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The Wanting Comes In Waves

All Sam/Dean, All The Time

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Fic: No Regrets Like Modesto Regrets (Sam/Dean, NC-17) Part 2 of 3

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After spending the morning sucking up all the Wi-fi bandwidth the motel had been able to connect with, and finding a few leads to follow up, he realizes it’s time for his lunch date (is it actually a date?) with Dean. Sam walks into the hushed showroom with all the beautiful wood and velvet coffins laid out on display, struck with how nice it all is, and then hears his brother’s voice talking to the people who must be the family he mentioned.  He’s soothing and patient, compassionate and matter-of-fact, even funny in a restrained sort of way. It’s all so very Dean, and yet not.

Dean finally notices him lurking there in the back of the showroom and nods with a wink when the family isn’t looking directly at him. Sam smiles and feels his stomach drop past the floor. How is he ever going to do this? He only has a week, two at the most to figure this out. And whatever he does, he has to resist whatever advances Dean’s going to make on him.

Finally, Dean’s shown the family out and he sneaks up behind Sam, trapping him against one of the plush wooden coffins with a hand on either side of the edge. He presses himself fully against Sam’s back and whispers in his ear. “Never thought it would finally be one o’clock and you’d be here. God, you smell so good, Sean.”  Dean licks and nuzzles behind Sam’s ear and Sam shivers, memorizing the feeling because it needs to be the last time.

He turns around slowly and Dean presses into his front, grinding their hard lengths together.   He’s lost the power of speech in favor of incoherent moans as Dean kisses him. Luckily the office phone rings, and Dean steps away to answer it.  Sam rubs his hands over his face, trying to calm down and regroup. He’s got to put him off somehow. He can’t go there again with Dean, it’s not fair. To either of them.

Sam can hear Dean’s voice speaking in the office, laughing a little with whoever it is that’s calling. His eyes roam around and land on a display shelf in the corner, where most of the things look like ceremonial urns that you’d buy, but there’s one thing that stands out, a small brass statue that’s not blending in with all the other bland, unassuming urns and boxes.  He steps closer and looks at it curiously, it’s very detailed, a woman’s sad face and figure, kneeling next to a pregnant sow lying on its side.  He picks it up and sees the word Alphito carved into the bottom. It’s heavier than he’d thought it would be, it takes all his strength to lift it back up onto the shelf and the rest of his strength to be able to let go of it.

“Pretty cool little statue, huh? A family from a couple months ago gave it to me since they liked the funeral. Thought it looked nice up there.”

“Yeah, it’s really heavy, must have cost a lot.”

“I guess. But the Alphitolakas family has been around for a long time, they own a lot of the land around here.”

“Two months ago you say?” Sam asks, thinking about the timeline of when Dad had lost track of Dean.

“Yeah, why? Hey, you want to skip getting lunch, we can maybe lock the door on my office, take the phone off the hook…” Dean asks, hooking his arms around Sam’s neck and wiggling his hips in a provocative shimmy.

“Uh, no, I’ve got to, uh…really got to eat something. Kinda lost breakfast, guess diner food isn’t my thing. So…uh…I’m starving. Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry, Sean. How ‘bout I’ll take you to my favorite place down the block. You up for a walk?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam answers, dizzy with the escape from Dean’s embrace.  He barely survives lunch, Dean flirting with him non-stop, touching him constantly, it’s all too good, exactly what he’s wanted, but this guy isn’t Dean. He has to remind himself. Dean would not do this. Dean doesn’t want this, doesn’t want this with me, doesn’t want me. I have to help him.

Sam begs off when Dean suggests he takes a personal day off so they can spend it together, stammering out something vague about maybe seeing him tonight at the bar again and high-tailing out of the little taqueria where they’d had lunch. He practically runs the rest of the way back to his motel and struggles to keep the burrito down.

As a distraction, he seizes on looking up Alphito and the family name Dean had given him.  These are the only clues he has to go on and he can’t handle thinking about the guilt and want eating him up from the inside.  It turns out that Alphito is a Greek grain goddess who was cursed with amnesia. There’s too much of a coincidence, someone must have whammied Dean along the way, maybe that Alphitolakas family. He can’t find too much on them, just that they seem to own half the town.

Later that night, he’s drawn back to the bar, at happy hour, because he can see the sign from across the parking lot, Free Food, and he’s hungry for dinner and out of any extra cash. Hopefully Dean won’t be there yet.  He washes up and looks at himself in the mirror for a long moment, psyching himself up, giving the pep talk that Dean would be. I’m gonna go in there, be friendly, but put him off, because it can’t, it won’t happen again.

