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“So we didn’t get along then, huh?” Sam asks, once they make it safely back to the motel after their disastrous encounter with the Djinn. Dean wonders if he’s reading too much into Sam’s words. If there could be something unspoken underlying his question, too— we weren’t together in that universe, were we?
“Nah,” Dean replies, shaking his head.
Sam seems a bit hurt, his mouth curving into a frown that quickly disappears as soon as it forms. “Yeah… I thought it was supposed to— to be this perfect fantasy.”
Dean’s quick to respond, to dispel the idea from Sam’s head that he’d ever want to live in a world where the two of them aren’t the way they are. The way they love each other. The fact that Sam even has doubts about that makes his chest ache.
“It wasn’t. It was just a wish. I wished for mom to live. That mom never died, we never went hunting and you and me just never uh… you know.” Grew up in each other’s back pockets. Started fucking each other.
Sam looks at him, eyes full of emotion that Dean has a hard time deciphering.
“Yeah. Well, I’m glad we do. And I’m glad you dug yourself out, Dean. Most people wouldn’t have had the strength, would have just stayed.”
Dean wishes the conversation would just stop there, but he can’t seem to help himself, the words spilling out of him. He tells Sam about their other life, about Sam marrying Jess, about spending time with their mom. About how much it reminded him of all that they’ve lost.
Sam does his best to reassure him, to tell him that what they have now is worth it, but the ache in Dean’s chest doesn’t go away.
He feels guilty, knowing deep down inside what he missed most from the other universe. It wasn’t his fake wife, or Sam being happily married, or even that their mom was back, not entirely. He remembers what it was like to hug his mom, of being told I love you, her making him some food, just feeling safe in her house. For once, Dean felt like the world wasn’t resting on his shoulders, that it wasn’t up to him to protect everyone.
It’s been so long since someone has taken care of Dean that he’d forgotten what it was like. Sure, Sam takes care of him in the ways that count, looking out for him in a fight, watching his back, patching up his wounds. But even when they fuck, it’s usually a rough, quick thing. Hands grabbing at each other in the dark, grinding up against sweat-soaked skin.
But getting to experience the simple things— gentle touches, a soft, comforting voice telling him everything would be okay. It was such an unbelievably good feeling that he’s having a hard time pushing it out of his mind. It makes him feel nauseous inside, much too vulnerable than he’s comfortable with. He would have thought he’d have grown past these kinds of needs by now. He had to get over them as a kid. For Sam. It was his job to be there for him, to be the strong, unmovable figure in his life, to keep him safe.
The other universe had taken its toll on him. Despite all the good things it had, not being close to Sam hit Dean harder than he thought. So much of his life has been defined by taking care of Sam, he barely knew what to do without it. And even more painful— having Sam not know him, to not always be there by his side to anticipate his next moves in a fight or to make stupid jokes with him or even to complain about him. The unfamiliar distance between the two of them, the moments of comfort with his mom that were abruptly taken away from him when he left the other universe, all of it swirls around in his head.
Dean thinks about the semi-annual hugs he and Sam have, the ones they give each other only in the most desperate circumstances. The ones that mean be safe and come back to me and thank God you’re still alive and I love you. Each one is seared into Dean’s memory, a treasured moment, more personal even than when they fuck. The feeling of their arms wrapped securely around each other, Sam’s head coming down to rest in the crook between Dean’s neck and shoulder. It felt safe, and warm, and something Dean didn’t know how to ask for unless their lives were at stake.
God, now he’s really being dramatic.
~
Dean’s been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour, trying to sleep. Sam’s breaths are quiet and even in the bed next to him. By all accounts, Dean’s tired. Getting his blood slowly drained by a Djinn while tied up in a dark, abandoned factory, being in an entirely different universe and having to try to learn everything as he goes— that shit was exhausting. His body’s sore all over and he still feels dirty even though he took a long shower when he got back. But Dean’s mind has other ideas, and won’t let him stop thinking.
Him and Sam don’t fuck all the time, but it’s often enough. After long hunts, still covered in graveyard dirt and blood. After stumbling back to their motel room after spending the evening at a seedy dive bar, drinking cheap beer and whiskey. Sometimes even between hunts, in the dull moments where they don’t have much else to do besides drive aimlessly from town to town and look for cases.
Well, today certainly counted as a long hunt. Dean figures it won’t look too weird if he gets up and slides himself over into Sam’s bed. He moves quietly, kind of hoping Sam won’t even wake up, that he’ll just get to curl up alongside him and go to sleep without having to explain himself.
Sam’s usually a fairly heavy sleeper— at least as much of a heavy sleeper as you can be when you’re a hunter— but he shifts as soon as Dean climbs under the scratchy motel blankets next to him. He blinks slowly at Dean.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asks quietly, his voice still groggy with sleep.
