dime_liora | The Thought That Counts

Title: The Thought That Counts
Author:

dimeliora
Wordcount: 4,977
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Prompt(s): Written for the SMPC.
Summary: Dean's going to give Sam the best present possible. No matter what.

It’s February.

For the first time in years Dean is prepared, and he’ll be damned if this year ends like any of the ones that came before. Dean is going to win the fight this year. He is going to come out victorious.

Sam won’t admit that there’s an epic struggle that occurs every February 14^th, that it is a battle akin to life or death, and that is because every year Sam wins. His brother doesn’t have to admit that they’re competing for who is the most thoughtful, the most inventive, the best. Because Sam always fucking wins.

But not this year.

This year Dean has pulled out all the stops. The motel room fridge has a salad of epic proportions and Dean managed to get that stupid raspberry vinaigrette Sam is always asking for. Sam’s favorite beer is sitting on the shelf below it, not box wine this year because that was last year and Dean made the mistake of pointing out all chicks love wine and being instantly disqualified from the contest, and below that is all the stuff Dean needs to try his hand at a compote.

Which he is going to fucking rock thank you very much.

Sam is going to come back to a clean motel room, an incredible dinner, and Dean is going to let his brother control the remote for the entire night. And then Sam is going to get the blowjob of his life. It’s perfect. Simple. Thoughtful.

If Sam has bought something this year than his brother is doubly fucked because Sam’s made the argument before that homemade is always better. And sure, yes, Dean bought the salad. But that was just common sense. If Dean had made the salad it wouldn’t be Sam’s favorite salad.

All Dean has to do is be patient and wait for Sam to get back from the “library”. As if Sam is really researching on Valentine’s Day.

The holiday is a double whammy. Although Dean doesn’t like to think about it Valentine’s Day is the anniversary of the first time he and Sam ever had sex, and that is the foundation of the contest all by itself. They have spent thirteen years trying to one up each other because that first holiday set the bar.

Set it very low.

Once, in a drunken moment Dean doesn’t care to admit to very often, Sam suggested that Dean is so focused on making the holiday important because he is still trying to make up for what happened all those years ago. And Dean, also drunk and blindsided by the conversation, had agreed.

He’s still living that down.

The door opens, and Dean jumps up waiting for Sam to see how orderly everything is and start to realize how defeated he’s about to be. And there’s Sam, a smile on his face that suggests he thinks he’s coming into a battle unbalanced in his favor. Dean watches Sam’s eyes move around the room, and then he watches Sam’s smile widen and brighten.

Dimples out.

Fuck.

“It looks good in here.”

Sam isn’t even trying to hide his smugness. Dean feels his hands get clammy. There’s an envelope in Sam’s hand, a bow on it, and Dean begins to hope against all reason that Sam has gotten him a gift card.

Dean’s plan could totally beat a gift card.

“Thanks. I got dinner.”

Sam tilts his head at that, a challenge in his eyes, and Dean feels his heart start to race. He’s going to lose. He doesn’t know how but he’s going to lose. Sam has something in that envelope and whatever it is it’s about to crush Dean’s gift into the dirt.

“That’s great Dean. Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day. I got you something.”

Dean hates his brother.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Sam holds out the envelope, wrist bent, hand casual, and Dean thinks that he’s seen Sam wield a knife with less threat and intent.

“Open it.”

He doesn’t want to. Dean wants to throw the envelope out the window, pull out the salad, and pretend that the last three minutes never happened. But that’s not an option. That would be another automatic disqualification.

Instead he takes the envelope, feels how thin it is inside, and knows that he is forever doomed. It’s not substantial enough to be a gift card. It’s something else. It’s something he can’t predict or prepare for.

Sam’s victory.

Dean slips a finger under the flap, pulls it open, and peers inside. And sitting there, innocuous and unthreatening, is a newspaper clipping. He unfolds it and feels his breath stutter and stop.

Gardner Pies Plagued By Production Problems

He hates alliteration.

