Chapter 2

It's like before. It's so easy for Sam to go back to pretending that, like the kiss when he was thirteen, it never happened. He's got to, because otherwise Dean doesn’t meet his eyes, he avoids him.

He's used to it. Practised, even. He's spent half his life pretending that kiss didn't happen, he can do this.

He's spent half his life swallowing his tongue whenever Dean put a bullet or a blade into a shapeshifter or a skinwalker or a werewolf, but he never knew what Dean felt like beneath him, never heard the sounds he made when he was coming. He can pretend, but he can't get that out of his head, and he lies awake, hard and aching after every hunt.

"What'cha got?"

Sam starts, lost in his own thoughts. "Huh?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "A job, Sammy. You're supposed to be finding us a job."

"Oh, right." Sam shakes his head to clear it, and looks back down at the computer screen. There's a few tabs open, news stories from around the country. "Looks like a haunting not far from here. Another one in Nevada. And vampires on the Olympic Peninsula. Guess they like the lack of sunshine. Figure we can call Bobby, see if he can get someone closer on it."

Dean pulls himself out of the creaking motel chair, and he heads for the bed, drags the weapons bag out from under it. "We'll take the vampires. Pack your shit, Sam."

Sam doesn't move, just gapes at him. "You want to drive to Washington?"

"Yeah." He grabs his duffle and his keys, looks pointedly at Sam still sitting at the table in front of the computer. "I'll wait in the car."

---

There's been a lot of hauntings recently. Maybe it's something about the moon, like the full moon for werewolves. Maybe ghosts are more active during the waxing moon. Sam thinks they might have noticed that before now, in all their years of hunting, in all the lore that's come before them. Might be worth looking into, though. Keeping track, seeing if there's a pattern.

There's a small part of him that wonders if maybe that's why Dean picked the vampires. Sam's a little fed up with salt and burn, too, but it's safer. There's still a part of him that likes the smirk that settles on Dean's face as he watches bones burn just a little too much, but it's easier to ignore than when he's spilling the blood of something corporeal in a rush of brutal violence.

He's sick. Seriously sick. Maybe they both are, and Dean's the only one with any kind of control.

Sam tries not to think about when Dean's control lapsed.

It's careless of Dean to pick the vampire hunt now. It's too soon, and Dean should know that. Probably expects Sam to check himself, but Sam doesn't know if he can. There's no way Dean's coming out of this hunt any way other than covered in blood, and it'll be the same thing all over again or Sam will make a fool of himself and Dean will be disgusted.

As he should be. Sam's got to be sick. Broken. Wouldn't be the first time.

They stop for the night in Missoula. The night manager at the motel tries to give them a queen bed, but Dean rolls his eyes and says 'two singles, my brother hogs the blankets'.

It's almost worth it for the look of confusion on the guys face, but Sam can't even crack a fake smile. They haven't shared a bed for sleep since they were children, but the memory of rusted bedsprings beneath their frantic bodies is stark and still at the forefront of his mind.

There's a bar across the street. Sam watches as Dean fakes drunk and hustles a couple of locals out of a few hundred bucks. He drinks enough that they're gonna need that cash, can barely stand when Dean drags him out of there and steers him back across the road to the motel.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean demands, his hands still fisted in the back of Sam's jacket as he pushes him down onto the bed. "We're hitting the road early, and you're getting wasted? What the fuck, Sam?"

Sam doesn't bother kicking off his boots or getting beneath the sheets. He rolls over and mutters into the pillow that smells dry and musty. "Got a monopoly on getting shitfaced, Dean? Screw you. Why the hell we gotta drive half across the country? Vampires? Screw the vampires. You're an idiot."

Dean's quiet, but he's still standing over the bed. Sam can feel him watching. "Thought you liked seeing me stick it to monsters." More silence, stretched out and heavy. "Or you'd rather I was sticking it to you, Sammy? Is that your problem?"

Fury boils in Sam's belly, and he rolls back, lifts his head. Anger is sobering, and his eyes focus on Dean's face as he leers down at Sam defiantly. Now he's talking? Now he's referring to whatever happened between them? His mouth works as he tries to find words, but they don't come. His lips twist into a sneer, and when Dean flinches, Sam moves.

Up off the bed, propelling himself with an instinct borne from years spent engaging the dangers that lurk in the dark, towards his brother.

Sam grabs Dean's wrists as his arms come up to defend himself, pushes him, with his weight and height advantage, back against the wall. "You know," he spits. "You know what it does. You asked for this with your fucking vampire hunt."

Then he kisses his brother.

Kisses him hard, bites at his lips, till Dean hisses and Sam tastes copper. He shoves back as Dean tries to push him off. "No," he growls, as Dean tries to twist away, pushes him to face the wall and grinds, his cock hard in his jeans, against Dean's ass. "You asked for this."

Dean struggles and grunts, and then, inexplicably, begins to laugh. "Finally grown some balls, Sammy? Finally getting off your ass? I take it all back. You should get drunk every night."

Sam pulls back, releases his grip in shock. "What?"

"Don't chicken out now, little brother. We were finally getting somewhere." Dean tongues his split lip, twists a hand into the front of Sam's shirt, pulls him back in. "Just take it, Sammy. You want it, take it. Or do I gotta bleed first? You that messed up?"

"No," Sam grunts, because he wants Dean all the time, but he's pretty broken, pretty twisted. Wants to do things to Dean he shouldn't. Still, there's something about the feeling of Dean fighting him, of Dean struggling in his arms, that made Sam harder than anything else. But, "you want this," he realizes, like he did weeks ago, but then questioned after Dean's refusal to address what happened between them.

