Lost Time Ch. 13

[dime_liora]

Title: Lost Time Chapter 13/27
Wordcount: 5,810
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Dean/Sam
Warning(s): Violence, Sex, Expletives, Mentions of an Abusive Relationship
Notes: Still very AU. If you like this, thank sammichgirl, who told me it was time to make it public. :) If you don't it's totally not her fault.
Summary: Sam Burton has an average life, a foul-mouthed sister, and a dream of putting his past behind him. All of that changes when Dean Winchester comes to stay.

First part
Previous part

Dean waits 'til Sam is asleep before he slips out of the bed and finds her in the living room sitting next to the Christmas tree. There’s a beer clutched loosely in one hand and her phone in the other. She looks up briefly from her texting and then goes back to it, sliding the phone shut when she’s done.

“You want to find your brother.” It’s a statement and Dean nods. He watches her warily until she smiles once, sad and slow. “Changed your mind about me summoning shit?”

He pauses, considers, and then decides. He’s putting her in a lot of danger and now he's going back on his threats to beg, and he doesn’t know if she’ll agree. She deserves better, and Dean knows it, but his brother has to come first. Before her, and before the naked man waiting for him in the bedroom. He sits on the couch across from her and watches her drop the phone and light a cigarette. “I’m gonna be there when you do it to make sure you come out of it ok. I’m sorry Ophelia, it’s not fair but…he’s my brother. They’ve had him for years.”

She looks once towards the doors and then back at Dean. “Sam can’t be a part of it. I’ll have to call something other than Hel. After last time she made that perfectly clear, and she only has dominion over death. We’ll need something with knowledge, access to secrets. I’m going to need a little time.” She pauses here and finishes off her beer. “Plus I’d be fucking overjoyed if you stayed for Christmas. It’s Sam’s birthday and you’ll be here for his graduation. It would mean a lot to him.”

Dean realizes instantly that this is her price for risking her own safety. Sam’s happiness. It’s the kind of thing he’s always imagined he’d do for his little brother, and he’s oddly touched to see it. They’re not blood, but she may as well be Sam’s big sister. Sam’s protection against evil, and unlike Dean she hasn’t failed. He nods once and then holds her gaze steadily. “I woulda done that anyway.”

“No you wouldn’t.” Her look is briefly sad and wistful. “Not if I got your answer. I’d have thought less of you if you did. Shouldn’t you be in bed with Sammy?”

He points to her phone. “Loki?”

“Fuck you.” She smiles though, open and sweet, and there's a twinkle to her eyes. “Claims he's headed here by dogsled. Fucking lunatic wants to spend Christmas here.”

“I can't imagine why.” It's dry and she gives him the finger. Dean thinks of his own Christmases, spent alone with microwaveable meals in motel rooms when he was too young to hunt. When he was old enough he went with John, and they spent their time fixing other people’s lives for the holidays. He dimly remembers a time when he was very young and they had a tree like the one in front of him, but that time is hard to think of. Hard to hold on to.

Her gaze is focused, narrow, and he knows she sees right through his train of thought. She leans into the chair and lets out a heavy breath. “Your brother, if he’s not batshit insane, what will you do with him?”

Dean is dumbstruck. Do with him? He’ll protect him, he’ll fix him, he’ll bring him along on…but he can’t. Can’t bring his baby brother on hunts because his brother has no training. Has spent his life being hurt. Dean can’t expose him to that any more. He hasn’t really thought that part out, and it occurs to him that he should have. “I don’t know.”

She nods once and puts out her cigarette. “We have an extra bedroom.” She gets up before Dean can respond, lays a hand on his shoulder for half a second and then heads back through the door leading to the bedrooms. He considers the possibility. It’s safer here than on the road with Dean. She and Sam would protect his brother, watch out for him, and he’d be given a normal life in a stable home. Dean could visit, stay for long periods of time. See both Sams at once and know that they were ok.

It brings him back to the trouble with this Sam. Dean’s too attached and he knows it, drawn in too quickly and deeply with no logic behind it. It’s not just lust, not just the body although that has only gotten better in his time away. Sam’s not joking about working out, he’s building muscle mass rapidly and Dean’s surprised at how big the guy has gotten. He still hunches in, still holds himself smaller, but the size of him is incredible.