He pushes through the swinging saloon doors confident in his resolve, but Dean is in the same place, sitting sideways at the bar, looking out the front window, like he’s lost in thoughts that no one should dare interrupt.  Sam walks towards him slowly, drinking in the sight of him, because he might not see his brother much after this all gets fixed. This has already gone much too far to forgive.

Dean spots him out of the corner of his eye, his face changes instantly from vacant to completely aware and interested, in that predatory way that’s always fascinated Sam. And oh, holy cow is he ever giving him the extra treatment. Sam internally groans, because this is going to be even more of a challenge.  He’s seen Dean go after girls like this, and not one of them has ever stood a chance of resisting. But he’s got to do it, somehow.

“Hey, you made it. Thanks for not making me wait,” Dean says in a low purr that brings Sam in closer to be able to hear all the words. “I really don’t like to wait.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. So, I’m gonna go get us some of that free food, all right? Can you order me a beer, just a beer this time,” Sam asks, scooting away from the arms and legs that Dean seems to be moving all at once to ensnare him in an embrace he won’t want to try and escape from.  He grins, flashes Dean the puppy-eyes, and makes it to the small buffet table. There’s taquitos, some sort of dip thing, some raw vegetables and meat on skewers. Sam loads up a couple plates and brings them back over to their spot at the bar.  He notices half way there that Dean is watching him. His skin begins to heat as he feels Dean’s eyes on him, he looks down quickly to make sure he’s still fully dressed.

“All that for just us?” Dean asks when he sees how much food Sam’s brought back to the bar.

“Hey, I’m a growing boy, you always sa…,” Sam says, cutting himself off from finishing that disastrous sentence.

“I don’t recall calling you a boy last night, but I will if it’s what gets you going. ‘cause you are all man as far as I’m concerned,” Dean says, popping the end of a taquito between his lips and sucking it in slowly with lascivious intent.

Sam frowns at the lurid twinkle in Dean’s eyes and sees Dean respond with his own frown.  “What’s wrong? Too much?” Dean asks, hand rubbing the back of his own neck.

“Yeah…uh…sorry. I just haven’t done this too many times. Not used to it, you know?”  Sam says, knowing that’s a lame apology, but hoping that Dean will lay off a little.

They eat the food without saying much, finishing their beers. Dean looks like he’s giving up, but then he turns his eyes back on Sam. “You want to come back to my place?” Dean looks at him, face looking like he’s about to crumble into tiny pieces, but he’s holding back the hurt, to put on a good final show.

Sam’s heart sinks, he can’t hurt his brother this way. But maybe he can get out of it once he’s there somehow. “Do I have to ride in your hearse?”

“Yeah, that a problem?”

“No. Uh, of course not.  I need a shot first. Order me a whisky or whatever, I’ll be right back.”

Sam escapes to the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face. He pats it all off with a paper towel and looks himself in the eye in the mirror. Resist. He’s your brother. He doesn’t want this. Not with you.

Sam is back at Dean’s side, and they take their shots together. Dean seems to know that he needs another one, so he orders, and they slam them down quickly.  He settles up with Hank the bartender and they leave, Dean’s hand back in place on his lower back. It feels like it goddamn belongs there at this point, like Sam should get a tattoo of the outline of Dean’s hand to remember this whole fiasco by.

The hearse is pretty awesome, cushy up front, much more room than in the Impala. And there’s all that room in the back. Sam thinks of several jokes he could make about making use of that space where the coffins normally go, but that’s probably in bad taste for funeral directors.  Dean notices him looking back behind them and chuckles.

“Yeah, of course I have. I figure it’s my car too, as long as I clean up, why not?” Dean says, laughing at Sam’s horrified expression.

“But you don’t want to…uh with me…back there?” Sam stutters.

“No, Sean, I’ve been picturing you, spread out in my bed, pretty much since I first saw you last night. Seems like it was meant to be somehow.”

Sam can’t respond to that, he just swallows loudly, nervous and excited and sick with the desire he knows he needs to fight.

The house Dean drives them to isn’t far from the funeral home, just a few blocks on a quiet, tree-lined street. It’s modest, a family would be happy here, but it’s just Dean, living in some family’s house, doing their family’s work like he was born to it.  Dean escorts him inside and the hand on the small of his back feels like a burning weight that he’ll be carrying until Judgement Day.