"A-plus, kiddo. But I'm done analyzing. We gonna do this, or you gonna chicken out?"

"We're doing this," Sam says, because he's drunk, and he's taking it when Dean offers, even though he knows Dean's going to be hard and cold again tomorrow. So he puts a hand on the back of Dean's neck, and it's easier knowing what to expect, that Dean's going to pretend it didn't happen, so Sam licks carefully over Dean's lip, cleans the slowly seeping blood, moans when Dean arches into him, like he wants this, really wants this.

Dean's cock is a hot, hard, thick pressure against Sam's hip, and Sam grinds against him, humping him into the wall. Kicks Dean's feet apart, to get between his thighs. Running on instinct, letting the alcohol dull his brain function, he lifts Dean off the ground.

There's a moment when Sam can feel Dean's alarm, feels him stiffen, like this is off script, before he goes with it, swings his legs up and wraps them around Sam's hips. "Gonna fuck me?" he grunts, as Sam slams him against the wall. "Gonna screw me up against the wall, Sammy?"

Sam wants to. Wants to shut his brother up as he fucks him hard, wants to make him squeal as he stuffs him full of cock, wants to bend him over the table and pin him and fuck his brains out.

Sam grabs Dean by the back of his head and shoves his tongue into Dean's mouth. He kisses him, hard and rough. Then he steps back and drops Dean onto the floor. "Strip," he says.

Dean does, not slow, not to tease, but as he tears at his own shirt buttons and shoves his jeans down his thighs, he's got a smirk on his face like he knows what this does to Sam, like he knows he's got this power over him.

Sam reacts by grabbing Dean hard as soon as he's naked and shoving him face-first against the wall. He wants to punish him, for being so cold these past weeks, for pretending it didn't happen. With one hand he wraps long fingers around both of Dean's wrists, pins them above his head. With the other he yanks at his own belt, at the fly of his pants.

When he gets his cock out, when he slides it along the crack of Dean's ass, he feels Dean stiffen again, can read the alarm in his brother's body language. He can't hold Dean like this, not if Dean wanted out. Sam's taller, heavier, but Dean could twist out on his own if he wanted to.

Dean doesn't move. Doesn't twist out of Sam's grip, doesn't run. But he's very still, muscles coiled beneath the skin, on the edge of movement. "Forgotten something?" he says, voice pitched a little higher than it should be. "Sammy?"

Sam doesn't reply. Pushes his cock into the apex of Dean's thighs, slides in under his balls on precome and sweat, bends his knees and leans against Dean's body. Sam's breath dampens Dean's cheek as he huffs and groans and thrusts between his brother's slippery thighs.

Dean's right arm starts to twitch, and he's moaning like he's desperate, but Sam doesn't want to let him free, doesn't want to relinquish his hold. "Wait," Sam grunts, so close, held tight between Dean's thighs but not inside his body. "Fucking wait I'm almost—"

"Gonna come on me?" Dean groans and his hips twitch and he flexes his thighs, tightening the muscles, pressing them together. "Come on me, Sammy. Come on, I'm dying here, you're killing me."

Sam's balls draw up and sparks explode at the base of his spine. He comes, hard, groaning, pulling back so he paints the inside of Dean's thighs, splatters the backs of Dean's legs, drops his head to watch it drip in streaks and catch in the hair on Dean's calves.

He releases Dean's hands, pulls Dean's hips out away from the wall, then slides his hand between Dean's thighs to feel the mess he left behind. "Spread your legs," he says, voice shaking as aftershocks grip him. "Get yourself off."

Feels Dean's fingertips as he scoops some of Sam's come from between his thighs, uses it as he starts to stroke. Sam slides his hand up the crack of Dean's ass, the squeaky slick of his own come still on his fingers, circles Dean's hole as it twitches.

"Do it," Dean grunts, his elbow jerking at his hip. Spreads himself a little wider. "Do it, Sammy."

Sam pushes his middle finger into his brother's body and groans, because Dean's so fucking tight. Dean whimpers and tightens further. "Should've fucked you, wanted to," Sam mutters against Dean's cheek. He pushes a second finger deep into his brother's body and savours the whine that follows Dean's grunt. "You want me to fuck you."

Dean just moans, arm jerking wildly as he strips his cock.

"Say it," Sam spits. "The truth, Dean."

"I want you to fuck me." Dean's voice is halting and strained.

"What about tomorrow?"

Dean's strokes falter. "What?"

Sam slides his fingers out of Dean's body, circles the rim before pushing back in, slow, searching. "Gonna pretend this didn't happen?"

"Fuck you, Sam." Dean's voice goes gravelly, almost a growl. He tries to push away from the wall, but Sam shoves him back with his free hand between Dean's shoulder blades. Holds him there as he probes Dean's insides, searching.

He's rewarded when Dean writhes on him and cries out, does the same thing again, and again. "Will you still want this in the morning? Tomorrow? Next week?"

"Yes, fuck you, Sam, yes— Please, just—" His hand returns to his cock, starts to stroke, frantic, desperate. "Please, Sammy—"

Sam does it again, rolls his fingertips over that spot inside Dean, over and over, and Dean cries out, stiffens, body clamping down on Sam's fingers almost painfully. "So tight, Dean, fuck. Wish it was my cock in you right now, Jesus."

Dean shudders and spasms, and his come splatters the wall, and the floor, until the only sound is his harsh, rasping breath. He squirms and moans when Sam withdraws his fingers, and he almost crumples, knees going out from under him, but Sam catches him, holds him up, turns him around.

Dean turns his head away, but Sam grabs him by the chin, forcing him to face front, ignoring the fact that Dean won't meet his eyes. He kisses him hard, keeps kissing him until Dean kisses him back.