sketchydean

smalltrolven

The Wanting Comes In Waves

All Sam/Dean, All The Time


Previous Entry Share Next Entry
avsc, mine
smalltrolven

Fic Whole Week of Love 3 (Sam/Dean, G-Nc17) Part 1 of 2

Title: Whole Week of Love 3
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: varies G-NC17
Wordcount: 7,300
Author's Note: Not my characters, only my words. Written for Holiday Wincest Love Week on tumblr for adamsdreamthief.

Summary: A series of short Wincest stories for the fall/winter holidays

Read it over on AO3 here.
~~~~~

1 Pumpkin Spice

They were hardly ever in a big city long enough to find a good adult toy store, but here he was in San Antonio’s biggest and best according to the internet and there were too many choices. They weren’t really big on toys, at least not the ones they’d tried so far, but he always took the chance to surprise Dean, or maybe both of them. But there were too many choices, he should have just gone to the drugstore.

How to narrow it down, it was for Dean, so pick a flavor he liked, that seemed obvious. But his brother loved so many of these, and over the years they’d tried them all. One of the employees took pity on him and walked over.

“Trying to choose a new one?”

“Yeah, I’m kinda stuck, we’ve tried all of these and I wanted something new.”

“Oh I’ve got just the thing, it’s up here at the check-out, follow me.”

Sam trailed the guy to the front counter and stopped in his tracks, eyes taking in the gaudy display of ostrich feathers dyed in various autumn colors, in the center of it all was a display box of lube, all the labels displaying a steaming pumpkin pie.  “Pumpkin Spice lube, really?”

“Yeah, if your partner likes pie at all, they are guaranteed to dig this stuff.”

“Sold, and I’ll take one of these feathers too.”

Sam stowed his purchases under the front seat and waited for Dean to return from the barbecue place with their takeout.

After they’d finished off the barbecue and Dean was laid out recovering from the feast on their bed, Sam excused himself to the bathroom with his small bag of goodies. He opened himself up with the lube and walked back out in just his boxer briefs, feather tucked in the back just because. That got Dean’s attention away from the football game that he didn’t really care about.

Dean shifted on the bed, opening his legs so that Sam could crawl up between them. Sam kissed him teasing and slow. “Have a surprise for you, close your eyes, Dean,” he whispered.

Sam sat back on his heels and unbuttoned Dean’s shirt and began pulling it off, Dean helped but kept his eyes closed. He sat back and reached for the feather, with teasing slow movements he stroked up and down Dean’s torso, avoiding his ticklish spots. He spent a lot of time on Dean’s nipples watching them contract and stiffen up.

Dean’s hips began moving as he squirmed, Sam unbuttoned his jeans and slid them and his boxers off. He kissed the tip of Dean’s cock while he warmed some of the pumpkin spice lube in his hands and then stroked Dean to full hardness. The sounds Dean was making were delicious, getting more and more impatient. Sam crawled over Dean and lowered himself onto his cock, letting himself sink down inch by glorious inch. Sam held each of Dean’s hands and whispered, “You can open your eyes now.”

Sam rode him slow and steady, making them both crazy with the wait until Dean couldn’t take it any more. He planted his feet, held onto Sam’s hips and thrust up into Sam hard and fast. Sam leaned forward, hands pressed down on Dean’s shoulders. He kissed Dean deeply, thrusting his tongue in time with Dean’s movements. They both came within a few more strokes. Sam lifted himself off and flopped on the bed beside Dean, burying his face in the pillow.

“What is that smell?” Dean asked in a groggy voice, sitting up and sniffing. Sam smiled into the pillow and raised his ass up off the bed. Dean leaned over and kissed one cheek. “That for me, little brother?”

“All for you, yeah,” Sam said, losing his breath as Dean’s tongue speared into him where he was sensitive. He squirmed at the overstimulation as Dean licked him clean.

“Best pie I’ve had all year, thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, pulling Sam into his arms.

“You liked the feather too, huh?”

Sam couldn’t help his teasing grin as he asked.

Dean’s answer was to search for the feather in the bedsheets and then stroke it lazily up and down all the bare skin of Sam’s body he could reach until he had Sam squirming with the feeling.


