Archive of Our Own

"Goddamn witches," Dean growled angrily as they left the house where the coven had been meeting. "Have I ever told you how much I hate witches, Sammy? I really think you need to know how much I hate them. I hate them so much."

"I know you hate witches," Sam answered, pushing his hair back out of his face. "You've told me before, and I know they were causing trouble, but there wasn't any need to terrify them like that. They're not monsters, just human. It wasn't very nice of you to shout and wave your gun like that."

"I don't care! They're witches!" Dean got into the Impala. "You weren't exactly helping with the way you argued with me. Have to show them a united front, not undermine my authority!" He scowled at the dashboard, decided the car didn't deserve the angry look, and redirected it at Sam. "I still think they cursed us. That little brunette was definitely saying something under her breath."

"She didn't curse us. She was scared out of her mind, they all were. Probably praying for you to leave. They didn't know what they were doing, they just messed around with the wrong book. They thought it was a game."

"That's even worse, that they thought it was all fake. What if they made something horrible happen and never realized it? Or...something." He flapped a hand as he started the car, relaxing slightly as the engine came on with that beautiful purr. "Listen to my Baby. What a noise. Sometimes I wish there was some way I could make you sound like that, Sam. If I'm stuck with you constantly, least you could do is make a noise I enjoy." Sam threw him a confused look. "Prefer the car's company to yours sometimes too. She doesn't nag me, and she plays my music without complaining. Also wish I could install a tape player in you." He blinked. What? Had he said that out loud? Oops.

"Whatever, Dean," Sam sighed, balling his jacket up and smushing it against the window for a pillow. "Wake me when we get to a diner or something. And make sure you put on one of your tapes. I pretend to hate them, but I'm so used to them listening to them is comforting. Helps me sleep. And if you could sing, that'd be great. I sleep even better when you do."

Dean stared at him, because what was up with him? But, because he was an awesome brother, he obligingly popped in one of his tapes and sang along. Sam had been a weird kid, and now he was a weird man. He was used to it.

He woke Sam up when he pulled in at a diner, and Sam straightened, hair sticking up in a bizarre way and an obvious cramp in his neck from the way he kept rubbing at it. "The car is so uncomfortable to sleep in. I'm too big to fit," he griped as they went inside.

"I don't fit all that well either, but I'd rather sleep there than anywhere else. I sleep better in Baby than anywhere else, any motel room or apartment or anything," Dean told him. "It's better in the car because you're closer than in motel rooms, just in the backseat. I can hear your breathing better. I don't like to sleep if I can't hear your breathing. The years you were at Stanford, I never slept well. Sometimes I'd close my eyes and pretend the sound of Dad breathing was you instead."

Sam froze in the middle of looking at the menu (waste of time, they were just about the same in every diner they'd ever been to), and they stared at each other. Dean would never admit something like that unless he was being tortured. Maybe not even then. Not to mention they never talked about Those Years- the Stanford years. Dean knew all this and Sam knew all this and they knew that the other knew.

"Uh." Dean swallowed with an audible click. Yeah. Awkward. Thankfully, the waitress showed up at that moment. Sam ordered a salad, Dean got a cheeseburger, things were normal. He even gave the waitress a smarmy grin and flirted a little.

"I don't like watching you flirt," Sam said softly as the woman walked away. "It's. I just don't like it. You're better than just throwing crappy lines at every woman you meet. You deserve more than a one night stand. I wish you wouldn't," and he looked mortified, a blush spreading across his face that Dean thought was just adorable.

"I don't even intend to pick up the chick half the time, I just do it for something to do. Because if I don't I'd feel kind of like a loser." They looked at each other again for a long moment, and then, without meaning or wanting to, Dean's mouth opened again. "I'd feel like a loser just pining all day and wishing for something I can't have. I don't want to just sit in a corner like a thirteen year old girl with her first crush."

"The other reason I don't like watching you flirt is because it makes me jealous," Sam whispered, eyes huge. "I'm secretly really possesive, and I pine like a girl with her first crush, only I want to throw the people you flirt with off a cliff."

Their food came. "I haven't ever really tried a salad, and from the noises you make when you eat them, they can't be too horrible. Sometimes I feel like ordering one, but it would ruin my macho badass image. My image is very important to me."