“You want anything to drink?” Dean offers, obviously expecting Sam to refuse.

“Yeah, got any tea?” Sam asks.

Dean laughs. “No, I sure don’t. Coffee be okay?”

Sam nods in answer, perching on one of the counter barstools to watch Dean putter around his tidy kitchen. Everything is perfectly clean and organized. Not how he’d imagined his brother keeping house. “So, you’ve been living here by yourself for a while then?”

“Yeah, been a couple years since my dad passed. Mom went a few years before that.  Had a baby brother too, but he’s not…” Dean answers, obviously trying to hold in some emotion that he doesn’t want to express to a near stranger?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you something like that,” Sam says, at Dean’s side in a few steps, rubbing his hand gently on Dean’s shoulder.  He feels Dean lean towards him a little, and takes on his weight. They stand there together quietly as the coffee pot bubbles.

“Yeah. It’s okay. I just don’t talk about it too much. Actually helps in my work, you know? Since I’ve experienced loss myself,” Dean admits, pouring two mugs. He gets milk and sugar out and gestures at it, Sam takes the hint and doctors up his coffee the way he usually drinks it. He watches in surprise as Dean does the same. Dean never puts anything in his coffee. But here he is putting milk and possibly more sugar in than Sam has. Does that mean Dean doesn’t prefer black coffee but drinks it anyway, just to be macho or something?

“And here I thought for sure you’d be a black coffee kinda guy,” Sam teases as he sips at the coffee.

Dean downs his entire cup in two big gulps, licking at the rim of the mug and looking Sam in the eye. “I like it sweet, and creamy.”  His lips move up into a smile that Sam can see is twitching.  Then they both burst out into laughter.

Sam bumps his hip into Dean’s. “I can’t believe you actually went there.”

“Oh sweetheart, you have no idea,” Dean says, grabbing Sam around the waist and pushing him up against the counter.  “So, why’d you run out on me after lunch? Did I scare you?”

“No.  Uh. I just had some work to catch up on.”

“Uh huh, sure. I was surprised you showed tonight. But then usually, I’m more of a one-night kinda guy.  You, on the other hand, you are definitely more than that, I can tell.”

“Oh can you? Really, how?” Sam asks, desperately curious to find out what Dean thinks about him. When’s he ever going to get the chance, because Dean would never say it out loud. And yes he knows that makes him a bad person, all of this does, but too bad.

Dean lets go of him and steps back to lean against the opposite counter. “Because I haven’t wanted to bottom for anyone in a really long time. I feel safe with you. And it’s all I can think about since sucking your perfect cock last night.”

Sam’s mind is blown then, just hearing those words coming from Dean, he’d never been able to imagine how hot they’d be. They echo with firecracker bright sparks through his mind, Dean wants me, like that, he does, he must deep down somewhere.

“Let me show you what I mean, c’mon Sean,” Dean says, holding out a hand and cocking his head towards the dark hallway.

Sam gulps at his coffee, knowing this is his last chance to skip out on all this, save both of them from an even bigger load of guilt and regret. But he sees it, the need coursing through Dean’s beautiful face, the fragile needy part of his brother that’s always been hidden from him. Something in Sam reaches out to that part of Dean, wanting to soothe and assuage it, and it pulls him towards Dean. He’s taking Dean’s hand and following him down the hall, every step taking him closer to what feels like is going to be the most divine form of punishment the gods could ever devise. Thanks a lot Alphito, he thinks in a sarcastic aside to himself.

The bedroom is as neat as the kitchen was, and is dominated by an enormous bed. Dean pulls the comforter back, and begins taking off his clothes. Sam stands there like an idiot, gawking at his brother’s beautiful body, all that gorgeous skin waiting to be touched.  “Feeling a little overdressed, dude,” Dean says with a smirk.

Sam ducks his head in embarrassment and toes out of his shoes. Dean’s in his space, pulling at Sam’s shirts and then jeans, hindering more than helping, but it’s such a rush. Feeling how needy Dean is, how much he wants this is a huge relief. It’s not just him. He’s in the same state, pulling and pushing at Dean’s body as they finally get him undressed.

They stand in front of each other, now both naked, looking each other up and down. Sam wants to say something, because Dean would never let him, but his mouth’s gone dry with anticipation and full of drool with the want. He can’t speak, all he can do is just look.