****

2  Found

He thundered through the first few turns of the maze past the entrance, knocking into several little kids and their older siblings. Shouts of “Hey! Watch it, dude!” followed him further into the maze. It was way too dark out here. Sure it was supposed to be creepy and all, but that didn’t make it any easier to find his little brother. He contemplated crashing through the flimsy walls of the tied corn stalks, but thought that might be less thorough, too easy to miss the corners.

The amulet bounced up and hit him in the tooth when he took a zig-zag too quickly. He grabbed onto it and thrust it beneath his t-shirt against his skin where it could warm up and not break his tooth this time. He wished with all his might that it would magically turn into a Sam-Locator. He could use one of those right about now. He didn’t care what his dad would say or do, or anyone else, all he wanted right then was to find his little brother. The one who had whined and bitched about coming to this stupid harvest festival thing for a solid week. And he was weak when Sam used those puppy eyes on him, besides it sounded kind of fun. And it was free, free food and hot cider, and everyone was supposed to get to take home a pumpkin. Which he sure as hell couldn’t afford for Sam this year. Dad had been gone for an extra two weeks, which meant stretching the money even further than usual.

There couldn’t possibly be too many more places in this stupid maze that Sam could be hiding in. What had made that kid run away in the first place? He’d only been talking to the girl at the cider booth for a minute. But he remembered the stormy clouds on Sam’s face, making his eyes go that dark blue that meant he was really angry and something else Dean had never figured out. He stopped near what he thought was the center of the maze and tried to catch his breath. There were no sounds near him, and it was getting darker. It was time to bust out the big guns and hope Sam would respond. “Sam! Sammy! Where are you? Sammy!”

There, over there, he heard a sniff. He started walking as quietly as possible over the crinkling straw towards the sound. “Sammy, you okay?” he asked more quietly, heart thudding hard in his chest with worry.

Another sniff and then the sounds of someone pushing throughout the corn stalks, a small hand appeared, Dean grabbed it and pulled. Sam fell out of the maze walls straight into Dean’s arms. Dean set him on his feet and shook him, hard. Sam wouldn’t look at him though.  “Sammy why’d you ditch me like that? I didn’t know where the hell you were!”

“‘m sorry, Dean,” Sam whispered through a sob he couldn’t hold back. He grabbed Dean around the waist and melted into him, burrowing his head into the warmth of Dean’s leather jacket.

“You can’t do stuff like that, Sam. I was really worried, dude,” Dean said into the top of Sam’s head, arms going around him automatically bringing him in close and safe.

“Didn’t think you’d notice before I came back,” Sam said in a mumble against the chest pocket of Dean’s flannel shirt.

“Of course I noticed. But I thought you wanted to go in the maze together, ya doofus. Not have me runnin’ after you like a fool.”

Sam seemed to burrow into him even harder and Dean could feel his body shake as Sam began to cry again. It was getting tougher each year as Sam grew to not hold him close like this all the time, he’d missed it and felt bad for enjoying it since Sam was so upset. But why was he so upset? He thought I wouldn’t notice…because he’d been talking to that chick. It was almost like Sam was jealous, that couldn’t be it, right?   “Were you mad ‘cause I was talking to the girl at the cider booth for too long or something?”

“Something,” Sam said, and tried to squirm out of Dean’s arms.

“Tell me,” Dean said, not letting go.

“Don’t want to,” Sam said, staring up at him with wide, scared eyes.

“What are you scared of, Sammy? Not me, right?”

Sam nodded and looked so miserable that Dean felt a guilty gnawing in his gut. He’d caused this, he’d made this happen. Sam was scared of him?

“Like you thought I’d hurt you or something?” Dean whispered, because it hurt to even have to say the words out loud.

Sam shook his head vigorously, wavy curls bouncing wildly. “Scared of telling you, what you’d say if you knew.”

“If I knew what?” Dean asked, confusion and hope and dread battling it out in his stomach.

Sam sighed and looked at him, eyes still wide but no longer scared. He felt his brother examine every inch of his face and tried to communicate with his own eyes that Sam didn’t have any reason to be scared. “You remember the night with the fireworks this last summer?” Sam asked.

Dean felt his heart thud more quickly at the memory, how perfect that night had been, how beautiful his little brother’s face had been in the lights of the fireworks, all that joy and love. How Sam had hugged him and thanked him. “Yeah, we burned the whole field down.”

“It was more than that—to me,” Sam said, he took a deep breath and stood up taller, he’d grown so much since that summer.