"Sometimes I want to get a burger, but I'm actually kind of sort of very obsessed with my weight and I'm afraid if I eat one I'll gain weight, then I'll have to lock myself in a bathroom and eat a lot of ice cream."

Dean knew it was kind of mean, but that last admission made him laugh so hard his stomach hurt. There was definitely something going on here, they needed to fix it, and he had a feeling before the day was over some very embarrasing things would be coming out, but fuck, the image of Sam huddled in sweats with a carton of ice cream, crying girly tears over gaining half a pound... That was too much.

They managed to get through the rest of the meal without saying anything else, which seemed to be a miracle, then they hightailed it out of there. Sam didn't go back to sleep, instead he sat rigidly in the passenger seat.

"Will you please relax over there?" Dean said wearily after fifteen minutes. Sam was sitting so straight his back was aching in sympathy. "Seeing you stress makes me stress. It also makes me want to get you on a bed and give you a long massage."

"There's something very wrong here," Sam said through clenched teeth. A muscle jumped in his jaw, then, "I wish you would give me a massage. I would be so happy I'd just melt into a pile of goo. I bet you'd be really good at it, you have strong hands." The words were just barely understandable, forced out past Sam's tightly gritted teeth. "I like your hands. I think they should win an award."

"I like my hands too. I think they look really nice in a pair of leather gloves. I like your hands better, though. The things they could do to me, I-" Dean slapped a hand over his mouth because oh god no that really didn't need to be said. He didn't want that revealed, but the words came out anyway, even past his hand. "I spend so long daydreaming about your hands. Holding me down, and all." Oh Jesus.

"Um, Dean?" Sam was watching him hopefully. "The things you've been saying, it's like. It makes me think maybe you feel the same way I do. I hope you feel the same way I do, because that would be awesome, and it would just. Be awesome."

"I think maybe I do feel the same way? If I've been hearing you correctly. Sam, I have feelings for you." If he hadn't been driving, Dean would have slammed his head onto the steering wheel. Feelings?! What kind of way was that to put it? That was not how a grown man should put it, but it was true. Just worded in an extremely embarrassing way.

"I have feelings for you too, Dean." Sam looked just as embarrassed, which was some consolation. "I feel really happy right now. About-to-explode happy, knowing I'm not the only one."

"I'm really happy too, Sammy." Dean let himself smile, in spite of wanting to crawl under the front seat and never come out. Thank God they were both forced to...to talk, or whatever, or Sam would tease him forever. "And knowing you're happy makes me even happier. There's nothing better for me than seeing you smile."

Sam smiled back. "So, I think we should find a motel, because now I know we're on the same page I want to rip all your clothes off, but I can't do it in the car. I'd rather not crash."

Heart pounding, Dean pressed the gas further down. Sooner he found a motel the better. Shit, Sam really felt the same way. That was simultaneously amazing and terrifying. He could hardly believe he was going to get what he wanted, that Sam wanted it as well.

The first motel they came to (The Golden Moose), Dean shot into the parking lot. Sam was only half a step behind him as he headed for the front office.

"Let's get a room with a king," he murmured, hands settling on Dean's hips, breath on the back of Dean's neck giving him goosebumps. "I've always wanted to go up to the office of a motel and ask for a king."

"That sounds like an awesome idea. Just the thought of a king size bed in our room gets me hot."

The man behind the counter took one look at them, Sam plastered up against Dean's back, huge grins on both their faces, and said, "King," without batting an eye.

Once they were in their room (and Dean took one look at that giant bed and got hard), things got kind of awkward. Sam was on one side of the room, Dean was on the other, and wow. He'd thought this would've been the easy part, diving into bed together, but apparently not.

"I didn't ever think you would feel the same way." Why was Sam talking? Talking instead of kissing Dean or shoving him onto the bed or up against a wall or anything like that? "I thought I'd be the only one having these thoughts and feelings. It's messed up, man, I mean..." Sam blew out a long breath. "Uh, I think you were definitely right about those witches cursing us."

"What made you change your opinion?"