It’s this pull, drawing on him like his soul is crying out to Sam and Sam’s is responding. It scares him a little, the power the man already has over him. It’s unprecedented. Dean knows he needs to pull back but he can’t make himself. Is afraid any attempt to do so will lose him everything. He sits in the living room for a long time before he pushes himself up and leaves to rejoin Sam.

The covers have been kicked off Sam’s legs, and he pulls them back over before sliding in beside the big body. Sam’s flesh is cold, and Dean winces when the legs wrap around him and suck in his heat. He stays there though, waits for Sam to warm up, because there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. His brother could stay here. It’s a good option. Dad would have to agree though.





----



Sam finds Ophelia in the kitchen the next morning, Dean still fast asleep in the bed behind him. He watches her move through morning stretches before he joins her. It’s too icy outside to run on the road so they have to stretch now and then drive out to the nature trail nearby and run on the dirt. They don’t speak as they stretch, but she brushes against him briefly to let him know she’s not angry anymore.

The ride there is filled with some man wailing, Sam doesn’t recognize it, but Ophelia’s eyes get distant and hazy as she hums along. They start the warm-up jog, and then they’re flying through the cold air and along the tree-lined path. There’s ice hanging everywhere and snow piled deep around them. Sam can’t believe how beautiful the world is like this, frozen and encased in ice. It’s hard to compare it to the warm winters in Texas. He loves it like this, the only sound the rustling of their clothes and their sharp breaths as they cut through the chill. He warms up, starts to sweat, and feels the breeze freeze it on his face. It’s glorious really.

When they reach the Jeep he feels more alive than he has in a long time. Ophelia’s here, Dean’s in bed, his friend is coming, and Sam is pumping with adrenaline and aching to go farther and faster. Still he knows he needs to quit because Ope has to be at her limit, and he gets in without complaint. They ride back still silent, and he feels a thrill when the Impala is still sitting in the yard under a tree, fresh snow resting on it and hiding some of its gleam.

Dean’s awake, coffee brewed, and offers Sam a cup filled with sugar and Sam’s flavored creamer. Sam can’t help it, lets the joke pass his lips before he considers the weight of it. “Damn I love you.”

Dean’s eyes catch his, one brow quirked, and Sam stops dead in his tracks with the cup in his hand and his heart double-timing in his chest, faster than the peak of the run. Because it's true. It's a joke, but it's true, and Sam knows it in the same moment it's out of his mouth, knows it's on his face, and this is too fucking fast. “I’m-it was-Jesus I-“

Ophelia steps in smoothly and takes his cup before taking a sip. She makes a face, puts it on the table instead of in Sam’s limp hand, and frowns softly. “Take it back Sam. Guy can’t measure sugar for shit.” She pats his back once sharply and he jumps. “Go shower, you smell awful.”

Sam turns away from Dean and puts his focus on her, willing his face to be as composed as hers. “Like you smell better.”

“Ladies don’t sweat Sam. We glow. And I smell like fucking roses.” Her expression is amused, simple, like she's not trying to dig him out of this mess. Sam can’t meet Dean’s eyes.

“You’ve always said you’re not a lady.” His voice is still unsteady, embarrassed, but he can feel Dean’s gaze and he can’t seem to move. She pushes him once with her usual lack of gentleness.

“Get out of the damn kitchen Sam. Shower. Now.” He stumbles and then exits. Grace and dignity destroyed in equal measures.

He’s just lathered up the washcloth when the bathroom door opens and he sees the outline of Dean through the glass. Somehow Sam manages to repress the groan and holds himself very still as he looks at Dean’s shape through the translucent door.

“It’s ok Sam. It was a joke. I know.” His voice says he doesn’t, that he believes Sam meant it and to be honest he should. The problem is they just met, they’ve got this weird physical thing but they’re not dating. Dean’s never asked him out, never suggested he wants more than for Sam to be here when he gets here. He knows Dean feels something for him, but it’s too damn early for this to be love. Too early but Sam knows it is for him.