Dean isn’t about to admit he wanted to cuddle up against Sam because he’s feeling weird and sensitive so he just slides a hand under Sam’s t-shirt, feeling up his chest.
“Couldn’t fall asleep. Thought I’d try to burn off some energy,” he says. A half-truth.
Sam takes it in stride, turning around to face him, swinging one of his long legs over Dean’s body.
“Yeah? Bet I can help with that,” he says teasingly.
Sam leans down for a kiss and Dean stretches out to meet him. It’s a sloppy, openmouthed kiss— pretty typical for them, but it’s less rushed than usual. Dean should start rubbing himself up against Sam, get the show on the road so they can both get off and go back to bed, but instead he just keeps the kiss going, slow and wet. It just feels so good to be here in bed with Sam, soft fabric and warm bare skin up against him. Just knowing that Sam is here, that they’re both alive and well, that the Sam in this universe actually wants him in this way, somehow.
Sam senses something is different, and pulls away from the kiss after a few minutes to look at Dean. His face is barely visible, lit up by the outside streetlights that are filtering in through the motel room windows.
“Dean, you okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah. M’fine, Sammy,” Dean says, trying not to sound too defensive. He relaxes his shoulders, hadn’t even noticed them tensing up in the first place. “Just— being in that other universe shook me up more than I thought, I guess. Seeing mom again. Seeing what our lives could have been like.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Sam tentatively rests a hand on Dean’s shoulder, like he’s worried Dean’s gonna startle away from him.
Dean leans into the touch instead, and Sam looks at him, a little surprised. Embarrassed, Dean averts his gaze.
“No— not really. It was just kinda overwhelming, you know?”
“Yeah, I can imagine. But you’re back now, alright? And— and look, I know things here aren’t great, that you’re just stuck with me and shitty hotel rooms and killing monsters all the time, but think of all the people we’ve saved. They wouldn’t be here without you.”
Dean responds, still looking off to the side. “Sam— it’s not— I like what we do, and we’re damn good at it, I know that. And I’m not stuck with you. It really sucked not being close to you in that other universe, actually. Sure, there’s some things I’m gonna miss, but that definitely won’t be one of them.”
“Dean, you don’t have to sugarcoat it, okay? You had a real family back there— mom, your girlfriend, your own home, even. It’s okay to miss that.”
“God— no, it’s not that. You’re my family, dumbass. That other stuff wasn’t real. It never was. It was just nice, I guess. Not always having our lives at stake, not feeling so much pressure all the time.”
Sam rubs at his shoulder comfortingly, and Dean looks back at him. Sam’s gaze is sympathetic, intense. It feels like he can see right through Dean. He opens his mouth to respond but Dean quickly cuts him off.
“Just— forget about it, okay? It’s not a big deal.” He leans down to kiss Sam again, wanting to just get out of his own head.
This time, Dean rubs himself up against Sam, both of them only separated by their thin cotton boxers. Dean’s pretty sure the pair that Sam’s wearing is his, anyways. Sam kisses him back, but keeps his hand on Dean’s shoulder, continuing to gently stroke his bare skin. He brings his other hand up to Dean’s cheek and cups it gently, tipping Dean’s face exactly where he wants it. The kiss slows down again, to a soft, wet press of lips, and then Sam moves to kiss down the side of Dean’s neck.
This isn’t what their sex is usually like.
Dean wants to protest, wants to stop this whole situation before it turns into some embarrassing chick-flick moment, but something holds him back. Sam’s big, warm hands feel so good, and his kisses nudge gently at the sensitive spots on Dean’s neck. He shivers.
“Shh, Dean. It’s okay. I’m here,” Sam says, his voice steady and calming. Dean tries to respond but finds himself unable to say anything, just takes a breath and closes his eyes while he lets Sam touch him.
“It’s okay, you know— to need comfort sometimes. I need it too,” Sam continues. “Honestly, I didn’t really think that was something you ever wanted from me. From sex. But if-if this is something I can do for you, I want to. If you’ll let me.”
Dean buries his face in Sam’s chest, his cheeks burning. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, knowing he’d either say something really stupid or something that would break this fragile moment they are suspended in. He hopes that Sam will just know.
Sometimes, he feels like the two of them might have some kind of psychic connection. That by being brothers, sharing the same blood, spending as much time with each other as they do, they’ve managed to tap into each other’s brainwaves. That they can hear the other person’s thoughts, feel each other’s emotions, even experience the same sensations. God knows Dean feels pain every time Sam’s hurt.
Please, Sam. Please please please.
Sam strokes his back, both of them still fully clothed. He presses Dean in tighter to his chest, cradling him there. Dean feels so, so warm.