"I really want to be kissing you right now." Sam's gaze dropped down to Dean's lips and Dean smirked. "But instead I have this overwhelming urge to...to talk. Just to talk to you."

"I wanna be kissing you too, Sammy." God, did he ever. He felt the same need, though, to talk. Weird. He hated talking normally, at least the girly heart to hearts Sam always seemed to initiate. Yeah. Witches. "Goddamnit. I told you, I hate witches!" That explained all the weird things that they'd been saying all day, stuff they would normally never say out loud.

At least he hadn't declared his love out loud (yet.) That would have been the worst. Not that he didn't love Sam because of course he did. He fucking adored him. But Winchesters showed their love through actions, not words. By saving each other's asses constantly, and going out when it was still dark to get coffee. By letting Sam have the first shower when he was absolutely wiped.

If he actually said out loud the words 'I love you' he thought he might have to go hide in Baby's trunk and never come out. Except maybe for a double bacon cheeseburger. And the latest issue of Busty Asian Beauties. And possibly if it involved Sam and sex. Yeah.

"They really must have cursed us. I don't know why, or even how they managed it, they didn't seem all that good at magic." Sam's eyes roved over his body. "There's so much I want to do to you right now, instead of talking at you. I'm actually glad we got cursed."

"Getting cursed is never a good thing," Dean said automatically, remembering Dad telling him the same thing. "No matter what kind of curse."

"It is this time." Sam finally crossed the room to stand in front of Dean, putting his hands on Dean's shoulders and looking down at him. Damn him and his freakishly tall self. "Now that I know the way you feel. And you know the way I feel."

Dean shivered. "I do know how you feel. I'm still in shock at feelings being reciprocated, and-" Oh, for fuck's sake. This was ridiculous. Enough talking, already! The words were still trying to come out, so he decided to shut himself up, and Sam too, by kissing him.

The first kiss was pretty hesitant on both ends; this was their first ever, and some sappy part of Dean maybe wanted this one to be sweet and slow. It was, and amazing too. Everything he had always thought kissing Sam would be like. Humming into the kiss, he let one of his hands wander down to Sam's hip to pull him closer. Just as it was getting really good, though, Sam started TALKING again, mumbling into the kiss.

Dean turned his head, breaking the kiss, and listened to Sam's latest words.

"You taste really good. I didn't know if you would or not. I mean, who knows where that mouth's been?" He flinched slightly at the furious scowl he got in return. "But, um. Yeah, you taste really good."

"Don't care what I taste like. Want to know what you taste like." Dean didn't even bother cringing at the cheesy words, just yanked Sam back in, kissing him with much more force.

Sam's tongue flicked at his lips, and he parted them with a moan, their tongues sliding together. Jesus, that was good. So damn amazing. He started backing Sam towards the bed. Sam's legs hit it and he sat down automatically, pulling Dean with him. It was awkward, half on Sam's lap, but it was worth the awkwardness when he tilted his hips just so and their hard dicks rubbed.

"Dean," Sam moaned, pawing at him, shoving his hands (cold) under Dean's shirt. "Mm, God. So gorgeous. You're so pretty, more so than most girls."

Dean froze in the middle of wrestling Sam's shirt open. "The hell? I'm not pretty! I'm very manly. Maybe I have full lips and long eyelashes and freckles green eyes," he really wasn't helping his case here, "But I'm not pretty. I'm a manly man who just happens to get called pretty. And hit on by guys sometimes in bars." Dean pursed his lips, pausing in unbuttoning the shirt. "If anyone's pretty it's you. You're the one with the floofy hair and girly personality." Jesus, he couldn't stop talking. This curse was both a blessing and a...well, a curse.

"I think you're pretty," Sam breathed into his ear, hot breath making him shiver. "I think you're Goddamn gorgeous." He kept going, trying to talk and kiss his way down Dean's neck at the same time. "You're so amazing," kiss, "Dean, the way I feel about you," kiss, "Love you so much."

There it was, the thing Dean had been dreading. Declarations of love. He shut his mouth as tight as he could, bringing his attention back to the shirt, but it was no good. The words came out anyway. Damn witches! "Love you too, Sammy. More than anything, you know. Do so much for you, anything." He shut himself up this time, shoving Sam to lay back on the bed, following him down, kissing him and finally getting the damn shirt off him.

