Don't You Cry No More

the feeling of company joining him in the bunker sends chills ( or is it excitement ) down his spine. the tingle is enough to lift lips to form a sinister smile, knees straightening to stand. the darkness swallows him whole, already has, as his eyes focus on the door past the shelves that threatened to enclose the space around him.

There’s no light that can filter in, simply the dull glow of lamps that leave a spotted trail and when Sam comes to another hallway (goddamn) he realizes it may be a while before he finds his way out. 

And just as he’s about to double back, he can hear it. A sound that only a trained ear of a hunter could pick up, draws his attention. His body stiffens, fingers fumble for his barely loaded gun (can he remember what he was doing before he even would up here) and pulled it up to eye level. 

And just when he was sure what he sought was at the end of the hallway...

The sound came from directly behind him. 

Sam turns, arm braced and finger twitchy to fire off a shot but all he sees is a body in the darkness and god, no matter where or when, Sam knows his brother’s body.

Yet something just...felt wrong.

The gun didn’t lower at first before he spoke.

Sam’s a little smug at Dean’s reaction, those hands slipping underneath his clothes are hot against already feverish skin. Dean looks a little smug too. A little hesitant as well and Sam does try to pull himself together momentarily. He noses into Dean’s neck, bites into the tender flesh before dragging his tongue softly across it. 

         “Do you, uh--” He makes a noise, almost a little hesitant and too tipsy/drunk to think straight. “I mean...it’s clear what I want,” he mutters. And it’s true Sam’s wanted Dean for a long time, but there were so many things that were a road block to that. He’s a million ways fucked up from Sunday, but Sam’s sure topping Dean on his list couldn’t make it any more worse. If he’s going to Hell when he dies, he’s going to go fucking satisfied. 

Right now he wants Dean’s fingers underneath him, on him, in him, and he wants it right now. It’s dangerous how close Sam is to snapping in half. Stanford hurt. It was what he wanted at the time and he wouldn’t lie, god he had hoped Dean would come with him. Would put down the sawed off shot gun and come with. Not for school but...he could’ve found anything better than the life of this. A hunter. 

Leaving Dean behind put a whole in his heart and Jess, believe it or not, reminded him so much of Dean. Behind doors, when it was all grades and studying and breaking barriers to get those grades to be she was hard on him. stayed on him all the time just like Dean would. She partially filled that void. 

He’d always love her. He’d always love Dean. 

    no, he’s definitely not functioning like dean. it takes a lot more to get his cheeks flushed and the weird tasteless comments to slip out from pursed lips. but his brother is entertaining right now, the laughing and smiling that causes the warmness in dean’s stomach.

    this is what his whole life is about. making his brother happy. allowing his life to be filled with joy in a life full of monsters, death and pain. it’s hard to find light among everything so cruel. but when sam’s happy, dean’s happy.

    the smile is replaced with a surprised look, a gasp being brought out when his brother reaches further. okay, so he can’t deny this anymore. it’s happening and dean for some reason has no clue how to deal with it. does he give him what he wants? or does he keep this under wraps even longer?

     his question to himself is answered when he feels how hard his brother is. lips close and he props the top part of his body up to stare straight at sam. he wants to know if this is what he really wants, or if it’s just the whiskey kicking in. because he doesn’t want to mess this up between them. it’s a fragile situation, especially with his baby brother involved.

Sam’s maybe a little more far gone than he was first willing to admit. Dean’s asking questions that are actually ridiculous. Like Sam hadn’t been jerking off to his brother for years by now. Seriously.

        “Dude,” he slurs, “I reached a level of desperate that I didn’t care who topped or bottomed, I am wearing panties for fucks sake.”

His tongue snakes out and eyes that had been previously so unfocused settle onto Dean and he drops the dopey grin and looks more like a predator than anything.

  “Who the hell are you gonna call Dean?” Sam’s touches aren’t so shy anymore. “You been teasin’ me for years so I can cop a feel and be drunk all I damn well please.”

Score one of Sam. “S’not fair. Just look at you, and I was supposed to just not see you for what you are?”