That frightens him more than anything really, because he thought he loved Brady and it was after he said it that things went downhill. It was love that made Sam so damn weak, and Dean has the same potential for violence as Brady even if Sam doesn’t believe Dean would hurt him on purpose. He’s too open like this, too vulnerable, and he tries to focus on washing the sweat off himself even as he’s working his mouth to formulate a response. “Yeah. A joke. Hey you should see if Ope needs help with the firewood ok?”

Dean nods once, Sam sees the movement through the sliding door, and then Dean’s gone and Sam is left to hit his head against the tiles of the shower and wish he wasn’t such a woman about all this.




----




Dean watches Ophelia load the cart with firewood and then he takes the handle from her and pulls it up the hill. She walks beside him and coughs harshly when she takes a drag. She gives the cigarette an ugly look and then glances around at the snow covered landscape. Dean waits for whatever she’s going to say, and she doesn’t disappoint.

“Don’t hurt him.” She keeps her eyes away, focused on the trees, and Dean waits but there’s no more.

“Ophelia-“

“I said to call me Ope for Christ's sake. i hate that fucking name.” Her face is still serious and flat even as she takes a drag from the cigarette again and coughs some more.

He starts to pull the cart again and focuses on the house ahead. The wood is heavy and he wonders how she thought she’d pull it herself. “Why do you hate it?”

“My parents had a wicked sense of humor. It means ‘helper’. It’s also a character in a play that goes mad for love and grief and kills herself. So I’m a suicidal assistant.” She throws the cigarette out into the snow and walks ahead of him. “They didn’t really think that one through. Never expected it to turn out true.”

He grabs at her elbow, lets the handle of the wagon drop and gets his grip so he can turn her around. There are tears glittering in her eyes and Dean doesn’t know why, can’t read the shift in her emotions at all. He raises an eyebrow and she shakes her head and looks upwards sharply.

“I’d die for Sam. He loves you. By extension I’ll probably throw myself on a spike for you if it means Sam can be happy for another day. Please. I’m fucking begging you. If you don’t feel the same way don’t string him along. Don’t hurt him.”

Dean shakes his head once, a denial of what he doesn’t know, and then he pulls her in. She’s too strong for her own good, willing to break but not bend, and he holds her tightly for several long seconds before he feels her pull away. He’s beginning to recognize that her aversion to touching is even worse than his father’s. “I’m not gonna hurt him.” His voice is rough and he avoids her gaze. “I’m-yeah he’s-shit this is hard.” Dean finally glances down and sees her bright eyes smiling even if the rest of her isn’t. It’s the first time it’s been her eyes and not her lips that show it.

“You love him too. Tell him fucktard.” She steps away, grabs the cart and starts pulling, and Dean follows silently and watches her struggle with it.

When he gets inside the bathroom is empty and he finds Sam in nothing but a towel with his big hands hanging loosely between his thighs. His head is down, hair curly with the damp and hanging in his face, closed sign firmly in place. Dean kneels in front of him and lifts the hair up so he can see Sam’s eyes. “It wasn’t a joke.” Sam’s voice is heavy, thick, and it hurts Dean to hear it. He wants to pull Sam into a hug but he can’t break eye contact.

“I know.”

“It wasn’t a joke, and you can run if you want to or make fun of me or whatever but it’s true. There’s something, something here that I can’t-“ Sam gestures in between them and swallows hard. “I feel like I know you, like you’re safe and I haven’t felt that much in my lifetime. So say what you need to, I don’t need you to lie to me about how you-“

He shuts Sam up with a kiss. He can’t say it yet, it’s too soon, but he feels it and he hopes Sam can feel it in the way he responds. They stay like that for a long time, lips pressed together and unmoving until the tension goes out of Sam’s body and Dean pulls back. He grabs warm clothes out of Sam’s dresser and throws them to him before leaning against the wall to watch Sam dress. As Sam’s pulling the first shirt on Dean points to his stomach. “How’d you get that?”

Sam jerks once, glances down as if he has to check to see what Dean’s referring to, and then his face closes. Brady then. Question answered. He nods and crosses his arms before speaking again. “You loved him?”

Sam glances up once, and Dean sees something he never expected. Sam is angry. Not a little but a lot, hot rage covering that beautiful face and making it sinister. Sam’s big, and Dean could put him down but he feels a shiver when he sees the expression. “Get out of my room.”

