Sam picked the flier up from the pamphlet rack outside the cafeteria. "Fireworks on campus at midnight! Happy New Year!" The black letters stood out boldly from the yellow paper.
He sighed. Stanford was pretty empty during the holidays, with most of the students and teachers gone until mid-January. Only the non-American-based students were around, and half of those were off visiting the families of friends. Sam's dorm had only three or four other bodies in it, rattling around in a building that housed one hundred fifty. Sam was the only one on his floor.
He stuffed the paper into his backpack, along with the bagels and fruit he'd nabbed. The cafeteria would be closed tomorrow for New Year's Day, so he figured he'd be all set for breakfast this way. Slinging the backpack over his shoulder, he ambled out the door and set off for his dorm room.
Fireworks. Sam liked fireworks. The colored lights flashing across an inky night sky. The smell of gunpowder and smoke, white trails drifting away. His favorite memory had to be when they were kids, and Dean had 'appropriated' fireworks for them to set off in that Midwestern field, Roman candles shooting up high and scattering sparks everywhere. They'd seen fireworks all across the country, whether sitting on an army surplus blanket in a field or camped out on the Impala's hood, necks craned as the festive explosions burst overhead.
Sam sighed. Well, those days were long over, and he didn't anticipate ever having them again. He'd left his brother and the hunting life for college and a chance at a more 'normal' existence. Most of the time it was worth it, but sometimes...
Suck it up, buttercup, he told himself.
You chose. You picked college over Dean.Yeah, but I couldn't stay, another part of his brain protested.
Even if it wasn't for the hunting--and it was! It was the hunting!--I'd have broken one day and he'd...well, he'd probably have punched my teeth in, and then disowned me. And I can survive this, but I couldn't have survived that.Fine. So ignore that ache like you've lost a limb, and move on.Sam heaved another sigh. Easier said than done.
He spent most of the day studying. He'd already gotten his books for the next semester, and he figured that he'd absorb what he could on his own before classes resumed. By 5:00, his brain threw in the towel on reading comprehension, so Sam collected his wallet, put on his shoes, and went for a walk. There were a lot of small restaurants and bodegas nearby, and he set off to collect food for tonight and tomorrow night's dinner, deciding to pick up a six-pack and a bottle of vodka as well.
Leaving the liquor store, he caught something black and shiny out of the corner of his eye. Sam whipped his head around, but nothing was there. He shook his head. He couldn't count how many times that had happened when he'd first arrived in Palo Alto; he'd constantly seen mirages of black cars and tall, bow-legged men. All of them ultimately proved to be figments of his yearning imagination.
Sam had the egg foo yung for dinner, deciding to save the beef and broccoli stir fry for tomorrow. A beer with dinner, a shot of cold vodka after, and another beer left him more relaxed than he'd been in days, thanks to finals stress. Leaning against the window frame of his small dorm room, he looked across the green and realized the fireworks would be visible without him even going outside. That deserved a second shot.
Plopping onto the bed, he poured a third shot, sipping this one instead of just throwing it down his throat. He really preferred whiskey, but whiskey was too tied up with Dean. He reminisced again about the various fireworks shows he and Dean had seen on their travels around the country. Riding in the Impala with Dean--well, that was as close to a true home as Sam had ever had. The combined security of the car and his big brother never failed to make Sam feel safe and loved.
Ah, love. And that’s where the problem started. Sam had loved his big brother his whole life, and that was fine. Expected. Normal.
What wasn't normal was the love that began to bloom inside Sam's heart as he reached adolescence. The love that manifested itself in inconvenient boners and wet dreams, piques of jealousy at Dean's conquests warring with Sam's own lust for his brother. Dean's body, his beauty, the heat of his skin...anything and everything about Dean kept Sam in a simmering state of semi-arousal that only fluctuated with the frequency of masturbation sessions and cold showers.
Sam took another drink, chased it with the rest of his beer. He was so far down memory lane now, he might as well finish the trip. He'd finally broken that night he left for California, when Dean had brought him to the bus station. Lost the tenuous control he'd fought so hard to keep. Faced with an angry, confused Dean, green eyes blazing, full pink lips quivering, Sam had succumbed to the flames heating his blood. He'd grabbed Dean's shirt collar, pulled him in, and kissed him.
Dean's lips had been warm, their pressure against Sam intoxicating. Dean had given a little shocked gasp and Sam had taken the opportunity to slide his tongue in, swiping it into Dean's mouth, against Dean's own tongue. For one brief moment, it had been bliss.
Then Dean had ripped himself away, hands clutching hard on Sam's arms to propel them apart.
"What the fuck, Sam!"
