delanach_dw: (Sam sleeping)
[personal profile] delanach_dw
Title: The Secret to a Good Night's Sleep (3/?)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Beta: [livejournal.com profile] seleneheart
Wordcount: 1967
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Warnings: None
Notes: Set around Dead in the Water. The third in a series of fics that started at the beginning of season one and will eventually work through all aired episodes. They explore the ups and downs of Sam and Dean hitting the road together again, the strength they draw from each other, and how they handle (or don’t!) the increasing attraction they feel for each other.
I’d like to thank [livejournal.com profile] vanessa1903 for gently nudging me back towards writing more chapters of this fic. *hugs*

Previous Chapters:
Chapter One
Chapter Two

Summary: They might not be talking about what’s going on, and one of them is in serious denial, but that doesn’t stop them fantasizing about each other.

Dean woke sprawled over Sam's back. His left leg was comfortably wedged between Sam's sleekly muscled thighs, and his arm was curled possessively around Sam's waist. Dean knew he should move, put some distance between them, but the heat of Sam underneath him sapped away any impulse to get out of bed, so he stayed where he was. The memories of the night he'd helped Sam out were ever present, sharp and clear. The weight of Sam's dick in his hand, solid and warm, the sounds Sam made as he came. The husky, aching groan that got Dean hard every single time he thought about it. Dean wondered how Sam sounded when he really let go, when he was with a lover, not a brother, someone allowed to push him further, to demand that he give his all, touching him in ways that would make him moan and gasp and cry out harshly.

Dean caught himself before he let go. His fingers had crept onto bare skin at Sam's hip and he'd nosed through dark messy hair to get to his neck. Dean breathed him in. Guiltily, he kissed the small patch of bared skin, his tongue flicking out before he could stop it and he bit back a sigh at the now familiar taste of pure Sam.

Sam shifted in his sleep, pushing back against him, and Dean knew it would be so easy to slip his hands further round Sam's body, graze his short nails over the small nubs of Sam's nipples, tease him awake and have him gasping Dean's name in that low, hoarse early morning voice of his. Dean closed his eyes and chewed his lip. There were things in life he was good at and then there were things he excelled at. Fucking was pretty damned close to the top of that list but this wasn't some one night stand, some casual thing to pass the time. This was Sam. Dean loved him too much to risk everything on the slim chance that Sam wouldn't push him away in disgust if Dean let him know he wanted more. Jacking him off once when he'd needed it was one thing, but anything further was a gamble Dean didn't know if he could take.

With a last small kiss to Sam's tanned shoulder, Dean got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

As the door clicked shut, Sam cracked open an eye. He groaned at the loss of Dean's heat, and the loss of his almost exploring fingers, his tentative, secret kisses. He shuddered at the thought of Dean's kisses deepening, mauling his shoulders, letting his hands move over Sam's skin with confidence, taking what he wanted.

Sam ground his hips against the bed, giving his trapped cock a little of the friction he craved. When it became unbearable, he turned over, wrapping his fingers round himself as he splayed his legs wide. He imagined Dean walking back into the room to find him like that, imagined Dean's eyes darkening, his gaze becoming predatory as he knelt at the bottom of the bed between Sam's wide open legs, bending forward to lick at the taut muscles of his thighs.

In the bathroom, Dean stood under the shower, his own fantasy continuing on from the moment he kissed Sam's shoulder. This time, Sam reached back for him and asked for more, his voice husky with sleep. Dean touched him, fingertips grazing lightly over skin, making Sammy groan and squirm and beg for more. In Dean's fantasy, they were both naked, their sweat slicked bodies tangling together as he teased Sam with his mouth and his fingers.

Dean's hand tightened around himself. His free hand slapped against the tiled wall, fingers splaying as the shower spray hit the back of his neck where his head was bowed. In his fantasy, Sam turned his head, mouth seeking Dean's and that's all it took to get Dean off, the thought of Sam kissing him, warm mouth, questing tongue ... Dean shuddered and threw his head back as spurts of white landed in the tub and washed away down the drain.

"Shit." Dean cursed, closing his eyes and letting the water pound against his throat. He had to get this thing for Sam under control before he did something they'd both regret.


Back in the other room, Sam worked himself relentlessly, groaning softly at his fantasy, imagining Dean's tongue working slowly up his thighs, leaving little whorls in the fine hairs on Sam's legs, moving higher, teasing and tormenting until he was nuzzling Sam's balls.

Sam began to pant, so close but needing the fantasy to reach its conclusion before he could let himself come. In his mind, Dean licked a broad stripe up Sam's cock, over and in between Sam's fingers, still tight around his own erection. Finally, Dean's lips closed over the weeping head, his mouth warm and sinfully silky, his tongue rasping around the crown until Sam couldn't hold back a full blown groan as fantasy Dean looked up at him.