“Shh, mommy’s got you,” Sam says, so quiet that Dean might have missed it, if the room weren’t dead silent, if he hadn’t leaned down near Dean’s ear and whispered it to him like a treasured secret.
Dean’s breath catches in his throat. His body’s a confusing mess between comforted and aroused. It’s so, so fucked up— he knows psychologists would probably have a field day with him. But, he figures he kind of signed off on the idea of normal sex when he started fucking his own brother.
He doesn’t mean to, but he lets out a soft groan. Embarrassed, he holds his breath again, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Sam to let go of him and tell him this was all a big joke, that he can’t believe Dean actually fell for it.
Instead, he feels gentle fingers running through his hair. A soft kiss on the top of his head.
“Yeah, you like that huh? You need your mommy to take care of you?” Sam murmurs. “Gonna help make you feel so good.”
Sam reaches down and tugs Dean’s boxers off, tossing them to the side. He licks his palm and wraps his hand around Dean’s cock, working at him with slow, smooth strokes. Dean was already half-hard before Sam even started touching him. Precome leaks from his cock and Sam smears it with his thumb, making Dean shudder and jerk into his grip.
Dean works a hand up Sam’s shirt, lifting the bottom of it gently until Sam gets the hint and helps him take it off. He cups one of Sam’s nipples in his palms, kneading it hesitantly.
“This okay?” he asks quietly, eyes downcast.
“Of course. You gonna play with mommy’s tits?”
Dean buries his face in the crook of Sam’s neck in response, but he lets his hand keep moving. He rubs Sam’s chest while Sam continues to jerk him off encouragingly.
Tentatively, he pinches Sam’s nipple, making him gasp. Dean works it between two of his fingers, teasing it gently. He tilts his head to the side so his cheek is still pressed up against Sam’s warm shoulder, but so that he can see what he’s doing.
All they’re really doing is rubbing at each other, yet the air between them is more charged than usual. Every touch feels more intense.
Dean moves over to Sam’s other nipple to play with it, the skin soft and puffy under his fingertips. They must be pretty sensitive, judging by the noises Sam’s making. Emboldened, Dean rubs them harder. He turns up to look at Sam.
“Can I?” he asks, his tongue flitting out to lick his lips.
“Can you what?” Sam responds, his expression patient.
You know what. Dean thinks. But Sam’s gonna make him work for it this time.
“C-can I suck your tits, mommy?”
It’s hard for Dean to maintain eye contact, every instinct within him telling him that he should look away. That he never should have said it in the first place. But it’s worth it when he watches Sam flush, his eyes growing dark.
“Yeah. Yeah, do it,” he says, his breath hitching.
The composure Sam seemed to have earlier was gone, like he wasn’t expecting things to go this far. Neither was Dean, honestly, but he’s not about to complain.
He leans down and wetly licks one of his nipples. Sam’s body freezes, stops jerking off Dean for a moment so he can push his chest up against his mouth. Dean takes the nipple between his lips and sucks it, lapping at the swollen skin like its sugar under his tongue.
“Love how you look with my tits in your mouth,” Sam gasps, panting.
He resumes his motions, rubbing his hand up and down the length of Dean’s cock. His hand is warm and big and slick with spit and precome, his grip tightening every time Dean gently bites at his tits.
Dean’s face is smeared with drool as he keeps sucking, obscene wet sounds filling the motel room. It feels so good, his face pillowed into Sam’s chest, working his mouth on him like it's the only thing that matters in the world.
He’s been with a lot of girls over the years, but Sam’s got the best tits he’s ever seen.
A hand at the back of his neck pushes him further down into Sam’s chest, keeping him there tightly. If Dean suffocated right here he wouldn’t even be mad.
“God, feels so good,” Sam whines, writhing under Dean’s mouth. He strokes Dean’s cock in quick, erratic motions. “Y-you gotta suck my other one. Please.”
Sam moves his hand over to his neglected nipple, cupping his chest. He squeezes the skin around it as much as he can to make it stick out. An invitation.
Dean gives the nipple he’s been working on a last wet kiss before moving his head over to the other one. Sam feeds it into Dean’s mouth, and he licks at it with his tongue, getting Sam’s chest and fingers wet and sticky with spit. He sinks his teeth into the tender skin, gently tugging at it.
Sam gasps loudly, so Dean bites down harder in response. He knows how much Sam likes a little bit of pain. Likes a lot of it, even. Reaching over, Dean grabs Sam’s other nipple, puffy and swollen from being sucked on. He rubs it between his fingers, pinching it tightly. Sam’s chest heaves. He must be so sore and sensitive by now, but he keeps arching into the touch, coaxing Dean on to keep going. He lets go of Dean’s cock to bury his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the sensations.