More importantly, he hates Sam, because scanning down the article makes it obvious to Dean that Sam has found them a hunt. A simple salt and burn from the looks of it. At a pie factory. Sam has given Dean the chance to not only be surrounded by pies doing one of his favorite things in the whole world, but to be the literal Hero of Pies.

Dean looks up from the article to see Sam smirking, all the victory Dean thought he had secured resting in Sam’s smile. His brother’s arms are crossed over his chest, and he’s not laughing out loud but it’s obvious that he would be if he didn’t think Dean would try to finagle that into a last minute win.

“What do you think Dean? It’s in Akron. We could be there in about eight or nine hours. You want to go?”

Sam’s still smiling, bright and victorious, and Dean thinks he’s going to scream. Instead he nods, carefully, controlled, and then gestures to the fridge.

“You ready for dinner Sammy?”

His brother leans in, kisses Dean once firmly and happily, and then stretches before opening the fridge door.

“Holy shit Dean! This is awesome. Thanks!”

It’s the biggest insult Sam could possibly give him.

“You’re welcome.”

---

Dean lies in bed beside Sam. His brother is face down on the pillow, naked and stretched out so that Dean can look over all of him and enjoy it. There’s flour scattered thinly across Sam’s lower back. They both smell like pie. Dean leans over to take a sniff of Sam’s hair and gets his brother’s smell mixed with the Colonial Pie that they were making when Dean and Sam cornered the ghost.

There are six of them in the motel fridge. They took seven home, but Dean ate the last one off of Sam’s skin.

He lost. He’s not happy about losing. He’s certainly happy about solving the pie factory’s haunting, and licking chunks of their special apple pie off of Sam’s dick, but not happy about losing.

Sam is snoring lightly, face relaxed and body reflecting how sated he is. Dean remembers the first time. How incredibly different it was to this. When Sam and Dean first started doing this Dean already had experience and they’d both banked on that to get them through it.

Of course, neither had considered the fact that Dean had only had casual hookups, that all his penetration experience was with women, and that the way he would react to Sam in bed was totally different from that.

What was supposed to be a special night had gone wildly wrong. Dean hadn’t stretched Sam enough so it took his brother longer to enjoy it than he wanted, Sam crying had made it nearly impossible for Dean to stay hard, and then his brother had taken Dean’s weakened erection as proof that Dean wasn’t really interested. They’d gotten into a fifteen minute fight that had ended with them rolling around wrestling, yelling viciously, and then eventually being righted by their hormones.

Instead of coming inside of Sam for the first time Dean and Sam ended up with pumping their hips in unison, cocks rubbing together, mouths moving sloppy over one another. They’d come like that, Sam gasping and wide eyed and Dean pushing himself to look confident and cocky about the whole thing instead of ashamed.

He had wanted to make it perfect for Sam. He’d wanted to give Sam a flawless night, to lead his brother through every step of the process like an older brother should. Dean has managed, through an incredible sense of self preservation, to never say that sentence to Sam. He knew how creepy it would sound out loud.

Sam has spent years telling Dean that it was fine, that first times were always supposed to be awkward and uncomfortable. He would point out regularly that what they ended up doing was great, that they still did it all the time, and that it was hardly a consolation prize.

But that’s never changed the fact that Dean takes issue with their first time. And he knows Sam does too. His brother would never admit it, because it would get him teased worse than Dean’s reasoning about older brother’s being more knowledgeable, but Sam wanted the romanticized version of virginity loss. The one that never really happened, but that everybody talked about anyway.

And Dean had wanted to give that to him.

Should have given that to him.

He looks over at Sam’s lax body again, and realizes how he can win.

----

“I need a favor.”

Cas looks at him blankly, face smooth, and Dean wonders just how detailed he’ll have to get.

“I need to go back in time. And I need to be able to only be seen by one person.”

The angel lifts one eyebrow just slightly, an amount of expression that is monumental compared to when they first met him.

“Me. I need to be seen by me.”

“You can’t change major events of the past Dean. We have done this before.”

Dean swallows once, rubs the back of his neck, and then looks around the room for help.

“It’s not major in that sense. I want to help myself…help Sam.”