He sighed happily into the kiss, hands smoothing over Sam's strong, smooth skin. It was getting him so hot, being able to touch Sam however he wanted. Sam wasn't about to protest, he was too busy grabbing at Dean's head and changing the angle of the kiss.

"Take your shirt off," Sam panted once they both pulled back to breathe. "C'mon, want it off, want to see you. I want, want so much, to do so much, all the things I've been dreaming about for so long."

Dean started to remove his own shirt, then stopped, ignoring Sam's impatient whine. He was curious. "How long? How long you wanted me, Sam?"

"What?" Sam pouted up at him, making puppy eyes, clearly wanting him to get a little less dressed. "I don't know exactly. Couple of months after I got back on the road with you. Felt guilty as hell, still sick with grief over Jess, but I couldn't help it. It just happened." Sam's expression changed, becoming softer, eyes nearly glowing with love, so much that Dean felt blown away. Jesus, he didn't deserve that much devotion and love. Never expected to have it, but it was so clear in Sam's face, how he felt. "I loved her, I really did, but I fell in love with you, and it wasn't like anything else." Sam looked embarrased, but it was the truth he was speaking. "How long has it been for you?"

Dean cleared his throat, turning his head away to stare at one side of the mattress, but Sam just gently turned it back, forcing him to make eye contact. "Before you," he mumbled, heart racing. "I think, anyway. I honestly think it started on that first hunt, the Woman in White. I hadn't seen you for so long, and then when I finally did, you weren't like I remembered. You were a...a man." That sounded so ridiculous, but it was the truth. The Sam he'd met at Stanford... He'd gotten so much taller and broader and. Yeah. "I felt guilty too. Not just for the obvious reasons, also 'cause, like you said, you were mourning Jess, and I was lusting after you. It was more than just the physical attraction though. So much more." He was pretty sure he was blushing. Was he ever going to live this down once the curse was over?

Sam beamed at him, such a sappy look, but Dean didn't say anything or tease him about it because he was sure he had the same smile. Then he remembered what he'd been doing a few moments ago when Sam finally got impatient and ripped his shirt off, rolling them at the same time so that he was on top. He grinned down at Dean, swooping in for a kiss that Dean eagerly returned.

It wasn't very urgent or hurried. It was more like they were just taking their time, kissing and grinding together. Dean couldn't keep in his words or noises, but it didn't matter because neither could Sam. Both of them were moaning and gasping, and still managing to talk through it all. Apparently it didn't matter that Dean was breathless from kissing and arousal; he still somehow managed to talk.

"Can't believe we're doing this, we get to do this, I get to have this! Oh god, Sam," he certainly did not whimper as his brother got his jeans open and stuck his hand inside, wasting no time in going straight into his underwear, grasping him. "Fuck, oh fuck, Sammy." He reached between them, attacking Sam's jeans. Sam was stroking him slowly, so damn good, but he didn't let that stop him from going for Sam's cock.

"I can't believe it either," Sam answered back, little line of concentration between his eyes, focusing on Dean's dick. "In a good way. I've been with a couple of guys before, but none of them were as good as you. And we've only just gotten started!" He squeaked when Dean shoved his jeans and underwear out of the way, lifting his dick out. That was damn adorable.

Sam's admission of being with guys before made him raise an eyebrow because that was unexpected. Dean himself had fooled around once or twice, usually drunkenly and nothing past blowjobs, but that was normal for him. He was nothing if not adventurous about sex. Sam, however... He was, well... Dean had always expected him to be very vanilla. Lights off missionary position only, that kind of guy. Apparently not so much!

Sam really didn't get laid enough, because just a few strokes in and he was breathing heavily, hips moving in time with Dean's hand. "God, oh God, Dean," he gasped. "You're so good at this, maybe you getting around so much is a good thing after all!"

"I do not get around, I'm just not some freaky monk like you, Sam." Dean's own dick was being neglected at the moment, but it wasn't so important to him. Not just then, anyway. He wanted to see Sam come more than he wanted to get off. Rubbing his thumb firmly over the head of Sam's dick, scratching the slit lightly with his nail- that did it.