        “Sin on two fucking feet.”

If there was a doubt that Sam wanted Dean, it may fade just a bit. A ripple of lust scatters over Sam’s skin heatedly as the youngest Winchester finally throws legs off his lap only to find himself on all fours, hovering over his brother. He hesitates only to take the whiskey bottle and put it to his lips and drink. By the time he’s finished Sam knows this is an awful idea. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen, if it ever fucking did.

But it was too late.

Lines had been crossed.

Sam honestly couldn’t take it anymore.

     right. they were taking a damn break. it’s probably the reason he’s feeling so jittery right now. sitting around wasn’t his style, and it would cause random habits to pop up every now and then. like the fingernail biting.

     the grab at his thigh causes dean to flinch. okay, so it wasn’t just him feeling all of this. but what was his brother trying to prove? that he could make any situation awkward? what the hell was going over his head right now? was sam… feeling okay?

      ❝     … uh, yeah. they were. i dunno why y’chose to walk over to me, but y’did. i don’t think dad really thought much of it because we were always together. i think he was just glad that y’could walk… and at a pretty early age too.     ❞

     their dad had his moments. he was around more when they were younger, and if not, they were with ‘uncle bobby’. perhaps he thought that sam would be affected in some way after their mom died. but dean never knew anything about it. their dad was so closed off it wasn’t even funny.

     ❝     but, yeah… they were towards me. i remember feelin’ a little proud that you did.     ❞    eyes moved towards sam, kind of revisioning the scene before his foot playfully kicked his brother.

Sam smiles, grabs Dean’s thigh in one hand and squeezes as a warning but answers the question truthfully. “I am not a functioning alcoholic like you are--” 

Sam wishes he could remember that moment. Remember them as a family for what short period of time they were. Remember what their mother was like. All of them. But for the time being all he has is Dean. And right now, in his drunken haze, that’s all that matters. And to be honest, he’s amused at how sideways this entire thing has gone. It starts with a snort, that becomes a full blown laugh and Sam is wrecked for a moment. Just body shaking laughter that brings tears to his eyes the longer he takes in the situation, the longer the whiskey melts into his body and makes him alot more prone to be alot more stupid. 

     “Oh fuck,” he finally mutters when he can suck in a deep breath on a half chuckle. “Jesus christ this is crazy.” 

He should be bending his pretty brother over the nearest surface. Punishing Dean for every day he’s made him stare and want. Made him worry. Make him sick with grief. He’s too young and he’ll be damned if he has a gray hair yet. 

And he is so certain he looks crazy right now. Laughing his ass off, half drunk too? Dean’s legs stretches across his lap and why the hell should he not touch him? Dean’s been teasing him for years, it’s only fair right? 

He grabs a little higher up now, completely unfocused on the tv and instead the way those legs tense, hard muscle mets his palm through denim and god damn it’s nice. And Dean’s gotta get a grip too, after all, one foot was nudged happily between his legs now and Sam can’t lie, he’s a little hard. 

Someone needs to be getting fucked and Sam doesn’t care which way it goes.

But he wants his brother.

So with drunken confidence Sam takes Dean’s foot, shit and pushes it against the thickness of his cock that’s starting to swell.

That oughta teach Dean a fucking lesson.

    his body jerks when his legs are moved, not expecting it, and before long they’re back on sam’s lap ( it’s nothing new. it’s not a sign. get over yourself, dean. ). it’s then he spots the whiskey, and suddenly his back straightens. finally, something he can dive into to calm his nerves.

    fingers wrapped around the bottle, dean ignores the ‘mom’ attitude that his brother has going, and begins to chug the bottle. five, ten seconds tops before he passes it over with a low grunt. it burns all the way down his throat, but it’s what he wants. whiskey helped cleanse whatever thoughts or impulses that lurked inside of him. he needed to relax a little.

    another quick swing is made before sam’s fingers can get on it, then he finally allows it to leave his hand. teeth gritting and a slight head shake makes everything better, later followed by a sigh. the faster he gets DRUNK, the better. passing out is the main goal.

        “Dean. Break. Remember? There’s always a case somewhere, just not where we are.” 