It’s simple, final, and Dean steps out without arguing and closes the door behind him. He finds the kitchen and living room empty, goes downstairs to find Ophelia in a pile of books and notes. She looks up once and her face is questioning.

He sits in front of her, fiddles with his fingers for a moment, and then takes a deep breath. “I made it worse.”

She glances at her wristwatch and then back up at him. “It’s been, like, five minutes. What the fuck could you have possibly done?”

“He told me it wasn’t a joke and I asked about his scar. Then I asked if he loved Brady.”

She sucks in a sharp breath and Dean hears the Jeep roar to life outside and then take off. She glances that way once, then back to him, and then picks up a book and hands it to him. “We’re looking for any references to Jana or Janus.”

Ope looks back down at the book in front of her, and Dean realizes it’s in Greek. “How many languages do you speak?” It’s a better question than the one he wants to ask. How much trouble am I in?

“Five including English. I’m working on my sixth at the moment but it’s hard going. German sentence structure can be a bitch. Jeff was pretty loose with rules, but languages was a big hang-up.” She flips a page and highlights something. “And the answer is a lot. You basically threw the worst of his past in his face after he exposed himself to you. He’s gonna be mad for a while.”

Dean stares at the book unseeingly and then slams it shut and drops it on the floor. He fists his hair and tries for calm. “Well how the fuck was I supposed to know? Everything throws his past in his face and he’s so goddamn touchy about-“

She’s holding a hand up without shifting her glance. “Deep breath. You’re not being attacked and there’s no fucking reason to get defensive. Sam is touchy, but he’s fucking earned that. He spent too long taking beatings and not reacting. So get that anger out of your system right now because when he comes back you’re going to have to apologize whether you want to or not.” She flips several pages forwards and places a blue tab there before flipping back to where she was. “And eventually you’ll have to expose yourself because it’s damn unfair to make him the only vulnerable one. On the other hand this gives us an opening to work on that chest of yours.”

Dean leans back into the ratty armchair and stares at the beams in the ceiling. “Is there a way to do this without saying it? It’s so fucking corny.” He doesn’t mean it, felt a thrill like he can’t explain when Sam said it, but he’s not sure he can tell Sam back no matter how he feels. She closes the book in front of her and pulls another one off the stack.

“Sack up Dean. I’m looking for a way to find your brother.” Her voice has no heat, no accusation. The message is simple. No. There isn’t. Dean chews on that for a while and then lets it go.

He watches her research for a while before picking his own book back up. As he’s flipping a question occurs to him. “Why’d you summon a Norse goddess the first time?”

She keeps reading whatever she’s holding at the moment, her right hand writing in the notebook beside her without her looking at it. “She’s not worshiped much anymore so she’s willing to work for offerings, but she was kind of prickly about it. Powerful, knowledge of the dead and I wanted that, and she was less likely to lie than a demon.”

“So who’s this one we’re looking up now?” Dean finds a reference to Janus, two-faced Roman god with dominion over transitions. He grabs at one of her stacks of tabs and marks the page.

“Well the one we want is Jana although I’ll settle for Janus if I have to. She’s Etruscan, Janus’s consort, and she’s probably our best bet. Unless I just work on summoning Azazel.” Dean glances up rapidly and looks to see if she’s joking. She doesn’t appear to be.

“Could you do that?”

“I don’t know Dean. Summoning is a fickle fucking thing. The better question is would I want to.” She falls silent after that, and Dean lets her be silent and consider the option.




-----




Sam ends up at the campus gym, and he changes into the clothes stored in his locker and heads straight for the weight room. At some point after Dean left the first time Sam realized that he needed to be stronger, better, because he has to protect Ophelia, but also because he’s no partner for Dean if he can’t protect himself. He doesn’t have that in mind at the moment though, all he wants is the burn of muscles and the mindless repetitions of the exercise. He takes the weight bench on first, and by the time he gets to the Lat Pulldown machine he’s covered in sweat again and his mind is clear.

He feels guilty honestly, because Dean doesn’t know much of anything about his past and that’s Sam’s fault not Dean’s. He can’t know what it was like to be in Brady’s grip, to feel the desperation Sam felt to be loved. He thought he loved Brady the way a junkie loves their fix, which is damn ironic all things considered. Now in hindsight’s 20/20 vision Sam knows he never really loved Brady, not even in that limited context, he just wanted something he thought was being offered to him.

