rendered me a blithering idiot once again. (You do this every time, you must realize?)
Is it possible to marry a story? *kneels before TT*
*LUFFS YOU SO FREAKIN' MUCH*
(no subject)
2/21/10 03:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/21/10 08:39 am (UTC)I really enjoyed this story.
(no subject)
2/21/10 02:58 pm (UTC)Say, do you like J2 Regency romance? Are you reading Restraint by
Man, I've been waiting for this for a long time--I don't even like this kind of thing normally but I knew she'd make it *wonderful*!
Go see, if you haven't yet--I think you'll really like it!
(no subject)
2/21/10 07:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/21/10 12:11 pm (UTC)(Although I do wonder what all the people in their home town are gonna think about the ring situation, since they all know that they're brothers...Mind you, I'd be delighted if there were some hot gay brothers in MY home town...:D )
(no subject)
2/21/10 03:03 pm (UTC)Girl! I know! I'd be bringing them cookies and stuff all the time--I'd work the innocent old granny look to death!
As for the rings....Ha! I'm working under the assumption that folks won't notice and if they do, that'd be the last thing to come up! Though after neither of them gets married and Dean stops random hook-ups, everyone will be all, "heck, i knew they weren't reeeeally brothers..." or at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it! ;)
(no subject)
2/21/10 07:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/25/10 05:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/22/10 10:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/25/10 05:42 pm (UTC)See? I can be nice too!
(no subject)
3/1/10 06:35 pm (UTC)Thank you so much! I loved this! I want this for them. They deserve a home, and love and happiness after all they've done. As far as I'm concerned, this is my future canon from now on. :)
*hugs*
(no subject)
3/3/10 12:00 am (UTC)I'm telling you, since we got a sixth season, we *better* get some happy boys, darn it!!
(no subject)
3/2/10 09:38 pm (UTC)And this was fabulous! Adoreable, and I can SO see the two of them at cross-purposes and secretly angsting like this! I LOVE your futurefic Sam & Dean!
Totally rocks!
(no subject)
3/3/10 12:01 am (UTC)I love Sam/Dean! I've been writing a lot of them lately! I'm really happy you found this, adn really happy you liked it! *beams*
(no subject)
3/25/10 04:07 am (UTC)And Dean! Hookups! What??
Evol!
But - happy ending. :)
*smooch*
(no subject)
6/18/11 04:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
6/18/11 11:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
9/28/11 12:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
9/28/11 12:14 am (UTC)Yeah, I take some not so nice turns with them, cheating Dean being one of them. Poor Sam. He really goes through the wringer in my hands. ;)
Thanks again for reading, and for commenting!
(no subject)
3/8/12 06:25 pm (UTC)And sooo sweet! :)
<3
(no subject)
3/8/12 07:43 pm (UTC)Thanks a million for reading, and for commenting!