Something in the way his brother stood before him, in his arms, tall and getting taller, turning into his own person, no longer Dean’s soon made Dean answer what was the truth for once. “Me too, Sammy, it was pretty damn perfect.”

Sam’s eyes sparkled when he heard Dean’s words, and Dean tightened his hands on Sam’s shoulders, willing Sam to be braver than he could ever be. Sam lifted himself up on his tiptoes and brushed his lips against Dean’s, tentative and soft. He sank back down and gave Dean a smile filled with equal amounts of uncertainty and hope.

“No this is,” Dean said with a smile, and gathered Sam closer to his body. Their lips met again, but this time it wasn’t tentative or soft, it was powerfully final, inevitable even. They’d always been heading here, to this place, together.

The love he felt for Sam overwhelmed him, all the time, it always felt too big, too much. Like there wasn’t enough room for it between them. It was too big of a burden to ever share or acknowledge. But kissing Sam, finally, in this stupid corn maze made all of that seem ridiculous. In the face of how good it felt, how right, to let himself have this, let himself show Sam how much he meant. How he was everything good in Dean’s life and always had been. Sam was murmuring against his lips, and Dean felt then how Sam’s hands were wrapped up in his shirts, holding on against this storm of feelings.

“Dean?” Sam was asking him something against his lips. Dean just held onto him even more tightly, and kept kissing him, not wanting to stop this moment or change a thing.

“Dean, can we go home now?” Sam asked between kisses, not moving away, or pushing him off. Dean could feel he was being held onto just as tightly. They were in this together, like everything else.

“Yeah, Sammy, let’s get outta this stupid maze,” Dean said, kissing Sam once more, then letting him step away. Sam snaked his hand into Dean’s jacket pocket and wrapped their fingers together. Dean walked them out through the twists and turns knowing he’d never miss a chance to go into a corn maze the rest of his life.


****

3 Give Thanks

It was hard to ignore the pacing, but Sam concentrated on weaving the pie crust top together. He brushed it all over with the beaten egg and sprinkled some cinnamon sugar on top, just because he knew Dean liked it sweet. He wondered how Mom liked her apple pie, or if she even did?  The pacing though, it had to stop, he had to find something for Dean to do, but the turkey was already in the oven and the sides were assembled in their cooking dishes waiting for their turn in the oven.

“Did you set the table?” Sam asked as he slid the pie onto the baking sheet.

“Yesterday,” was the short and verging on bitchy answer.

“Did you pick a wine from the cellar?” Sam asked, still marveling that they had such a thing as a fully-stocked wine cellar.

“I picked two, one red, one white which is in the fridge,” Dean answered, crossing his arms and pausing the pacing by leaning against the fridge door.

“Does she even like wine?” Sam asked as he washed the pastry brush in the sink.

“No freakin’ clue,” Dean said, starting to sound testy.

“I don’t even know if she likes apple pie, maybe I should have made pumpkin instead,” Sam said.

“Dude, everyone loves apple pie,” Dean said with a chuckle.

Sam looked up to see his brother smiling instead of pacing and it made him breathe a sigh of relief. “Guess I’m just nervous. Never cooked a big meal like this.”

“She doesn’t cook, remember? So I’m guessing she’ll be impressed no matter how it all turns out.” Dean had lost his smile and was pacing again, nine steps one way, ten coming back.

“She’s our mom, so she has to like it, right?” Sam asked, regretting how young his voice sounded with that question.

Dean stopped near him and stepped into his space, looping his arms loosely around Sam’s hips. Sam did the same in response, holding his brother so that he could see his face. Dean looked tired, a bit nervous and warily hopeful. Sam leaned down and brushed their lips together, just to show Dean he wasn’t alone in all that. They traded kisses back and forth, slow and luxurious. Sam felt Dean’s hands clamp down on his hips, bruise-tight and so perfect.

Footsteps on the metal stairs and the slamming of the big front door interrupted them. Sam wiped Dean’s lips clean with one slow finger and mussed up Dean’s hair. Dean leaned up to return the favor. Both of them looked just-kissed and breathless, but happy.

She was here. She was really here.

“Hey boys! Happy Thanksgiving,” Mary said, entering the kitchen with her arms full of bags. “Good god, it smells amazing in here.”

“Let me help you with all that,” Sam said, stepping forward to help Mary set down all her stuff.