Sam came, biting back a cry as he emptied himself over his belly and he lay back with a sigh. He knew he should move, clean up the mess, but he felt defiant in lying there, knowing by the sounds coming from the bathroom that Dean was out of the shower, and could walk in at any moment. But then he knew if Dean did find him like that, it would probably freak him out much more than it would have a few weeks back, so he sighed and got on with it.


An hour later, sitting in the diner across from the motel, Dean watched a blonde waitress in short shorts move between the tables and booths and the counter. Every now and then, she shot him a look over her shoulder and he smiled back at her, familiar urges stirring. Familiar and safe urges, ones that didn't involve Sam. Dean clung to that safety, refusing to remember how Sam had felt in his arms when he'd woken up. He smiled back at her with a leer. She'd just arrived at their table when Sam sat down. Dean was a little taken aback at the way Sam scowled at her.

"Just the check, please." Sam said curtly.

She walked away again, hips swaying, casting a heated glance over her shoulder at Dean. He grinned back, his eyes following her ass as he mused on his definition of "fun". Sam glared at him and Dean resigned himself to Sam being pissed at the world again. He knew the kid was going through some tough times and he tried his best to stay cheerful, but he had some pretty big issues of his own rattling round his head. Dean felt himself becoming grumpy. Flirting with the waitress would have gone a long way to helping him feel more normal right now, and he glanced at her again with a little more longing in his eyes.

“So, the case?” Sam questioned, pulling Dean’s attention away from the girl.

Dean sighed and turned his attention back to Sam, trying to keep focused on the possibility of a lake monster, trying not to wonder what Sam would taste like if he kissed him.


The case turned out to be a tough one for Dean, not that he'd ever admit it out loud. Dean empathized with Lucas, a small boy who’d lived through the traumatic death of a parent. Sam watched as Dean coaxed Lucas out of his shell just enough to help them get to the heart of the matter. He listened as Dean told the boy how he'd seen something bad when he was a kid and how he hadn't felt like talking afterwards. How he knew his Mom would have wanted him to be brave and that he thought about that every day.

Sam forgot sometimes that Dean had been a little kid once, terrified after the death of his mother and the upheaval of leaving the life he'd known behind. For as long as Sam could remember, Dean had been a strong presence in his life. Some of his first memories were of falling asleep in Dean's arms, feeling safe and protected. His brother had always told him that he'd take care of him, that nothing bad would happen to him and now Sam wondered how much that had been for Dean's benefit too, how much he'd needed to believe that he could make sure nothing else bad happened to his family, to Sam, in order to stay strong.

Dean rarely talked about the time before the fire any more, not that Sam expected him to now, but he had when they were kids. He'd told Sam all he could about their Mom, shared his memories so Sam would know who she'd been, but no matter how hard he tried, Sam's idea of family didn't extend further than Dean and John.

John, the often absent father who Sam quickly grew to resent, and Dean, the one person in his life who was always there for him. Dean, who, despite being a kid himself, had patched up Sam's skinned knees and told him bedtime stories when Sam was scared that John was never coming back. Who'd made sure Sam was fed regularly and got to school on time when John wasn’t around. Even when John had been around, he’d often been distant when he was researching a hunt, and Dean had always filled in the gaps for Sam, made sure he didn’t feel lonely or ignored. No kid should be expected to do all that, to grow up so fast.

It’s no big deal. Dean's response to Sam's tentative quizzing about what he'd told Lucas had been typical, and Sam had left the matter alone. He felt too hypocritical pushing him to talk about it when he was keeping enough secrets of his own. Sam stayed deep in thought as they'd driven away after the case was done, leaving Lucas and his Mom to rebuild their lives.

Now he stood in the bathroom of another motel, cleaning his teeth, wondering again how Dean did it. Stayed strong despite everything they'd lived through. Dean wasn't invulnerable. Sam had seen him wounded, had patched him up enough times to know that, but Dean rarely shared what was going on inside his head. Sam rinsed his mouth, put his toothbrush back in his wash bag and turned off the light as he left the bathroom. Dean was already sprawled across one of the beds, sleeping soundly. Sam looked down at him, envious of how quickly he could fall asleep when he knew he had someone watching his back.

Sam sighed. Times like this, he realised how lucky he’d been to have Dean when he was growing up. Dean had only had John and Sam knew from bitter experience how grief could consume compassion and caring, could make a person take out their anger and hurt on the people who cared about them most. He felt suddenly guilty at how prickly he’d been lately. He’d seen Dean try to hide the hurt on his face when he’d been snapped at for no good reason and now he wished he could take it all back.

Dean snuffled in his sleep and rolled over onto his side. Sam took advantage of this change in position and slipped into bed behind him. He pressed himself against the lean muscled length of Dean’s body, wrapping an arm around his waist and holding him close.

“It is a big deal.” He whispered against Dean’s cotton covered shoulder.

And if Dean pressed back against Sam, grateful for the comfort his solid form provided, Sam wasn’t going to call him on pretending to be asleep after all.

Classroom Furniture
Classroom Furniture


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