Chapter 3

Sam wakes with a hangover, his head pounding, his stomach churning.

Dean's already in the shower, the sound of the water hitting tile like something ominous.

Sam looks over at Dean's bed, and it hasn't been slept in. He has a vague, uncomfortable memory of pulling Dean into his own, of getting naked so he could feel Dean's skin against him. Of tangling their limbs together beneath the covers.

He remembers why he didn't want to let go of his brother, afraid he'd wake up and it would all have gone back to how it was before.

The water shuts off. The door opens and a cloud of steam pours out. Dean appears, a thin motel towel wrapped around his waist.

"Rise and shine, Sammy," he says, but he doesn't look at Sam as he walks across the room. "Gonna have to move it if we wanna make Seattle by lunchtime."

Sam tastes acid, and he's not convinced it's the hangover.

Dean yanks a pair of boxers on under the towel, half-turns and freezes when his eyes fall on Sam's face. His towel, loosened, falls to the floor. "What?"

Sam's stomach twists at the look on Dean's face, confusion that's almost genuine, because when it comes to repressing, Dean deserves an Oscar. "Last night," he croaks, and the words stick in his throat and he can't continue.

Dean does this half-shrug thing and shakes his head. "You got wasted."

"We had sex," Sam says, and his throat hurts, like he's been screaming.

Sam's gotta give Dean credit, he doesn't miss a beat. Shrugs with one shoulder like it means nothing, and turns to pull clean clothes out of his duffle. "Yeah, so?" There's a tightness in his shoulders, though, and maybe Sam's the only one who'll ever recognize that for what it is. "Gonna buy me flowers, Sammy? Take me on a picnic? I'm not your goddamn boyfriend. We don't need to get all movie of the week about it." He pulls on his clothes and bends to tie his bootlaces. "Now get the fuck out of bed. We got a job to do."

---

They've had more awkward drives, but not lately. Sam runs through everything in his head, trying to think of something to say that won't have Dean clamming up on him or shooting him down, but there's nothing. Dean keeps up a steady stream of chatter that means nothing and seems only to avoid the inevitable awkward silence.

He's talking like nothing happened, but all Sam can hear is I'm not your goddamn boyfriend.

He doesn't know what they are anymore. Sam had his fingers inside his brother last night. Wanted to fuck him. If it happens again, he will. What does that make them?

"—spoiling for a fight, know what I mean, Sammy?"

Sam wasn't listening, but there's a silence that Dean might have filled before, and he can feel Dean's eyes on him, the expectant pause. He turns his head, and Dean's eyes flick back to the road. "Huh?"

Dean makes a tut sound and rolls his eyes. "Vampires? The job? It's been months since we've seen anything I could hit. I'm looking forward to it. Aren't you?" He turns his head again, meets Sam's gaze for just a second. "Come on, Sam. Blood? Danger? That's the sort of thing that turns you on, doesn't it? I'd've thought you'd be gagging for it, especially after last night."

He doesn't turn back to look at Sam that time, just keeps his eyes carefully on the road stretching out in front of them.

Sam scowls. "Are you actually referring to the fact that we had sex last night?"

Dean's lips twitch into a smirk. "If you can call it that. Hell, that was just fooling around. Blowing off steam." Now he looks, eyes lingering dangerously as he bites his lower lip. "Wasn't it?"

Sam tears his eyes away, turns to the window and the trees rushing past beside them. "Whatever."

Dean snorts. "Yeah. Say, how 'bout we go for the double this time, huh? You really do hog the covers, and my back's killing me after squishing in like sardines last night."

Sam's face burns. "What are you doing?"

Dean's expression is all innocence. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Talking 'bout this shit? We're huntin' vampires, Sammy. Heads are gonna roll, and you know how messy that gets. Blood everywhere— Hey! What if I let one bite me? That'd turn you on, right?"

"Dean!" Sam's horrified, but there's no way he'll be able to deny it. He's already hard, suddenly rock-fucking-hard and he can't hide it. He squirms in his seat, and that's the mistake, because Dean looks down at his lap.

"Yeah." The car slows, and gravel rumbles under the tires. "Yeah, that does it for you, don't it, Sammy?" He pulls the car over, shuts the engine off.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Dean smirks and unbuckles his seatbelt. "What do you think?" He reaches for Sam.

Sam should push him away, stop him as Dean rubs one hand over the bulge in Sam's jeans, as the other tugs at the button, but he can't. Doesn't know where to put his hands, and when Dean gets his cock out and wraps a hand around it, a shock goes through him. He jerks his head back and grabs onto the back of the seat and his hips twitch up. "Oh, god," he says, and he looks into his brother's eyes as Dean jerks him off.