“Brought some rolls as requested, and there’s a salad in here too. Dean, your beer was on sale, so I grabbed some.”

“Oh, hey thanks, Mom. Awesome,” Dean said, surprised out of his frozen posture to come forward to take the sixer from Mary’s hands. “Want one? Or we can open the wine now.”

“Wine sounds nice if it’s not too much trouble,” Mary said, hugging herself a little nervously.

“Nope, we’re prepared, you like red or white?”

“White if it’s cold,” Mary said. Dean grinned and pulled the bottle out of the fridge and bustled out to the bar area.

“He any better since I last saw you guys?” Mary asked in a low voice.

“Some, not much, I don’t know we’ve been trying to just—be,” Sam said, catching the flash of guilt on Mary’s face. “Hey, Mom, I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty. We know you needed the time to get used to this world.”

“We’re just glad you’re here with us today,” Dean said, re-entering with a filled wineglass.

Mary accepted the glass, and Sam handed Dean a beer bottle. He raised his in the air between them. “To a Winchester Thanksgiving, may it be the first of many to come,” Sam toasted.

Mary grinned and clinked her glass to their bottles. “Here, here!”

“We’re thankful you’re here with us, Mom,” Dean said, a smile on his face that melted Sam’s heart, and Mary’s too if her reaction meant what Sam thought it did. He slung an arm around Dean’s shoulders and gave him a half-hug. Dean looked up at him and gave him the grin Sam only saw when Dean was truly happy. No fooling, no pretending, no front, this was the real true happy Dean. Sam was going to enjoy that for as long as it lasted this time. And if their mom left again, well they’d deal. At least they’d have the memory of getting to share this meal, all of them together.


****

4  Thanksgiving Laundry

He’s grumbling about having to do other people’s chores, stomping around the halls, pulling out the laundry soap with too much violence. He can hear his brother singing in the kitchen, making their Thanksgiving dinner that somehow is more important than any expected chores getting done. But Sam needs clean underwear, like yesterday, so he’s doing it himself. Let Dean kill himself trying to make an All-American Thanksgiving dinner. Sam’s guessing it’s to make up for their mother still being gone. But of course Dean won’t talk about it, so that’s just a guess.

Sam’s being thorough because he has to be, checking all the pockets and hiding places in Dean’s clothes, because there is always something that can potentially ruin a whole load of laundry. So he’s not surprised when he feels something hard and lumpy in one of the smallest interior pockets on the jacket Dean’s been wearing the most lately. He digs in with his pinky finger, and teases it out, the object hitting the concrete floor and bouncing under the washer. He kneels down and swipes a few times with his hand, fingers finally reaching the soft silk cord.

The second his fingers make contact, he knows what it is. What else could it be, right? All the guilt and recrimination come crashing back in, all the reasons he kept it all those years and never gave it back, all the sadness and heartbreak still there, and laid underneath it all the memory of what it had meant to him, to what he’d thought it meant to them.

He comes back to himself, sitting on the cold concrete floor, back resting against the washer which still isn’t going, holding it clenched in his hand, a sharp pain radiates out from it, there’s a wetness, his palm is bleeding, Sam thinks abstractedly, removed from his body and the real sensations of pain. He really ought to bind it up so he doesn’t make a mess. But then his fingers are being pulled open one by one. He can’t drop it, can’t lose it again so he fights to close his fingers tight and closed. That’s when he hears him, Dean is saying something.

“Let go, Sammy, you’re hurting yourself. C’mon back to me,” Dean is repeating over and over while wrestling with his fingers.

Sam lets go and closes his eyes, trying to disappear back into his mind, his memories, away from what’s going to come. But Dean doesn’t let him, because of course he doesn’t. His brother is the most stubborn asshole in the entire world and he never lets anything go and he never ever really tells Sam how he feels, because he’s Dean and Dean doesn’t do words, he does things, takes action and thinks about it later, maybe.

“Sammy, please, just stop,” Dean says. “I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to find it like that.”

The feeling in Sam’s stomach is empty and sharp, like he’ll never be hungry or full again, a nothing feeling that hurts. Dean’s wrapping him up in his arms and trying to move him. Sam leans away and almost falls, but Dean catches him, holds him up, arms tight around his shoulders.

Something about how Dean is holding him, like he’s fragile and breakable, precious even wakes him up enough to ask, “You’re sorry?”