“Help Sam how?”

Cas leans in just a little, face a bit more drawn and serious, and Dean is a little shocked at how much Cas is reacting to this whole thing.

“I want- the first time Sam and I.” Dean makes a hand gesture that he realizes too late will mean nothing to Cas at all. “You know. Were. You know.”

The angel shakes his head.

“The first time we did it.”

At this Cas reacts, eyebrow lifting even further and head nodding in understanding.

“It wasn’t good. I want to talk to my former self. I want to help him.”

“But why?”

Cas is intense, close, and Dean finds himself leaning back away from it.

“Because I need to get Sam a Valentine’s Day gift and this is the best one I can think of. To fix it so that his first time was good. Special.”

The angel takes Dean’s hands, and his face has become solemn and serious.

“Whatever you need Dean. I will help. Name the time and I can send you.”

“Thirteen years ago. Valentine’s Day. Can you do that?”

Instead of answering Dean feels that deep tug in his stomach that he hates, and the world fades away.

----

When everything settles again he’s standing in the upstairs room of the old abandoned house that they were living in then. In front of him is his younger self, pulling the bed sheet tight with a look of total concentration.

“Dean.”

His younger self jumps, spins around, and immediately pulls his fists up.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“You. Calm down. We need to talk.”

Dean watches his own face cycle through a variety of expressions. Disbelief, suspicion, and then finally distaste.

“Yeah. Sure. You’re me from the future. If that’s true tell me something only we would know.”

For a moment Dean is back in the shack in the Croatoan virus future. It’s not a good feeling.

“Rhonda Hurley. Panties. Liked it.”

Younger Dean stares at him, mouth hanging, and then he nods and stands a little straighter.

“Ok. So you’re me. From the future.”

“Yeah kid that would be-“

“Don’t call me kid.”

He’d laugh if it wasn’t so annoying.

“Fine. Younger Dean. I’m from the future and I’m here to set something right.”

“Is this a Back to the Future thing? Are you going to tell me I need to go to the Under the Sea ball and take the right date?”

Is this what Sam has to put up with all the time? No wonder his brother has developed so many bitchfaces.

“No. You’re about to take Sam’s virginity, and it’s going to be terrible.”

His younger self breaks into laughter, head shaking and face dismissive, and Dean wonders why he didn’t plan for this.

Shouldn’t he know himself better by now?

“Yeah. Sure it is. Because that’s a thing that’s happened before.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and tries not to sound pissed off.

“Bonnie Newsbaum, Montana, the back room of the Red Rider.”

His younger self’s face falls, confidence dying right in front of Dean’s eyes, and he almost feels bad for bringing it up.

“That bad?”

“Yeah, that bad.”

“So what do I do? Sammy’s first time has to be better than that.”

“We’re a good big brother.”

Younger Dean smiles at that, a quirky half-mouth pull that Dean knows from the mirror.

“The best.”

“So what do we do?”

And Dean sits down with his younger self and tells him the plan.

----

When Sam walks through the door Dean is a little floored. He honestly forgot how exquisite Sam was then. It’s not that current Sam isn’t amazing, but it’s a different kind of handsome. Young Sam is lanky and lean, long lines of bones and angles that Dean used to rub and kiss late in the night when the noise wouldn’t attract their father’s attention.

Older Sam is still long, and his face is lean, but the rest of him is muscle and bulk. Dean can’t manhandle him the way he used to. He can’t just pick Sam up and place him. Which is ok. Hell, Dean has kinda liked being manhandled a few times himself, but that doesn’t change the fact that he loved this Sam first.

His younger self shoots him a look, and Dean waves him away so that Sam, this Sam, doesn’t pick up on anything being wrong. Halfway through the plan he called himself a pervert, and they both laughed about it.

No reason to deny the truth.

Sam looks around the room, his face lighting up in that quick and easy way it always used to, and his dimples popping out hard.

“Holy shit. Dean? Dean are we gonna?”

Dean leans into Sam’s joy, his enthusiasm, soaks it up a little. Their lives offer so few moments of that these days. It’s an emotion that they have to coax out of each other.