Dean licks his lips, and Sam thinks he's gonna kiss him, bites his own, but then Dean drops his head and—holy fuck—sucks Sam's dick right into his mouth.

"Jesus Christ, Dean." Sam can't help the involuntary jerk of his hips, and it never ever occurred to him that Dean might be the first one of them to suck the other off. Never in a million years. It's clumsy and sloppy and messy and with all the blowjobs Dean's likely had over the years Sam would have thought he'd pick up a few pointers, but it's probably the most amateur blowjob Sam's had in his life. He doesn't care because Dean's lips are wrapped around his cock, his mouth is warm and wet and what he lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm.

He soon finds a rhythm, an easy, comfortable slide of his lips up and down Sam's shaft. He tucks his tongue beneath the underside of the head on the outstroke, makes Sam gasp and grab at his hair to hold him there, right there.

He wonders if coming in his brothers mouth is too far over the line, decides it's not, because last night Sam had his fingers up Dean's ass and was talking about fucking him. Last night Dean's thighs were slicked with Sam's come and Dean didn't complain, and if he didn't want Sam's come in his mouth he wouldn't have put Sam's dick in there.

The only warning Sam gives him is a muttered curse and the fingers he has clenched at the back of Dean's head tightening, and he should be allowing him to move if he doesn't want this, but Sam can't help it.

He holds Dean close, holds his head, holds him so he can't pull back. Sam cries out as he comes down his brother's throat.

Dean splutters and chokes, but he doesn't fight. Sam feels him swallow, but more spills.

When Sam stops coming, and Dean pulls away, there's come slicking his chin. Sam half expects him to smirk, half expects him to throw a punch, but he does neither.

Instead, he stares, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Wipes his hand on his jeans.

Then he starts the car, pulls off the side of the road like nothing happened.

---

Vampires spill out of the cabin they find deep in the woods, and Dean dives in. Bodies fall behind him as his battle cry drifts through the darkness, until that's the only way Sam knows where he is.

Sam wishes it was daylight, so he could see, so he could watch. So the bright red of spilled blood would show against the trunks of the trees, against the verdant undergrowth.

He shifts his focus as a vampire grabs him by the arm. He swings a machete, severing the vampires hand. He swings again, and the vampire hits the ground in two pieces.

---

Silence falls when the last head hits the ferns and rolls to a stop on the forest floor.

Dean comes toward him. Through the trees, stepping over roots, covered in blood.

There’s a look of intensity on his face that causes Sam's control, up till now hanging by a thread, to simply break.

He shoves Dean against the nearest tree, fingers in his hair, pulling his head back.

Dean turns his face away. "Wait," he says. "We're covered in vamp blood."

Sam backs off. It's one of the most difficult things he's ever had to do.

"You know I'm on board," Dean says.

It's the last thing Sam expects to hear. "Do I?"

Dean grabs Sam's hand, pulls it to his crotch. He's hard, cock straining against his jeans.

Sam moves before he thinks, and Dean hits the tree again. "You get off on killing things. Who's more fucked up?"

Dean shoves him away this time. "Least I still got a brain cell in my head. We gotta get clean."

The blood is on their hands, their faces. They can close their eyes, shut their mouths when they hear a blade swing, but so much as a kiss will spread it.

---

Sam slams the door of their room behind him as Dean dumps his gear, heading for the shower.

Sam strips. His clothes fall in a sodden, bloody pile, and he climbs into the shower with Dean.

Vampire blood isn't something they want to ingest, not something they want inside them. Sam scrubs his skin with soap, adds to the froth of pink bubbles as they swirl down the drain.

He washes Dean's back when he's handed the soap, gets every trace of it off his skin, even spreading his hands over Dean's ass, fingers down Dean's crack, under his balls.

"Pretty sure I'm clean," Dean says, as Sam lingers.

"Shut up," Sam says, and sinks to his knees.

"Oh, fuck." Dean presses his palms to the tiled wall, spreads his feet apart.

Sam wanted to fuck Dean in the forest, surrounded by bodies and ankle deep in blood. Wanted to throw him down amongst the severed heads and vampire corpses and force himself inside, and maybe he wanted to punish Dean, for taking such pleasure in every swing of his blade, or maybe he just wanted to show Dean how messed up he really was, that it made him want his brother when he got like that.