“You are really gorgeous, so hot Sean, can’t wait to have this inside me,” Dean says, placing one hand around Sam’s already hard-as-nails cock. He feels himself get even harder just at Dean’s touch, all in a rush, like he’s going to come right then and there. But he holds himself off with a groan.

“Oh, so you like being handled, huh?”

Sam doesn’t answer, just wraps his hand around Dean’s cock, the one that’s been poking into his hipbone this whole time. He holds it gently and then roughly strokes it a few times. Dean almost collapses under the weight of the sudden pleasure.  Sam’s got him now, so he pushes Dean to lay down on the bed. He’s all in a sprawl, legs spread wide, stroking himself.

Sam stands at the edge of the bed, stroking himself in time with Dean, remembering the days of his pre-teen years, hearing Dean beating off in the bed next to him. Always being curious about what it looked like. Now he knows. And it’s way hotter than he’d ever let himself imagine. Dean looks like the best kind of porn star, blindingly handsome, and genuinely turned-on, totally into whatever’s about to happen next.

Sam kneels onto the bed between Dean’s spread legs and runs both of his hands up Dean’s thighs, stopping to frame Dean’s cock and balls between them. “You’re perfect, so beautiful,” he finally manages to say in a whisper, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. It kills him to imagine what his brother would say to something like that. But this is Dan, not Dean, and Dan likes the praise, he tilts his pelvis up into the weight of Sam’s hands, wanting some action or friction, something.

Dean wriggles under the teasing strokes of hands and fingers, touching everywhere but the place he obviously wants Sam to touch him.  “Sean, c’mon, stop teasin’,” Dean says in a whine.

Sam chuckles, ignoring that he’s hearing the wrong name in the white hot heat that flows through him at hearing that whine. He bends at the waist and kisses the tip of Dean’s cock, licks into the slit and gathers up the fluid that’s been waiting there for him.  They both groan in unison when Sam opens his mouth and takes him inside.  Sam sucks him in a slow, teasing rhythm, Dean pulsing his hips up to get deeper. Sam takes both of Dean’s balls in one hand, gently holding and caressing them, stroking one finger along the seam.

Dean comes down his throat then, screaming his name, well his alias name, and hearing it reminds Sam he’s got to finish this. To be done, to get away. But Sam doesn’t get a chance, because Dean is not letting him go. As if he’s sensed Sam’s instinct to flee, he wraps his legs tightly around Sam, enclosing him in the heat, looking him challengingly in the eye. It all happens so fast, Sam hasn’t even swallowed yet, still holding the taste of his brother there in his mouth. He’s not sure why, maybe it’s that challenging look, that strikes him in the place where only Dean’s ever gotten into.

But before he realizes what he’s doing enough to stop himself, he yanks Dean’s legs up, spreading him wide, opening his hole there, just below him and he drips all that come right from his lips down onto Dean’s hole. He plunges one finger in roughly, then takes it out scooping the whole mess up and pressing it back inside with two fingers. Dean comes unglued, making all sorts of incoherent and lovely noises.

“You got anything?” Sam mutters. Distantly hoping that Dean will say no, and he can use that as a last chance excuse. But no, of course Dean is prepared, he points to the side table and Sam locates a condom as well as a mostly used tube of lube. He slides the condom on, jacking himself with some lube, he presses the rest inside Dean, working his fingers around, stretching him.

Then he’s inside, he’s all the way inside Dean, just taking up all the room Dean’s got left. Like he’s always been waiting to be filled up just like this, by Sam. Dean’s eyes are shut and his face looks like he’s gone beyond bliss. Sam can feel Dean’s channel opening and fluttering as he adjusts, finally Dean nods. Sam starts moving then, all the way out so that the flared head of his cock pulls at the edge of Dean’s hole. Dean wails something slurred together nonsense, nogetbackinmemotherfucker, which makes Sam grin. He plunges back in until he feels his balls swing down, resting on Dean’s.  He stays deep inside and churns himself around, searching for the right angle, he knows he’s got it when Dean sighs, all the air leaving him a rush. “Yes, there, right there, don’t stop, please, Sean!”

Dean contracts all around him as he comes, making a mess of both of them. He’s clenching down hard, milking Sam of everything he’s been keeping back. He doesn’t mean to say it, not out loud, but he can’t control his body or his mind, it just feels too damn good, it’s overwhelmed all his control. “Always wanted this with you, Dean, always. I love you, god help me, I love you so much, Dean.”