“Step forward, tell him yes, then cup his chin and tilt his face up. Stare for a couple seconds.”

The younger version of himself does just that, managing to make the following steps look smooth and graceful after the awkward first one.

“Yes.”

Dean smiles at how Sam melts into the touch, eyes big and liquid as they rest on his younger self’s face.

“Now, run your tongue along his lower lip. Gently. Wait for him to open his mouth and let you in. Don’t just dive straight for it.”

And the younger him does. Sam make a little noise of surprise at the first contact, and then opens his mouth and lets Dean in.

It’s hot. Hotter than he expected. Dean’s confidence in his looks has never waned, no matter how much the rest of his being has come into question. Young him was hot, and young Sam is hot too.

This is actually going to be a lot of fun.

“Slip an arm around his waist. Pull him in and let him feel how hard you are.”

This time when Sam makes a noise Dean, older Dean, makes one too. His younger brother is hot for it. Hard. Dean can see the outline of Sam through his jeans.

He’s kinda glad both versions of them are of age, because otherwise the skeevy factor about this whole thing would be through the roof and Dean would feel guilty later for how much he was enjoying this.

“Break the kiss off, but stay right there. Keep your lips together just pressing.”

Dean does, his eyes sliding open to rest on the flushed skin of Sam’s face.

“Now tell him you love him.”

The younger version of him cuts his eyes sideways for just a second, risky even though Sam’s eyes are firmly closed.

A question. What is wrong with him? Because they say it, and they said it then, but this must seem a little cheesy to younger Dean.

“Do it.”

“I love you Sammy.”

Sam’s throat clicks once on a swallow before he opens his eyes. Even from this distance older Dean can see the love pouring out of them. How incredibly happy Sam is. His younger self smiles in response to that wave of positivity, infected with Sam’s joy and forgetting how girly it seemed only seconds ago.

“I love you too Dean. More than anything.”

Dean lets his younger self take over for a few minutes. He never said that the first time. He just assumed Sam knew. Now, years later, Dean knows that Sam doesn’t think enough of himself to assume those sorts of things.

The two are stripping each other, hands roaming fast and needy over exposed flesh. Behind them the window is closed against the cold, and Dean can see the weak sunlight trying to make its way through the white gauzy curtains.

A long dance of tangled limbs and locking lips ends with the two in bed, and Dean gets up and makes his way to the bedside table. He sits down on it and watches the bodies wrapping around each other before his younger self makes the mistake of reaching for the lube.

“No. Not yet. Have Sam lay on his front and get behind him.”

Young Dean just barely manages to not look over, but Dean can feel him wanting to.

Instead his younger self disengages, kissing Sam once and then going up on his knees.

“Lay down Sammy. On your stomach. I want to do something special.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, a shadow of the future what the fuck are you thinking look that Sam will wear constantly, but he does what his brother asks.

“Kiss his shoulder, the left one first, and then move with kisses across to the right.”

Dean does, and Sam is squirming within seconds. His brother tries to twist his head, to catch sight of Dean behind him, but younger Dean is at a bad angle for that. His mouth moves in an erratic line, leaving Sam surely guessing the general area of the next contact, but not the exact spot.

“Now down, along the spine, stop where it dips above his ass and scrape that with your teeth. Gently.”

His younger self is obviously getting into it, no longer hesitating when Dean gives him a command. Instead he moves more quickly and surely down Sam’s spine and towards that pert ass. Dean feels a little bad for his younger self. Sam’s ass is only going to get better.

Without his instruction younger Dean starts kneading Sam’s ass cheeks while kissing. Dean says nothing, because it’s a good move. He wishes he’d thought of it. Sam, for his part, is squirming and moaning. Eyes clenched shut and fingers digging into the sheets.

“Now kiss the left cheek, work your way in, and then spread him open.”

His younger self moans, obviously turned on by the instruction, and does just that. Sam’s eyes shoot open.

“Dean? What are you- what?”

Sam’s face is red, a little embarrassed, and Dean remembers that. It went away after a year or two, and Sam’s bashfulness was replaced with hunger and assertiveness. Dean likes both equally.