He started to realize that very fact a few months in to knowing Ope, when he looked up at the love shining out of her eyes and tried to kiss her. She let him, didn’t move when his hand covered her breast and his lips slanted, but she never kissed him back. She just held still. Sam had pulled back, begged her to just let him please her, not to leave, and she’d sat like a stone in front of him until he’d let it all out.

When he was done she’d laid her lips once on his forehead, dry and chaste, and spoken against his skin. “Stop that. It’s not what I have to offer and it’s not what you want from me anyway.” Shortly afterwards Sam had gone through the difficult process of changing his last name. Had become her pseudo-brother. Ope had burned him a cake, and Jeff had hugged him once tight and hard. Sam had cried a lot that night.

Sam staggered to the showers, he’d overdone it, and stood under the hot water for a long time until his screaming muscles relaxed a bit. He was almost limp when he got back in the car, and when he arrived home he found the two of them in the kitchen munching on sandwiches with candles sitting in between them. They were lit, and the air reeked of challenge and determination.

“What the hell are you two doing?”

Dean’s eyebrow quirked in his usual way and Ope smiled tightly. “About to have some kind of tolerance contest. First to pull away loses.” Dean's fingers flex once and his green eyes dip to the candle. “She’s going down.”

Sam sat in between them and kept his eyes on Dean’s face. Saw the way Dean’s jaw tightened under his gaze. “You’ve made a horrible mistake Dean.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?” Dean rolled his shoulders and lifted both brows for a second, and Sam enjoyed the view. Enjoyed that they could apparently shrug the earlier trouble off like nothing happened. It probably wasn’t the healthiest way to handle things, but Sam didn’t feel like talking about any of it.

“Did you bet her any money that you’d win?”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Yeah. Twenty bucks.”

“Hey Ope, what's your record with this?” Sam felt the grin spread across his face. She’d done this more than once, brought some unwitting sucker into her game and then walked away with a seared palm and more money than she started with. He didn't approve of it, but he couldn't talk her out of it either.

“Shut up. Don't give the game away.” Fond amusement laced through every note of her voice. Sam turned his eyes back to Dean and saw the troubled look had intensified.

“She's not going to pull away. It won't happen.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and he frowned. “Are you saying I’ve been hustled Sammy?”

“I’m saying that yes.” He couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him, and he didn’t miss the smile that twitched on Dean’s lips. “You may as well give up.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean growled it and then rolled his shoulders again, eyes traveling to the tiny flame. “I ain’t giving up on this. I could still win.”

Ophelia’s grin was shit-eating, smug and broad. Real. “That’s what they all say.”

Sam got up, left the room to get a pull-over and came back. Dean was shifting in his seat uncomfortably and their hands hand finally settled into the air above the flickering little flames. Ophelia looked perfectly comfortable.

“You’re a damn robot aren’t yah?” Ophelia grinned at Dean’s words but didn’t respond. “Sam is she a robot?”

“She might be. I’ve never checked.” He crossed to the fridge and started pulling out roast ingredients. Put the meat in to sear and chopped vegetables. “I know that in a minute you’re going to want to give up before this becomes something you’ll never live down.”

“Add it to the list.” Dean’s fist clenched on the table and he leaned forward narrowing his eyes at her while his hand stayed steady above the candle. “I’m in no mood to lose today sweetheart.”

“Then you should have never challenged me.” She tilted her head once and Sam couldn’t see her expression but he could picture it. Friendly and jovial, relaxed, she couldn’t care less how long this lasted.

“Why don’t you like to be touched?” Dean’s voice was low, soothing, simple, and Sam raised an eyebrow and looked over from where he was chopping an onion. He’d never asked her that. She could touch him on a regular basis but when it came to him or others touching her…

He should stop this. It had crossed the line from friendly competition to something else. When she responded her voice was light and easy. “Head games with me Dean? Really?”

“Just a question. We’re gonna be here for a while, does talking seem like such a bad idea?” His voice had gone tight and hard.

“Touching leads to feeling and fuck that noise. Why can’t you be open and affectionate?” Taunting, fearless, her tone sharp and low. Dean answered in kind.