He spreads Dean's ass with his hands, pressing his face between Dean's cheeks, and pointing his tongue to stab at Dean's hole. Gets a thumb in there, pushes it deep and savours the grunts and moans that rattle Dean's entire body.

"Do it, Sammy," Dean moans. "Just fucking do it."

Sam presses two fingers to Dean's hole, pushes inside, nothing but soap and spit and the water raining down on them to ease the way and it's quickly running cold.

Sam licks around his fingers, pulls them out, sticks his tongue up his brother's ass, fucking into him, over and over.

The shower head spurts, and ice cold water falls on them. Dean shrieks, and slips, and they both end up in a pile on the cubicle floor.

Dean's the first one out, leaving Sam to turn off the water.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Dean's waiting for him. There's a towel wrapped around his waist, but his hair is still dripping. He hands Sam a bottle. "No more fucking around, Sammy."

He drops the towel, climbs on hands and knees onto the bed. He drops down onto his shoulders, closes his eyes.

Sam stares at the bottle of lube in his hand.

---

Sam's got three fingers in his brother.

Dean's cheek is pressed to the mattress, and his eyes are still shut tight, but he started swearing at two fingers, and begging at three.

"Just fuck me," Dean whines.

Sam frees his hand, wipes it on the sheet. He turns Dean onto his back.

"Inside me," Dean says, spreads his legs, wraps them around Sam's hips, pulls him close. "Please."

He's different. There's no fight, no defiance.

Sam lines himself up, the head of his cock at Dean's hole, already slick and open. "You really want this?" he asks. "This is a line, Dean, maybe we shouldn't—"

Dean surges up, kisses Sam hard. "We crossed the line miles back," he says. "Please, Sammy."

Sam holds his brother's hips, pushes against him. Dean cries out as he sinks inside. Sam groans, shudders, because Dean's so tight, so fucking tight.

Dean breathes hard, clings to Sam's shoulders, like he's holding on for dear life.

When he's inside, Sam wraps his arm around Dean's waist, pulls Dean into his lap. Dean wraps his arms around Sam's shoulders, holds on tight.

Dean's eyes are open now. Glinting green in the moonlight that streams through the crack in the motel curtains.

"You're inside me," Dean breathes. "So deep." His eyes are watering. "You're fucking huge."

Sam rolls his hips, moves inside his brother. Dean groans, his whole body vibrating. "You feel good," Sam says. "So fucking good."

"Come in me," Dean whimpers.

It's so different. From last night, from today. Even from just those few hours ago, when together they dealt a bloody death to over a dozen vampires and then, covered in blood, eyefucked each other all the way to the motel.

Sam shifts, holds Dean close, rolls his hips. "What about tomorrow," he breathes. "Will we forget about this?" Moves again, so Dean writhes and twists in his arms.

Dean shakes his head, even as he digs in with his feet, rises, just a little, sinks back down. Does it again. "We won't forget. We'll never forget." Rises again, throws his head back in a moan as he slides back down Sam's dick. "But we're brothers," he says, using his hands to push the hair off of Sam's face so he can look into his eyes. "Nothing changes that, Sammy. It's more important than ever. We're brothers."

Is that what Dean meant when he said, "I'm not your boyfriend"? That's a relationship that can be dissolved.

Family. Blood. Brothers. You can't change that.

They come together, Sam's hand on Dean's cock, Dean's ass clamping down hard on Sam's dick, milking him until he's wrung out and gasping and it's too much, and Dean's face is wet, and they're both sweaty and sticky and covered in come.

---

Sam wakes in the morning to sunlight streaming through the break in the curtains, and to a warm body curled behind him.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Dean whispers. "Aren't you glad we got the queen?"

No one's in danger of falling out of bed, so yeah, Sam's pleased. "What time is it?"

"We missed checkout," Dean says. "Wanna spend the day in bed?"

Sam rolls over. "You want that?"

Dean shrugs. "We got nowhere to be." He pulls a face as his stomach rumbles. "Except I need breakfast." He swings himself out of bed. "Shower, breakfast, then we spend the day in bed." The sheet slides away from his naked body as he heads for the bathroom. He walks awkwardly, like he's sore. "And you can do that thing again."

"What thing?"

Dean turns back before he slips into the bathroom, lifts his eyebrows, widens his eyes. "You know the thing." He closes the door behind him.

Sam rolls onto his back and stares up at the stained motel ceiling. It feels different. It is different.

Still, it doesn’t change what they are to each other. Nothing can change the fact that they’re brothers. That they’re blood.

fin