“Relax Sammy. Enjoy this.” His younger self turns his head to look at him, and Dean feels the crooked smile covering his face.

“Lick him. Straight across the hole fast and flat tongued. Then slow circles working the tongue in.”

Younger Dean moans again, cock jumping briefly, and then he leans in and obeys. From this angle Dean can see his own tongue stroking Sam’s hole, then circling it and poking against it.

They need to buy a fucking video camera.

Sam’s eyes are still open, and his jaw is hanging now. He makes a constant low sound, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists in the sheets as younger Dean’s tongue works him hard and fast. It’s halfway in Sam now, moving deeper and opening Sam up, and Dean is loving the show.

He can taste Sam, his mouth floods with saliva at the sense memory, and he pushes at the bulge in his own jeans while he tries to remember how to speak so he can give more instruction.

“Pull him up by his hips so he’s on his knees and spread his legs. That’ll give you more access.

Younger Dean does, a sound almost like a growl coming out of his mouth as he descends on Sam’s ass. He’s eating Sam out, tongue slipping in and out of his little brother, and Dean gives up on self restraint. He unzips his pants and pulls his cock out, stroking himself slow to make it last.

With distance between himself and the two on the bed Dean can hear and see things he’s never been able to in the moment. How Sam’s knees slide against the sheet with a low rustle, the way Sam’s hair falls into his eyes as he tosses his head and moans, and how Sam’s face tightens and relaxes as Dean’s tongue fucks him.

It’s a wonder he hasn’t come already. He should stop touching himself, but Dean can’t. He can’t stop looking at Sam. Sam’s cock leaking pre-come as it bobs with the little movements of Sam’s hips, Sam’s fingers ripping at the sheets, Sam’s mouth breaking open on moans and gasps. They’re lucky Dad is a state away because Sam is loud.

“Flip him over.” Dean sounds broken, wrecked, and he feels that way. Younger Dean complies without hesitation, slipping his tongue out of Sam and using Sam’s hips to turn him over so that he can spread Sam’s legs again.

“Lick his dick. Slow, base to tip, and circle the tip once. Don’t put it in your mouth.”

Dean complies again, eyes opening to take in Sam’s face as his brother bucks up at the first touch of Dean’s tongue and then drops his hips down to the bed again when Dean circles the top.

“Push his legs up to his chest. Put your tongue back in him. Quick. Fuck him with it.”

Both Deans moan as the younger one slips down, maneuvers Sam’s legs and pulls Sam’s hand so that he’s helping hold himself open, and starts tongue fucking Sam again. Older Dean moves his chair so that he’s by Sam’s head, so he can watch Sam’s face better as he jerks off. Sam is gorgeous this way, head pushing down into the bed as he gasps and moans. He can’t even manage to attempt talking to Dean at this point.

Dean jerks himself harder, breathing heavy and licking his lips at the slurping sound his younger self is making as he goes to town on Sam’s ass. Their mouth has always been talented, that’s for sure.

“Now start fingering him. One at first with your tongue and then more slowly. You want him wet and loose.”

His younger self nods at that, either an agreement to the statement or a promise of obedience, and then Sam’s eyes fly open and he’s nodding too but his mouth is moaning Dean’s name.

Dean watches Sam’s face, tightness that indicates Sam being uncomfortable on the edge of pain slowly easing into Sam eager and needing. He watches as Sam grips his own thigh super tight and pulls it higher to give Dean more room to lick and finger him. As his younger self, unbidden, strokes Sam’s dick gently, not enough friction to make Sam come.

He’s so close. So close to the edge. He can tell from the way Sam is gasping and moving that Sam is too. That any more of this and Sam will come that way, dick basically untouched, his older brother’s fingers and tongue buried in his tight, virgin hole.

“Slide out of him slow. Get the lube and put some on your fingers. Lube yourself and then rub the remainder in and around his hole.”

His younger self does just that, moving slow and eager, and then he’s on his knees staring at Sam’s face with his head tilted towards older Dean to indicate that he’s ready to receive more instructions.