“Never been around it, don’t know how to do it right, everybody I love dies. Take your pick. When are you gonna admit you like Loki?”

“When I'm worm food. What’s the worst thing you ever did?” Sam dropped the vegetables into the pan around the meat and crossed the room to stand at the side of the table in between them.

“Hey guys, this isn’t sounding fun anymore. Why don’t we stop before-“

“Left my little brother in that burning house. What about you?” Dean’s face is dangerous, tight, predatory. Sam could see a fat drop of sweat roll down his forehead, and his hand was starting to tremble. This has become a battle instead of a joke. Sam felt unease overcome him and he almost grabbed one or the other of them but he was frozen suddenly to the spot.

“Told my parents they didn't love me if they denied me. Give up Dean. You can’t win everything.”

“This a competition or a lesson sweetheart? ‘Cause I’m not the student type.” Dean’s hand clenched once, released, and the line of his shoulders became razor sharp.

“Can’t it be both? Let’s up the stakes. I win, you confess. You win, I release you from your promise.”

Now Sam was more than confused and uneasy, he felt like he’d gotten lost in an alternate reality. He had no way to put into context what they were saying, had fumbled and dropped the thread somewhere and he didn’t know if he wanted it back. He went back to the roast, covered it in foil and put it in the oven. Stood hesitantly for a time and studied Dean’s face.

When Dean finally spoke it was deadly and quiet. “Agreed.”

The battle went on for another full minute, and Sam sat by and watched quietly while the clock ticked and the roast cooked. It happened with no warning, no fanfare, and no transition. One minute Dean was staring at her like he’d strangle her if he could afford the movement. The next he was up, pushing his chair back and grabbing Sam’s elbow in a vice grip with his unburned hand. He pulled Sam up, pressed his lips against Sam’s ear, and choked out the words. His voice, oh god his voice, was hard and sweet. Tender and hesitant all at the same time as if Dean was sure that using the words would earn him a blow. “I feel the same way.”

Sam’s eyes searched Dean’s face for a long time, saw only earnest hope, and then he glanced towards Ophelia. She was rubbing at her hand, candles extinguished already, and somehow Sam knew she’d predicted this outcome, had planned for it. She stood wordlessly and left the kitchen, he could hear her heading into the basement, and then he moved his gaze back to Dean.

“Why-what was-“He had to stop, pull back, rub at his temple. “What the fuck was that?”

“My lesson. Come with me. I want to show you something.” Dean walked away, and Sam followed with a lead weight in his stomach and his heart double-timing it the whole way. He should be forcing the two of them to doctor their hands instead of whatever was happening here. They reached his bedroom and Dean pulled his shirt over his head and undid his belt buckle. Sam watched him strip, boots clunking heavily onto the floor, belt clinking, jeans slithering, and every sound seemed amplified and deafening. When Dean was done he reached into the nightstand and pulled out the half-empty lube bottle, threw it to Sam, and watched impassively when Sam caught it reflexively.

“Fuck me.” The words were rough, thick, but the tone was more arousal than anger. Sam had to fight to understand if Dean meant what he thought he did, and then he looked down at the lube bottle before looking back up.

Time was moving too fast again. Sliding out of control and Sam couldn’t grasp the whole of it. Something big was happening here. When his voice came out it was too small, too strangled, and he was worried Dean wouldn’t be able to understand him. He could barely understand himself. “I don’t- I’ve never done that.”

Dean nodded once and then reached out, pulled Sam forward and brushed his lips against Sam’s jaw. “Me neither. Do it anyway. You know the steps.” And Sam did. Knew them very well because Dean had taught him but that didn’t change the fact that his hand had started shaking.

When Dean lay down on the bed, spread his legs and caught Sam’s gaze the green was blinding, flecked with gold and burning through him. He opened the lube bottle, dropped it, picked it back up and squirted too much on his shaking fingers.

The whole time the eyes just watched him, waited, and when Sam slid a hesitant finger into Dean’s heat he listened to the small noise, watched the shift of Dean’s hips, and felt himself go so hard he was certain it had to be medically impossible. He was amazed that Dean could stay aroused through his clumsy stretching, and it never occurred to him that some of the moans he was hearing were his own until he looked up to see Dean staring at him with his mouth closed even as the sounds continued.