With an inarticulate moan, Sam came, dick jerking in Dean's grasp as he pumped all over his hand and both their stomachs. "Dean, Dean, God. Dean," It was like his name was the only thing Sam could say as he half rolled, half flopped over onto his back, so that he didn't land on top of his brother. Dean was grateful for that. He didn't particularly want to be squashed by his overgrown freak of a little brother. He said it out loud, too, without meaning to.

Sam just flapped a hand at him. "'M not an overgrown anything. You're just short."

Dean wanted to protest (he was not short, Sam was just freakishly tall), but was distracted by the almost painful throbbing of his dick. He hadn't come yet. "I think you're forgetting something," he brought it up after another couple of minutes of Sam just laying there. He'd had time to catch his breath. "Generally when you go to bed with someone you pay attention to them. Bad manners, little brother. I feel sorry for those girls you've slept with in the past if this is how you treat them. Reciprocation!"

Sam sat up. "Don't whine, it's not attractive." Then, in the blink of an eye, he was scooting down the bed until he was between Dean's legs.

Didn't take a genius to figure out what Sam was after. "Jesus, Sammy," he murmured, body jerking like he'd been shocked when Sam swallowed him down almost to the hilt, not wasting any time. "Fucking hell. Look at you." Sam raised his eyes as he bobbed his head, meeting Dean's, and that was ridiculously hot. "Lips all stretched around me, damn, you're good at this. Weren't joking when you said you've been with guys before." Sam was good. Dean normally talked during sex, it was something he did, but sex related things. Regular old dirty talk, not what came out of his mouth next. Fucking curse. "I'm jealous," he admitted without looking away from Sam. "So jealous of those guys, whoever they were and whatever they did with you. I wish you weren't with any of them, that it was just me." Sam swallowed around him, bringing a hand up to fist what he couldn't fit in his mouth, and Dean's head slammed back into the pillow, eyes shutting of their own accord.

Sam probably would have been talking back if he could. Kissing hadn't stopped him, but it wasn't physically possible to talk with a mouthful of dick. He was sort of humming around Dean, though, and that felt Goddamn amazing. "I'll make you forget about them," Dean panted, fingers curling in the sheet, trying not to come too soon. He didn't want this to be over. "Gonna make it so that you never want anyone else. You never will. Once you're with me you're mine, 'm not gonna- gonna share you. Fuck, Sam!"

That was it, he was done with. He came, shooting down Sam's throat, and holy shit, Sam took it all, swallowing everything before he finally opened his mouth and let Dean's cock slip free. Then he was crawling up Dean's body (and he even managed to make that look sexy!) and kissing him, deep and hard with plenty of tongue. Dean tasted himself and Sam and moaned, threading his fingers through Sam's hair, pulling him closer.

Sam curled up against his side, octopus arms and legs winding around him. Cuddly freak. "I like cuddling," he told Dean tiredly, like it was some secret. He'd expected as much.

For the millionth time he mentally swore vengeance on the witches as he said back, "I like it too. I'm secretly a cuddle whore. Only reason I don't admit it is, you know, my image."

Sam pressed his smile into Dean's neck, and maybe the curse wasn't so bad after all. It made Sammy happy to hear that, apparently. "Then you don't care if that's what we do for the next, oh, few hours. Sleep."

"Then we go back to those witches and make them lift the curse?"

Sam mumbled what sounded like a maybe. "After sleep. Then food, and more sex. Then we can track them down."

That sounded like an awesome plan, actually. Sleep. Food. Sex. Then vengeance. Yeah, Dean could handle that. He rubbed little cirlces on Sam's back. "Go to sleep, Sam. I'm here watching you. Not going anywhere. I like to watch you sleep. You're so sweet and peaceful." Oh God. Okay, actually, maybe getting the curse removed should be just a little higher on the list of priorities, if stuff like that was going to keep coming out of his mouth.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and turned his face into Sam's hair. For now, at least, he was going to get some rest. At least he wouldn't be able to admit embarrasing things in his sleep.

(Or could he? Jesus. He probably wasn't going to be sleeping after all.)