“Now. Slow. So slow. Keep eye contact and slide into him.”

Sam’s eyes are open wide, love and fear in equal parts. And Dean reaches out and strokes his little brother’s cheek. Sam shudders once and younger Dean gives him a strange look before leaning forward to kiss Sam. And then younger Dean is sliding in.

Dean watches. He watches the way Sam’s face opens up. How Sam’s expression just changes. There’s no more fear. There’s not even discomfort. Sam is focused, intense, and full of all the emotions that Dean knows his little brother, older now and hardened, manages to hide beneath a layer of calm wisdom. It’s Sam’s default mask.

None of that exists here. Sure, Sam hasn’t had an easy life up to this point, but he’s still sure of himself when it comes to Dean. More sure now because Dean is inside him. Because they are joined, for the first time, as completely as they can be. His younger self is making a noise, and Dean tears his gaze away from Sam to look at his own face. To see the shock and joy there.

“Touch his face. Palm on his jaw and thumb along his lip. Soft.”

Dean’s so close. So close to completion, and he knows that both his younger self and his little brother are too.

His younger self obeys, and then he starts to rock his hips. Sam gasps, teeth coming down on younger Dean’s thumb gently, and then twists a bit to push himself up and into Dean’s thrusts. They move together, in the perfect synchronicity that Dean has had with Sam since Sam finally started walking surely. Their eyes are locked, mouths open, chests heaving, and Sam is gripping Dean’s back like it’s a lifeline keeping him from falling.

“Stroke his dick.”

Dean’s hand speeds up when he says it, knowing what is about to happen, and sure enough all it takes is one brush of younger Dean’s hand to Sam’s cock to make his little brother come.

He comes watching Sam’s face. Watching the bright eyes close, head tilt all the way back, and pretty pink mouth form Dean’s name on a seemingly endless gasp.

And then Dean is back in the motel room, hand covered in come and dick out, and Sam, older Sam, is coming out of the bathroom. Sam’s mouth purses and he stares at Dean in a way that only Sam is capable of.

It’s hard to readjust. To come back to this time and this place, because Dean is still riding the high of the orgasm and the emotions of seeing Sam in that situation. Of fixing what he once failed at.

“Dean. What. The. Fuck.”

“I. Uh.” Dean wipes his hands on his jeans, doesn’t miss the way Sam winces in disgust at the action, and then tucks himself back in. Embarrassment, automatic and strong, wars with pride. Dean lets pride win.

“I just got you the best Valentine’s Day gift ever.”

His brother’s mouth goes tighter, head tilting, the strongest of all bitchfaces.

“You jerked off? That’s the best Valentine’s present ever? You jerking off? Without me?”

“No. No Sammy I went- I was- I fixed it. Remember? Our first time was bad, and I went back in time and I fixed it so that it was good for you.”

Sam’s getting more incredulous by the second.

“You ‘fixed’ it? Dean. Our first time was perfect. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well, yeah, sure it was. Now.”

His brother shakes his head, walking past Dean to flop down on the bed furthest from the door, and then Sam opens a book. Which is code for Dean is going to be sleeping on the other side of the bed for the rest of the night.

“Look. You’re an adult. You want to jerk off then jerk off. Stop making up crazy stories for it.”

“No, Sam, I did it! I did that!”

Sam looks up, and the bitchface is gone. Replaced by the “I’m so much smarter than you I don’t even have to try” look.

“What part of going back in time and ‘fixing’ our first time includes you with your hand around your dick? Because I remember that, and no scruffy old dude was jacking off nearby.”

And that’s when Dean realizes that he’s lost. Lost utterly and completely. Because even if he convinces Sam that he did what he just did then he has to tell Sam he jerked off to it. And Sam will never let that one go. Not in a million years. He is a little brother first after all.

Instead Dean shucks his jeans and flops down in the bed beside Sam.

Who needs Sam to know anyway? Dean knows he won. That’s good enough.

It totally counts.

Current Mood: tired
Current Music: "Hey Brother"-Avicci