Sam had recoiled. "Dean, I--Dean, I'm sorry, I--" He'd watched Dean wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Tears had prickled in Sam's eyes as he'd tried to stutter an apology, but nothing had come to his lips. Words had failed him at this crucial moment, and instead of speaking, Sam had grabbed his backpack and duffle before turning to run to his bus, boarding it without another glance back at Dean.
"Yeah, not my finest moment," Sam said aloud to the empty room. "Very suave, very mature." He scoffed at himself, taking another sip of vodka, skipping the glass this time to drink directly from the bottle. "Asshole. Finally did something, and then ran like a fucking rabbit. Although I guess, what else could I have done? Not like he was going to kiss me back."
He smacked his forehead and gave a bitter laugh.
Sam, Sam, Sam, what a stooge you are.The table thumped loudly as he put the bottle down. "Jeez, don't bust the booze, moron," he said. He checked the bottle, but it was intact. Then a thump sounded again, and Sam realized someone was at the door.
He got up, feeling a little clumsier than usual due to the beer and vodka, but managed to wrest the door open. He'd overestimated his force though, and it slammed into the bookcase on the wall behind it, dislodging a couple of paperbacks. They fluttered to the floor as Sam stared at his unexpected visitor.
Dean.
"Heya, Sammy," Dean said, and yes, it really was Dean. Whiskey-honey voice, big green eyes, broad smile with just a hint of uncertainty. Black t-shirt under a rumpled flannel, jacket slung over one shoulder, wrinkled jeans with a little orange smear on one thigh that meant Dean had indulged in some Cheetos recently. The crunchy ones, not the puffs, because puffs are for poofs, Dean always said.
"Uh," Sam replied. Somehow words refused to formulate. His eyes were busy drinking Dean in, and his brain had gone off-line at the apparently inadequate memory of Dean's lean, muscular body, flirty grin, and all-around sex appeal.
"Can I, uh, come in?" Dean asked, a little more hesitantly.
Sam shook himself. "Sure! Sure, of course!" He stepped back to allow Dean entrance.
Dean walked in slowly, looking around the small room. Bed, bookcase, desk with a reading lamp. Shelves over the desk stuffed with notebooks, textbooks, and some hoodies. A small square table with one chair. The big S decal on the wall. The window looking out onto the green.
"Wow, I'd say what a dinky room, but it's nicer than a lotta the motels we stayed in anyway." Dean let his jacket fall onto the unmade bed. "So...how ya doing, Sammy?"
Sam stepped back, letting the desk support his shaky legs. "Dean, what are you doing here? I thought--I thought you never wanted to see me again."
Dean tsked. "I never said that. Dad was the one frothing at the mouth. I just--I didn't want to see you go, but I would never have said I didn't want to see you again." He shook his head. "You're my little brother, man. How could I not want to see you?"
Sam's mind was all muddled up at Dean's presence, all big and road-weary and gorgeous. Words tumbled out heedlessly.
"I don't know. You didn't really try to stop me, so I guess I assumed."
Dean snorted and shook his head. "Sammy, when you get a head of steam, you're like a horse out of the gate. By the time I registered that you were really leaving, all I saw was your dust trail."
Sam closed his eyes. The memory of that night was still so vivid--the smell of wet asphalt, reflecting the streetlights in dark puddles. The bliss of finally having his mouth on Dean's. The horror at his impulsive move, and the resultant frantic fleeing.
Dean's voice broke his reverie. "Sammy? What's eating you? Why did that night end like that, you off like a rocket?"
Still coping with the shock of having Dean in his dorm room and further emboldened by the liquor already in his system, Sam retorted, "Because your brother kissed you, freaking both of us out."
Dean looked away, only the fingers of his left hand jittering on one thigh demonstrating his nervousness. "Sam, I--yeah, I was a little freaked. 'S one reason I came. I wanted to talk about it."
Sam spread his hands wide. "Dean Winchester? Dean Winchester wants to have a chick flick moment? How about this, Dean? How about your little brother perving on you? How about how he wanted to bone you, how every girl you brought back gave him blue balls, or maybe about the times I woke up with sticky boxers after dreaming about you?" He pushed off from the desk, surging toward the bottle and taking a big swig. "How about how your brother is so screwed up that he wants to have sex with you? Is that what you want to talk about?"
Dean scrubbed his face with his hands. "How about this, Sammy? How about I take a leak like I needed to for the last twenty miles, and maybe you scare up a beer and some food for me, and then we can talk about it?"
Sam deflated. "Sure, of course, man. Bathroom is two doors down on the left. I got some more beer in the mini fridge along with some Chinese takeout."