“I should have given it back to you, after Chuck…” Dean says in a mumble, face pressed into Sam’s chest.

“It’s yours though,” Sam says, “it’s not mine.”

“Yeah but—I threw it away.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sam says, not in the mood for being grilled about why he’d picked it up out of the trash, and how he’d held onto it all these years, how it had shown up when they’d needed to talk to Chuck.

“What if I do? Even if I’m a stubborn asshole who never really tells you how I feel?”

Sam shakes his head, angry at himself for saying out loud what he’d been trying to keep hidden.

“I’m sorry that I threw it away, okay? I was mad at God and everything and I fucked up, I know that. And you keeping it all this time makes me feel even worse.”

Sam struggles away from Dean’s hold then, stumbles towards the door and suddenly wants to vomit or scream. “This is why I never gave it back to you.” He doesn’t wait to hear Dean’s response, can’t imagine where he’d be able to keep it, there’s no room left. The door to his room is almost closed, nearly locked and safe when it’s pushed against his hand.

Dean’s holding it out to him on an outstretched palm, not meeting his eyes, just offering it. The little gold face mocks him, teases him with the memories of how it used to be between them.

“Keep it Dean, it’s yours,” Sam finally says, hoping Dean will leave him alone about it now. Dean doesn’t move though, just waits with his hand outstretched. Sam sighs and grabs the amulet, strings the cord between his fingers and brings it down over Dean’s head. It thunks back into place in the center of his chest, as if it had never been discarded, or hidden, or missed.


Dean looks up at Sam and holds onto the amulet, tugging the silk cord tight so that it digs into his skin. “Thanks, Sammy, I love it. It means everything to me that you kept it. I won’t do that again, I swear.” Dean blinks rapidly, the sign that he’s trying not to let any tears fall.

“You better not,” Sam says, wondering if they’re talking about the same thing.  Don’t throw us away again.

Dean grabs him up into a big hug, like one of them has just come back from dying again, and Sam tries not to melt into it, but Dean’s warm and he’s solid and he’s pouring off the raw emotion of the moment. Sam absorbs it and feels his heart crack open a little, it hurts, but it’s a good hurt. One he deserves.

Dean lets him go and steps away, “I’ve got our dinner ready, meet me in the dining room in ten, okay?”

Sam nods and watches his brother’s hopeful smile. His eyes catch on the shine of the amulet, back in place where it belongs, and he remembers all those years ago. How he’d chosen to give it to Dean instead of their father. He knows he made the right choice then and now.


****

5 A Record Snowfall

Sam’s on front-door snow clearing duty this time, Dean lucked out and got the kitchen door this time. Now that he’s started actually playing rock-paper-scissors instead of throwing it there’s more unpredictability in Sam’s life. Sometimes he misses that, like right now, there’s so much fucking snow, it’s got to be a record. He takes a break after a steady twenty minutes of shoveling, removes his gloves and leans back against the stair railing and looks up snowfall records for Lebanon, Kansas on his phone.

The record one-day snowfall was thirteen inches in March 16, 1924. The amount out here now seems like a whole lot more than thirteen inches, but maybe it’s because of the tunnel entrance gathering it all up. He heads up onto the flat ground that isn’t near any trees and sticks his hand down into the fluffy snow until he hits the dirt, it’s a few inches deeper than the crook of his elbow. Definitely more than thirteen inches.

He hears Dean come out the door behind him. “Need some help getting the rest of this done before it gets too dark?”

“It’s a record snowfall, Dean!”

“So you’re not just a slacker, huh?” Dean teases in that annoying oh-you’re-such-a-nerd voice.

Sam gathers up a large handful of snow and beans it at his brother’s head for his answer.  Dean’s squawk when the snowball hits and explodes down the back of his jacket is worth whatever hell will surely come next. Dean quickly assembles a pile of snowballs and begins firing them off in a solid barrage at Sam. Sam’s got no cover to find out here, the trees are too far away and Dean’s down in the protected tunnel.  He takes a few direct hits to his back and butt as he trudges around to the top of the entrance. That’s when his common sense leaves him, he pushes a huge amount of snow that’s gathered in the railing crevice down onto Dean below.

Dean wasn’t expecting it, and Sam delights in hearing the splutters and outrage. “You bitch, you’re the one that has to shovel all of this back out, and I ain’t helpin’ you!”  Sam hears the front door slam, and then the sudden silence. Just him and the even bigger amount of snow that needs shoveling. Sigh.