When Dean finally lets Sam’s nipple out of his mouth, a thin strand of saliva trails after him. It breaks when he moves away, and the spit runs down his chin. Sam licks it up and kisses him, hard.
“You taste so good mommy,” Dean murmurs into Sam’s mouth.
“Mmm. You’re making mommy so wet. Want you inside my pussy,” Sam says, voice ragged and needy.
“Yeah, fuck,” Dean gasps. “Lemme- lemme get up for a second.”
He scrambles off the bed quickly to go root around in his bag for some lube. His hands are shaking.
On the way back, he stops to turn the bedside table lamp on, bathing the room in a dull yellow glow. He turns around to face Sam and his breath gets caught in his throat.
Sam’s taken his own boxers off and has his legs spread out wide in invitation. His cute little cheeks with the mole to the left of his nose that Dean loves so much are flushed bright red. His long hair is sticking up all over the place, and Dean watches as a bead of sweat trickles down his forehead. His tits are swollen from where Dean was sucking on them, flushing an even deeper red than the rest of his body.
He looks so fucking gorgeous.
His mommy’s so pretty.
Dean gets back onto the bed, and Sam immediately slides up next to him. Rubs his skin while Dean struggles to get the lube open. Dean smears it on his fingers and reaches down to press against Sam’s hole. The fingers go in easy— it hasn’t been too long since the last time they did this, and Dean knows Sam even likes to finger himself when he’s jerking off alone.
He tries to picture Sam in the shower, working himself open. Wonders if he would play with his own tits, if he maybe was even thinking about playing mommy.
With his fingers inside Sam, Dean feels a wave of emotions churning in his stomach. Love and arousal and comfort and still a little bit of nervousness and most of all— gratitude. That Sam would do this for him, that they are even able to bare themselves in this way to each other. He knows it’s cheesy, and he’s definitely not about to say it out loud, but it feels like this is something both of them really needed.
Sam climbs on top of him, his legs bracketing either side of Dean’s hips. Whines as he sinks himself down onto Dean’s cock and wraps his arms around him. It feels like they’re touching everywhere, Dean trying his hardest to press every bit of bare skin he can against Sam’s.
“Does my pussy feel good?” Sam asks, breathlessly.
“God— yeah Sammy,” Dean says, fucking up into him. He’s so tight and warm and perfect, taking Dean’s cock like he was built for it. “S-sammy, mommy. Mommy, please.”
Sam moves faster on top of him, his arms still locked around Dean’s, stroking his back and shoulders, running gentle fingers through his hair. Dean’s skin feels wet and he realizes Sam’s chest is still damp with spit from being sucked on.
“M’close, gonna come,” Dean warns, his voice hoarse.
“C-come inside of mommy,” Sam replies.
He grips Dean harder, clenches down on his cock until Dean spills inside of him. Leans over and catches Dean in a bruising kiss.
Dean swipes his tongue against the seam of Sam’s lips to get inside his mouth and Sam’s already so keyed up that it’s enough to make him come untouched.
Afterwards, they fall asleep in a sweaty, tangled pile of limbs. Neither of them have any nightmares that night.
~
Dean parks the Impala outside the motel the next morning after going on a breakfast run. He struggles to balance the two coffees and the bag of donuts and breakfast tacos in his hands while also trying to unlock the door.
He enters the room and sees Sam at the table, his hair still wet from the shower. Sam’s staring hard at his computer, brow furrowed in concentration. When he sees Dean, he gets up to help him with the coffees he’s carrying.
“Thanks for getting breakfast. Think I found us a new case— the body of a woman in Norman, Oklahoma went missing from its casket on the day of her funeral, then turned up 3 days later in the woods with all her organs missing.”
“Could just be a freak who wanted to steal a dead person’s organs, right?”
“Maybe, but still worth checking out, don’t you think?”
Dean nods in assent, setting down the food on the table. Sam’s still talking about the case— witnesses they should interview, when they should head out, getting the coroner’s reports. He looks so earnest, hands waving around to illustrate his points. He smells fresh and clean, with that nice shampoo that he bought himself and carries around to the different motels they go to. Dean smiles.
He walks over to the other side of the table where Sam’s standing and hugs him tightly. Sam hugs him back, a little hesitantly.
“Dean, what is it? Is everything ok?”
“You know what. Thank you— for last night.”
“Of course,” he murmurs into Dean’s shoulder. “It wasn’t just for you, you know. It was for me too.”
“Yeah, but still. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Sam grabs Dean’s hand and brings it up to his chest. Dean gently rubs at him through the fabric of his shirt, wonders if his nipples are still sore. They probably are.