"Great," said Dean, and he disappeared back into the hallway.
Fuck, thought Sam.
Way to go, spilling your guts in the first thirty seconds he's here. Real cool. He got the beef and broccoli out, spilling some onto a plate and sticking it into the microwave.
Dean reappeared with a sigh of relief. He took a beer out of the mini fridge and popped the cap off, drinking half of it in one gulp. Setting it down on the little table, he pulled out the chair and sat down.
"Okay, bro, you've had your say. My turn." Dean took a big bite, chewed, and cleared his throat. "Not gonna lie, you startled the hell out of me with that kiss the night you left." Sam opened his mouth but Dean held up an admonishing finger. "Ah ah ah, my turn." Sam shut his mouth with a snap.
Another big gulp of beer followed by a burp, which made Sam roll his eyes and Dean laugh. "Sorry, Princess. Back to the topic at hand. Sam, listen good because I am only saying this once." Dean fixed his eyes on Sam's, his gaze flicking back and forth across Sam's face, watching him intently. "You didn't give me a chance to react, let you know where I was at."
"What's to know?" Sam said bitterly. "You were horrified by your freak of a brother. Case closed."
It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "Sometimes you just don't know when to turn that big brain off, do you?" He stood up, and Sam backed away, ready to watch Dean leave, or maybe even punch him. Only...Dean moved closer instead.
"Dean--"
"Shut up, Sammy." Dean reached out, cupped Sam's face in his hands, and pulled him in for a kiss.
It was hot and soft, passionate but not rough. Dean kissed Sam thoroughly, lips open and tongue exploring, hands remaining on Sam's face. It went on and on, until both of them were breathing heavily and Sam's dick was suggesting the removal of clothing.
"Dean--" Sam tried to say again.
Dean shook his head, gently pushing Sam toward the bed. "Only words you need are yes or no. Yes, Dean, I want this, or no, Dean, stop."
Sam stared into those deep green eyes, pupils large and dark. They glittered as they stared back at Sam, and Dean's pink tongue came out to moisten his lips.
"Yes, Dean, I want this." Sam's voice was hoarse, desire clogging his throat. He pawed at Dean, hands feeling clumsy. "But--"
Dean put his hand over Sam's mouth. "I just drove a zillion miles because I decided I had to face this. I couldn't keep letting you take the heat for something I knew we both felt. So shut up and strip." He grinned wolfishly, and Sam had to chuckle at the humor, while heat raced down to his toes and back up to his balls.
Clothes flew around the room as they hastily stripped. There was no attempt at alluring behavior; both of them were already hard, (as Sam saw in the next few seconds), and ready to go.
We can take all the time later, Sam thought.
Just now... and then all coherency left him as Dean wrapped his hand around Sam's cock.
Skin so warm, his hand handling Sam so firmly. Calluses in slightly different places than Sam's, pressure placed in a new way, and fuck--this was
Dean. Dean gripping him, Dean stroking him, Dean's thumb swiping to smear pre-come down Sam's shaft. Dean's perfect lips on Sam's, Dean's other hand sliding across Sam's chest, fingers teasing his nipples into aching points.
His knees started to buckle, but Dean caught him and steered him onto the bed. Lips smushed together, mouths open and urgent, they kissed sloppily while hands explored and squeezed. No inch of flesh was left untouched. Sam felt massively uncoordinated, but he was too busy falling apart under Dean's hands to care. Every press of Dean's fingers on his body activated new sensations, sending fresh waves of excitement through him. He never knew his nipples could be so sensitive, making him cry out at every tweak; that his balls could pull up so tightly as they rolled in Dean's palm; that his and Dean's dicks enclosed in their interwoven hands would send fireworks racing throughout his body in a cataclysmic orgasm.
That his heart and his cock could ache in such sweet synchrony that he couldn't tell if he was going to sob or orgasm.
He did both.
Tears bled from his eyes as he cried out in his climax, heart swelling and dick spurting hotly across their bodies. As if it were an echo, Sam heard Dean's cries as well, deeper, hoarser, reverberating in Sam's ear in breathy accompaniment.
They sagged on the bed together, hands now lax around their spent cocks, lungs and hearts gradually slowing in rhythmic pacing. Whether Sam actually slept or just dozed, he couldn't say; it was a timeless moment, warm and sated, limbs interlocked in the safest space he could ever know.
When they finally stirred, they both made a face at the mess between them. Sam pulled out the wet wipes he kept with the lube in his nightstand drawer and they mopped at their sticky hands and bellies.
"How about that food?" asked Dean, like having sex with his brother was something he had everyday.
"Sure," said Sam, happy to go along with that.