He’s already got his sopping-wet outerwear off, hanging on the hooks by the front door to drip dry when he hears Dean singing that song that has the line: ‘Oh the weather outside is frightful’ at the top of his lungs. He stomps down the stairs even though the whole thing was entirely his fault. He’s pissed-off and sweaty hot and also freezing and tired and achy so he avoids the kitchen and heads for a warm shower. When he reaches for his towel, his hand lands on something even softer, a long red fleece robe he’s never seen before. After he towels off he examines it, definitely his size, and his name is embroidered on the left breast pocket in a nice scrolling font: Sammy.

Sam wraps himself up in the robe and is instantly a million times more happy than he was before. Then he notices the slippers placed below where the robe had been hanging. They’re also his size, beautiful red leather with fluffy wool fleece inside, his feet slip into them and he’s no longer just happy, his whole body feels loved up like when Dean’s been…well loving on him for an extended period. He pads silently down the hall, (gotta love those soft leather slipper bottoms for that) and stands in his brother’s doorway.

Dean’s tucked up in bed watching something on his laptop with just the bedside lamp on, and it’s just so perfect and warm. There’s a smile on Dean’s face, just as warm and inviting as the room, Sam stands there quietly and just watches for a while, tucking the memory of this scene away in his favorites drawer to be used the next time he’s being tortured or whatever.

“Thanks for the early presents, Dean,” Sam finally says.

Dean looks up in surprise and closes his laptop. “They fit you okay?”

“Yeah, perfect,” Sam says, turning slowly so Dean can see that the robe drapes perfectly across his shoulders. He hugs himself and smiles at Dean, “they’re really cozy.”

“I figured you’d need them after being out in the snow for so long,” Dean said, moving his laptop off the bed.

Sam sits on the edge of the bed where Dean just made space for him. “I’m sorry for dumping all that snow on you.”

Dean whacks his bicep, hard. “No you’re not, you’re just sorry you had to dig it all out.”

“You’re right, but you have to admit it was pretty damn perfect.”

“Yeah, it was, you’ve never played snow wars fair, so why start now?”

Sam gets an idea then, how to pay Dean back for the early present/kinda apology robe and slippers and stands up in a rush. “I’ll be right back.” He dashes down the hall to the kitchen and gets a pot of milk warming up on the stove. Digging behind his stash of tea boxes he pulls out the gourmet hot chocolate mix he’d bought and successfully kept hidden from Dean. He carries the two mugs on a tray with leftover pieces of pumpkin pie back to Dean’s room.

Dean’s eyes light up when he sees the pie, but he goes quiet when he sees the mugs. “Tell me that’s not tea.”  He’s been down on tea since the whole run-in with the Men of Letters, refusing to drink it on principle.

“Nope, hot chocolate, the good kind,” Sam says, setting the tray down between them on the bed.  Dean grabs one of the mugs, takes a sip and moans the provocative, hedonistic way Sam was hoping to hear.

Dean lifts the tray up and holds it. “C’mon, get under the covers now.”

Sam slips his new slippers off, missing their warmth immediately and slides under the quilt with Dean. He’s handed a mug from the tray and clinks it with Dean’s. “To having a good place to get warm after snow shoveling.”

Dean chuckles at that, no doubt remembering how they’d practically kill themselves as kids to make a little extra money around the motels they’d lived in shoveling people’s cars out. Having to try and get warm when the heater isn’t working and the blankets aren’t much heavier than the sheets was the worst. He twines his feet together with Sam’s under the covers and eats his pie with a smile.

Sam takes the plate and mug from him when he’s done and sets everything off to the side, he pulls Dean into his cozy red fleece covered arms. Dean wriggles against him until he’s in his favorite little spoon position that he’ll never ever admit to. Sam nuzzles into the top of Dean’s hair and presses small kisses to his scalp. He murmurs sweet words into Dean’s skin that he can never say out loud.

“You better not be getting hot chocolate in my hair,” Dean grumbles, half-asleep and fully adorable.

“Give me a break, we both know you love it,” Sam says, heart beating faster for using that word.

Dean doesn’t say anything, his only answer is to snuggle in deeper and fall asleep. That’s the exact answer Sam was hoping for.


Onto Part 2


?

Log in

No account? Create an account