He can feel it, as he’s finishing coming deep inside his brother. Dean’s about to say something like “I’m Dan, not Dean,” but there’s an echo, of his own words, “I love you so much, Dean” that is banging around the room, bouncing off all the surfaces and hitting into them both over and over. Dean’s body reacts like it’s being pummeled by the words, impacting with tics and strange movements like he’s being rearranged from within.  His eyes roll up to the whites as Sam watches in horror.  He pulls out gently and disposes of the condom, sitting next to Dean’s still body, hand laid on his heart, feeling the wild beating under his palm.

Finally, Dean stirs, his body tightens all over, like it’s being re-inhabited in a punch of bleak air, he’s sitting up, and then standing all in one swift movement. He’s posed in a defensive crouch at the side of the bed, looking around the room, wild-eyed.  His face clouds and darkens when he sees Sam’s concern, but he says nothing, just scrambles around for his clothes, putting them on part way and leaving the room quickly.

Sam sits there, left alone on the bed, worried that calling him Dean had hurt him somehow. Who is he kidding, of course it had hurt to be called the wrong name during sex like that.

“Are you okay, Dan?” Sam yells down the stairs, as he hears some crashing of what sounds like books or maybe, yeah that’s breaking glass. He pulls his clothes on quickly, pelts down the stairs and the front door is wide open to the night sky. He runs down the small walkway and searches both directions of the street, but there’s no one, Dean’s long gone.

Sam spends the rest of the night in the empty bed, tossing and turning, wracked with worry that his amnesiac brother is out there all alone and upset, getting hurt somehow. In the morning he writes out a note to let Dean know where he’s going.


Hey, I’m sorry for how I hurt you last night.

It’s kind of hard to explain.

I’d like to try and tell you, if you want to listen.

Here’s my number in case you want to call.

I’ll be leaving town in a few days.


Something is niggling at the back of Sam’s mind as he walks back to his motel in the early morning’s pale light. The statue, the one in the funeral home, if it was causing all this, maybe if he destroys it, that will break the curse. He detours and sees that the front door is standing wide open, like there’s been a break-in. He wishes he had a weapon on him, but he slowly enters, eyes adjusting to the dimness, he hears someone slam out the back and a familiar rumbling engine start up, tires squealing as the person fleeing gets out before he can see. But he doesn’t need to, he’d know the sound of that car anywhere.  He flips the lights on in Dean’s office space and sees a hastily scrawled note on a yellow pad of paper.


Guess the curse or whatever is finally broken.


Hope you can get back to school okay on your own.

I’ve gotta go.


Sam sinks down onto the desk, tearing the paper off the notepad, crumpling it up into a tiny ball in one hand. He brings it to his mouth and sobs into the paper. “Damn. Oh god, Dean. I’m the one that’s sorry.”

He spends a long time crying, pouring all the fear and guilt to the empty room. His tears eventually taper off and he finally comes back to himself. That’s it then, Dean’s gone, and it’s probably for the best. He can’t imagine how else this could go. Dean’s not going to forgive him, ever, and he shouldn’t! He’ll never forgive himself. Wishing for it to be anything different is a waste of time. All he’s got left is trying to finish school and make a life for himself.

Sam leaves a message for John at one of the many stops the bus makes on the way back to Palo Alto. Thank all the gods that it went to voice mail. “Hey, Dad. Yeah, so…uh, I found Dean. He was in Modesto, just like you thought. He was under some kind of cursed object spell. Gave him amnesia, he thought he was part of a family of funeral directors of all things. But, I think he’s okay now. Bye.”  He knows John will contact Dean at some point, and Dean will either meet up with him or just keep to himself for as long as he needs to.

He wraps himself in the sadness and guilt the whole trip back. No one talks to him or sits near him. Like he’s got a bubble of stay-away vibes surrounding him. And it’s good, to be alone, he deserves it after what he’s done. It seems likely he’ll never see Dean again. His heart breaks all over every time he thinks of him, of his face when he’d said those fateful words. The words he never thought he’d get to say to the person he loves the most in this world. It was the happiest moment of his life, and it had to be the very worst of Dean’s.

He’s never felt more like a fuck-up. The hardest thing is that he won’t ever get a chance to apologize or explain it to Dean. He mentally bitch slaps himself. Because how in the world would there ever be an acceptable apology or explanation for what he’s done? It’s got to be better this way, that Dean will stay away from him, so he can’t ever hurt him again. All he’s got left is school, so he’s got to make that work. So he does.

Read Part 3