And it was back to brothers as usual, eating Chinese and drinking beer, watching
New Year's Evil on Sam's laptop. Dean didn't ask about life at Stanford, and Sam didn't ask about Dad or the latest hunts. It was like any New Year's Eve they'd ever spent together in any motel room, as long as they ignored the elephant in the room.
When they finished eating and dealt with the trash, Dean pulled out fresh beers and Sam poured them shots from the vodka bottle. They toasted each other and drank.
Sam broke first. "Dean, what...what does this mean? Are you going to stay here? What are we gonna do about Dad?"
Dean poured them another shot, handing one to Sam. "I don't know, no, and he never needs to know." Throwing the vodka down his throat, he continued, "Dude--this doesn't mean we are a 'thing'. This isn't some happy-ever-after Hallmark moment. I'm going back out there, and you're going to be here doing whatever it is you wanted to do."
Sam, momentarily distracted by watching Dean's throat as he drank, shook himself. "What? I mean, of course it's not. But can't we work something out? You could base yourself here, like we do at Bobby's, for instance."
Dean sighed. "I knew this might be a bad idea. You have these idealistic notions about how we should love. Well, I'm a hunter, Sammy, and I'm going back out there and hunt. There is no home, no hearts and doves waiting for us, just hacking away at the next crappy monster and keeping them from killing people."
Sam felt his anger at this short-sighted life view, dormant while he'd been at Stanford, rise anew in his veins.
"Dean, it doesn't have to be like that."
Dean stood up, grabbing his jeans and shoving one leg in. "Sam, cut it. This...whatever, it doesn't change anything. I just wanted you to know you were not the only freak in the family, so don't keep hiding. When I can, when I'm nearby, I'll swing through."
Now Sam was heading into full-out pissed mode. He felt his face flush as he snarled back at Dean. "So what, I'm a road gig? You'll stop by and bang me in between the bar girls and diner waitresses? Gee, thanks, I'm feeling the love." He started wrestling with his jeans too, getting even more frustrated at how they were all wadded up and he couldn't get his leg in.
"Fuck, Sam!" Dean swore loudly. "What do you want from me? This is how my life is, and it's not going to change because we have some fucking kink for each other!" He stood on one foot as he maneuvered his other leg into his jeans.
"Then why did you even come here? You just wanted to get your rocks off with your pervert brother? What the fuck, Dean! I'm not one of your slutty pick-ups, going ass-up for a smile and a drink!" Sam gave up on his jeans, throwing them across the room and looking for his boxers instead. Suddenly being naked made him feel alarmingly vulnerable.
"Maybe I did!" Dean exploded, waving his hands around. "Maybe I was driving through and thought, hey, think I'll go pork my brother! Shove my dick into his fine, perky ass! Why, you gonna say no, Sammy?" Dean shoved his jeans, only barely on at this point, back down and kicked them off. "Well, shit, man, then let's do it! I didn't come here for some hand job! Let's see how bad you want my dick! I'll tell you right now, I ain't gonna bottom, baby brother, so break out the lube!"
Sam stared at Dean, hands balled into fists, chest heaving with his angry breathing. Dean's eyes were huge and shooting sparks, and his lips had that snarl he got when he was really pissed. His chest, still bare, had a slight sheen of sweat, and his nipples were hard pink points that Sam suddenly craved to get his mouth on. He tried to avert his eyes, but Dean grabbed his chin, forcing him to maintain eye contact.
"What? You going chicken shit on me now?" Dean released Sam's chin. "Don't worry, rape ain't my thing. You just--you fucking drive me nuts!" He looked around. "Where's my fucking shirt?"
Sam's anger began to subside...right into his dick. All that energy seething inside him funneled straight into his cock, and before he could really think, he was hard and aching. He wanted--he needed--
"Dean!" The urgency in Sam's voice was enough to get Dean's attention. He looked at Sam, then his eyes dropped to Sam's cock, jutting out as if to call attention to itself.
"Jesus..." Dean moaned. He licked his lips. "Fuck, Sammy..."
Sam took hold of himself, but Dean smacked his hand away, replacing it with his own. He tugged on Sam, bringing him close before wrapping his other hand around Sam's waist and crushing them together.
Sam grabbed Dean's ass, grinding himself on his brother's cock. Chest rubbed chest, taut nipples tracing lines of scalding heat. Sam groped at Dean's pink nubs, plucking hard, smiling at Dean's groan.
"Fuck you, Sammy, God ..." Dean pushed him back down on the bed. "That is it. Gonna fuck you, Sammy, gotta fuck you..."