Awe yeah, cool points for little brother. He leans back and stretches, eyes trained on the shitty tv show and tries to relish in the fact that they haven’t had a day like this in forever. Despite Sam’s boiling need in the pit of his stomach fueled by the gentle brushing of fucking silk between his legs (he really didn’t think this through) this is actually pretty enjoyable. He grapples for the bottle for a few more seconds, scowling at Dean’s unwillingness to part with the whiskey before he takes it and downs a good chunk, just in case Dean never actually gives the bottle back up. 

It burns, sets fire to his tongue, mouth, throat, sets his chest ablaze and for a wild moment Sam can see the appeal. Where was this bottle when every he ever loved died, goddamn it? The whiskey brings with it another type of heat, the sort that settles into your skin and it wouldn’t let up no matter what the hell he did. 

Or was it Dean?

Might’ve been Dean, laying like this, easily accessible should Sam’s hands reach out and touch and...maybe it’s the whiskey talking otherwise Sam was awfully careful to keep himself separate from his brother, but he reaches up a little farther on Dean’s leg and brushes his thumbs over knees and toward those muscled thighs. 

Shit, just a quick feel, maybe a grab and Dean might not ever notice. 

He smiles like a dope at the tv. He would definitely get off in his own bed, rubbing against the panties and thinking about how nice Dean’s thighs would look all spread out for him. So he thumbs in small circles, humming low in his throat but he never once tears his eyes away from the tv. It’s a few minutes later when Sam speaks again and there might actually be a slight slur to his words.

           “Hey De-Dean?” He hiccups, leaned a little farther back, whiskey bottle given up to Dean because holy shit, alright, maybe he can’t hold his liquor quite as good as Dean could. “’s true? I mean we are always in Dad’s journal but, s’that true? Jesus i was a tiny baby with fat legs man that’s weird. Was it weird for you?” 

Did the show change? Was it a movie? Sam didn’t know but he had to force the question past his lips because he wanted to know.

    it’s sick. the feelings that stir inside of him— those feelings, shouldn’t be there. but they are, and now he has to deal with them. out of all the problems he has, this one is the one he has to get through by himself. it sucks, and he’s desperately trying everything. from ice baths, long car rides by himself, to drinking at bars and hooking up with women. but he can’t, and it’s starting to get on his nerves. it’s like sam’s PURPOSELY doing this to him. it’s not fair.

    hazel eyes peer over at his brother when he comes out of the bathroom, and dean is quickly averting his attention to the television when he notices what he’s doing ( what the hell did he just see ? ). sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together, dean clears his throat before pointing to the movie that’s on.

      ❝     shit shows on right now. this is the only thing that’s good.      ❞  lord help him because his eyes are practically straining to stay away from his brother. voice is hoarse and the words are a mumble (  was he loud enough ?  ). clearly struggling, dean tries a different tactic.

         “That sucks,” he mutters, shoving things in his duffle. This suddenly feels ridiculous. There’s the very real threat that he’s got on fucking panties for his big brother and by god, there’s the obvious chance Dean may not even like him. 

Great. Midlife crisis? Now? 

But Sam doesn’t go near the couch. He can’t. Not with Dean all laid out like that. He’s seen was hidden underneath that shirt, and right now, sun kissed skin mocks him from across the room as it peeps playfully out at him. 

Fuck. 

He has no clue what the hell to do. Fucking bowed legs were just begging Sam to get between them. Or better. Straddle him.

Oh shit, alright, that was crossing his boundaries too quickly. He’d need another shower, asap. Instead he heads for his duffle one more time, pulls out one of the two bottles of whiskey’ve they’ve scrapped together to keep on them and heads for the couch his doom. 

     “Move ya legs,” he snarks, stretching out, lanky, lean, and tall, (underwear already forgotten as he shoves Dean’s legs out the way, drops onto the couch and (cause he’s a little shit) stretches his legs out to drag Dean’s legs back onto his lap. He’s in love with his brother sure, but if there was one thing Sam was so sure he was good at, it was hiding that. But it was getting harder and harder every day.