He took his time, worked slowly, until Dean growled above him and grabbed his wrist. “Sam. Fucking do it man. I’m dying here.”

Sam nodded, pulled his fingers back and slicked his own cock. He was shaking so hard he missed the mark the first two times, Dean grunting and then cursing both times. When Sam finally found his target he pushed, and stopped halfway at the low noise that escaped the man beneath him. He held very still, afraid he’d done it wrong, afraid Dean was hurting too much, but mostly afraid that if he moved he’d never stop. The tight heat, the sensation of it, all new and perfect and Sam wanted more so bad he could taste blood in his mouth.

So when Dean moved against him Sam started to thrust in earnest, bottomed out, pulled back and did it again.  He knew the minute he hit Dean’s prostate, heard the cry and watched as the green eyes slammed shut and the head snapped back. He grasped Dean’s chin, tilted it down and caught his eyes, held them as he moved. He needed to see, needed to understand, because if Dean was doing this to prove he loved Sam then Sam could believe it. Sam could hold onto it even after it ended.

What he saw in those eyes sped up his pace, sent his still slick hand down to Dean’s cock and he pulled in time with his thrusts, watched the eyes widen and then narrow. They didn’t speak, no endearments and no love, didn’t need it. Not there, not staring into one another’s eyes and Sam was glad. It was more honest this way, words so often lied. He watched Dean cross the threshold, saw him peak, and then felt the contractions around him and his orgasm hit a few thrusts later.

They stayed like that for a long time, Sam buried inside him and still half-hard, Dean breathing heavy underneath him. He put his forehead against Dean’s, felt the slick of sweat and tasted the harsh breaths, and finally broke the silence. “Thank you. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

It was the best he could manage. The closest he could get to what he really wanted to say. It was more than he’d ever deserved and he knew it, but he was willing to take it. Willing to be selfish if he could just keep this man with him. After a while he felt Dean’s hand on the back of his neck, threading through the sweat-damp hair and holding Sam steady. “Yeah. Ditto Sammy. Now move it, you’re fucking heavy.” The tenderness in Dean’s tone almost unraveled him, but he held on and pulled away before collapsing beside him.

“Your friend, she’s fucking wily huh?” Sam turned his head to see the smile overtaking Dean’s face even as he studied his blistered palm. “She played me like a chump Sammy. I’m kinda proud of her. I’ll still have to get revenge though.”

Sam nodded, closed his eyes, and sleep surprised him and snuck up before he could answer.

Comments

[sammichgirl]

This was an intense chapter, chock full of feeling and revelation between our boys! And nowhere near what it's going to come to...this buildup is very exciting.

I coulda smacked Dean for asking about Sam's scar, knowing it was related to Brady, so soon after his confession of love. Dumbass. I should have expected the anger and heat from Sam, but was a little surprised by it. It shows a depth to Sam we haven't seen yet - not just vulnerability and a want for love, but that he is strong - stronger than he appears or knows.

I love how Ope got Dean to admit to Sam his own feelings. Even more how Dean knew Sam would need actions and not just words to prove what he was feeling was true. Giving Sam that trust, that love, it was exactly the right thing to do.

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

:D

Open mouth, insert foot. Ope's deviousness will come to play later, but for now it all rests on Dean's ability to push himself beyond his own boundaries. Which is an important skill, because his boundaries are about to get blown right the hell up.

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

She's wily and clever and played Dean just the way he needed to be played--gave him an out to tell Sam how he was feeling.

Poor Sam, so much in love and dragging around the chains Brady put on him.

Boys! ♥

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

They're getting into intensive hug needed territory. That is for certain. Also, the candle game will come up again. :)

Sam is...I was so worried because I've never done Sam broken to this extent, and I needed to know I could lead him back. Writing this part honestly had me constantly on edge.

[nomercles.livejournal.com]

This is the first one to have me cry. All of it, the uncertainty, the anger and confrontation and having to be corralled into saying I love you the only way he knows. The confessional over a candle. The symbolic sacrifice.

Christ.

[dimeliora.livejournal.com]

I'm really glad you liked it. I'm always torn between pride and shame when people say they cry at my stuff....

The pride generally wins out. :D