"Yeah, yeah, please. God, Dean, wanna feel you, need to," Sam felt his words falling out in a babbling stream. "Lube...drawer. No condom though."
"Don't need them. Never been with anyone without them. Only going to be you, Sammy." Dean's breath was hot on Sam's neck as he murmured, punctuating his words with little nips and licks. His hand left Sam's dick to knead at his pecs. "Driving me crazy, you little bastard. So hot, then you get all angry and you--your eyes--fuck!" He sucked hard at the base of Sam's throat while his thumbs worked Sam's nipples, flicking and rolling them until Sam gasped and arched his chest.
"You done this before?" Sam managed to ask. He'd done hands and mouth before, but ass was new, and even in his aroused state, he was a little nervous. He knew just how big Dean was.
"Yeah. I got you. Roll over," Dean said, manhandling Sam onto his stomach. "Easier for you this way. And I get to watch your ass taking my dick." Sam felt cool lube on Dean's hot fingers rubbing his hole, then one finger sliding in. It was weird, but at the same time, he wanted more.
"Don't take all day, asshole," Sam snarked, and Dean smacked one cheek.
"Who's the hole here? Fine, you in a hurry, then just take it!" The blunt head of Dean's dick pressed against Sam, hot and hard and huge. With a flex of Dean's powerful thighs and hips, it pushed its blind way in.
Oh God, Sam thought frenziedly.
It's too big...I can't... But he felt his walls give, stretch, and suddenly it felt good. Nerves Sam never knew he had lit up, sparking pleasure that coiled warm inside him, made him gasp and arch to push back. He moaned helplessly, almost aghast at his own submission to Dean.
Dean did not hold back. He gripped Sam's hip with one hand, sliding the other into Sam's hair and pulling it hard. It stung, yet somehow the pain translated into pleasure as Dean fucked him hard. He thrust into Sam, thighs smacking Sam's with a meaty thwack, Dean's balls slapping his ass. His dick bobbed wildly, swinging with each jolt, pre-come dotting the bed as drops scattered from the tip of his straining cock. Nothing Sam had ever done had prepared him for this; to be invaded willingly, feel another body plumb his depths, unearthing a pleasure that eclipsed anything he'd ever felt before.
He didn't know how long they fucked, only that he climbed higher and higher, feeling like his skin was going to burst. Growls and pants surrounded him, and he couldn't tell which were his and which came from Dean. Everything was hot, sweaty skin, the heavy smell of rut, and the relentless drive of Dean's cock piercing Sam with ecstasy until one final thrust drove a scream from his throat. His belly clenched as his dick exploded, balls pulled up tight, his ass pulsing around that incredible extension of Dean lodged deep inside him.
Sam could feel Dean's own cock pulsing when he came, felt the hot spunk filling him and spilling out. Dean locked against him, grinding in tiny movements and little bucks of his hips as he growled and whined. Sam's cock responded as much as it could, emitting weak dribbles of come as it jerked under the continued stimulation.
They collapsed together, Sam managing to keep Dean from smothering him. They lay steaming and panting, drifting in that delicious post-orgasmic haze. Dimly, Sam heard pops and whistles outside, and he was confused until he remembered the fireworks show on campus.
Guess we had our own firework show, he thought blurrily, and then chuckled. He's sure he'd seen spinning explosions of light.
"Wha’s funny?" Dean mumbled, his nose in Sam's hair.
"Fireworks outside," Sam murmured back. "Like inside."
Dean chuckled. "Ours w'r better."
They dozed for a while, Sam managing to pull a comforter over them as their bodies cooled.
When he awoke, Sam realized he was alone in the bed. He could smell Dean, the sheet was still warm from his body. Sam picked his head up and looked around, thinking Dean was in the bathroom, or maybe went for coffee. He got up, shrugging the comforter off and grabbing a hoodie, sliding it over his bedhead. Peeking out of his dorm room, he saw the bathroom door was open.
Coffee. He must have gone out for coffee, Sam told himself.
He wouldn't just... But a chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the lack of clothing.
He found boxers and pulled them on, still looking around the room. Finally he looked for his phone, and that's where the post-it was.
Sammy,You're not a road gig. But I'm not going to stop my life, and you shouldn't either. So, I guess it's so long for now.Dean"Fucker!" Sam yelled, balling up the post-it and flinging it away. He plopped on the bed, wincing at how sore his ass was. "Shit."
He got up and went to the window, hoping to see the Impala, see Dean. Looking down at the green, he could see some detritus from the fireworks still lying on the asphalt area from where they'd been launched. His heart felt like scorched earth, after wildfires had burnt away everything but the bare ground. Like the little smudges of ash he could see outside.
Fuck.
firesign10